Under the Bridge (12 page)

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a cut of
meat.”

He smiled faintly, his attention on the pot.
“What shall we call you? Rosebud? Bonbon?”

“Does it have to be edible?” she groused,
pouring tea. She sat at the table, grateful to be off her shaky
feet.

He chuckled and filled two plates with
goulash and buttered parsnips with anise.

She frowned in confusion as she took a bite.
“I thought I hated goulash.”

“No one hates my food.” Ash took a bite,
eating with intense concentration.

No doubt his guests didn’t want to end up in
the stewpot, she thought uncharitably, but had to admit the food
was excellent.

Eyrnie showed up at dessert. He eyed the
blackberry cobbler and fresh whipped cream. “Well, at least the
food’s improved around here.” He helped himself to a big bowl.
“Glad to see you’re still alive.”

“You look really worried,” she said
wryly.

He sighed. “Guess Ash would have killed you
by now if that was his angle.”

She frowned at him, unwilling to go into what
Ash did want. “You have a problem with my water heater?”

He shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”

She eyed him, but short of beating him,
figured that was all he’d say for now. Instead of pursuing the
subject, she brought up something more pressing. “The banshee was
here. Ash threw a log at it and chased it off.”

Eyrnie froze and looked her over carefully.
“You’re all right?”

Her mouth tightened. “It wasn’t going well.
She’s dangerous.” It was a poor explanation, but she hated to admit
just how helpless she’d been. “We’re going to have to think about
how we’re going to take her out.”

“We could lure in her in around dinnertime,”
Eyrnie commented, savoring a bite of dessert. He smiled slyly at
Ash.

“Nein. Your…
tooth
isn’t big enough,
Oma.”

“Grandma?” Eyrnie guessed. “Troll women must
have interesting anatomy.”

Billy frowned at him. “You’re off topic,
Pony.”

Eyrnie looked offended.

Ash burst into laughter.

It took her a minute, but it dawned on her
what she’d said. She blushed, mortified. “Sorry! It’s just that
he’s always saying it…” she trailed off lamely, shooting a glare at
Ash, whose belly laugh nearly sent him tumbling from his seat.
There was a faint vibration in the floor, as if someone had turned
up a bass.

Eyrnie’s eyes narrowed and red flickered in
the depths, but he made an effort to get back on topic.
“Decapitation or burning, right? We can carry swords, but we’d have
to get close to her to use them. Would earplugs work? A deafness
charm?”

“How will you fight the winds?” Ash asked,
pushing aside his empty bowl. He looked contently full…for the
moment. “Also, she has claws and teeth.”

“I could throw a tree at her,” Billy said
dryly.

“Or carry around a grenade launcher,” Eyrnie
suggested with helpful sarcasm. He was clearly still miffed.

She sighed, hoping he wouldn’t decide to
visit her dreams and retaliate. Maybe she should start thinking of
a way to block them from him. “It’s not a terrible idea, if I could
find a fae weapon that could mimic such things. I’ll sleep on
it.”

She retreated to her room, grateful for the
privacy. Unfortunately, the hamster in her brain kept running his
wheel, flipping through troll, pooka and banshee with little
progress. Aggravated, she finally gave up and left her room,
pausing uncertainly as she caught sight of her mother’s open door.
Hesitant, she looked in.

The room looked as it always had; she’d put
the room in stasis when she’d returned, so she didn’t have to
enter, even to dust. Slightly cluttered, the bed was neatly
made—her doing. Her mother rarely made her bed. It had bothered
Billy to see it rumpled, though, as if her mother would come back
at anytime and climb in.

Maybe she should clean it out, get rid of
things. The idea made her cringe. What would her mother think if
she came back? Was Billy still hoping they could reconcile?

She sighed. That was unlikely. Her mother
would not be sorry; in her mind, she’d had every right to force her
daughter to mate. She’d be angry, and Billy had taken her place as
head of the clan. Billy wouldn’t give that up, and they couldn’t
share a house after that. Billy could move, but she couldn’t afford
to. Besides, if she left, the house and garden would become
rundown.

She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to
fight. She also didn’t want to make a decision that made a
permanent rift in her family, and tossing out her mom’s stuff would
definitely do that. Maybe she still had hope of her mother changing
after all.

Maura was another story. It was doubtful
she’d ever forgive Billy for her daughter’s death, even though it
hadn’t been Billy’s fault. Maura would look for a way to kill
her.

Billy sighed and headed for the stairs. She
would make a decision about the room soon.

The kitchen was empty and clean, the dishes
neatly put away; Ash was ritualistic about food.

She had to admit it was nice. She didn’t mind
cooking, but it was another chore. He’d even taken over the
shopping; a godsend, since his appetite was enormous.

She headed out to the back garden.

13. Moonlight in the garden with a troll

The moon was full, casting melancholy light
over the backyard. It brought back memories of how things used to
be, back when her mother was still pretending to be her
grandmother.

* * *

Gran had patted her arm as she led the way to
the garden. “I have something I’ve been working on for you.” She
descended the back steps into the flower garden, then past it to a
stone walled garden.

Guests were never allowed in here. There were
too many plants that were dangerous to the uninitiated. Billy
gently brushed the petals of the sleeping dragon flower inside the
gate, enjoying the feel of its flame-colored scales. These pets
were above and beyond guard dogs. Anyone who invaded here would be
swallowed whole, their body never found.

Twilight brought some of the more interesting
plants to life. Moonflowers stretched and opened their glowing
faces to the night. Luminous seeds of windflower drifted in the
warm breeze, competing with the fireflies. Candle flowers flickered
as a nightingale woke up and began to sing. It was only one of the
exotic creatures Gran had invited to share her garden.

“Over here,” Gran said softly, stopping
before the hollow oak that housed the house brownies. A peep of shy
brown eyes showed briefly through the leafy boughs and then winked
out of sight. Gran moved her hand under the tree, as if sweeping
aside a curtain, and there it was. A softly glimmering piece of
cloth, seemingly woven of moonbeam and spidersilk, hung from the
bough. Gran delicately removed it and invited Billy to touch
it.

“I’m afraid to tear it,” Billy marveled,
lightly running a finger over the cloth, fearful of snags. “Did you
make it?”

Gran smiled. “I’ve been weaving it since you
were born, though I’ve had to lengthen it in the past few years.
You’re unseemly long-limbed for a pixie.” She didn’t seem
displeased. “Try it on.”

Billy wasn’t sure what to say as she accepted
the garment. As she held it up, she saw the silver-blue mesh was
intricately woven in a flower pattern and resembled a body suit.
She was unsure of the suit’s purpose, but she was certain Gran
hadn’t spent eighteen years weaving it just so her granddaughter
could walk around in a transparent leotard. She shed her clothes,
dropping them on the stone bench and sat down to slide on the suit.
Skin-tight, it felt weightless, almost as if she wore nothing, and
its soft glow was more concealing than she’d have expected.

“Pixie body armor,” Gran said with
satisfaction. “Woven of ironweed, bindweed and the morning dew of a
white rose.”

Billy didn’t ask how one wove dew, afraid her
Gran would give her a practical demonstration, but she was curious.
“White rose? That seems like an odd thing to make armor out
of.”

Gran snorted. “It needed some of your essence
to bind to you. Rose water—for you’ve an innocent spirit, but not
too sweet. Remember, a rose has thorns.” She reached behind her and
brought forth a silvery diadem. It appeared to be made of woven
silver thorns, and when she placed it on Billy’s brow, she could
feel it snaking tendrils under her hair, curving over the back of
her skull like a helmet. “A warrior’s helm. It will protect that
stubborn skull of yours, and encourage clear thinking.”

Billy fingered the thorny helm; half-afraid
she’d prick a finger. It felt odd. “Is this a pixie custom, or
something you just wanted to do? I’m amazed if every grandmother
does this kind of work. This is something else.” She realized she
wasn’t being specific, and clarified, “I mean, could Aunt Maura
make something like this?”

Gran was silent for quite awhile as she
checked the fit of the armor. “She could, and she was taught. It
would not be as fine a garment as this, but…” Her lips tightened.
“Carrie isn’t ready. I’m not certain she ever will be.

“You are the stronger warrior. The blood of
your father gives you hybrid-vigor that Carrie doesn’t have.”

Billy wasn’t certain what that meant. She’d
been told that her father was human, someone who’d knocked up her
mother and run off. He’d died in a brawl soon after. The only thing
she had left of him was his Harley.

“Carrie’s half-human, too.”

Gran raised a brow, and waited.

Billy faltered. There was something in Gran’s
expression. “Well, what? She is…isn’t she?”

“Maura was practical in the making of her
child. She sought out a fae alliance, which bore fruit. She thought
it best to breed back to the original bloodlines.”

“Get out! Are you saying Aunt Maura
cheated
on Uncle George?” Billy boggled at the idea of
nose-in-the-air Maura sexing it up with some fairy stud. Poor Uncle
George!

“One does what one must,” Gran said with
disturbing calm. She gestured to Billy’s clothes. “No mortal eye
will spy your armor. Wear it in good health.” She left Billy alone
in the garden.

Billy didn’t like her Gran’s attitude. Uncle
George might be human, but he was a person, too. He had a right to
expect faithfulness from his wife. And Carrie? Did she know? Was
that part of the reason she was such a
troglodyte
? Was she hiding a secret complex about her
shameful conception? Maybe, under her perfectly applied makeup and
skimpy cheerleader wear, there lurked a wounded heart.

Billy sighed. So many lies.

Something bothered her about the memory of
Maura’s alleged infidelity, though. She thought about what she knew
of Carrie and frowned. She’d never displayed much of a magical
talent. For that matter, she’d seemed almost oblivious to cues that
Billy took for granted. How
had
she missed sensing the troll
in their first encounter? Maura’s explanation about Carrie ignoring
her senses just didn’t jive. Surely Carrie wouldn’t imperil her
life like that.

Billy wondered if Maura had lied to their
mother. Maybe she had been pressured to sleep with a fae, and lied
to make her mother happy. Many things would make sense if Carrie
had been three-quarters human.

“Hello,
liebling
,” Ash said, spooking
her.

She whipped around and saw him standing at
the garden gate. Her shoulders dropped as she saw he was still
outside. “You startled me.”

He gave her a thoughtful look, then reached
out and gently stroked the dragon flower. The scaly petals
shivered, but did not attack.

Astonished, Billy stared as he entered the
garden. “Why didn’t it eat you?”

Ash shrugged. “We talk, your pet and I. We
have an understanding.”

She eyed him. Even Eyrnie wouldn’t waltz in
here without invitation and escape unscathed. “Like what?”

He smiled and sat on the wooden bench. It had
been braided from living willows that rustled with his weight. “We
monsters should stick together.”

She could see she wouldn’t get any more out
of him. Abruptly tired, she sat on the far side of the bench.

Silence stretched. When she couldn’t stand it
any more, she said bluntly, “I’m not going to make little troll
babies for you, Ash. My mother tried to turn me into a baby
factory, and it didn’t end well.”

“I heard,” he said calmly, unconcerned.

She frowned at him. “What? You’re not upset
that I won’t let you drag me off to your cave?”

“Castle,” he corrected. When her eyes
widened, he smiled unpleasantly. “It is not only dwarves who build,
liebling
.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “What’s a
liebling
? Is it edible?”

He smiled, for real this time. “
Nein,
g
ummibärchen
.”

She regrouped. “My point is seducing me
isn’t going to work. You might have a pretty wrapper, but I know
better than to get mixed up with a troll.”

He smiled mischievously. “Who is thinking of
food now?”

“It’s inevitable with you around.” She
noticed a flower in his hand, and frowned. “What is it with people
picking my roses? No wonder that poor bush is nearly naked.”

“The tea you drink, does it not have rose
bud?”

“Yeah. My mom was notorious for picking the
buds. She made the tea with it; I hardly ever saw the flowers.”

“Hm.” He studied the flower thoughtfully.
“You drink it often. Daily, I think? There is a very large jar in
the pantry.”

She shrugged. It tasted good, and it
reminded her of happier times.

“I wonder what would happen if you
stopped.”

She stilled. He seemed relaxed, wasn’t even
looking at her, yet his question hung there, weighty and framed in
silence. It made her short hairs rise. “It’s just tea.”