Nyx (ON HOLD)

Aislingate, Part III

In retrospect, it made sense that the first time I met my grandmother Adaline was across a vast gulf of water — vast enough, anyway. If I thought the Maine seacoast was chill, it was nothing compared to my grandmother's sterling-eyed gaze.

The ascent from the slim crescent beach at the base of the cliffs was far more daunting than the downward voyage, of course; it didn't help that the leonine white cat kept perching above me and making that curious, trilling chirp each time I got stuck. Whether it was encouraging or badgering me, I couldn't say — but its emerald gaze seemed aware of my every movement. To my unspeakable chagrin Ethan insisted on walking behind me, and more than once I felt myself starting to slip when his hands closed on my hips, steadying me. It was probably self-defense on his part, ensuring I didn't knock him off the narrow footpath to a long drop and a short stop if I fell, but each touch still made the agitation grow louder within me, droning like a swarm of bees. On flat ground I was more than capable of doing something as simple as walking, and I found myself scrambling anxiously up the last few feet when the cliff's edge neared.

I turned back to Ethan as he crested the ridge, pressing my lips into the closest approximation of a smile that I could manage. "Thanks." My cheeks burned from the chill wind and humiliation, but the dark-haired boy just nodded amiably, as though accustomed to shepherding stray newcomers up the cliff's face on a regular basis. The black bow and violin were hanging from a hook on the back of his belt, and as I watched he checked it mindlessly, touching the fragile strings as though reassuring himself it was still there.

Maddeningly, Ethan insisted on waiting for my grandmother to arrive, and he paced to and fro on the overgrown front lawn, coaxing a skirling ballad from his fiddle. A rising breeze nudged the knee-high grass into waves, and the sallow green waters hissed against his jeans like admiring roars. He was talented, maybe even a prodigy; to my tired mind, it was like nature itself was moving in time to his violin's hypnotic song. I hovered awkwardly near the front steps for a minute, but the muscles in my legs were twitching from the unexpected effort of traversing the cliff, and I soon gave in and sat on the stairs, staring anxiously at the treeline as we waited.

The first two cars that passed were false alarms. I lurched partway to my feet at each, vision dazzled from the headlights as they burst into view, and sank back awkwardly when I realized each wasn't stopping. Shadows seemed to drip from the hill on the opposite side of the road, as though the birthplace of night itself was somewhere in that silhouetted wood, lost beneath the flaming crescent of the setting sun. More than any of the places Mom and I had lived, it was somehow vivid, as though the pine smelled sharper, and the very air had the texture of satin. I doubted there was anywhere nearby that was free of the thunderous rumbling of the sea against the opposing cliffs.

It was terrifying — and beautiful.

I heard the third vehicle slowing before I saw it; by the time the trees on the far side of the road began to lighten from its headlights I was already on my feet and stumbling back down to the ground. Only too late I realized that I'd left the Si Señor Squash box and my backpack sitting on the porch in the lee of the tower; it was probably going to look like I thought I owned the place, but all I could do now was trot down onto the lawn, face the worn dirt parking space and wait.

Ethan lifted his bow from the violin, raising it in a gesture that was somewhere between a salute and a wave as the battered Chevy Blazer shuddered to a halt in the humble driveway, tires skidding a little on the dirt. My heart thudded painfully as its motor fell silent; then the driver's-side door opened and the woman we'd seen from across the inlet's watery neck emerged.

She was taller than she'd seemed from across the short break of water, but her bearing was curiously hunched about the shoulders, maybe just from the cold. Her dark jacket had the scuffed look of one that had seen too many seasons; beneath it she wore tawny work pants that I'd seen on any number of construction workers, with steel-toed boots to match. I knew it was bad manners, but I couldn't stop myself from staring at her; though I was far less of a fashionista than my tailored clothes would probably suggest, this was a whole level of uncaring, one even I hadn't yet reached.

Was my grandmother a lumberjack?

The thought was instinctive, stupid — and I bit my lower lip to keep a nervous giggle from bubbling to the surface as her steely gaze fell on me. Sullen quicksilver eyes narrowed at me from beneath my grandmother's grey eyebrows, but her wiry bangs shielded the intensity of her glare like a veil. Her hair was the same liquid silver as mercury, so shiny that her head was haloed by the setting sun. The length of it was knotted at the nape of her neck, and she had a straight, proud nose that was so like Mom's that I winced to even see it. Her jaw angled down to a sharp chin, making her full lips seem even fuller; right now, though, her mouth was drawn in a closed-lipped grimace so tight that dimples appeared in the lee of her high cheekbones. All in all, her features were surprisingly refined — and if not for the sour expression wrinkling her countenance, I almost might've called her beautiful.

"'Lo there, Ethan," she said, nodding curtly as she passed the dark-eyed boy. Their relaxed body language made it clear they were familiar with each other, but my newfound companion still held himself a bit stiffly, as though taking pains to appear deferential toward the shorter woman.

"Evening, Ada."

The older woman — I still wasn't entirely sure what to call her — stopped before me and regarded me with those flat, coin-silver eyes. There was something about her face that reminded me of Mom, like a ghostly echo; though her features were in no way identical to my mother's, there was something about their movement that made my heart ache to look at her.

Then her brows knitted in a frown, and I was grateful that the sudden likeness to my mother faded. "Suppose you'd better be coming inside, then," she said without preamble, and trudged past me, her heavy boots clomping on the front steps as she headed up to the front door. The emerald-eyed cat had been lurking at the edge of the house until now, but it darted after her as she ascended, like a witch's pale familiar.

I cast a glance back at Ethan; his dark hair slung forward over his brow as he nodded in parting and started walking toward the strange, irregularly hedged expanse that separated the black Victorian from the garishly painted one next door — the house I now knew to be his family's. If he attended the local high school I was bound to see him again soon...and my stomach cramped strangely at the thought.

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NEXT TIME (Part of the surprise 2-part special!): Mel makes her fated decision, and the discovery of a strange object on one of the house's balconies leads to a curious if distant encounter with a strange new player.