The cake was both beautiful and delicious and only habit stopped me from going back for thirds, but I couldn't compliment the artist personally. Apparently, Finn had convinced Chloris, the bean tighe who had worked with the previous caretaker, to bake it for us, but she still wouldn't set foot inside Meridian.
Rachel sat in a state of semi-shock for the first half hour, after she finished cussing out first Katherine and then me. Jogging buddies apparently received a free pass, even though Becca had been in on it. Gradually, however, and with the strategic application of confections and alcohol, her mood improved and she began to enjoy the party.
Meg was in high spirits too, an amazing transformation compared to what I'd previously seen, so I kept my distance from her to avoid upsetting her. It was Rachel's day, and I didn't want to spoil it.
"How many spankings are you due this year?" I overheard Amy asking Rachel.
"Fuck around and find out," Rachel replied with a hint of jovial menace.
"She's twenty-three," Katherine said, "just a few months younger than Thomas."
Becca looked disappointed. "We missed his?"
"June," I said. "Long gone, I'm afraid."
"We'll get him next time around," Rachel told her, still pretending to be angry with me. "I'm highly motivated to make sure he never forgets it."
"You said you turned nineteen in April, right?" Katherine asked, and Becca nodded. "Then no more birthdays for a while. We'll have to make the most of this one," She sipped at the bottle of beer in her hand and glanced down the table where the Fae were congregated. "Unless one of you can give us an excuse."
Meg shook her head. "I haven't celebrated a birthday in—" her eyes slipped out of focus for a second. "At least twenty years."
"Twenty?" Rachel said. "Like hell, you don't look any older than Becca."
Finn sat at the far end, slouched so far down in her seat that I could only see her eyes and her feet that were propped up on the table. "You're what now, Meg? A hundred and thirty?"
"One hundred thirty-six."
Rachel dropped her fork and gaped at her. "You're not serious!"
"It is not uncommon, Rachel," Miss Gold said airily. "Finola, Margaret, and I are all quite old by your standards, and there are others older still, yet some will not see two score years in their natural life. There is no fixed span of days for any species, but you will find that most fall within what you would consider to be normal."
Finn stretched and finally sat up in her chair. "You're better off not making assumptions. Tom's father is a good example. More than three hundred years old, but in his world he'd have died of old age centuries ago."
"Being here makes him more powerful?" I asked. Even the thought of it was appalling.
"In a sense," Finn replied. "It's not typical for one of his kind, but at some point he learned how to feed on humans."
"Feed—"
"She speaks of the will, Thomas," Miss Gold clarified before I could finish asking. "He does not feast on the flesh of men."
"How do you eat free will?"
"You don't," Finn said, and looked up at Miss Gold. Neither spoke, but something passed between them. Then Finn turned faced me. "You already know that the Veil is shaped by the will." Several of us nodded and she continued. "Some Fae can hijack another person's will and use it to strengthen their personal reality. It reinforces their place in this world, makes them partly immune to nature."
"Come again?"
"It's not that difficult to understand," Meg said and picked up a napkin. "This is a Fae." She pinched it between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and tore it in half. "They follow most of the rules dictated by this world, just like any human. They break, they bleed, they die." She picked up another napkin and laid it in front of her. "But if they can appropriate the life spark of another living being, they can reinforce themselves relative to this world—" She picked up a second napkin, then a third, and stacked them neatly. "—until the rule of their existence is stronger than the ones that dictate whether they break—" she twisted her fingers again, but managed only a small tear, "—or bleed—" she gave another tug, ripping it further, "—or die." She dropped the half shredded stack in front of her.
Becca swallowed hard. "What's a life spark?"
"Tom has been calling it the anima," Finn answered, and Becca's brow knit as she processed the information.
"Okay," she said slowly, "so it's like when we bound Tom to the island. You told him it would partially suspend the laws of entropy. That means it doesn't fall apart as fast. It's the same for people?"
Finn confirmed it with a nod. "Something like that, yeah. Tom's will reinforces the wards even though he's unaware of it."
"But how can dead victims prolong my dad's life?" I asked. "The satyr Miss Gold killed didn't even have an aura, doesn't that mean it's not affecting the Veil anymore?"
Finn glanced up at the ceiling. "If you popped one of these balloons then died, would that fix the balloon? Living wills are stronger, but they're also pliable. A dead one can't change its mind."
"The goal of such a one is immortality, Thomas," Miss Gold added. "Caratacos believes that if he feeds enough, he can one day match Queen Mab or Lord Oberon."
"Is he right?"
"No. One may approach it, strengthen their bodies and grow resistant to harm, but they can never achieve true immortality. It is not in their nature or that of this world, and nature has little tolerance for change. Over time their power yields to decay. They must continue to feed to retain the specter of permanence."
"Caratacos is old," Finn said, waving it off, "and he's one tough bastard, but he's less than a fart in windstorm against someone like Mab or Oberon."
"Finola!" Miss Gold reprimanded with obvious disgust, and Finn raised a middle finger where we could see it, but my godmother could not.
"Then why don't they stop him?" Becca asked.
Finn made a sour face. "They can't be bothered. Mab doesn't see him as a threat, and Oberon won't start anything that will draw Mab into a fight. There are too many innocent casualties when titans go to war."
"Okay," Katherine spoke finally and pushed herself away from the table. "I've had enough magic class for today. It's time to open your presents." She caught Finn's eye who inclined her head toward the credenza. From within, Katheirne produced a small pile of gifts wrapped so beautifully and expertly that tearing into them would seem like a desecration.
The first package was a pair of tastefully torn jeans and a black tank top from Katherine. "Aces, Kath, thanks."
"Yeah, I could tell you needed another black shirt."
"Shut it."
Amy indicated another, smaller box, and Rachel selected it from the pile. Inside was a selection of chocolate cordials filled with rum. "Complements of my mentor," Amy said with a flourish.
"Fuck that's smooth!" Rachel said, sampling one and savoring it with a low moan of pleasure.
"Yeah, go easy on them, they'll sneak up on you."
"Mine next!" Becca grinned and set an even smaller box in front of her. "I didn't know what to get you, I hope they're okay." After pulling aside the wrapping, Rachel produced a pair of delicate, silver hoop earrings, twined with golden vines and set with tiny emerald leaves.
"These are amazing, thank you," she said, holding them up to the light, then without turning her head, she said, "No."
"What?"
"Kath was about to ask if she could borrow them."
Katherine looked indignant, "I was not!"
"Where did you get these, Becca?"
"Meg made them," Finn answered for her. "She has a knack."
"Brofist later," Rachel said to the black eyed Fae, and to my surprise Meg actually laughed.
"Open Tom's next," Becca continued, fishing a large, rectangular case from the cabinet. I had left the selection of Rachel's gift entirely up to Katherine, and had no idea what it was. Presumably, the Fae had taken care of it as well.
"What is it?" Rachel asked. It wasn't wrapped or decorated the way the others had been. Katherine leaned smugly over her shoulder.
"Open it."
By contrast, the packaging seemed dull, and I immediately regretted leaving it up to Finn and her crew to deliver. It was probably a prank, and I'd end up in the doghouse for a week. I sat across the table as Rachel lifted its hinged lid, which hid both her expression and the case's contents, but I clearly heard the muffled intake of breath that followed. Becca lifted the case aside, and Rachel sat in front of me, eyes locked on the acoustic, six-string guitar in her hands. She sat it down and laid both palms on its surface, staring at it intently as though it was speaking to her. I couldn't get a clear bead on her reaction. She finally looked up with the same lost expression I'd seen in the apartment when I first touched her, the same she gave me outside her dorm.
"Thank you."
"It's really pretty," Becca said, tracing a finger along the intricate knotwork etched into its surface.
"Spruce, rosewood, and black walnut," Amy told her. "Handmade except for the strings." She looked up at Finn. "Roth did this?"
Finn nodded. "He wanted to come to see her reaction, but all things considered we want to limit the amount time males spend around Tom. It's a lot easier to manage a few weak knees than mitigate a brawl."
"It wouldn't have been much of one," Amy said. "Roth's only a couple inches taller than me. You could have just sat on him." Miss Gold's eyes widened indignantly at the suggestion. Finn just laughed.
Meg passed Rachel a hand-made cell phone cover made of wood, exquisitely carved and set with crystals, and told her it would amplify reception significantly. From Miss Gold, she received a Visa gift card. Finally, Finn placed a small, mahogany chest on the table, about the size of a music box.
Rachel was grinning broadly in spite of herself, soaking in the attention, the presents, the cake, and a bottle of draft beer, and motioned for Finn to slide it to her. She caught it, raised the brass latch, and peeked inside.
"Is this your idea of a joke?" She barked and stood up so forcefully her chair toppled over. "I never want to see this fucking thing again!" she slammed the box shut, pushing it toward me with such violence that it struck me in the chest. Her eyes shot daggers at Finn who returned her stare without flinching. Curiosity won out. I opened the box and inside, on a bed of red velvet, was a familiar, black pistol.
"What the hell?" Katherine shouted, her own cheeks reddening on her friend's behalf. "Why would you do this to her?"
Finn leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. "It's what she needs most right now."
"Bullshit!" Rachel's face was livid. "I shot my best friend with that!"
"And that's exactly why you need to take it back."
"Fuck off! Just fuck the hell off!"
Finn casually rested her chin in her hands. "You've let one event redefine who you are, and it's time you came to terms with it, or you're not going to be any use to anyone."
Rachel slapped the table with her palm, "You don't know shit about what I need!"
Instead of snapping back, Finn simply tilted her head, "I don't need to know you to understand what I can see with my own eyes. You're like Tom, terrified of what you've become, but instead of accepting help you've grown harder. Too hard. Your enemies are well armed, and every person in this room can tell within minutes that you're the kind to lead a charge. If that happens before you've learned how to cope with what you've done, you'll break."
Rachel clearly wanted to go off on her again. Instead, she let Katherine pull her back into her seat, and lowered her forehead into her hands.
Finn stepped around the table and plucked the handgun from its box. "I've seen plenty of warriors cast aside their swords after living through the horrors of war, but there are battles still ahead of you. If you refuse to take up arms, you'll end up throwing your life away, and I don't think that'll sit well with your friends."
"You don't get it," Rachel muttered, "none of you do. You can't trust me. I can't even trust myself! Tom's helping as much as he can, but it's not enough to make that son of a bitch disappear, and I'm not going to let him use me again."
Finn nodded, "I understand you more than you think, that's why I gave you a way out. There's a mechanism behind the trigger that's in tune with your ring. Nobody but you can fire it, and then only if you have no doubts about your intentions."
"How does that help her?" I asked.
"Caratacos can make most people do almost anything he asks, but he can't reel Rachel all the way in because of you." She turned back to Rachel. "If you have any doubts about your actions, the trigger lock will engage and the gun won't fire. I'm not going to lie to you. You're unquestionably compromised. But you're not beaten, and together you four are stronger than you think."
"But I..." Rachel began, then clenched her teeth to rein in her temper. Katherine reached out and laid a hand over hers.
"Maybe she's right, Rachel. I know how this makes you feel, and I'm not sure I agree with her, but it doesn't scare me. I never blamed you for what happened. Nobody did, except you."
Finn set Rachel's gun back in the box and closed the lid, then slid it once more toward her. Rachel didn't push it back. "I don't know exactly how strong Caratacos is, but it's possible he can shrug off wounds from small caliber firearms. Beneath the velvet is a box with thirteen rounds, an extra gift from Meg."
"Magic bullets?"
"Sort of," Meg answered, "I mixed a little ash from your hawthorn with the alloy when I poured the slugs. Along with a few runes to direct the flow and it should partially destabilize his aura and counter whatever extra protection he has. It looks good on paper anyway, I've never actually done it before."
"It'll work," Finn said confidently. "Soldiers did something similar to their weapons during the chthonic wars. It's the reason people believe fairies are allergic to iron."
"If it's so effective, why only thirteen?" I asked.
"Because," Meg said levelly, "each one is expensive and takes hours to make, and I don't have the resources of a kingdom to back me up." I sulked, frustrated that I managed to offend her again.
Rachel hesitated another moment then absently flicked the brass latch with her forefinger. "It's gonna take time for me to get my head straight."
"Work on it," Finn said and raised her bottle in a toast.
Becca sat chatting with Meg and Amy at one end of the table while Katherine and Rachel talked to Finn at the other. Miss Gold stood between them in her white, knee length pencil dress and perfectly styled hair, arms folded in stoic apathy. She wasn't quite as tall as Becca, but she radiated the power and authority of an admiral. Nothing about her had changed, it was simply that her demeanor contrasted sharply against the frivolous decor, sugary smells, and boisterous laughter.
I approached her cautiously. "Got a minute?"
"Several, apparently," she replied sternly without looking at me, then appeared to release some of her ire. "I am sorry, Thomas. I am unaccustomed to parties, and I disapprove of Finola's eccentricities, but I promised that I would not spoil the day for Rachel. Ironically, if not surprisingly, it was Finola who obtained my oath, and she who took the greater risk. It is of no consequence. What would you like to discuss?"
"I wanted to know more about my great-grandmother, the lee—" I still couldn't pronounce it.
"Leanan sidhe."
"Right. You seem to know about Fae abilities, I was hoping you could tell me more about hers."
"All you need to know lies within the Glim."
"Yeah, well I still can't read the thing, and Becca is using it to figure out the staff."
The news seemed to surprise her. "It is good that she makes the effort," she said after a pause, "but do not place your faith in the Fferyn. Broken, it was a useful tool, but the staff was created by the first Magi and has never been fully mastered. It is unlikely that a young human with no experience will reveal its secrets."
I sighed, "Don't tell Becca that."
"I will not rob her of hope, Thomas. What is your question?"
"Just—I can sort of feel what's happening, and I can see the results, but everything between is blank, like I'm working with blinders on."
"You are," she said, and as she spoke the tension in her shoulders began to relax. "What you inherited from your grandmother was not meant to function in a narrow space. As you know, access requires trust, and that trust did not come without time and effort."
"Becca said they can force it."
"As a weapon. When you kick down a door, you cannot help but break the frame. You experienced this when you stopped Rachel. Had I not reinforced her psyche she would have perished."
"I almost killed her?"
"Whatever lasting damage she has suffered is not due to your actions. You have done far more to heal her mind since, if only by accepting her."
With effort, I set the distraction aside. "Okay, so when it isn't used as a weapon, how does it work?"
"It is complicated. It amplifies activity in both the brain and the will. With training, one may learn to focus on a single idea, strengthen it, mold it into an obsession."
"That sounds like a geas."
"It is similar, but when you compel with a geas the directive is far more specific. When your grandmother selected a victim, she captured their attention with her beauty, won their trust by encouraging them to purse a great desire, such as painting, music—"
"Why? I mean why those things?"
"It may have been any desire for greatness, but the arts in particular forge an emotional bond, and emotion is far more pliable than thought. By her power they would possess unnatural focus and inspiration. Her kind were the muses of ancient Greece, and under her spell, they would indeed become great."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
Miss Gold ignored me and continued. "Once they were fully open to her, she would encourage that obsession until they could not perceive a difference between their passion for their art and their love for her. Then she devoured their souls."
"You're exaggerating," I insisted, shaking my head, hoping I was right.
"Am I? Like your father, she would conscript their will, use it to strengthen herself as her power gradually destroyed their minds and hearts."
"Why didn't she just kill them?"
"She did, but as you deduced, a living will is much stronger than a dead one, and the longer they lived in thrall to her the stronger she became. Her position was unique among Fae. She did not fear betrayal as many with such power do. She was a goddess of love—and of death."
"Is that what I'm doing to them?" I asked, inclining my head toward the table.
"Set your heart to rest. Your influence is limited as you well know, and I would guess that your control is also lacking."
"That's an understatement."
"You are not imposing yourself on them continually, compelling their worship. The power itself is neither good nor evil, as able to heal as it is to destroy."
"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that."
"Yes, but do not set aside your caution, I did not say it was safe. Neither be afraid of your fear. You are on a narrow, ill defined path. Fear keeps you from wandering too far from it."
"Thanks, Miss Gold," I said, surprised and relieved that she'd been so forthcoming instead of shutting down or dismissing my questions. I thought of another. "Are you ever going to tell me your real name?"
She looked at me without expression, staring straight into my eyes, and for once I didn't look away. "Perhaps," she said, "but not today."
"What was my grandmother's name?"
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason. I mean... everything started with her, right?"
She considered her answer before replying. "Many things began with her betrayal, many others earlier still. Events were set in motion long before she walked in this world."
"I get that, but all of this," I gestured to indicate the island and the river surrounding it, the warehouse, and the people inside, "it's all because of her, isn't it?"
Miss Gold grew still for several seconds, "Yes, Thomas, it is."
I sighed, resigning myself to the shadows behind another secret, but she spoke suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. "What would you do with her name? Would it become a curse on your lips?"
"No," I shook my head.
"Would you confront her if you could, for making you what you are, for damning your lineage and the fate of your friends?"
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "She was a wolf, but she gave up everything for the sheep. I'd ask her why. Why she turned her back on the Winter Court, and why she fell in love with a human when it went against her own rules. I'd ask her what changed her idea of right and wrong and if she ever regretted it. I wish I could have known who she was." Miss Gold remained silent a long time, and once more I thought I'd overplayed the conversation. Once again, I was wrong.
"Orlandria," she said at last.
"What?"
"You wanted her name. It is Orlandria."
I didn't reply. I weighed it in my thoughts for a while as I tried to picture a face that might go with it, someone who might have looked a little like Janet Lane, my mother. It was a small thing. She lived so long ago that I'd never get the chance to meet her, but knowing a little about who she was made her more real to me, more a part of my life.
The small party lasted another hour before the Fae who helped set it up departed, leaving us with a bit of cleanup and happy hearts. Amy had finally finished her project and left with the others. The girls and I were alone again.
The week ended as it began, with little to mark its passing, but at the very end, late Sunday night, my phone rang in the middle of an episode of Bay City Bae. Grateful for any excuse to escape Marco's poorly choreographed fight with Shawn the boat boy, I slipped away to answer it.
"Tom?" came an almost-familiar, feminine voice.
"Yeah."
"Is Katherine there?"
Something like dread cautioned me to secrecy. "Who is this?"
"It's important, is she there?"
"I think you have the wrong number."
"Tom, please don't hang up!" she said in a rush, "It... it's Gloria."
I hesitated. Why would she be calling me? How did she even get my number? "Is everything okay?"
"Um... yeah, it's... I'm fine. I really need to talk to Katherine though, do you know where she is?"
I looked back to the sofa where the three of them laughed quietly at some poorly delivered dialog. "I'm sorry, Gloria. Is there something I can help with?"
"M—maybe. I think I'm in trouble. Someone's been following me. I'm scared."
I cursed silently. Why Gloria? Why now? I could only think of one thing. "Are you sure?"
"No, I—no, but I—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."
"Wait," I said, trying to reassure her, trying to reassure myself. "Are you in any danger? Do you need help?"
"I don't know. I keep seeing—things that shouldn't be there. It sounds stupid to say it out loud."
"Not as much as you'd think. Where are you?"
"Coffee shop off campus."
"Kato's?"
"I'm afraid to go back to the dorm."
I decided on the spot that I had a responsibility to Gloria, especially if my fears were right. If asking her to go to the apartment exposed her to my world it was my fault and she needed protection, and there was only one place I knew of where she'd be safe. The Jeep was still parked on the shore and I quietly retrieved its keys from Rachel's jacket. Caution prevented me from telling anyone I was leaving. They'd insist on coming with me, and I couldn't willingly put them in harm's way.
"Tom? Are you still there?"
"Yeah, Glory, sit tight. I'll come get you."