Мэгги Стифватер - Lament

"Music! Yes! She wants music!" One of the faeries began to clap its hands and stomp its foot, hard and rhythmic, and another began to make a low, melodic sound halfway between humming and babbling. The third began to sing, voice brash and suggestive, in a language I didn't understand. But I knew the language of their music: it was a double jig. I began to step dance in the middle of the faerie ring, careful not to crush their mushrooms with my dirty bare feet. I like to think I gave them a good show, too; I clapped my hands and spun and step danced, crazy like Una would step dance. I was a bit out of breath when I stopped.

"You outshine the moon," one of them said. "Will you live with us?"

I shook my head. "No. I'll sing you a tune, though. A short one. Would you like me to?"

"Yes! Yes! She sings for us!" They clapped, delighted, and took their places near me in the circle. I didn't know any songs quite as rowdy as theirs, but I sang them "Brian Boru's March," which was fast, driving, and minor. They hooted as they recognized the tune, and then they began to dance together. Their steps were tightly wound and practiced, and they moved as one entity, spinning around each other and clapping each other's hands at the end of each twirl. I didn't think I'd ever seen anybody so happy to be dancing. When I'd finished, the faeries clapped and hugged each other delightedly. They were still half-dancing, even though the music had stopped.

"I would like to give you something," said one.

"Is it something I want?" I asked suspiciously. They all laughed at my voice, and I laughed too--I think they liked me.

"Let me whisper it in your ear."

I frowned, unsure if I should trust them. Finally I crouched, letting the faerie step up to my ear. I smelled a sweet, flowery scent, as pleasant as a summer day, and then the faerie whispered, "O'Brien."

The other faeries shrieked, covering their mouths with their hands as if the faerie had said something really scandalous. "Oh ho ho, thou shalt burn for that!"

The whispering faerie giggled at my puzzled expression. "She doesn't know what it is."

I raised an eyebrow. "It's a name."

They shrieked again and clasped their arms around each other, spinning. The faerie who had whispered it to me looked at me, biting its lip. Its eyes gleamed with a wickedly mischievous smile. "You won't forget it, will you, girl?"

"No more than you will, imp," I told it.

They all fell down, chortling in the mushroom circle, helpless with laughter. They reminded me of the pack of junior high kids I'd found smoking dope behind the gym once. I smiled tolerantly at them. "I have to go now. I have to save my friend." They were still giggling, but I tried asking anyway. "Do you know where he is?"

"The bloody one?" asked one of the faeries. "Or your lover?" It pointed at its privates, and I rolled my eyes. Definitely like the junior high kids.

"Either."

"At the beginning," said the one who'd whispered "O'Brien." "It finishes at the beginning." "Very cryptic. Thanks."

They just laughed. "Will you dance with us again, girl?" "If I live, I'll pencil it in," I promised.

The summer night was alive with music. I heard strains of a hundred different songs from a hundred different directions as I made the hurried walk back to my parents' house. All around me, I saw glowing beacons of light in the darkness, faeries illuminating the night by means mysterious. Though I was certain I was being watched, I wasn't approached by any other faeries before I padded up the driveway.

Ouch, dammit. My bare feet were killing me. The run from the hounds had really done a number on them, and walking back to the house hadn't helped. Then I froze, in the shadows. Delia's car was still parked on the road in front of the house, and my parents' bedroom light was on. I wondered what poison she'd poured into my parents' ears about my absence.

I momentarily battled between my desire to get my shoes from the house and my fear of encountering Delia. I thought back to what the little faerie had told me about finishing at the beginning. There were countless ways I could interpret the statement, but I knew what I thought of as the beginning. The high school, where I'd met Luke. And if I was to walk there sometime tonight, I had to have shoes. End of story.

I crept up to the kitchen door and tried the knob; unlocked. I felt a pang of guilt. My mom had probably left it open in case I came back without a key. But there was no way I could tell them I was all right and still be able to search for Luke and James.

Inside the dark kitchen, I waited by the door until my eyes adjusted to the dim green light from the glowing clock numbers on the microwave. My shoes were in the same jumble I'd left them in when I'd returned from searching with Sara; I pulled them on over my bare feet as I scanned the room. I had half an idea that Delia might be sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, ready to pounce.

I squinted over at the breakfast table, making sure it was unoccupied.

Delia wasn't there, but her purse was. A wicked idea popped into my head. It only took me a few minutes to rummage through for her keys. I clutched them so that they wouldn't jingle, grabbed a handful of Mom's apple mini-muffins, and stole back into the night, my heart pounding with daring.

I glanced back at the house to make sure I wasn't being watched, and then let myself into Delia's car. It stank of her perfume, which was as obnoxious as she was. And then I saw the mostly empty jar of Granna's concoction, sitting on her passenger seat.

Bitch. I ought to wreck this car when I was done with it.

I stuck the key in the ignition and imagined a heavy blanket covering the car, muffling the outside world. "Quiet, now," I mumbled, and turned the key. Soft as a whisper, the engine came to life. With another quick glance at the house to make sure they hadn't heard the car start, I pulled away from the curb.

This is ten different kinds of illegal.

I stuffed a muffin in my mouth to give me some courage.

Once I was away from the house, I flicked on the headlights and headed toward the school. Delia had left one of her own albums in the CD player, so I hit buttons and whirled knobs until I found a rock station. I needed the pounding bass and growling guitar to give me courage. Cramming another muffin in my mouth, I started to focus a little better; I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

What I needed to do was prioritize. If you took out the supernatural homicide bits, this was just a problem like any other I'd faced: a super-hard school project, a tune that refused to be tamed, a musical technique that twisted my fingers. I'd tackled all those before by breaking them down into little bits.

Okay. So I knew I had to confront the Queen. What did I know about her? Nothing--except that she was both like me and like a faerie from living among them for so long. So I could pretty much abandon any idea of appealing to her emotions. Maybe I could appeal to her human nature, if she had any left. Hell if I knew how to do that. I jammed another muffin into my mouth.

As I pulled into the short access road that led to the empty high school parking lot, I saw a fire twisting high and wild at the base of one of the streetlights. In the flickering orange light, a massive black animal bellowed and charged as tall, whip-like men with horns tormented it, tossing glowing hot embers at its sides and face with their bare hands. I could almost feel the thinness of the veil between my world and Faerie--in my head, I could imagine it crackling, paper-thin and fragile.

I slowed the car. The whole stupid thing was right in front of me; I was going to have to get out and do something about it in order to get to the high school. I addressed a silent prayer to the skies: I'm an idiot. Please don't let me die for the sake of a black cow-thing.

I jumped. A glowing ember had smacked the windshield of my car, burning a black spot on the hood before sliding out of sight. I almost swore again, before remembering it was Delia's car.

Outside, the whip men laughed before turning back to their torture; they thought they were playing a prank on someone who couldn't see them.

I grabbed the jar from the passenger seat, opened the door and got out to face them. I'm brave. I remembered an episode that happened when I was thirteen or so, when I found one of the neighborhood boys piling dirt on an injured bird and watching it struggle beneath the dust. I had just stood for a long moment, trying to think what to say to stop him, frustrated by my shyness and by the boy's cruelty. Then James had appeared at my shoulder and said to the boy, "Do you think that's the best way to be spending your admittedly miserable life?"

I took strength from the memory and adopted my Ice Queen posture. My voice oozed contempt. "Having a nice Solstice?"

The whip men's heads turned to look at me. Their narrow bodies were black as tar and seemed to absorb the firelight instead of reflecting it. The giant bull, on the other hand, was pale dun beneath the ash that covered his coat, and I saw panic and rage in his liquid eyes.

"The cloverhand," hissed one. The voice was the same I'd overhead talking to Luke; many voices all rolled into one. "She is the cloverhand."

"That's me," I agreed, still standing next to the car. I was scared snotless, but I stood perfectly straight. "I'd think there'd be better things for you to do, on this night of all nights."

One of the whip men turned to me, his mouth curving into a smile. With a jolt, I realized he had no eyes beneath his brow--just empty hollows, with smooth skin in the shadows. The others looked at him, also without eyes, as he spoke. "Truth, cloverhand. I can tell the truth when I hear it. Can we do you on this night of all nights?"

"Go to hell."

After I said it, I thought it might be a bit redundant, since they looked like devils already. But the whip man said, his voice grating in a thousand whispers, "Hell is for those with souls."

Another, equally tall and with too many joints in his spine, said, "Come to our fire, tell us what you want of us. Make us a trade: the tarbh uisge's body"--he gestured to the massive dun bull--"for yours?"

I unscrewed the lid of the jar. "I have a better idea. How about, the bull goes free or all your fun stops for the night?"

The whip man who had suggested "doing" me approached; his walk was all wrong, and it sent a shiver through my body. "That does not sound like a truth to me, cloverhand."

I scooped out a warm handful of the green muck in the jar, trying not to think about just how nasty it felt (exactly like picking up a handful of fresh dog crap), and hurled it onto the faerie.

For a moment there was nothing, and I thought Granna, you let me down. But then he began to sigh. His breath went out and out and out, and then he just fell to the parking lot, still breathing out, until he was empty.

I'd thought I might feel bad, but I just felt intense relief.

I held the jar out toward the others. "Not much left, but probably enough for each of you. Let it go."

One of them hissed, "I don't think you want to see the tarbh uisge freed. He will bear you down into the water and your salve will not help you there."

I looked at the wide eye of the bull as its massive body trembled, lit both by the bonfire and the green-gray light of the streetlight overhead. It didn't belong here; it was a remnant of another time and another place, and I saw its fear of the present weeping from every pore.