Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception

My stomach flipped. It took more effort than I imagined to force my feet to stay on the steps. “Is it safe for me to go with you?”

His face was unreadable, a mask to me, and he sighed. “Probably not.”

I sighed, too, and then I joined him at the base of the steps and held out my hand. Luke looked at my outstretched fingers for a moment, and then up at my face.

“You did hear me say probably not, right?”

I nodded. “I don’t care. I’ll go with you.” I was going to stop there, but the words tumbled out. “Isn’t that what you do? Tangle me up so I don’t know which way I’m going and then steal me away?”

He stared at me.

The silence forced words out of me. “Granna told me what you are.”

He stared for another long moment, and when the words came out, they were forced. “What—am—I?”

I almost said “faerie,” but I remembered and swallowed the word. “One of Them. She’d seen you before. That’s why she hates you. She’s making something to keep you away from me.” The words were falling out; I couldn’t seem to shut up.

Luke’s body had gone completely stiff and his voice was tight. “You think I’m one of Them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t care what you are.” I stepped back, biting my lip. I’d just tipped every bit of emotion out of the box that I, as a Monaghan woman, was supposed to keep locked away.

Luke’s hands were tight fists by his sides. “I’m not one of Them.”

“Then what are you?”

“I can’t tell you. Or anyone. I could sooner fly.”

Inspiration blossomed, sudden and brilliant. “You can,” I said.

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Let me try and read your mind.” It was such a simple, perfect idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? In my head, I saw the image of me shimmering out of James’ mind. If I could see that by focusing for one second on his eyes, how much more could I do if I really tried?

I could see the resistance on his face. If he really was what Granna said, he would never agree. Maybe he wasn’t what Granna said, and he would refuse anyway. I wasn’t sure I would want my mind read, and I didn’t have anything to hide.

Luke looked into the mist again, and then closed the distance between us, his voice low. “You can do that?”

“I think so. I sort of did earlier today.”

He chewed his lower lip. It was endearing, like a little kid trying to make a decision. “I don’t know. It’s so—”

“Private?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do it. But not here. Someplace safer.”

The mood had changed; suddenly we were on the same side again. I looked out into the slanting blue light, wondering who or what we had to be safe from now. And what counted as a safer place. Surely he didn’t mean to drive to the city again. Maybe a church? The nearest church was ten minutes away if we drove.

“There’s a cemetery near here, isn’t there?” Luke’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I thought I saw one.”

I nodded. “Do you mean the one just behind our house? The old one with the big monument?”

“It’s got an iron fence around it, doesn’t it?”

I frowned. “But no gate.”

“Doesn’t matter. They can’t go underneath an iron archway. It’s got one of those, hasn’t it?” He pressed his fist to his forehead. “God, I can’t believe I’m doing this. You don’t know how stupid this is for me.” He unclenched the fist and held his hand out to me. I took it and he clutched it tightly. “Dumb as dumb.”

Together, we walked through the back yard, into the silvered trees, and down the worn deer trail that led to the cemetery. Around us, the air glowed and moved, changing and swirling, touching us with invisible cold hands, hanging in the trees like gauze, glimmering on the leaves like precious jewels. There was nothing human in this night but me and Luke, holding tightly to each other’s hands, surrounded by magic thick enough to touch.

I felt watched.

Luke never let go of my hand, but he never let down his guard, either. Everything in his posture indicated tension; watchful power wound tight enough to snap. After seeing what he’d done to that cat, it was hard to imagine the enemy that would be able to overcome him. Unless he was the enemy.

The iron archway of the old cemetery appeared abruptly among the periwinkle trees, and Luke pushed me through it quickly, jumping in after me as if just barely escaping grasping jaws. I looked back through the archway and blinked as a barely glimpsed shadow passed beyond the arch and disappeared into the mist. Slow goose bumps rose on my arms. I thought about asking Luke what he thought the shadow might have been, but I didn’t really want to know. It was easier to be brave without knowing.

“Inside?” I suggested, barely whispering. Luke followed my gaze over to the massive marble monument in the center of the cemetery and nodded. We picked our way between headstones and tall gray sycamores, the dead listening as our feet walked across them. I had never thought that I would feel safer inside a cemetery than outside.

The monument towered before us; icy white in the mist. It was like a three-sided tomb, and inside was a statue of a man cradling a child. They too were icy white marble, larger than life, frozen solid in a dark blue sea. I scrambled into the monument without pause, feeling safer in its shadows, and Luke followed me.

I sat in the far corner, the marble wall cold against my back, and watched Luke take a handful of nails from his pocket. He laid them carefully in a straight line across the mouth of the monument, all pointing in the same slanted direction, before sitting in the opposite corner from me.

“Why?” I asked.

“The direction of the gate. The nails will move if someone tries to come through by force. If They come through such a narrow hole, their—essence—will push the ends around.”

I stared at the nails, unmoving on the marble. “I thought you said They couldn’t go under the archway.”

Luke’s face was pale. “Most of Them.”

I didn’t want to think about that. I whispered, “Do you still want to do this?”

He jerked his chin in another nod. “What do I have to do?”

I bit my lip, feeling suddenly doubtful. What if I’d been wrong about what happened at the Sticky Pig? Maybe I couldn’t really read minds. Maybe it had been a delusion. Maybe we’d braved a midnight journey with something following us just to sit in a cold marble tomb and stare at each other.