Bloodfever
Page 45

I had a hard enough time functioning on my tiny little nearsighted human level. So, what youre saying in a nutshell, I distilled, is that for all your superiority and power, youre no smarter or better off than we are. Perhaps worse.
A heartbeat stretched into half a dozen. Then he smiled coolly. Mock me if you will, MacKayla. Ill sit at your deathbed and ask you then if you would rather be me. Where is this human fool that fancies himself master of anything?
1247 LaRuhe. Warehouse behind it. Huge dolmen. He brings them through there. Would you mind squashing it for me?
Your wish, my command. He was gone.
I stared at the empty chaise. Had he really gone to destroy the dolmen through which the Unseelie were being brought? Would he kill the Lord Master, too? Would my vengeance be achieved so anticlimactically? And without me there as witness? I didnt want that. Vlane! I shouted. But there was no reply. He was gone. And I was going to kill him if he killed my sisters killer without me. The dark fever Id caught that first night Id set foot in Dublin had turned into a fever of a different kind: a bloodfeveras in I wanted blood, spilled for my sister. Spilled by my hand. That savage Mac inside me still hadnt found an audible voice, still wasnt speaking with my tongue, but we spoke the same language, she and I, and agreed on critical things.
We would kill my sisters killer together.
Junior? said a soft, lilting voice. A voice Id never expected to hear again.
I shuddered. It had come from my right. I stared out at the waves. I would not look. I was in Faery. Nothing could be trusted.
Junior, come on, Im over here, my sister coaxed, and laughed.
I nearly doubled over from the pain of it. It was exactly Alinas laugh: sweet, pure, full of endless summer and sunshine and the sure knowledge that her life was charmed.
I heard the slap of a palm on a volleyball. Baby Mac, lets play. Its a perfect day. I brought the beer. Did you get the limes from the bar?
My name is MacKayla Evelina Lane. Hers is Alina MacKenna Lane. I was Junior on two levels. Sometimes shed called me Baby Mac. I used to pilfer limes from the condiment tray at The Brickyard on Saturdays. Cheap, I know. I never wanted to grow up.
Tears burned my eyes. I gulped deep breaths and forced air in and out of my lungs. I fisted my hands. I shook my head. I stared out at the sea. She was not there. I did not hear the thud of a ball hitting sand. I did not smell Beautiful perfume on the breeze.
The sands perfect, Junior. Its powder. Come on! Tommys coming today, she teased. Id had a crush on Tommy for years. He was dating one of my best friends so I pretended I couldnt stand him, but Alina knew.
Dont look,dont look. There are ghosts and there are worse things than ghosts.
I looked.
Behind the volleyball net, buffeted by a gentle tropical breeze, my sister stood, smiling, waiting to play. She was wearing her favorite neon lime bikini, and her blond hair was pulled back in a bouncy ponytail through the flap of the faded Ron Juan ball cap shed gotten in Key West on spring break two years ago.
I began to cry.
Alina looked stricken. Mac, honey, whats wrong? She dropped the volleyball, ducked under the net, and hurried across the sand to me. What is it? Did somebody hurt you? Ill kick their frogging petunias. Tell me who. What did they do?
My tears turned into sobs. I stared up at my sister, trembling from the violence of my grief.
She dropped to her knees next to me. Mac, youre killing me. Talk to me. Whats wrong? Her arms went around me, and I was crying against her neck, lost in a cloud of peach shampoo, Beautiful perfume, Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil, and the bubble gum shed always chewed on the beach to hide the smell of beer on her breath from Mom.
I could feel her warmth, the silkiness of her skin.
I was touching her.
I buried my fingers in her ponytail and sobbed.
I missed her hair. I missed mine. I missed her. I missed me.
Tell me who did this to you, she said, and she was crying, too. Wed never been able to stand each others tears. Wed always ended up crying with each other. Then made pacts that we would stand up for each other forever, take care of each other forever. Pacts that I now knew wed started making when she was three and I was one, and wed been left in a world that wasnt oursto hide us, Id begun to suspect.
Is it really you, Alina?
Look at me, Junior. She pulled away, and used one of the towels to dry my tears, then dried her own. Its me. Its really me. Look, Im here. God, Ive missed you! She laughed again and this time I laughed with her.
When you lose someone you love abruptly, without warning, you dream of getting the chance to see them, just one more time, please God, one more time again. Every night after her funeral Id lay awake in my bedroom, down the hall from hers, and call good night, even though I knew it would never be answered again.
Id lay there clutching photographs, re-creating her face in my mind in exacting detail, as ifif I got it exactly perfectly rightI could take it into my dreams, and use it as a road map to lead me to her.
Some nights, I couldnt see her face and I cried, begged her to come back. I offered all kinds of deals to GodHe doesnt make them, by the way. In my despair, I offered deals to anyone or anything that would listen.