You are manipulative, cynical, and base.
Guilty as charged.
Life is not as you see it. You dont know anything about love.
I am intimately acquainted with the vagaries of fate in times of war. Theyve been my worst and best centuries.
That is not love.
I didnt say it was. He flashes a smile, white teeth gleaming in shadow. I prefer war. The colors run more brilliant; food and drink are more rare, and the sweeter for it. People are so much more interesting. More alive.
And more dead, I say sharply. We lost nearly half the world and you find it interesting? You are a pig. Barbaric and cruel. I turn away. I have had enough. If this is his price then I am free to go. There is nothing more I owe him. He has already taken it all.
I move for the door.
You must tell him, Katarina. If you are to have any hope at all.
I stop. He cannot know. There is no way that he could know. Tell who, what?
Sean. About Cruce. You must tell him.
I whirl, hand fluttering to my throat. What in Gods name are you talking about?
I search his eyes and I see there that somehow he knows my deepest shame. They hold a secret smile and a certain amused resignation. As if he has watched humanitys idiocies play out in front of him so many times that they have begun to not pain but perhaps perturb him. As if he wearies of watching the rats in the maze run into the same walls over and over. I expand my empath gift, I push with all Ive got, and still I cant even sense that he is in the room with me. There is nothing where he stands.
If you dont tell Sean that Cruce is fucking you while you sleep, it will destroy what you have with him more certainly than any job in my club could. That, down therehe points to Sean serving a drink to a pretty, nearly naked Seelieis a bump in the road, a test of temptation and fidelity. If your Sean loves you, he will pass it with flying colors. Cruce is a test of your fucking soul.
I dont bother arguing with him. He knows. Somehow he knows. Perhaps he can read thoughts like I read emotions. It is a terrifying idea. Why cant I feel you?
Perhaps the lack is not mine. Perhaps it is within you.
No. Of this I am certain. Theres something wrong with you.
Again he flashes that smile. Or something right.
Perhaps I take the cowards way. Perhaps I take the honorable path. I cannot decide. My head is a muddle. But I give the Tuxedo Club wide berth and pull up the hood of my cloak. I do not confront my Sean as I leave. If he tells me, we will discuss it. If he does not, we will not. I tell myself I am respecting his boundaries, preserving his dignity. This is where he will be instead of in my bed in coming nights.
The price of saving my abbey is a piece of my heart and the lions share of my spine. That is what Ryodancalled due.
My Sean will face temptation alone every night at Chesters, and I will face it alone at the abbey, in my bed.
This is not a world I ever wanted to know.
TWENTY-NINE
In the white room
One night when Mac and me were killing Unseelie back-to-back, she had a kind of meltdown and started crying and yelling while she sliced and diced. She said that she was going to send them all straight back to hell because they stole everything from her that mattered. She said she used to know her sister, everything about her, and that was where love was, in the knowing and sharing, but it turned out Alina had a boyfriend shed never mentioned and a whole other life she knew nothing about, and not only didnt Alina love her, her entire existence to date had been one great big fat lie. Her parents werent her parents, her sister probably wasnt her sister, nobody was what they seemed, not even her.
In Rowenas stash of journals chronicling her nasty, evil reign, I found Macs sisters diary. I have over four hundred journals locked away with the Grand Mistresses emblem emblazoned on dark green kidskin leather. She was eighty-eight when she died, though she didnt look a day over sixty. She had a Fae shed been nibbling on for decades locked in a vault beneath the abbey. I killed it when I found out about it.
When I discovered Alinas diary, I tore out pages and got them to Mac on the sly, trying to make up for silencing her sisters voice and show her shed meant everything in the world to Alina.
Why the feck are we here? I say crossly. I wouldnt even be thinking about Mac if we werent. Christians been sifting me around the city, helping me plaster my Dailies on lampposts. I been letting him touch my pinky finger to do it. He keeps trying to put his arms around me. His last sift deposited us catty-corner to Barrons Books & Baubles, with the street between us.
I feel like puking.
I aint been here since the night Mac found out the truth about me. The night she baked me a cake and painted my fingernails and saved me from the Gray Woman, only to end up ready to kill me herself a few minutes later.
In the middle of a ruined city, Barrons Books & Baubles stands untouched. I think a silent benediction: May it always. Theres something about this place. As if its mere existence means the world will always have hope. I cant explain why I feel that way but all the folks I know that have ever visited it, all the other sidhe-seers, feel the same. Theres something different, something extraordinary on this island, in this city, on this street, in this precise spot. It feels almost like once, a very long ago time, something terrible nearly happened here at this longitude and latitude, and somebody put BB&B on the gash to keep the possibility from ever occurring again. As long as the walls stand and the place is manned, were okay. I snicker, picturing it looking just like it does right here and now, in prehistoric times. It doesnt seem so improbable.
Guilty as charged.
Life is not as you see it. You dont know anything about love.
I am intimately acquainted with the vagaries of fate in times of war. Theyve been my worst and best centuries.
That is not love.
I didnt say it was. He flashes a smile, white teeth gleaming in shadow. I prefer war. The colors run more brilliant; food and drink are more rare, and the sweeter for it. People are so much more interesting. More alive.
And more dead, I say sharply. We lost nearly half the world and you find it interesting? You are a pig. Barbaric and cruel. I turn away. I have had enough. If this is his price then I am free to go. There is nothing more I owe him. He has already taken it all.
I move for the door.
You must tell him, Katarina. If you are to have any hope at all.
I stop. He cannot know. There is no way that he could know. Tell who, what?
Sean. About Cruce. You must tell him.
I whirl, hand fluttering to my throat. What in Gods name are you talking about?
I search his eyes and I see there that somehow he knows my deepest shame. They hold a secret smile and a certain amused resignation. As if he has watched humanitys idiocies play out in front of him so many times that they have begun to not pain but perhaps perturb him. As if he wearies of watching the rats in the maze run into the same walls over and over. I expand my empath gift, I push with all Ive got, and still I cant even sense that he is in the room with me. There is nothing where he stands.
If you dont tell Sean that Cruce is fucking you while you sleep, it will destroy what you have with him more certainly than any job in my club could. That, down therehe points to Sean serving a drink to a pretty, nearly naked Seelieis a bump in the road, a test of temptation and fidelity. If your Sean loves you, he will pass it with flying colors. Cruce is a test of your fucking soul.
I dont bother arguing with him. He knows. Somehow he knows. Perhaps he can read thoughts like I read emotions. It is a terrifying idea. Why cant I feel you?
Perhaps the lack is not mine. Perhaps it is within you.
No. Of this I am certain. Theres something wrong with you.
Again he flashes that smile. Or something right.
Perhaps I take the cowards way. Perhaps I take the honorable path. I cannot decide. My head is a muddle. But I give the Tuxedo Club wide berth and pull up the hood of my cloak. I do not confront my Sean as I leave. If he tells me, we will discuss it. If he does not, we will not. I tell myself I am respecting his boundaries, preserving his dignity. This is where he will be instead of in my bed in coming nights.
The price of saving my abbey is a piece of my heart and the lions share of my spine. That is what Ryodancalled due.
My Sean will face temptation alone every night at Chesters, and I will face it alone at the abbey, in my bed.
This is not a world I ever wanted to know.
TWENTY-NINE
In the white room
One night when Mac and me were killing Unseelie back-to-back, she had a kind of meltdown and started crying and yelling while she sliced and diced. She said that she was going to send them all straight back to hell because they stole everything from her that mattered. She said she used to know her sister, everything about her, and that was where love was, in the knowing and sharing, but it turned out Alina had a boyfriend shed never mentioned and a whole other life she knew nothing about, and not only didnt Alina love her, her entire existence to date had been one great big fat lie. Her parents werent her parents, her sister probably wasnt her sister, nobody was what they seemed, not even her.
In Rowenas stash of journals chronicling her nasty, evil reign, I found Macs sisters diary. I have over four hundred journals locked away with the Grand Mistresses emblem emblazoned on dark green kidskin leather. She was eighty-eight when she died, though she didnt look a day over sixty. She had a Fae shed been nibbling on for decades locked in a vault beneath the abbey. I killed it when I found out about it.
When I discovered Alinas diary, I tore out pages and got them to Mac on the sly, trying to make up for silencing her sisters voice and show her shed meant everything in the world to Alina.
Why the feck are we here? I say crossly. I wouldnt even be thinking about Mac if we werent. Christians been sifting me around the city, helping me plaster my Dailies on lampposts. I been letting him touch my pinky finger to do it. He keeps trying to put his arms around me. His last sift deposited us catty-corner to Barrons Books & Baubles, with the street between us.
I feel like puking.
I aint been here since the night Mac found out the truth about me. The night she baked me a cake and painted my fingernails and saved me from the Gray Woman, only to end up ready to kill me herself a few minutes later.
In the middle of a ruined city, Barrons Books & Baubles stands untouched. I think a silent benediction: May it always. Theres something about this place. As if its mere existence means the world will always have hope. I cant explain why I feel that way but all the folks I know that have ever visited it, all the other sidhe-seers, feel the same. Theres something different, something extraordinary on this island, in this city, on this street, in this precise spot. It feels almost like once, a very long ago time, something terrible nearly happened here at this longitude and latitude, and somebody put BB&B on the gash to keep the possibility from ever occurring again. As long as the walls stand and the place is manned, were okay. I snicker, picturing it looking just like it does right here and now, in prehistoric times. It doesnt seem so improbable.
