She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (12 page)

The scene with Dogwood and the man with strange eyes also seemed quite important, and she hoped the details of the clothing would help them all to date the conversation.  She then quickly sketched the cell phone vision and the scenes of random violence, focusing on the faces of the victims in case any of them were identifiable.

Finally, she turned her attention to the vision of Marisha.  This one had such obvious emotional significance for William and his family, she wanted to get things exactly right.  She did one sketch focusing on the clothing, again for the purpose of dating the scene.  Then she did a series of drawings focusing on facial expressions and body language. 

She was frustrated that she hadn’t heard more of what was going on in the conversations, but she did her best with what she had.  By the time she looked up from her final drawing, the night was half gone.  Every cell in her body was exhausted, yet she feared going to sleep, sure that given recent events, she would be woken by visions every hour.  Nevertheless, she had to try to get some rest.  She organized her drawings in the binder and moved to one of the couches to await her companions.  Someone had left an afghan draped over the back of the sofa.  November curled up and lay down, struggling to find a position that didn't hurt, then pulling the blanket over herself.  She was asleep as soon as her head came to rest on a throw pillow.

As she expected, her sleep was troubled.  Flashes of her mother’s murder interlaced with scenes of Dogwood’s depravity and her own memories of that evening’s attack.  She had long ago trained herself not the scream in her sleep, but tonight it was a very near thing.  Whimpers of fear escaped her throat as she relived her recent traumas, and she woke up to William gently shaking her by the shoulders.  The blanket was tangled in her limbs, evidence of her desperate thrashing as her churning mind had thwarted her attempt at rest.

“Are you unwell?” Savita asked, kneeling beside her.

“Bad dreams,” November answered.  “To be expected after the last few days I’ve had.  I didn’t scream, did I?” she asked, embarrassed.

“No,” William replied. “But you sounded . . . distressed.”

“Did you get anything useful from Dogwood?” November asked, sitting up straight.

“Indeed we did, with your help,” Savita answered without revealing anything more.

“I meant to ask you, did you find any personal items on Dogwood when you searched him?  Jewelry, or anything like that?  It could be useful for me later,” November inquired, not that she had any desire to romp through Dogwood’s past any further.

“Yes, actually,” William replied.  “He had a necklace.  We’ll save it, of course.  We also sent someone to retrieve his vehicle.  Perhaps the phone will still be in it, since it wasn’t on his person.”

“Can I ask, how long are you going to keep him here?” November ventured.  It made her nervous, having him so close.  On the other hand, she felt guilty for hoping for someone to be killed, however much the creature deserved his fate.

“A few days, most likely.  We want to get as much information as possible, but I don’t like keeping prisoners indefinitely.  It invites trouble.  He is not protesting innocence, so there will be no delay for trial before the penalty of death is administered.  Hopefully Pine will be well enough to strike the blow himself,” William answered.  “Don’t worry.  He will be carefully guarded.  You are in no danger.”  William checked his watch.  “It is nearly dawn.  You should go to bed.  I’m afraid we’re pushing you much too hard.  The nosebleed concerns me.  We can study and discuss your drawings this evening.”

“They’re in a binder on the desk,” she said, standing to head upstairs.  “I could definitely use some rest.  I’d love to have a few days with nothing traumatic happening, just to recover and work and get used to living here.”

“I shall do my best to give you that respite,” William promised.

November hesitated, painfully self-conscious about what she was about to ask.  “Speaking of sleep, as you’ve just seen, I have trouble sleeping soundly.  But the other night, after you bit me, I slept like a baby.  No dreams or visions at all.  I know the doctor said not to, but I’m just so tired, so I was wondering if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I mean, would you mind, um –.”  Before she could finish the request, William had her pressed against the wall, his hand cradling her head and his fangs at her throat.

“Ready?” he said softly.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, breathless.  She gasped as he bit, relaxing against his arm and the wall as he swallowed her blood.  Savita looked slightly concerned.

“Will that do?” William asked as he pressed another handkerchief against her neck.

“Yes,” she squeaked, suppressing the part of her that suddenly wanted more.  “Thanks.  I, um, guess I’ll see you later then,” she said awkwardly as she ducked under his arm and escaped out the door.  She walked as quickly as she could manage toward her room, trying to ignore the strange feeling in her stomach.  She suspected that she’d enjoyed that rather more than was appropriate.  She refused to consider the possibility that she was falling for William, so she put it out of her mind.  There was way too much going on for shenanigans like that.  And then there was Ben – he was being awfully solicitous all of the sudden.  And he was beautiful, and more age-appropriate.  Cursing herself for having hormones, she dragged herself up the stairs and down the hall.

She walked past Pine’s bedroom on the way to her own.  The door was open, so she peered in to see how he was doing.  Birch, Rose, Zinnia, and Willow were standing vigil around his bed.  He was still unconscious but didn’t look any worse than he had when they’d taken him out of the car.  Rose looked like she’d been crying.  Her white silk handkerchief was stained with tears the same champagne color as her hair.  Apparently those violet eyes were contact lenses.  Birch was holding her hand, their fingers tightly intertwined with love and anxiety.

“It’ll be dawn in half an hour, and then we can heal him,” Birch said. 

“We would have lost our son if it weren’t for you,” Rose said, smiling at November through her tears. 

“He wouldn’t have even been attacked in the first place if it weren’t for me.  I’m glad I was able to help him,” she said.  “I’m so relieved that he’s going to be okay.”

“We were there in service of our house,” Willow replied. “None of this is your fault.  Lord William brought you here, remember?”

“Thanks, Willow . . . I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said.  “I’ll see you all after I get some sleep.”  Zinnia gave her a gentle hug before November slipped out the door.

She headed straight for bed, barely mustering up the energy to take off her jeans.  She left the blouse on, knowing that it would be impossible for her to get into her nightgown on her own.  Her pain was catching up with her, so she took one of the pills the doctor had left and curled up in her warm bed, falling quickly into a blissfully quiet sleep. 

The sun was already low in the sky by the time November opened her eyes.  She glanced at the clock and realized that she’d slept nearly 13 hours solid.  Sitting up to stretch, she was forcibly reminded of her injuries.  She ached everywhere and felt so stiff that she could barely move.  She took a deep breath for which she was immediately punished as pain stabbed through both sides of her chest.  November gingerly made her way to the shower, hoping the hot water would loosen her battered limbs.  Being clean did at least lift her spirits.

She ate an improvised breakfast while dressed in her bathrobe.  Leftover pizza seemed appropriate given that it was only an hour or so before sunset.  She somehow managed to get dressed, very slowly.  She chose a skirt and a pretty blouse that looked easy to put on.  Slip-on flats were her only option for shoes, as she couldn’t bend over to tie or fasten anything.  She pulled on some gloves that almost matched.  At least they were clean, which had often not been the case in her previous life.

She looked in the mirror that she’d been avoiding and winced at her battered appearance.  She looked worse than her mother ever had after even her worst night.  Her face was a mess of bruises.  She tried to make her hair at least presentable.  She found a trove of makeup in the bathroom and considered trying to cover the injuries, but with her lack of experience with cosmetics, that seemed to be a losing proposition.  She did put on some lipstick, for probably the first time in her life, then laughed at herself for thinking that anyone would notice her lips when most of her face was purple and swollen.  Still, the gesture somehow made her feel a little better.  The sooner she could find a fairy miracle worker, the better.

She walked bravely over to the door and hesitated, mentally crossing her fingers as she reached her hand out to touch the knob.  It turned easily in her hand and opened to reveal the hallway.  November smiled.  That was one victory, at least.  Someone had removed the locks while she’d been sleeping.  She looked down and found a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the floor in front of the door.  Someone had scrawled a note in the corner: “If you get bored . . . Thanks, Greg.”

November burst out laughing and was punished again by her broken ribs.  No longer feeling such a prisoner, she went looking for a fairy to put her body back in working order.  She found Zinnia, Pine, and Willow in the game room.

“Pine!  You’re better,” she cried in relief.  To her immense surprise and discomfort, the fairy in question hurried over and knelt at her feet.

“To you do I owe my life, and to you do I pledge my friendship and service,” he said solemnly, looking up into her startled face.  November’s eyebrows shot up high enough to hit her hairline.

Catching her reaction, Willow explained, “It is our way, when one’s life is saved by another.  If you’re ever in trouble, he is honor bound to do his best to help you.  You look really alarmed,” she said, laughing.  “It’s okay.  It’s just how we roll.”

“Okay, um, thanks,” November replied, reaching down to take Pine’s hand as he stood.  “I could certainly use a friend, never having had many,” she said with a little smile.  She was worried that maybe Pine resented being saved by a little human weakling, but she didn’t see any evidence for that in his face.  “Speaking of which,” she said, pointing to the green and purple bruises on her face, “Can someone do something about this?”

“Of course,” Willow replied, gesturing for her to lie down on the couch.

“This will take longer than your arm, Em.  It might feel rather strange.  And of course, I suppose you’ll see things,” Zinnia said.

“Don’t sugar coat it.  You should warn her that it will hurt a great deal,” Pine said seriously.  “Nothing comes free.”  November nodded, grateful for the warning. “Regrettably, I’ll have to sit this one out.  Still on the mend.”  He sat in an armchair across from the couch.

November stretched out with a little help, and the two women knelt next to her. 

“Ready?” Willow asked.

November nodded nervously, and the two of them placed their hands on her, closing their eyes in concentration.  She suddenly felt very warm.  Her skin burned uncomfortably, especially in the places where she had been wounded.  Fragments of visions began to swirl around her.  November didn’t want to pry, though she was quite curious about her new friends, but as the pain of healing increased, she yearned for a distraction.  Finally, temptation got the better of her, and she reached out for one of the fragments. 

A very young Willow hides inside a hollow tree in the dark of night, curled up as small as she can make herself, shaking with fear, covering her ears, surrounded by carnage.  Injured and dying fairies bleed light.  One by one, they disappear in blinding flashes while huge wolves howl in triumph. 

November felt horror-struck and a bit guilty about spying on such an awful tragedy.  No wonder Willow was so tough, having survived something like that.  Wary and chastened, she tried to ignore the events piling up around her as her friends worked their healing magic.  She attempted to focus on her breathing as her wounds knit painfully together, but it was difficult.  She found herself fighting the pain and becoming afraid of it, which only made it worse.  She finally turned to the skills she used to get through the worst of her visions and managed let go and ride the waves of pain.  For a brief moment, the discomfort ceased, and she thought the ordeal was over.  Her relief was short-lived, as suddenly every wound blazed with an intense pain that wrung a cry out of her throat, and then it was over.  Her friends helped her to sit up as she breathed in little convulsive gasps as the pain slowly ebbed.

When she had recovered, she wiped away the tears, accepted a glass of water from Pine, and asked Zinnia, “Why did it hurt so much?  It didn’t hurt like that when you healed my arm."  She sounded a little betrayed.

“Those wounds had already almost healed.  These ones were new and much more severe.  You had a number of broken ribs.  The difficulty of healing rises sort of exponentially with the severity of the injury,” Zinnia explained.  “I’m really sorry,” she added, looking like she might cry.  “I don’t have a lot of experience doing this.  Maybe I did it wrong.” 

Willow shook her head.  “You did fine,” she said. 

“That’s just how it is.  My parents healed me this morning.  They’ve done it many times and it still hurt like hell, and my mom is an especially good healer.  It’s as though months of pain and healing are compressed into just a minute or two.  That’s what makes it so awful,” Pine explained.

“It’s alright,” November said, beginning to feel better, a little embarrassed now by her emotional reaction.  “I know you didn’t mean for it to hurt.  Thank you for putting me back in working order.”  She looked at Pine.  “It must have been really bad for you this morning.”

Pine nodded.  “There were a few minutes there when I almost wished you hadn’t been quite so handy with that mace.”  His smile and wink took the edge off the comment.

“Yeah, about that . . .  would it be possible for someone to teach me how to fight better?  I got lucky this time, but next time . . .”  November blushed as she flashed back to her desperate improvisation.

“It wasn’t just luck.  You could have hidden.  You could have gone with them.  You chose to fight, so you’ve already got the heart for it.  That’s the most important thing,” Pine countered.  November warmed to hear encouragement in his voice.  It was nice to feel like she had won the soldier over.  “You’ll never be as strong as any of us,” he continued honestly, “but I’m sure we can teach you something.  We’ll have to adapt the lessons we’re already giving Zinnia and Ben,” Pine answered.  He seemed pleased to be able to do a favor for the girl to whom he owed his life.  His confidence made November feel calmer, and the idea that Ben and Zinnia also had things to learn made her feel less alone in her lack of fighting experience.

Rose walked into the room.  “I take it from the screaming that you’ve healed my favorite human?” she asked.  Dressed to professional perfection, she had a clipboard in hand. 

“Yes, I’m feeling much better now,” November answered, managing a true smile.  She really did feel fully recovered, but she had no desire to repeat that experience if she could help it, hence the request for self-defense lessons.

“Excellent.  I need to talk to you about food.  I’ve decided to hire a service to deliver meals and groceries for you each week, since we fairies and vampires obviously have no idea what you people actually like to consume.”  Rose aimed a pointed look at Zinnia, who blushed blue with guilt over her grocery shopping failure.

“Well, thank you so much,” November replied.  “I don’t want to be any trouble, or cause some huge expense,” she said self-consciously, unaccustomed to generosity or even an ordinary amount of care.

Rose rolled her eyes.  “Please, child, Lord William can afford it.  For God’s sake, it’s the least we can do to feed you, not that you look like anyone else has ever bothered.  Besides which, you already seem to be earning your keep quite handily.”  She glanced first at her recently-saved son and then at her clipboard.  “Anything you need, you will have.  Obviously, going out shopping is not safe for you right now.  We’ve gotten you a credit card on the company account, and we’ve ordered you a computer.  It should be delivered today.  You can order whatever you need.  If you can’t find it, ask me.”

November widened her eyes. 
What else could I possibly need?  And my own computer?
  She was used to fighting homeless guys for time on library computers.  Rose just kept going as November’s incredulity continued to grow.  “We’d like to set you up a bank account for your salary, but it is complicated by the fact that you are a minor with no legal guardian and have no identification and are being hunted by nefarious animals.  Until things settle down and we can get some decent forgeries, we’ll just keep track of what you’re owed.”

The fairy finally noticed November’s befuddlement.  “For heaven’s sake, dear, you aren’t a slave.  You have very useful abilities and deserve to be compensated commensurately.  And my husband and I will make sure Lord William doesn’t try to lowball you.  He can be unnecessarily frugal sometimes.”  The others laughed knowingly.     

“Thanks so much,” was all November could manage as Rose handed her a black credit card.

“Here are some menus from the service I hired.  If you can mark what you want and get it back to me tonight, they can deliver tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sure, thanks,” she replied, taking the proffered papers and pen.  Regular meals of healthy, well-prepared food certainly sounded like an appealing change of pace.

“Lord William wants you to take things easy for the next several days,” Rose said.

“Yes, I asked him for some time to recover and get used to my new, um, situation,” November replied.

“Obviously, the whole residence is at your disposal, aside from others’ resting places.  If you need anything, just let any of us know.  Do not go into the government wing unescorted.  The alarms give me headaches.  And now I have to get on with my real work,” Rose said.

“No rest for the wicked?” Pine asked his mother with a wink.

“You hush.  You know the king and court are coming for Christmas this year,” Rose replied.

“It’s October,” her son replied.

“Exactly!  Barely two months left to make arrangements,” she said, throwing up her hands at the impossibility of it all as she strode out the door.  Pine laughed.

“Well, I’ve got homework,” Zinnia announced.  “I’ll be in the library.”

“We’ve got a meeting,” Willow said.  She and Pine said their goodbyes and headed out the door. 

November went with Zinnia to the library.  She worked on filling out Rose’s paperwork and set about fulfilling Greg’s request.  She was putting off dealing with the envelope in her pocket.  She did not look forward to seeing anything about Agnes’s ugly life.  Perhaps she should procrastinate, put it off for a few days and take things easy.  But what if something she saw was time sensitive?  What if she could have prevented an attack, or another attempt at her own kidnapping?  She would never be able to forgive herself.

She took a deep breath and pulled out the envelope.  She reached in and drew out the strand of hair, lowering her defenses and willing herself to go wherever the hair took her.  Unfortunately, it took her straight back to her mother’s death and no further.  She tried to push past it with no success.  Growling with frustration, she returned to herself and put the hair away again. 

Zinnia looked up from her truly formidable pile of books.  “Problem?”

“I found one of Agnes’s hairs on my mother’s body.  I was hoping it could tell me something, but all I’m getting is my mother’s murder.  Maybe it was on her body too long?  I don’t know.  I’ll try again another time.  Maybe I’ll have better luck,” November replied, feeling a strange mixture of disappointment and relief.  Now she could relax without any guilt, once she washed the images of her poor mother out of her head.

As she turned her attention back to the
Wall Street Journal
, Savita and Lord William arrived, heralding sunset.

“All better?” Lord William asked, walking over and kneeling next to her chair to get a good look at her.  To her great consternation, his nearness made her heart leap.

“I’m fine,” she said, willing her voice to sound normal.

“Excellent,” he replied.  “I have some unfortunate news.  Dogwood is dead.  He somehow managed to poison himself with silver; perhaps he took it when he was in the trunk of the car.  We were hoping to question him further.  The only consolation is that with your help, last night was very productive.  Also, that he died a slow and very painful death.”