She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (39 page)

November spent a long while curled up on her sofa, staring into the fire.  Willow kept watch, taking her eyes from her charge only to check her phone for updates.  They could hear occasional noise in the halls or through the vents but otherwise were undisturbed. November appreciated the quiet.  It allowed her another chance to try to find Ilyn.  She stared into the flames and let her mind drift to clear her thoughts, and then she closed her eyes and thought about the king.  She listened in her mind to the songs he had sung to her as she had suffered from the cursed blade.  She smelled his pipe smoke, saw the shine of his hair, felt the pressure of his hand on her back when they had danced together.  

And finally, it came, just a glimpse:
Ilyn and William and Zinnia, standing next to a truck on a deserted road, talking to Ben.
 It was just a flash, and then it was gone, but it was all November could do not to jump up and sing.  
They’re alive.
 She glanced at Willow, who was texting and had noticed nothing.  
They’re coming.  But when?

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud knock sounded.  Willow braced herself for trouble, but it was Luka who unlocked the door, followed by two fairies bearing boxes of food and bottled water.  They placed their burdens on the table and were dismissed.  “Any word from Philemon?” Willow asked as November tried to be invisible by the fire.

“He’ll have a refrigerated truck full of human blood here by tomorrow dusk along with a couple of trucks full of live chickens.”  Willow made a face.  “I know,” he said.  “Revolting.  However, according to our engineer, it will take several days to get the cistern and plumbing sufficiently clean to provide drinking water for a new herd of humans.  There’s no point in getting the livestock here only to let them all expire.  We’ll have to make do for a few days on short rations.”

“Are you sure you still want to have her turning be public?  The young ones might still be pretty on edge if they’re still hungry,” Willow warned.

“The captains have things under control now, and they will be fed before the festivities begin,” he replied in a definitive tone.  “But perhaps she should be in place before our people assemble rather than having her walk through the crowd as planned.”

“That sounds safer,” Willow agreed.  November silently gave thanks that she would at least be spared that particular humiliation.  She had found Lilith’s running of the gauntlet rather horrifying.  “Is Mark very upset about Henry?” the fairy asked with a twinge of guilt.

“He knows it’s his own fault for not getting hold of his progeny and issuing proper orders.  You did what was necessary,” Luka replied, seeming unconcerned about the loss of one of his vampires.

“I know.  I just don’t like killing babies.”

“To your credit,” he replied before turning his attention to November.  “And how are we doing, kitten?”

“Fine, thank you,” she answered, ignoring the revolting pet name with great effort.  “I was a little spooked by that business in the corridor, but I’ve calmed down.”

“Splendid,” he answered absently.  “Back to work for me, then.  So much to do, and all these complications.  Willow, keep her here all day tomorrow.  We take no chances.  This should be enough food and water, yes?”

November looked over the provisions and nodded.  “More than enough.”

“Have her bathed and ready by dusk,” he ordered Willow.  “Carrot and Ivy will bring water directly from the well to heat in the fire, as strychnine can be absorbed through the skin.”

Willow smiled.  “The old fashioned way.  How ever did we manage?”

“Servants,” he replied with a smile of his own.  He walked over to November and took her by the shoulders.  She tried not to shrink from his touch.  “Until tomorrow, my dear, when you become one of us,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.  “Don’t be frightened.  It barely hurts at all.”  And with that, he left.

“What time is it?” November asked her fairy keeper, not sure if she’d answer.

“Nearly dawn.”

“Maybe I should have a snack and then try to get some sleep.”  Willow nodded.

She savored the bread, fruit, and hard cheese she found in the boxes, along with the clean water for which she had a newfound appreciation.  Then November curled up in the bed, which was warm and comfortable.  The previous early morning, she’d already passed out and had been tucked into it by someone else.  She’d been sedated enough by Luka’s bite that she’d slept peacefully.  This time, however, was different.  She was anxious and frightened, unable to settle, wondering if her friends would come in time, wondering if they would be successful or if they would only add to the list of people dead because of her.  

When she finally dozed off, she discovered unhappily that this room had possessed a previous occupant: a young man, a demon, like her, she suspected, but less stable, and older, maybe 30 or 35 years old.  The clothes read nineteenth century.  He had been beautiful and tormented, and Luka must have decided that he would make a bad vampire, for one night, he had killed his prisoner.  It was a gentle murder, as murders go.  The victim saw it coming, but he didn’t fight.  He seemed relieved.  Then she saw a child, a little boy of about ten years old.  It took her a moment to realize that this was the same person, that Luka had kept him in this room for twenty years or more before giving up on him.  Willow had to shake her awake when she started screaming.  After that, she didn't try to sleep anymore.  It seemed a bit of a shame to waste her remaining hours of human life on sleep anyway, if, in fact, she really was to die that night.  Willow watched her carefully, not even letting her close the door when she used the bathroom.

She curled up again on the sofa, staring into the fire.  Visions came and went.  She dozed occasionally, always waking with a start.  She ate when she got hungry.  She sketched a little.  She thought about what she would say to each of her friends if she ever got the chance.  She tried to think of how she would try to behave up on the roof.  She didn’t want them enjoying her fear, but she didn’t want to spend her last human moments with her mind adrift and numb, the way it had been so much of the time during her childhood sufferings.  She finally decided that she would try to focus her mind on good memories, on times of love and happiness from her life, few as they might be.

Eventually, fairies began showing up with huge pots of water, which they set in the fire and used to fill the bathtub.  Once it was full and steaming and capped with sweet-smelling bubbles, November immersed herself in the scalding water and stayed submerged for what had to have been hours.  They kept replacing the water as it cooled.  Willow seemed in no real hurry. It was only early afternoon.  Somehow, the water made November feel peaceful and calm.  She always had liked feeling warm.
There’s nothing I can do about whatever is going to happen.  All I can do is be ready to react in the moment.  There’s no point in torturing myself with fear between now and then.  I’m going to just be.  Just be.

When she finally emerged, Willow dried and curled her hair as November sat wrapped in a thick bathrobe.  It was all oddly maternal.  
I feel like I’m getting ready for the prom . . . the evil death prom.  
“It really isn’t going to be that bad, November.  Everyone tells me that the only pain is the initial bite.  Then there might be a little nausea or dizziness, and then you’ll feel a little cold.  But once you start drinking his blood, you’ll be warm and you’ll just sort of drift off.”

“That’s not the part I’m afraid of,” November replied quietly as Willow’s deft hands styled her dark hair.

“You’re afraid of what comes after?” Willow asked sympathetically.

“Yes.”

“You won’t be alone.  We’ll teach you how to feed, how to enthrall, how to survive,” Willow reassured her.

You aren’t the ones I want helping me!
  All she said out loud was, “I don’t want to be a part of his war.”

“You won’t be on the front lines, November, and I doubt there’s going to be much of a war.  With Ilyn and William gone, our people will coalesce around Luka, and he intends to welcome all comers to his government regardless of their previous loyalties.  Even Savita has contacted him.”  

That bit of intelligence made November’s heart skip a beat.  
How could Savita possibly be on Luka’s side?  She must be deceiving him.
 She elected to reserve judgment until she had more information.  Of course, November alone knew that Ilyn still walked among the living, fully capable of putting up quite a fight.

Willow continued, “And as for the rest of Luka’s plans, they will unfold slowly with a minimum of bloodshed.  Humans are a valuable resource, after all.”  November elected to say nothing, swallowing her horror, knowing that Willow was incapable of understanding her concerns for human beings and werewolves.

Willow moved on from hair to makeup.  She was subtle, managing to make November look fresh and healthy rather than exhausted and frightened.  She seemed uncharacteristically cheerful, happily humming as she prepared her prisoner for sacrifice.  She certainly seemed to buy the whole “murder as celebration of life” line.  It occurred to November for the first time that Willow might be completely out of her mind.

When the fairy pulled out the snow white dress she was to wear to her execution, November could not hide a small smile.  She wrapped well-worn memories around herself, thinking of the girl in a dark blue dress, the girl awaiting burial, surrounded by friends.  The vision that had terrified her, that had haunted her childhood—this vision now became her comfort and her armor.  
This is not the dress I die in.
 
This is not the dress I rise in.
 “You like it?” Willow asked hopefully.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” November answered cooperatively.
 It's actually a little bit
Bride of Frankenstein
, but whatever. 
Willow helped her put it on, carefully protecting her hairdo.  Looking in the mirror, November thought she looked like a child bride or a virgin sacrifice.  She supposed they intended her to be both.  To her surprise, she found the dress had a pocket.  She slipped the fairy lantern into it, on a whim.  She found it a comforting thought, that she could carry some light in her pocket when she went to face the dark.

Then it was time to wait.  November wound up doing what she guessed most people did when waiting for death: she got down on her knees and prayed, careful not to mess up the dress.  She prayed that Luka’s plans would be foiled.  She prayed for the safety of her friends.  She prayed that no one else would die because of her.  She prayed for courage.  She prayed that there was a reason for all of this: for her gift, for her incessant reincarnation, for her being drawn into this long-brewing conflict.  She prayed that there was a purpose for her in all of it and that she would learn what that purpose was.  She prayed that she wouldn’t do anything terrible.  She prayed for the werewolves, for freedom and an end to their suffering.

“I didn’t know you were so religious,” Luka commented, startling her out of her contemplation.  She hadn’t even heard the door open.

She looked up at him and replied, “Neither did I.”

“Rather surprising given your track record with priests.”  He helped her to her feet and examined her from head to toe.  “Perfect,” he said, pleased as punch.  “Well done, Willow.”  The man himself was dressed in his usual black, impeccably pressed.  “I’ll send Philemon to help you escort her up in just a little while.  He’s almost done supervising the feeding.”  The vampire bent to kiss November on the cheek.  She couldn’t suppress her shudder.  He laughed at her discomfort.  “See you very soon, kitten.”  And with that, he departed.

November was grateful that she did not have too long for her anxiety to build before there was another knock on the door.  Philemon keyed in the code and entered, a fairy stranger at his side.

“Philemon.  Persimmon.  It's time, I take it?” Willow greeted them, rising to meet her comrades.

“It is,” Philemon replied, just as he buried a hatchet in Willow’s skull.  Willow fell to the ground, insensible, light bleeding around the blade.  November stepped backwards in shock.  “Don’t scream,” he ordered.  November obeyed, hands over her mouth, trying to slow her racing heartbeat.

The fairy called Persimmon stepped forward with a concerned expression, asking, “Em, are you okay?”  She looked at him in total confusion before the unfamiliar features resolved into those of one she’d thought she'd lost forever.

“Pine?” she whispered in disbelief.  “How?”  Before he could answer, she threw her arms around his neck.  “I thought you were dead.  I saw you die.  Thank God!  Oh, Pine,” she said fiercely, holding him tightly as she could, as if she feared he would vanish again.  “How is this possible?”

“Power of illusion,” he replied as he squeezed her back.  “Comes in handy when your partner repeatedly tries to kill you.   I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop her, Em.  I tried.  I really did.”

She stepped back and held his hands tightly.  “Not your fault.  And you’re here now.”

“This is all very touching,” Philemon interrupted snidely.  “We haven’t much time before we’re expected topside.”

Pine stepped over to Willow, pulling out a knife to finish the job Philemon had started.

“No!” November shouted without thinking.

“She’d have seen us both dead, November.  She’s a dangerous enemy,” Pine counseled.