She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (8 page)

Her new friends let go as November struggled to sit up.  “You were screaming rather a lot,” Zin explained with worry in her voice.  “And you started scratching at your eyes.”  She paused before asking, “Is that why you wear the gloves?” 

November looked at her gloves, puzzled, as if seeing them for the first time. “No, though I guess it helps with that, too.”

William came bursting into the room with Greg hot on his heels.  “What happened?” he demanded. “We heard her screaming.”  He looked at his underlings as if they might be at fault.

“I had a vision,” November replied calmly.  She felt frozen inside.  She had no desire to weep.  She wondered what was wrong with her.  She’d just watched the woman who’d given her life get mauled to death, and she felt nothing much about it.

“What did you see?  Are you alright?” the lord governor asked, kneeling beside his new charge.

“My mother is dead.  And the creatures who killed her now know that you have me,” November answered, finally sitting up straight.  “I need paper and pencil.”

“Oh, November, I . . . I’m sorry.  I . . .” William trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“Why?” she said, puzzled and thinking out loud in her altered state.  “You thought she was vermin.  You’ve killed plenty of people and watched plenty more die, haven’t you?  What do you care about some random human whore?”  She sounded nonchalant, as if they were discussing the weather.

“I do not enjoy seeing you suffer, nor do I celebrate a waste of life,” he said quietly, his eyes sad.  “I’m not a monster, November.”  He watched the girl warily as she began to rock back and forth with her knees hugged to her chest, clenching her teeth as they began to chatter from the adrenaline. 

“I know you’re not a monster.  I wouldn’t work for you if I thought you were,” November said evenly, completely placid despite the shaking.  “I need paper and pencil,” she repeated, hyper-focused.  “I need paper and pencil.”  She needed to follow her normal procedure for upsetting visions.  If she could work, she could stave off her collapse just a little longer.  She could put off facing the reality of what she’d seen if only she could treat it like any other vision.  She kept insisting, over and over, “I need paper and pencil,” unable to answer the questions they were asking her, unable to respond to their expressions of concern.

William finally took her by the hand, led her down to a desk in the library, sat her down in front of a stack of paper, and put a charcoal pencil in her hand.  She began to draw with a savage concentration, only intermittently aware of what was going on around her.

“Greg, stay with her along with Zinnia,” Lord William ordered.  “I have to go back to court.  They all heard her scream, of course.  I’ll tell them . . . I'll think of something.  Don’t leave her alone, and don’t let anyone but me see what she draws.”

Ben asked, “What about me?”

“You’re relieved.  Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the lord replied curtly.

“Why?  I can only be trusted when nothing’s happening, is that it?”  Ben’s mouth was suddenly full of fangs as his temper began to get the better of him.

“It’s not a punishment, boy.  Look at yourself.  She’s got your blood up.  It’s the screaming, the smell of her adrenaline.  It’s my fault; I should have let you go hunting.  You stay here and your teeth will wind up in her neck, and my stake will wind up in your chest.  Now get out, go feed, and try not to kill anyone,” William said in a low and dangerous voice.  Suddenly, the lord had the youngling by the collar, pressed against the wall, his own sharp teeth now bared.  “And the next time you question one of my orders, you’ll find you’re not the only one in this house with fangs.”  William released his ward, who stalked quickly out of the room.  Greg’s face betrayed neither surprise nor interest in this altercation.  Zinnia bit her lip and twisted her hands.  November took no notice.

She drew for hours, stopping only when the cramp in her hand grew too painful to continue.  William joined the vigil at some point during her marathon.   Her aching fingers finally drew her back to herself.  She noticed for the first time a cup of tea placed by her hand, cold to the touch when she picked it up.  She wondered briefly who had brought it for her and caught a flash of Rose setting it down.  She looked at her three companions and saw a worry in their faces that edged close to alarm.  They looked at her almost like her mother had after her father died, the way some of the nurses did after one of her episodes.  Zinnia looked like she had been crying. 

“Please don’t look at me like that,” November whispered.  “You’re making me feel like a freak.”  She handed William the stack of paper.  “I think you know them,” she said quietly, rubbing her throbbing hand ineffectually.  Her voice sounded almost like her own again.  The shock was wearing off.

“I do, unfortunately,” He replied, shuffling through the stack of drawings, showing one to Greg, who raised an eyebrow.  Knox looked at her carefully before he continued, “How do they know it was I who took you?  Your mother couldn’t have told them.”

“She still had the watch,” November answered.  “They recognized it.” 

William closed his eyes in self-reproach.  “I am a fool,” he said.  “I told you I’d hide you and protect your secret, and two days later my enemies know who you are and where you’re living.  And I’ve managed to get your mother killed.”

“I’m glad she had the watch.  They’d have tortured her otherwise,” November replied honestly, brutally.  “At least she died quickly.”  She paused, swallowing convulsively as bile rose in her throat.  Part of her wanted to talk about what she’d seen, but she was afraid that saying the words out loud would make it all real.

“They asked her how she could have sold me, before they killed her.  Do you know what she said?  That she knew I’d be better off with anyone but her.”  November choked on the last word.  She felt the ice inside begin to crack.  The last thing she wanted was to fall apart in here, in front of these near-strangers who’d set this violence in motion.  “I’d like to be alone for a little while,” she said urgently, standing up, ready to flee.

“I will check on you in an hour,” William said after a pause, the reluctance in his voice betraying the conflict between his need to question her further and his respect for her pain.  November nodded and walked briskly out of the room, breaking into a run as soon as she hit the staircase.

She barely made it to her bathroom before the nausea overtook her and she began to vomit, a violent, painful heaving that didn’t stop even after she was completely empty.  She curled up on the floor, the cool tile a comfort to her flushed face as she finally began to weep.  At first the tears came silently, but soon she was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.  She was keening, wailing, making noises she'd never heard come from a person's mouth in her life.

When she finally grew too exhausted to continue, she managed to pull herself up to her feet to brush her teeth and wash her face, smeared with tears and snot.  She pulled off her clothes and managed to get herself into a nightgown before she curled up in her bed, completely wrung out. 

That was how William found her.  She had her rosary in hand, seeking her grandmother’s comfort, her lips moving in prayers she didn’t really believe in but couldn’t help turning to in the moment of her extremity.  At the moment when William knocked softly and peeked his head in, her nose was still red from crying, her eyes and mouth still swollen despite her efforts with cold water. 

“It’s alright,” November said.  “You can come in.  I’m done freaking out.  For now.”  She sat up, put away the rosary, and pulled in her knees, small and alone in the middle of the bed, feeling like a little girl in her pastel nightgown. 

“May Zinnia come in, too?  She wanted to come up and comfort you when we heard you . . . grieving, but you said you wished to be alone, so we waited.”

“Okay,” November replied hesitantly.  The fairy ran in, jumped right up on the bed, and wrapped her arms around November, who stiffened at the unaccustomed affection before finally relaxing and placing her forehead on her new friend’s shoulder.  William waited at a respectable distance, obviously uncomfortable with this gratuitous display of affection.  The fairy’s kindness was almost enough to set off another crying jag, but November managed to keep herself together.  To her relief, the physical contact set off no visions.

“Thank you,” she replied softly, looking away when Zinnia drew back to sit next to her on the bed.  She was touched by the young fairy’s concern.  “So, you could hear me?  All the way up here?” she asked, flushing with mortification as she realized that the grief she’d tried to keep private had still been on display.  The exposure was almost more than she could bear.

“Vampires and fairies have very acute senses.  It’s difficult to keep things private in this house,” William admitted.  He took a deep breath before adding, “Please know that we don’t think less of you for your reaction, November.  We’ve all lost people to violence.  We know loss.  We’re simply . . . uncomfortable with human feelings.  We spend centuries isolating ourselves from them as much as possible, but with you, we cannot.” 

After an awkward pause, November changed the subject.  “When are you going to tell me who those people are and why they want me so much?  I need you to finally tell me why I’m here,” she demanded, voice firm, unwilling to be patient any longer.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest now and talk about it tomorrow?” William asked.

“I want to know why she is dead.  I need to know.  I also need to know what we’re up against.  Things must be pretty bad if you’re looking to a human for help.”  November was determined now, meeting his eyes without fear or anger, grief or anxiety.  She had cried all of that out on the bathroom floor.  In that moment, she felt only resolved to fight.

Lord William began to explain.  “I’ll give you the short version tonight, and we can fill in the rest tomorrow.  In the last year, there have been a series of attacks on various lords in the kingdom.  Three lords governor have died, and several others have been grievously wounded, along with numerous bystanders, including fairy children.  They have all been suicide bombings, committed by fairies or vampires.  They have carried either explosive belts filled with silver and wooden shrapnel or incendiary devices.  All the murderers have been killed in the attacks so they cannot be questioned about who sent them and why.  No groups have taken responsibility.  There have been no manifestos expressing their purpose.” 

“Why silver?” November interrupted.

“All supernatural creatures are vulnerable to silver. It burns our skin.  It causes painful wounds that resist healing.  It saps our strength. Bound in chains of silver, even the oldest, strongest werewolves, vampires, or fairies cannot escape.  In high enough quantities, it can kill.  Young fairies are easier to kill and are especially vulnerable to silver poisoning,” he explained patiently.

William continued, “Every ten years, the Assembly of Lords meets in legislative session.  The Assembly is scheduled to begin in three months.  The fear is that someone is planning some kind of revolution, to try to overthrow the government and take control of all or part of the kingdom.  The lords that have been killed were old and powerful, with war-time experience.  Most of them have been allies of our family for centuries.  It could be that these are preliminary attacks designed to weaken the ability of the government to resist a takeover, to weaken the states which would be most crucial in winning any civil war.  It is rare that all the leaders in our world are gathered in one place.  Attacking the Assembly is too rich an opportunity to be passed up by whoever is behind these murders.”

“Have they come after you?” the psychic asked.

“No, not yet.  As you know, I have taken great pains with our security here.  No one enters the grounds without being searched.  Many of my fellow lords are too proud to take adequate precautions.  They are powerful and arrogant and think themselves untouchable.  Not that I am immune to arrogance myself.”  That drew a smile from Zinnia, who quickly covered her mouth.

“And the two vampires I saw tonight?” November inquired, trying not to shudder.

“Mercenaries.  Thugs for hire, loyal to whoever wrote the last check.  They are well known and very good at their jobs.  Almost everyone has used them for dirty work at one time or another, though not I nor anyone of my household.  It’s dishonorable, hiring people like that.  They also have a fairy they often work with, by the name of Dogwood.”

“Then how did they recognize your watch?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, stalling, in a rare sign of feeling.  “One of them is my daughter,” William admitted with a sigh.  November eyes widened.  “I don’t know where I went wrong with Agnes.   I haven’t turned a human since for fear of repeating the mistake.  I think now that she was not a good candidate for turning.  I was blinded by my infatuation with her, but looking back, she was flighty and shallow and a bit greedy when she was human.  Being turned into a vampire doesn’t usually improve one’s personality.  It tends to amplify what was already there, the good and the bad.  That’s one reason we’re supposed to be careful about whom we choose.”  Grief thickened his voice.

He continued, “The other vampire is named Philemon.  He’s much older, nearly as old as I am, a veteran of many wars.  He’s the one that led my Agnes down the primrose path: easy money, no family loyalties and obligations to deal with, giving free rein to all of our hunger for blood and sex and violence – these things can be very seductive to a young vampire.  There’s a reason we have such rigid hierarchies and laws.  There would be no vampire civilization without them.  We’d all be savages like Philemon and Agnes.”