4. 4

Berron ransacked the chest of drawers while Daniel half crawled under the bed, looking for anything of interest. I knelt by the fireplace and summoned Patty Melt, my fire mouse. Maybe a fire could banish the presence of dead vampire lords.

She popped into my hand with a hiss like a sparkler igniting. I put my hand close to the logs that had already been neatly laid in the grate with old newspaper tucked into the wood. The seasoned wood had laid untouched since the summer, waiting for autumn—and a master who would never return. "Go on, hop down," I said.

Patty Melt's whiskers twitched like burning threads.

"Look at all that nice paper. Don't you want to burn it up?"

Patty took hesitant steps forward, her tiny claws like hot fork tines. Then she ambled onto the logs, seized a twist of newspaper, and began chewing on it. Smoke rose from the wood where she sat.

"Good girl," I said.

Berron tossed items over his shoulder. Bow ties and socks rained down. "Boring. Boring. Boring. Double boring."

Daniel slid out from under the bed frame and brushed the wayward accessories from where they'd landed on his legs and torso. "Nothing under there."

"Stay in the fireplace," I told Patty. Then I stood up, dodging more flying socks, and moved to the closet. I opened the door. Prospero's suits hung neatly from thick wooden hangers.

Daniel joined me. "The man had some nice threads."

I pulled a tweed jacket out. "Maybe we could donate them." But as my fingers grazed the richly textured cloth, I felt faintly sick. I should have been cool and calm, going through Prospero's things. He had, after all, trashed my shop, threatened all I held dear, and nearly destroyed the home of the Gentry.

"You're getting that faraway look again," Daniel said. "Are you all right?"

"I came here to make sandwiches," I said, quietly, tracing the curve of the jacket collar. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"For what to happen?"

"I never meant to…" I stopped, remembering the biting cold, the flood of magic. Prospero's brittle bravery. It tasted of metal and ash, like I'd licked the fire grate. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Even someone as bad as Prospero."

Daniel's eyes glowed redder, enhanced by touches of orange from the fire. "He would have destroyed everything in his path until he got what he wanted. You don't have to feel guilty. Berron would say the same." He paused and looked over to where Berron was elbows-deep in another drawer. "Right, Berron?"

"Hm?"

"Back me up. Zelda shouldn't feel guilty for taking Prospero out."

"Of course she shouldn't. If she takes on the guilt for what he did, she's not giving him credit for the only good thing he tried to do."

My eyebrows rose so high I felt my hair shift. "The only good thing he tried to do? Destroying the Forest of Emeralds?"

Berron stopped rummaging and looked up. "I'm agreeing with you. Don't you like that?"

"Um, maybe not…"

"He did the wrong thing for the right reason. He sacrificed himself to free his people. I can't say I'd have done exactly the same thing, but I can understand why he did it." Berron carefully closed the drawer. He faced me, and his mahogany irises glittered with firelight. "Do you think you could have made a better choice? One that didn't end in Prospero hurling himself into the arms of the Arcade?"

I looked away, unable to speak.

He came closer and laid one hand on my cheek. Damn me, I closed my eyes and let him. "Regrets are a fire," he said, his voice gentle. "They light the way. But don't let them burn you down."

Green and gold magic bloomed behind my eyelids, nearly mesmerizing me, as his words wrapped me like a crocheted blanket. If only I could stay here, where nothing else existed but magic and warmth—

Except Daniel was pointedly clearing his throat, and the acrid scent of burning wool suddenly stung my nose. I opened my eyes and hurried to the fireplace, following a trail of scorch marks on the floor.

Patty Melt sat in the fire, contentedly munching on one of Prospero's socks.

"Patty!" How did you reprimand a fire mouse, anyway? I settled for sighing heavily. "If you get a tummy ache, Miss Patty, don't come running to me, you hear me?" I heard my mother's voice in my own words.

Which reminded me—

Mom. In my town. In my shop. I had more important things to do than this. I'd donate the clothing and move on.

And that would be the last of it.

I gathered Patty Melt into my hand, the heat of the fire no more than a caress of warmth, and removed the smoldering sock from her grasp. "Dunk this in some water, will you?" I said, handing it to Daniel. "All right, kid," I said, returning my attention to the fire mouse, who was yawning. "Sleep it off." I closed my other hand over her. Her warmth diffused through me, and I felt her presence return to where she slumbered in my mind.

"Okay," I said, standing up and putting my hands on my hips. "Pile all the clothing on the bed. I'll take it over to Lily. Maybe she and her fashion-forward friends can make use of it."

"How will you carry it all?" Daniel asked.

"Put it in the quilt and wrap it up. I'll throw it in a cab."

Berron met my gaze silently, for one beat too long, then turned away. He retrieved socks and bow ties from where they'd landed and tossed them into the center of the bed covering.

The finished bundle looked like we'd rolled up Cleopatra in a rug, but thanks to borrowed magic, I lifted it easily, refusing help from either of them. They accompanied me to the elevator anyway.

Manipulating the bundle into the tiny elevator was something else altogether. I had to reverse and change angles so many times I practically needed a back-up sound, like a truck.

Berron finally pushed the obstructing end out of the way so the doors would close.

"Let me know if you find anything else—" I said, but the doors slammed shut before either of them could respond.

Down at the street level, I hailed a cab and tossed the clothing bundle into the trunk. A short ride later, the car stopped in front of the building that housed the fashion studio where Lily spent most of her time. I paid and hopped out. Then I slung the bundle over my shoulder and climbed to the loft.

Large windows lit the studio with natural golden light, making the sketches pinned to the wall glow. Racks of clothing cast geometric shadows. And there at the design table in the middle of it stood Lily, in high-waisted bright pink slacks and a contrasting black top. Silver links made up a necklace that jingled slightly as she shifted, and a lightweight gray scarf trailed loosely over her shoulders.

She looked up and smiled. "Aunt Zelda! What are you doing here? And what is that?" She dodged the table and hurried forward to greet me.

"This," I said, throwing the bundle onto a nearby work table with a thump, "is a donation."

Lily's deft hands quickly unrolled the quilt, revealing Prospero's clothing. She lit up and reached for the closest jacket—then she stopped before touching it, and actually shied back. Hesitantly, she picked up a red silk bow tie instead. "Where did you get this?"

"A well-dressed distant acquaintance who passed on." I'd prepared that line ahead of time.

Lily rubbed her thumbs over the bow tie. "Passed on? As in, he died?" She looked concerned. Or confused. Or something. And after her strange reading on the Midsummer Night's Dream costumes, I wasn't entirely sure what Lily's gift was—but I knew she was fully capable of surprising me. "Yes," I said. "He died. Very old." I watched her. "Is there something wrong with the clothes? Should I throw them out?"

"No!" The answer came so quickly that I jumped. She seemed to have startled even herself, because she smoothed her hands over the clothes as if trying to smooth over the odd response. "No, they're beautiful items. We can alter them for people who are starting over and need formal clothes for job interviews and so on."

"Are you sure there's nothing… wrong with them?" I didn't know how to ask any better. I only knew that she'd picked up something, and I was dying to know what it was.

"They just have a—I don't know, this is going to sound silly—"

"No, please. Go on."

"They have a sort of presence about them. Like a scent that lingers."

"Is it grape soda and cinnamon? Because I sprayed some perfume right before I handled this stuff."

Lily shook her head. "Not an actual scent. More like"—she looked at me as if I would think her crazy—"more like a memory."

The topmost jacket lay on the table with its arm pointed toward me, like an accusation. I dragged my gaze away from it. "What do you mean, ‘a memory?"

Lily held the bow tie toward me.

I took it. Held it in my hands. Rubbed my thumbs over the silk, as she had. Was it my imagination, or did I feel a wisp of vampire magic? I looked at Lily. "What do you sense from these clothes?"

"You don't think I'm weird?"

"Lily," I said, "I've seen more weird than you'll ever be."

She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the clothes again. "Roses," she said. She closed her eyes and said nothing for several moments. "Ice."

I caught myself inhaling sharply, then released the air slowly so as not to startle Lily.

"And there's something else…" Head bowed, she ran her hands over a tweed jacket. "More like a… feeling."

"Yes?"

"This is really weird—"

"Just say it!" It came out far sharper than I meant it to.

"A… struggle? A fight," she concluded.

My stomach slowly twisted, like a snake doubling back on itself. "In the past, though, right? You said it's like a memory."

"Not this part." She opened her eyes and rubbed her arms as if noticing a sudden chill. "You think I'm crazy, don't you. That I'm imagining I'm some kind of clothing psychic."

I was caught between wanting to comfort her and needing to keep her in the dark about things that weren't mine to reveal, like her family's magic. "Lily. Listen to me. You're not crazy. I happen to know—" I stopped and chose my next words extremely carefully. "I can tell you that you are not wrong about what you sensed."

"I'm not?"

I shook my head slowly.

"I mean, the roses and the ice were kind of pretty, really. But the other feeling… I'll be honest, Aunt Zelda. It was kind of scary! Maybe I was wrong about that one?"

I slid the bow tie in my pocket and remembered that night on the ice field, embracing my enemy for the first and last time. "I don't know, kiddo. I don't know."