37. Niamh

Idon't sleep. I watch over him, my Caspian. I hold his hand, speak to him, and tell him a million whispered things.

Things I have never told anyone. Things I had no one to tell them to.

He doesn't react. Doesn't respond. His red eyes blaze, still angry but vacant. Even empty, he is still so very angry. Raging with sorrow and utterly blank.

He is a painting with no color. No reason behind it. No artful strokes.

He just exists.

But I stay with him. For however long it will take, I will stay with him.

"Hello?" A gentle knock sounds at the door, followed by another furtive, whispered greeting.

I stand and shake. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept. I'm hungry again. Dizzy again.

I feel like I have been hit by a truck again.

"I'm coming," I say to no one. Then I open the door and find the girl with glaring red hair. Poppy. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot as if—unlike the quiet Altaris insists upon—she longs to run and bounce. Longs to skip and sing. Like a bird, she is quivering with life.

"Hello," she says, eyeing me warily from beneath a fringe of bright hair. "I am to bring you downstairs and show you the ropes. Around the shop I mean. Mortal slang is so strange, but I love it. Love it!"

"Poppy," comes a scolding tone. A reminder. "Beauty rest is important for all, please."

She nods. Bounces and nods. Her green eyes gleam as she looks at me. Then she shoves something into my hands. "You should get dressed first. Clean up, too. Bathroom is there." She points to a closed door down the hall and then darts away, bounding loudly down the stairs.

"Poppy," another voice calls in a hushed tone. "Quiet, please!"

"Sorry!" Her apology is even louder, ricocheting off the walls. But she doesn't mean to be defiant. Her rule-breaking is innocent, and here…

The others merely grumble in their rooms without punishing her transgression. They won't hold it against her, I can tell. There is a rehearsed quality to their complaints—the ones that come from silent, closed doors.

As if every morning, Poppy runs and shouts. Every morning, they scold her. Every morning.

It is their routine.

But I am lost in this unnatural play. I don't know what to do next. I peek into the room Poppy indicated. Then I drift back into my room. Caspian's room. I strip my clothing, crusty and coated with dried vamryre blood, and then I fold them neatly at his feet. Why? I don't know.

Maybe the smell will bring him back. Maybe the violence will…

It doesn't. He sits and stares and frowns in perpetuity.

I stand there naked and unsure. I miss his hungry gaze on my skin. I miss his hungry touch. Miss the way those eyes would devour and the way his voice would deepen when he…

Did things to me that were payment. Nothing less, nothing more.

No.

When he touched me. Made love to me—the way they called it in that forbidden book. I want him back.

Need him to touch me again.

So, for now, I touch him. I stroke the white hair from his face and press my lips to his cheek. Then I slip into the clothing Poppy supplied. Not a robe in plain shades of gray. Not the thick mortal clothing. This item is a longer tunic with no counterpart. The color is bright, like the hue of a budding red rose with speckles of lighter pink all over. The skirt of it swishes around when I walk.

Any other day, it would be such a beautiful dress to wear. A beautiful dress to borrow, even for a day.

But as I stand and watch Caspian stare into nothing, I don't know how I feel. Beautiful? No. Empty? Perhaps.

As empty as he looks.

Still, there is a debt to be repaid. To stay with him, I must work in exchange. Quietly, I enter the hall and close the door behind me. Then, I begin to navigate the wild maze of the upper floor of Altaris' home. There are several doorways I pass on my way to the stairs. Silence seeps from behind some of them. Murmuring voices from behind others. Apart from Scythe and Poppy, the other creatures in this dwelling don't seem eager to leave their rooms. They huddle and whisper.

But as Poppy bounds to greet me at the bottom of the stairs and shouts, "Morning! Are you ready to begin?"

A chorus of shushes slithers from nearly every corner to stun her into silence.

"Damn it, Poppy," an unfamiliar man hisses from behind a closed blue door. "Hush!"

"Sorry," she murmurs, her eyes bright, smile wry. Still smiling, she extends her hand for me, pale but with the nails a garish, glaring pink. "Come," she whispers. Barely whispers.

I take her hand, surprised by how cold she is. In contrast to her bubbly warm expressions, she is ice cold to the touch. I shiver as she leads me along through a set of cluttered rooms and into a strangely bare hallway.

"You should put on some boots," Poppy declares, eyeing my bare feet. She disappears and reappears with a set of leather shoes with long, reaching sides. Boots. "I got these for Daisy, but she hasn't worn them yet. You can borrow them if you'd like!"

She drops them at my feet, and one by one, I pull them on. They are sturdier than the sandals I wore in the other realm. More comfortable than Colleen's borrowed shoes. When I take a step, the soles thud, giving weight and noise to every movement.

"Thank you," I say to Poppy.

She beams and clasps her hands together. "Oh, it's so nice having someone to talk to. Who talks normally…" She casts a wary glance over her shoulder. "The others are so boring and silent. Oh, please come. Let's talk some more."

She babbles on as she opens a heavy, black door and ushers me into the room beyond.

"This is the storefront," she explains. "We sell everything and anything under the sun! Our prices are a bargain with the Altaris' guarantee. He likes it if we say that to customers." She giggles and eyes me from over her shoulder. "Well, not really, but I like to say it. The Altaris guarantee! We are here to please. Over there is the register. It's mainly for show. Here—" She flits behind the counter, and tugs open a cupboard door. "This is where we put the payment. Altaris will go through it later. We never take money here, only a fair exchange. I will show you! In the meantime, we can clean and dust. Altaris likes the dust, but it makes me sneeze." She races to a dustpan and broom and hands them to me. Then she changes her mind and uses both to clean the already gleaming floor. This room, at least, is sparklingly clean and as orderly as one could order a multitude of things.

There are books and gages, bottles of colorful liquid, stacks of fabric, and boxes upon boxes of gems and jewels.

"The shop is normally my job," Poppy chatters on happily, sweeping a pile of nonexistent dust. "I'm in charge here, because none of the others will come out this far. Sometimes Scythe but he prefers the other line of work—" She lowers her voice and raises a reddish eyebrow. "I hate it, so I stay in here. I was going to see if Daisy would help out, but she's still too sad. Poor Daisy."

"Who is Daisy?" I ask, if only out of politeness.

I suspect Poppy would tell me anyway, invited to or not.

She perches her chin on the top of her broom and grins, dancing on the tips of her toes. "Daisy is my new friend. The only other girl to leave the collective. A girl like us, I mean." She gestures to her slender frame. From appearance alone one would guess that she was no older than I am. Twenty-four, twenty-five at the latest.

Her eyes vibrate with youth exuberance, conveying an even younger age.

But there are some things that appearances cannot hide. Though she dances with the excitement and joy of a child, she carries herself with the grace of someone much, much older. Older than Caspian, even. Certainly older than me.

But then she flits about with all of the poise of a fae.

"Young at heart, I mean," she explains with an exaggerated sigh. "The others are so boring. So stuffy. But Daisy is nice. She'll like you, I bet. Even if you aren't a vamp, you seem nice."

"How many people…vamryre are here?" I ask.

She shrugs her thin shoulders and continues to sweep. "Don't know. Some have been here for ages and haven't woken up. Some wake up and never come back out again. Altaris says that we must let everyone grow ‘accustomed' at their own pace. Daisy has been here for a year already and she only started to come around last month…" She trails off, biting her lip. "By ‘come around,' I mean… She leaves her room, sometimes! I've seen her do it, and she's nice to me. She lets me dress her and do her hair. We will be the best of friends soon, I know it!"

Something in my heart aches as I watch her skip around the storefront and sweep. She seems so happy, but it is a mask she wears to disguise the pain lurking underneath. Underneath it all, she is so desperately lonely.

I know that feeling. I still remember how happy I was to see Day when he visited me. Speak to me. Acknowledge me.

"I like your tunic, Poppy," I say.

Her eyes sparkle. "Oh really?" She tugs at the hem of her brilliant green shirt and spins in a giddy circle. "Oh, thank you. Altaris says it's garish, but what does he know? I like you. Let me show you the ropes!"

She darts behind the counter and beckons me closer. There is a rope hanging on the wall. She pulls it, and on the other end of the room, a curtain is drawn back, revealing a gleaming door, wide windows, and brilliant yellow sunlight streaming in.

"I don't know why Altaris calls it that," Poppy admits, wrinkling her nose. "‘The ropes,' but it sounds nice, doesn't it? Now, a customer should be coming soon. Just watch me."

As if on cue, a "customer" appears at the door, peering warily into the glass. They open the door and step inside; a man with red hair and a long, gray coat drawn tight up to his chin. He approaches the counter and gives Poppy a furtive glance.

"Order for ‘J. Bim,'" he says.

"J. Bim," Poppy repeats with a nod. Then she yanks open the cupboard beside the one she showed me before. She rummages inside it, though over her shoulder, all I can see are dozens and dozens of brown paper sacks of varying sizes and shapes. With a grunt of triumph, Poppy seizes one and sets it on the counter.

"Order for Mr. Bim," she says, shoving the sack toward the man in question. Then she extends her hand, her smile dazzling. "Payment please."

"Ah, right. Payment." Mr. Bim glances over his shoulder as if expecting someone to descend from the shadows and strike him down. When no assailant appears, he snatches the paper bag to his chest and reaches into his pocket for a small metal trinket. Not money, I don't think. It is round and silver, with three holes drilled into the center. A small, round button.

"Pleasure doing business," Poppy trills, watching him go.

Then, she crouches and tucks the button carefully into the first cabinet. "There," she murmurs, bounding back upright. "All done. It is easy. The only real rule really is that payment must be given in exchange for every order."

"What do you sell here, exactly?" I ask, curious. Unnerved. Those brown parcels are unsettling, but in the way the dusty books at the back of the archives were. Not offensive per se. Just…

Ominous. Secret. Unusual.

"I don't know," Poppy declares with a blissful smile and a happy shrug. "But I like the work in the shop rather than doing the other chores. Labeling is boring and I hate the dank basement. So, I work in here."

She dashes to her broom again and pretends to sweep. When another customer enters, she performs the same awkward, strange exchange she did with the first.

A mysterious bag for a mysterious payment—a crumpled piece of paper in this case, which she treats with no less care than the silver button. Within hours, ten customers have come and gone, and ten strange objects now litter the bottom of the cupboard.

Suddenly, a heavy, tolling sound comes from behind us—a big, square box mounted onto the wall. It tolls, heavy and ringing like the bells back home. Ding. Dong. Ding.

"Lunchtime," Poppy declares happily while shimmying from behind the counter. "This is my break. Altaris says that everyone, every day, deserves a break now and again. I like to do some calisthenics." As she skips to the door, she stretches her willowy limbs above her head. "Want to come with me? It's very fun, I promise. Very invigorating."

"She can't," Altaris replies from the mouth of the little hall leading to the main area of his "home." I didn't even notice him standing there. It's as if he appeared from thin air. Maybe he did. "This one is bound by biology in a way we are not, my darling. She must eat at lunchtime, not run around the city. You go on, my dear. Have fun."

"Okay!" Poppy slips from the main door and dances onto the street, her hair flying out behind her, blazing in the afternoon sun.

"Well, I can see she hasn't eaten you alive, at least," Altaris remarks with a small, cold smile. He doesn't intend to be nice. He is wary of me. More wary than I ever was with Caspian.

As though I am the one with fangs that snap and bite. As though I am the one with a reputation for drinking blood and draining victims dry.

"I think we've gotten off to the wrong start, you and I," the vamryre says, stalking forward. His hands are outstretched before him, a tray balanced on top. There is food on top of that. Steaming, warm, delicious-smelling food.

"It's been a while since we have a guest with your peculiar appetites," the man remarks, setting the tray onto the counter, within my reach—but not close enough for him to touch me. Or me, him.

"I admit my culinary skills are rather rusty, but I suppose that it is the thought that counts."

The thought that counts. I stare at the tray, my mouth watering, gaze still wary. This man despises me—I can see that. He doesn't even try to hide that. Yet…

The food he supplied for me is more than I've seen in one place, all at once. More variety than I've ever had. Soft, pillowy bread, not crusted and stale. Warm milk mixed with a delicious liquid that smells like earth. Yellow, sweet, fluffy eggs. Greasy strips of meat.

It is so much, yet it doesn't seem enough once I swallow down the last piece. In a way, I am still hungry—not physically. But… I want to taste other things. Eat other things. Find other things denied to me. Things I never knew one could want.

"It seems that you've gotten on with that well enough," Altaris says as I wipe my mouth with a white napkin supplied on the tray. He's been watching me from his corner near the little hall. Watching me the way I watched Caspian rip his brothers and sisters limb from limb.

Confused but not alarmed. Surprised but not entirely disgusted.

"Now that is out of the way, we can talk business, you and I," the vamryre claims, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your boy, the one of Cassius'."

I swallow again and nod. My Caspian. Mine.

"How ever did you come across him? I know little of that realm, but I am aware that intermingling is frowned upon."

"You had to…" I start to say. He had to be there. Everyone comes from the other realm. For a thousand years at least. Could he, perhaps, be from before that time? I don't know. For some reason, I suspect he wouldn't tell me, even if I asked. So, I don't. "He found me," I say.

"Ah." Altaris nods. "No doubt to stir up trouble. Cassius and his lot cause their fair share of damage, even out here. But the fact that now you are here…" He frowns and runs a pale finger along his chin. "That is the strange part, my darling. Something you must explain."

"I went through the portal," I say. A lie. The tunnel Caspian led me through was not the original portal written about in the official texts that litter the archives. It was a dirty place, forgotten and damp, yet festooned with fae magic. Fae stones.

"No, that is not what I am referring to. How did you make it through in one piece? Fae are not allowed to leave that little stables, that much I know. They forbid it."

"No," I say. "Fae can leave. Through the portal."

If they request to. If they want to. But who would? Surrounded by the beauty and safety of the Citadel, no full-blooded fae would want to leave.

"A lie I'm sure they feed your kind," Altaris remarks with a smile. "It's in the magic that created that place. Something the fae did to seal it away and sever their hiding place from this one. But it traps them there. Full-bloods at least. You, my dear, are a very interesting anomaly."

Anomaly. The term stings, seeming more insulting than abomination. It smarts, searing harsher than any wound ever inflicted by the Lord Master's punishments.

"Caspian," I say. "You said you can help him."

"Ah, yes. Frankly, I'm surprised that Cassius let him loose off his leash. He's been so very protective of that particular toy. He must be seething." He smiles as if he knows of him, this Cassius.

But how? If he has never been to the other realm, then how?

"His poor mind is a right sort of damaged," Altaris continues with a laugh. Then a sigh. He is puzzled by the damage of this so-called Cassius' mind. Puzzled and intrigued. Maybe a little excited.

Like me, he loves a mystery, though for very different reasons. I liked the challenge and the risk. He prefers the thrill, and he very much enjoys never solving his mystery in the end. It's the unraveling he enjoys.

"Typically, I would assume it would take him a few decades to come around again."

"Decades?" My heart hammers. I feel so heavy. Decades to a vamryre is mere seconds in mortal life. But fae, as long-lived as they are, still live mortal lives. I am mortal. For me a decade is not measured in seconds. Ten years. Ten agonizing years. Several stretches of ten agonizing years.

Could I wait for him so long?

This mystery doesn't require any solving on my part: yes. Even if it took a thousand years, I would wait for him.

"There is a way to speed up the process, I suspect," Altaris adds.

I brace my hands on the counter to keep from lunging across it. From grabbing the front of his pretty purple clothing and demanding an answer.

"Really? Tell me!"

He laughs and unfurls his arms to lace all ten of his tall fingers together. "An experimental option to be sure," he admits—but there is something he is hiding beneath those words. A threat. A dare. "You would have to put your trust in him, and I would have to put my trust in you."

"How?" I demand, impatient. Desperate. "Tell me!"

"For starters, you brought something with you. I can smell it, bundled in ragged cloth and decaying floral. Tell me what it is. Do not lie."

I hesitate. For so long, the sketchbook was my secret to hold. To protect. I can't risk losing it.

Then I think of Caspian, poor Caspian.

"A sketchbook," I say. "I took it from the archives, but it didn't belong."

"Oh my." Altaris tilts his head back, his gaze reflective. "Interesting. Interesting…"

He trails off, thinking whatever dark thoughts a vamryre might think.

I fidget. "Caspian?—"

"Helping him will take time. You would need to wait for the moment to present itself," Altaris says. "But you will also need to submit to… Well, let's just call it an examination. You are a strange creature, you do realize. I am sure, as naive as you are, even you do realize that?"

I do. Don't care. My nature is dirty and unwelcome, but it doesn't matter. Caspian is all that matters. For him, I will submit to anything.

"Just tell me what to do."

"For a start you can tell me what you are," Altaris counters, leaning in closer. His curiosity is evident. Draining. It's as though he prefers to sink his fangs into the mind of his prey rather than their throat. He aims to drink their knowledge. He aims to drain their very essence dry. "Tell me where you are from and start from the beginning. Should you lie to me, even once, I shall send you away and you can wait for your boy on the street. Understand?"

"Ask me," I croak. Even if he bleeds me dry, I have to submit.

He sighs and raises a black eyebrow in my direction. The glance he shoots me next is unreadable. In an instant, he transforms from strange, willowy stranger, to a hint of ancient vamryre. A creature that transcends all time. Decades to him are mere seconds. A handful of rocks in a desert of sand.

"Though you came through the portal, you were born of fae, were you not?"

I nod. "One of three." It stings to say as much out loud. One of three. A sinful burden. An admission of my abominable nature.

But the vamryre doesn't hiss and exclaim, "Impossible!" He nods. His eyes gleam. Licking his lips, he waits for more. He may have fed me, but this sates him more than a tray full of food ever could. A tray full of blood, even.

"Three?"

"A girl. A boy. Another girl," I rasp. "A shame upon house Aurelius. Punishment for my sins. I am a shameful thing. A dirty thing."

Altaris laughs. "Oh, my dear, I think that shame is reserved for your mother. My, my, what I wouldn't give to know what she'd gotten up to."

My mother? I frown and shake my head to clear it. Their mother—the rightful Day and Dawn. To me, she is a stranger. A remnant spoken about only in harsh whispers. I've never seen her. Never looked upon her face.

Day has never mentioned her once.

"Night Aurelia gave birth to me," I say. "But she is not my mother. I am a dirty shameful thing?—"

"Aurelia, you say." Altaris' eyes widen with greedy, giddy glee. He rubs his hands together and rushes toward me all at once. His aim is a bookshelf crammed onto the wall behind me. He licks the tip of his finger and traces it along a row of gleaming leather spines. Then he tugs on one and flips it open.

Triumphant, he lets out a roar of a laugh. "Ah, I knew it. House Aurelius, oh dear, have they done it now. Lord of all lords. Paragons of all houses of the fae. Oh yes, this is rich." He looks over his shoulder at me and chuckles. "Oh, this is so very rich. What I wouldn't give to know who your father is."

The question confuses me. "My father is Night Aurelius." Not really, but correcting the context now doesn't feel important. Altaris is not one for decorum, and I am too tired to care. Suddenly, I feel so very tired.

"Oh no," Altaris replies, slamming his book closed. "The sire of the other two in your litter, maybe. But of you? No. Your father is another creature. A forbidden creature. Oh yes, but who? That is the question." He flits to another bookshelf, tapping his chin, his eyes blazing with churning, inescapable interest.

I watch him tear through book after book. I watch him murmur to himself and practically squeal with glee. I grow more confused with every passing moment. More confused. More unwanted. More hopelessly lost.

"My father is from house Aurelius," I say as Altaris turns his back to me, hunched over another book. "I am a dirty shameful thing. A disgrace. I do not reflect upon those who bore me?—"

"Oh, poppycock!" Altaris growls at what he reads in his current book and then tosses it. He snatches another and flies through the pages. It's as if he isn't really reading. Just glancing at each page and remembering the wealth of knowledge already stored in his skull. "They may have brainwashed you and fed you their lies, but you, my darling, are not fae. You are a half breed of some kind. A hybrid of some kind. But of what?"

Half breed. Hybrid.

"I am a stain on house Aurelius," I say, my voice faint and weak. The highest house of all the fae. The only house I have ever known. The only identity I have ever known: broken one, unwanted one, but still fae…

I am still fae.

Yet, I always knew I wasn't. Something else. Unknown. Corrupted.

"Oh, look at you!" Altaris glares at me in utter contempt. "Carrying on like that you'll scare the customers."

Customers. A new one arrives amid the jiggling of a tiny bell affixed to the door. They enter in a hurry, nose buried in an open leather case balanced on a slender hip. "Hey Altaris, I've got a job to get to, so I'll pick it up later… Oh!" The figure looks up, their blue eyes wide. "It's you! Niamh. What are you doing here?"

"Ah, Colleen, darling," Altaris drawls, stalking toward her. In comparison with her slight frame, he is a giant, yet undeniably graceful as he extends a hand toward her.

Rather than take it in greeting, Colleen fishes an item from her bag and carefully places it on the vamryre's palm: a silver comb, far grander than the wooden one the Citadel Mother provided for me to use.

"I'll be back at six sharp for it," she says. Then she looks at me and flashes a sheepish grin. "I heard about the mess that happened at Mo's?—"

"And you won't tell her a thing about my new guests, I am sure," Altaris remarks while drifting past me to stand behind the counter.

"Of course not!" Colleen shrugs to sling the strap of her case over one shoulder. "Our relationship is strictly a working one. I don't get paid, it isn't my business. I'm glad to see you're okay, though. Where is the vamp? He get sent back?"

"Why don't you run along, dear?" Altaris smiles, but the expression doesn't reach his eyes. "I'll have your item ready. Six sharp."

Colleen nods and heads for the door. Then she looks back at me. "I'll come visit you another day, if you're still here. A lot of my clients live out this way anyway. Bye!"

The door jiggles to mark her departure, and Altaris sighs.

"Go!" He flicks his fingers dismissively in my direction. "I will tend the shop from here. Go! Let me have some time to think. Oh, but one last thing my dear…"

His voice calls me back before I can run into the main house and out of his sight. I suddenly, so very badly, need to be out of anyone's sight. I can't stand the sunlight on my face. Altaris' gleeful, judging, curious looks. Collen's wary, pitying glances. I can't stand for anyone to look at me and not see what I've always been told.

A dirty fae, but fae. A dirty thing, but still fae.

What am I if I'm not even fae?

A nothing. A disgrace. An empty, nothing being.

"Give me your word that you will let me attempt to bring your boy back with my own methods, hmm? Even at risk to yourself? You will let me try?"

Will I let him? For Caspian, the only one to ever look at me and see a dirty fae creature but want me anyway. Would I risk myself for him?

"Of course," I rasp before darting into the safety of the main house and its towering piles of stuff.

Of course, I'd do this for him.

Of course, I would do anything to bring him back.

Because if I have to wait decades, I may die before then. If I am not fae, but something else... I may not survive.