20. Requiem

Ihadn't been in Colma at night before. It made quite a difference. The dead were thick on the ground, adding to the fog crawling over the hills and blanketing the cemeteries. Getting out of the car, I felt stronger, the magic coiled and ready in my chest.

Clive took my hand and we walked down the deserted street to the side gate of the out-of-business monument shop. I had a moment to wonder if the gate would admit a vampire and then he was pushing through the ward. Passing the remnants of the old business, we made it to the courtyard.

It was dark and empty. No fairy lights glowed above, no flicker from a fire in the windows of The Wicche Glass Tavern. She was gone.

"You described it, but I hadn't imagined properly. It's magical, isn't it?" Clive silently prowled the courtyard, taking in the massive, gnarled tree that housed the bar, the gargantuan roots snaking their way around the yard, protecting it.

"Very." I didn't want to go in, didn't want to see what had been done to her. Please, let it have been fast and painless. Please.

Clive took my hand again as I made my way to the door, hanging askew off its hinges. Holding my breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside. Hazy moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the wreckage. It was like The Slaughtered Lamb all over again. Tables and chairs busted, the bar splintered, bottles broken, glass littering the buckled wood of the floor.

The scent of alcohol was heavy in the air, but so, too, was death. Following my nose, I stepped over and around shards of wood, making my way to her snug, the little sitting room she kept behind the bar.

The door was open, so we were hit with the full impact at once. A lifetime of mementos and memories smashed to pieces. Most of the photos of Martha and Galadriel that had decorated a full wall were now broken on the floor. The few that still clung to the wall bore a similar center hit, the glass spiderwebbing out, obscuring the life the women had shared.

In the center of the room, stripped and covered in burns and cuts, lay Martha. Abigail and her demon had tortured a woman in her seventies. Holding in the sob that wanted to break free, I went to her. Kneeling in blood, I covered her, gathered her in my arms, and rocked. Tears streamed down my face as I silently prayed for her.

I'd done this before. Pain split my head as I recovered a stolen memory. I'd been kneeling in my mother's blood, her torn and broken body in my arms. I'd come home from school and found her in the living room of our tiny apartment. A homeless man had lain crumpled in the corner, dead. He'd probably been used to torture my mother, as Abigail would have wanted to keep her hands clean.

When I stood with Martha in my arms, Clive tried to take her, but I couldn't let him. She was mine to carry. Shuffling through the bar, I went back out to the courtyard. I'd bury her here, where she'd been happiest with Galadriel. Laying her on one of the long tables, I studied the area. I wanted her to have a view of The Wicche Glass Tavern tree and the side of the courtyard that led to Faerie, to Galadriel.

"What can I do?" Clive asked.

I'd forgotten I wasn't alone anymore. "See if you can find a shovel?"

Clearing leaves and rocks from the moss where I wanted to dig, I unspooled the magic within me and sent it deep into the earth, asking if I could use this place to inter Martha. I was on the border of Faerie. I didn't want to do anything to piss her off.

A feeling of peace and calm settled on me and I had my answer.

Clive returned a few minutes later, shovel in hand.

"Thanks." When I took a closer look, I saw it was brand new.

"There were no shovels around here, so I took one from a nursery a few blocks away."

"Handy."

"I am." He brushed a stray hair off my face before dropping a soft kiss on my lips. "Let me do this for you."

I hugged him tightly and then stepped back and took the shovel from his hand. "This is mine to do."

Nodding, he sat on the bench next to Martha and waited. It didn't take me long. When I turned to retrieve Martha, Clive was there, holding her. We laid her in the hole together. He took up the shovel and moved the earth back in, covering her. I went to the closed monument shop storefront. They had to have something I could use as a headstone.

Dust swirled in the air as I yanked open the back door. No one had probably stepped foot in here since Martha and Galadriel bought it to use as a front for their bar. Cobwebs swayed as I walked through the dark building. I finally found what I was looking for on a shelf behind the register.

It was a soft, almost periwinkle blue stone that had already been partially carved. It was maybe a little over one foot square, perhaps two inches thick. A large tree of life dominated the stone plaque, leaving a smaller area open for personalization.

Taking the stone, I walked back to Clive, who had filled the hole and replaced the layer of moss I'd put aside. I sat at the nearby table, concentrated on the claw of only my index finger, and soon had something to carve with. It wasn't professional looking, but it felt right.

Martha Corey

Beloved of Galadriel

Not knowing when she was born, I left the dates of her life blank. Besides, this seemed the most important pieces of information. She'd lived, been loved, and will be missed. I placed the plaque on the ground and pushed it firmly into the moss.

"Did Martha tell you where to look for the grimoire?" Clive asked. "If she believes it's important in defeating Abigail, we need to find it."

I opened my mouth to respond and then heard a soft, strange noise. Glancing around, I found Pippin on the gnarled tree root, looking down at the plaque.

"She'dlikethat."

Again, it took a moment for my brain to catch up with the pixie's fast, high-pitched speech. "Good. Were you here when it happened?"

He shook his head, anger lining his face.

"When Galadriel returns, can you tell her what happened? Tell her I'm so very sorry."

"Sorry about what?" The beautiful elven warrior hopped over the tree roots on the far side of the courtyard. She focused first on Clive, her hand lifting to the sword strapped to her back, and then her head lifted, scenting the wind.

On a strangled scream, she tore across the courtyard and ran into The Wicche Glass. Knowing what she would find, I started to follow.

"Sam," Clive was by side, a hand on my arm stopping me. "She needs time to grieve."

"She'll have questions. I want to help."

"The dawn is coming. We must leave." He gripped my hand and tried to pull me away.

"I can't just leave. You go ahead, beat the dawn. I'll run home later."

"I'm not leaving you with an angry, heartbroken warrior. She'll kill you just to feel something other than pain."

"Excellent idea, vampire." Galadriel stood in the doorway, her face a mask of rage, a huge sword in her powerful hand. Her purple eyes flashed as she stalked down the stairs, long silver hair streaming behind her.

"You." She pointed her sword at my head. "She was safe until you. I'd kept her safe. All these years, I've kept her from your kind. Then you show up and—" She faltered, her eyes becoming glassy. A blink later, they were clear and fierce. "You show up. I'm forced to leave. Then she's tortured and killed."

Clive stepped in front of me, into the path of the sword. "It's not Sam's fault. Sam's aunt—Martha's niece—is a sorceress. She's evil."

"And you led her here!" she roared, her sword still pointed over Clive's shoulder at me.

She was right. It didn't matter whether it was intended or not. I'd led evil to their door. Martha was dead and Galadriel heartbroken. "I'm so sorry. I wish I'd never bothered either of you. Truly. If I could go back and do it again, I wouldn't have come."

"Keep your guilt. I want my love, but I'll settle for your blood."

When she started forward again, Clive held up a hand. "I won't let you hurt her. Unlike Martha, Sam has been hunted since she was born. The only reason she survived torture as a teenager is because of her father's wolf blood. Sam is not the villain in this story. Abigail is. Sam and Martha found family after a very long time alone. Your anger is misplaced. But if it would help…" He pushed me away from him. "You'll find me a more experienced adversary."

"Done." She slashed the huge sword through the air, nearly taking Clive's head off, but he was gone before the weapon completed its arc. Standing behind her, his fist swung toward the back of her head. She must have sensed it coming because she was flipping over his head, landing on a table behind him, the sword coming down at an angle to hack him in half.

Before the sword could touch him, he'd spun and punched, causing Galadriel to fly across the courtyard and bust a table and some chairs. Wiping the blood from her brow, she charged at him again. They were too fast. Much of what they did barely registered after the fact. It was like talking to Pippin. It took my mind a moment to catch up with what I was seeing.

Which is how, a short time and many broken tables and chairs later, Galadriel stood behind me, her sword to my throat. Clive rose from where he'd been thrown and crossed the courtyard to us. Rage poured off him. It wasn't until his calm was gone that I realized it had been like a practice session to him. She needed to work off the grief and he was the only one equal to her skill. The disinterested expression was gone.

"You overstep," he said, his voice like ice.

"Mercy and forgiveness are despised by the fae. We prize revenge. A love for a love. It's time for you to lose yours." The grief in her voice was her only show of emotion. Her breathing remained steady. The huge sword at my throat never wavered.

"That I cannot allow." He spared me the briefest of glances before focusing once again on the woman who held me.

Please don't hurt her.

I may not have a choice. If that sword moves, she's dead.

Have you tried giving her pain?

She'd convulse, cutting off your head.

I can stop her.

See that you do. Now.

Faster than a blink, I wrestled her arm from my neck as Clive gave her pain that dropped her to her knees. Clive had me ten feet away, wrapped in one arm, while the other held Galadriel's sword. He stared down at the sword a moment and then dropped it, his hand red and blistered.

The distraction was enough. Galadriel popped up, intent on continuing the battle, when something caught her attention. Pausing, she looked to the left at Martha's grave. Shoulders slumping, she dropped back to her knees and rested a hand on the stone.

"Just leave." The defeat in her voice broke my heart.

The dawn was fast approaching and Galadriel needed space, so we left. Clive raced home, the streets thankfully quiet in the early morning. The sun was just rising as the garage door slid down. We'd made it.

I waited until the engine was off and then grabbed his hand. The blistering was gone, but it still looked red. "What caused it?"

He got out and waited for me, taking my hand as we entered the dark, quiet house and made our way to our room. "I've heard of elven metal that can be spelled for one owner. It's possible only Galadriel can touch her own weapon. I've never held elven steel before. It's just as possible that vampires can't touch it without burning."

"Handy."

"For them, yes."

When we reached our bedroom, we both headed for the bathroom. We cleaned up quickly and were sliding into bed shortly afterward. Clive had time to pull me in tightly, kiss the top of my head, and then he was out.

Wrapping myself around him, I settled in to sleep, trying not to think about death and grief, responsibility and regret, and the grimoire I needed to combat Abigail, the one Galadriel would never let me have.