Rosemary and Rue

hid her fading acne scars. She was wearing greasy overalls, heavy work boots, and a faded flannel shirt, placing her squarely in the category of local.

I blinked. “Oh. You.” She’d seen the rose goblin. A human couldn’t have done that. “I tried, but you were gone too fast. Look, I’m looking for someone. Do you live around here?”

“Guess so.” She shifted the bag to her other arm, the contents rattling. “Don’t you know where you’re going?”

“Like I said, I’m looking for someone.”

“Right. Nice ears, by the way. Oberon’s bastards always did breed like rats.” She knelt to chuck the rose goblin under the chin. It hissed again and darted behind my legs. Smirking, she looked up, pupils narrowing to slits. “I think you’re looking for me.”

I was expecting something like that, and managed not to jump. Barely. “Are you . . . ?”

“The Luidaeg, yes. You’re a good guesser. Of course, you’re standing on my doorstep, so maybe it’s not such a guess. How’d you find me, anyway?” She sniffed the air, still crouching, and gave me a thoughtful look. “You stink of the Rose Roads. Not just one strain of roses, either—I can smell the Winterrose on you, and Luna’s line, as well as your own. Old roses and new roses . . .” She paused. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”

“I . . .”

“Look, if you’re not here to see me, you can stay out here. Whatever stupid quest you think you’re on can go unfulfilled; you haven’t made it my problem yet.” She straightened and dug a key out of her pocket. “But I’m going in before my ice cream melts.” Pushing open the door, she stepped into the darkness.

I stared after her until she stuck her head back out, asking, “Well? Are you coming?”

What was I supposed to say to the sea witch, terror of faerie children everywhere? No?

The apartment was dark, furnished with rejects from a hundred different thrift stores. Things moved in the shadows. I didn’t want to know what they were, anymore than I wanted to know the nature of the things crunching under my feet as I walked down the cluttered hallway. The rose goblin crept behind me, staying pressed against my ankles. I glanced down. It whined.

The Luidaeg pushed past, heading for the kitchen. “By the root and fucking branch, pick that thing up. It’ll start squalling like a baby if you don’t.”

I knelt, scooping the goblin into my arms. It made a cheeping noise and subsided, clinging. “How did you . . . ?”

“I’ve dealt with the little bastards before. They were an accident on the part of a niece of mine.” She reappeared in the kitchen door, a Diet Coke in one hand. “They’re all predictable—goblins and Oberon’s bastards. What do you want?”

“What?” I wasn’t keeping up. This whole thing had me off my guard.

“Want. What do you want? I mean, I’ve been expecting you, I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She popped the can open and took a swig. “It’s cool if you don’t want to say. I just hope you like my company, since we’re stuck here until you spill it.”

“How do you know I want something? Maybe I’m here because I’m grateful for the way you saved my life.” That was dangerously close to saying thank you—but she’d thanked me earlier. Maybe she was old enough that the restrictions didn’t apply.

Her laugh was bitter. “Like hell. The last time one of you thin-blooded bastards was grateful, I wound up getting chased halfway across the Summerlands by jerks with torches who said I’d enchanted the kid to make him serve me. I don’t need that shit. I don’t look for gratitude, and I don’t get it. If you’re here, you want something. What is it?”

The goblin in my arms whined. I resisted the urge to do the same. She laughed again. “Let me guess. I’m not what you were expecting, am I?”

“You’re a little more normal than I thought you’d be,” I admitted. I don’t lie to the Queen. Somehow, I thought the Luidaeg deserved the same courtesy.

“Of course I am.” She walked toward me until we were nearly nose-to-nose. “You came here looking for a monster, right? Well, I hate to disappoint. You’re Amandine’s daughter, aren’t you?” I nodded, and she smirked. “You’re more like your mama than she wanted you to be, and I bet you can roll the balance of the blood on your tongue like wine. Well, go ahead, baby doll. Give me a taste.”

Her eyes widened to fill the world, pupils expanding into endless darkness. Almost against my will I did as she commanded, looking deep to see what she was and what roads her blood had traveled. Deep, so deep . . .

. . . water and fire, blood and burning. She and her sisters were goddesses then, she and Black Annis and Gentle Annie, tending the younger children, roaming the bogs and rivers of the world. Maeve’s Firstborn, pulled from her in blood and screaming while Oberon walked far, far away. But they died one by one at the hands of men and fae, by iron and ash and rowan and fire they died, until the Luidaeg was the last, running, always running, called monster and demon because her blood was so much older and wilder than their own . . .

I ripped myself free of her eyes with a gasp, staggering backward. A final thought lashed across my vision, burning: . . . did we lose it all for the roses? Oh, Mother, you fool . . .

My grip tightened on the goblin, and it hissed, raising its thorns just enough to prick my skin. Shuddering, I forced myself to calm down and relax my hold, still staring at the Luidaeg.

She looked at me, one brow arched. “Well?” she asked. “Know what I am yet?”

“I . . . you . . .” The answer was there, written in blood and ashes and Maeve’s despairing cries as she knelt on the graves of her daughters.The legends said the Luidaeg was a monster. They hadn’t warned me about why.

“Oberon was nowhere to be seen when my sisters and I were born. The year had turned; he was off tryst ing with his pretty Summer Queen. And neither of them raised a hand when their children, their perfect, pretty children, started hunting us down like dogs. We were my mother’s daughters, not Titania’s. They couldn’t be bothered.” Her smile was thin and bitter. “His law came down too late for us.”

“You’re Maeve’s daughter.” She was one of the Firstborn, the oldest denizens of Faerie, our foundations and beginnings. They’re all supposed to be dead or in hiding, not drinking Diet Coke in low-rent apartments in my hometown.

The Luidaeg smiled thinly. “And you’re Amandine’s. I was wondering how long it would take for a member of that line to bother tracking me down—although I’ll admit, your blood’s a bit thinner than I expected. Tried to fix matters on her own, did she? She always was brainless. Runs in the family.” She sipped her soda again. “Now you know what I am.”

“You’re no monster.”

“I was close enough for fairy tales.” The Luidaeg shook her head, and I realized I’d looked more deeply than she expected. Interesting. “I’m tired of this. What do you want? Tell me or get out.”

“You healed me.”

“And?”

“I know it wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart.”

“I hate debts.”

“Did you taste the curse?”

“Curse?” She grinned. “You mean that nasty binding the Winterrose slapped on you? Oh, yeah, I tasted it. That’s one of the meaner pieces of work I’ve seen this century. She really pulled out the stops on that one. Always was a nasty bitch, that one.”

“Is there a way out of it?”

“Sure. Fulfill it.”

“Is there any other way?”

“What, it wasn’t clear enough for you?” She cleared her throat. When she spoke again her voice was Evening’s, clipped and cruel: “Find the answers, October Daye, find the reasons and find the one who caused this, or find only your own death.” She paused, and her voice was her own again. “The Winterrose is good at what she does. There’s no loophole.”

That was exactly what I hadn’t wanted to hear. “So I’m trapped.”

“Yep.” She sat down on a rickety chair, crossing her legs. “I just can’t figure out how she got you to drink her blood. It wouldn’t be nearly this strong if you hadn’t done that.”