A Local Habitation

“But in this world, they do,” said the almost Dare. “They founder and fall. Someone had to take the bodies, lest they bury the world. The pyres blackened the sky before we came; only fire cleanses the bodies of the dead as well as we do.” An amused buzz ran through the flock. “For all that they were never meant to die, they did, and do, with such surprising grace.”

“So you exist to eat the dead.”

“Yes. But there had to be an incentive—you should know that. Your blood runs close to ours; we take the bodies, but you take the blood. Would you drink the lives of your kin if they brought you no revelations?”

“No.”

“Neither would we. We were made to eat Faerie’s dead; that doesn’t make it pleasant. There are . . . other ways.” She motioned for one of the night-haunts from the back of the flock to come forward. It came reluctantly, a translucent, half-drawn shape of mist and shadows, wings visible only when they moved. I could feel it watching me, even though I couldn’t see its eyes; it was hungry. “Ways to force our actions, you might say.”

“Oh, oak and ash . . .” I breathed.

“If we do not eat, we fade,” she continued, ignoring my discomfort. “We learned quickly, and made a bargain with Oberon our father. We no longer touch the living, but the dead are ours. We eat their flesh, drink the memories in their blood, and use their shapes in lieu of our own. That is how it is. That is how it shall be. Do you understand?”

Did I understand that I was surrounded by cannibals who thought they had a divine right to eat my flesh? Oh, yeah. “I think so.”

“Good. Then you understand why we do not eat the dead of this place.”

Huh? “No.”

“The blood remembers, and the memory is what keeps us alive—not just the flesh, but the life that wore it. We drink the memories and they give us shape, for a time. There are always more dead waiting when the memories fade.”

The Ross-haunt nodded, snapping his wings open. They made a sound like ripping silk. “We drink their lives and live their hours, and we remember them. It’s a small thing, and it ends, but we remember.”

“We always remember,” said the one with Dare’s face.

Understanding hit. That was why their leader wore Dare’s face, and why I recognized other members of their flock; they pretended to be the dead because they had no choice. No; that wasn’t right. They were the dead. “You don’t have shapes of your own.”

“That’s right. And something’s beaten us to the bodies of this place. There’s nothing here that can sustain us.” She shrugged. “We don’t work for free.”

“Do you know what drained the . . . the memory of the blood?”

“No. This has never happened before.” For a moment, she looked almost gentle. “If we knew why, we’d stop it ourselves. There aren’t so many deaths in Faerie that we can afford to see them wasted.”

“I understand,” I said, trying to justify this with what I already knew. The blood was dead; this confirmed that it wasn’t supposed to be. The night-haunts are a natural part of the faerie life cycle. If this had happened before, they’d have known.

“Do you understand why no one must know the why and how of what we are?” She looked at me sharply, waiting.

I nodded. “If all of Faerie knew, some people would burn the bodies to keep you from taking them.”

“That is so. We would fade to nothing but the sound of leaves on the wind.” She fanned her wings, closing them with a click. “Will you keep your silence, daughter of Amandine?”

“I will,” I said. I meant it. Faerie has reasons to be the way it is, even if I don’t always understand them. The night-haunts have as much right to be what Faerie made them as the rest of us do; if ignorance preserved them, I’d keep their secrets.

“You’re wiser than most who deal with us. Is there anything else you would know?”

“No. That’s everything I needed. We can end this now.”

The night-haunt with Devin’s face smiled. “What makes you think we’re done?”

I went cold. “What more is there to do?”

“The matter of payment remains.” He kept smiling, and I realized he didn’t really care whether they took the mandrake or me. He wanted blood—any blood. The night-haunts hadn’t survived by being picky.

I pulled the knife out of the mandrake’s chest and picked it up. It clung to my fingers. I felt a brief, sharp pang of guilt. It was part of me, blood of my blood, and I was throwing it to its doom. Still, sentimental as I can sometimes be, I’m not stupid; if the choice was it or me . . . “I’m sorry,” I murmured, and held it out toward the night-haunts. “Blood is all I have. I’m offering it to you, if you’ll leave me my life and leave this place in peace.”

“Why should we take it? You reject the blood and all it gives you.” The almost- Ross looked at me, eyes cold. “We could take you.”

“The Luidaeg wouldn’t like it,” I said, trying to sound confident. For all I knew, she’d laugh—especially if they meant it when they claimed to be her sister’s children.

“She’d think you performed the ritual wrong,” Devin’s haunt said. “She’d blame you, not us.”

Uh-oh. “Are you willing to risk it?” My heart was beating too fast, and I was sure they could hear it. If they decided to take me, there was nothing I could do.

“Take the offering,” said Dare’s haunt. “Let her dismiss us.”

“But—” the Ross-haunt protested.

Dare’s haunt moved too quickly for my eye to follow, seizing the larger night-haunt by the throat. It fell silent, watching her. “I found the last kill. I. Remember?” she snarled. The haunt she was holding nodded, sullenly silent. “I brought us blood and bone and memory, and until another kill is found, I rule. Is this not true?” She shook her victim again, glaring at the other haunts. “Is this not true?” They whispered agreement, drawing away from her.

She released her captive. It collapsed to the ground before slinking into the shadows of the flock. “I rule here,” she repeated. The whispering night- haunts agreed. She walked back to the circle’s edge, holding out her hands. “Give it to me.”

Carefully, I reached past the salt, putting the mandrake down even as it scrabbled to hold onto my fingers. It was almost as large as she was. She placed one hand on its shoulder, and it froze, watching her with terrified eyes. “The dues are paid; you have given proper courtesy. We’ll let you live.”

“Why?” hissed the not- Devin. She turned, and he fell back, cringing.

“Because I said so,” she said. “My most recent memories say she is a hero. Not just any hero; my hero.” She looked back at me. “You will fade from my mind. If we meet again, I may not be so kind—but today, you are my hero. I’ve had few enough of those, in all my lives. Good luck to you. I’ll find your body when you fall, and wear your face with pride.” Her smile was small and amused. “It’s the greatest gift I can offer.”

Then the night-haunts rose as one body, dragging the mandrake into the air with them. It shrieked, voicing its terror. I clapped my hands over my ears, sagging forward in the circle as a shallower, more natural darkness filled the cafeteria. The sound of the fire slowly returned. The night-haunts were gone.

The emergency sprinklers finally registered the smoldering remains of my circle and switched on, dousing the room. I tilted my head back, cradling my wounded hand against my chest as the water poured across my face.

I didn’t save Dare, but she’d managed to save me twice. I wasn’t a very good hero, but I was the only one she had, and there’s power in that. There’s power in information, too, and I had all the information I could have wanted. I’d never wanted to know what the night-haunts really were, and I knew I’d never be able to forget. That could wait. For the moment, I sat in the falling water, surrounded by the cloying smell of burnt flowers, and cried.

TWENTY-ONE

“TOBY?” THE DOOR OPENED, sending a shaft of light into my damp, comfortable darkness. I wasn’t sure when the sprinklers had stopped; I also wasn’t sure I cared. Connor called again, more