Eleanor regarded me with a gentle gaze. 'Do what, piper?'
I bit back a snarl with great effort. 'Give her two of my years.'
Two years wasn't long. When I became an old codger, I wouldn't care if I died two years early. Anything to warm
Nuala's clammy skin and put color back into her lips.
'But you know she'll only forget you after she burns.' Eleanor's mouth was pursed now, like a lovely rose, but her eyes glimmered. She was like a little kid, bursting with a secret that she was begging to share.
'That's what I thought, before,' I said. 'But I'm guessing you can tell me a way that she won't.'
In the rising dawn, her mouth spread into a wide line of pleasure that evoked memories of butterflies, flowers, sunshine, death, rot. 'Truly,' she breathed, 'Don't let it be said that I am not a benevolent queen to my subjects. If she trusts you enough to give you her true name, piper, her true name that will grant you control over her, like the faerie that she is, you can save her memories. You must watch her burn from beginning to end, and while she does, you must say her true name seven times, uninterrupted, and when she rises from the ashes... she'll remember everything.'
Suspicion prickled along my skin, but what Eleanor said had the ring of truth. Still, I had to ask. 'Why do you want to help her?'
Eleanor spread out her hands, as if she were opening a book, and shrugged delicately. 'Generosity of spirit. Now, you'd better hurry and kiss her, piper. Breathe two years into her, if you will.' She stood and brushed her knees off with pale, pale hands. 'Ta, ta.'
And with a shuddering of the air around her and a tug through my limbs, she was gone. And the sun was rising and Nuala was setting.
I brushed her light hair away from her freckled face and lightly pressed my lips to her mouth. It didn't feel like kissing Nuala. It felt like kissing a corpse. Nothing was happening. I was kissing a dying girl and nothing was happening.
Two years, Nuala. It's not that long. I want to give it to you. Just take it. I kissed her again, and breathed into her mouth.
It didn't feel like anything was happening. Hell. Shouldn't she jump to life if it was working? I tried again-- three times is the charm, right?--and tried to visualize my life flowing into her. I didn't care if she took two years. I didn't care if she took ten years. Her head rolled back and her skin covered with goose bumps. It looked dead and cold, like a frozen chicken.
'Damn it, Nuala!' My hands were shaking; every so often, my whole body shuddered. I shoved my fingers into my pocket and retrieved my cell phone. Flipping it open one-handed, I shut my eyes, trying to remember the shape of the numbers in my head.
I imagined them drawn on my skin and then I had them. I hit send.
The phone rang twice, and Sullivan's voice, thick with sleep, answered, 'Hello?' He added, dutifully, 'This is Patrick Sullivan of Thornking-Ash.'
'I need you,' I said. 'I need your help.'
The thick voice was a lot more awake all of a sudden. 'James?
What's going on?'
I didn't know what to say to that. There's a girl dying in my arms. Because of me. 'I'm--is anyone else up? I need to bring someone in. I need your help.' I realized I was repeating myself and shut up.
'I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'm unlocking the back door. Assuming you didn't already.'
'I'll be there in a few minutes,' I said. Sullivan was still talking when I snapped the phone shut and shoved it back in my pocket. I clumsily got my arm under Nuala's armpit and around her knees. 'C'mon, babe.' I staggered to my feet. My sweatshirt dropped to the ground. Whatever. I'd get it later. I waded through the waist-high grass until I got to the edge of the school grounds, and then I skirted around the back of the dorm.
Sullivan was waiting by the back door in sweat pants. He silently held the door open for me as I maneuvered Nuala and myself through the doorway.
All he said was, 'My door's open.'
His room was still scented with cinnamon candle and daisies, though neither was in evidence, and there were papers inexplicably scattered all over the floor. Sullivan pointed to his bed, which was neatly made and illuminated by a square of cold sunlight from the window.
I should've laid her down carefully on the bed, but my arms were killing me and I sort of half-laid, half- dropped her.
Sullivan hung at my shoulder. 'Is she a student?'
'No.' I brushed her hair out of her face. 'Fix her.'
He laughed, a little helplessly. 'You have such faith in me.
What's wrong with her?'
'I don't know. I think it's me.' I didn't look at him. 'She's a faerie. She's the muse.'
'Jesus Christ, James!' Sullivan grabbed my upper arm and spun me toward him. 'You told me you didn't make a deal with her!
What the hell is she doing on my bed?'
I stood there, his fingers gripped on my arm, staring at him, still shaking and hating that I was. 'I didn't make a deal. That's why she's here. She hasn't taken anything from me and I think she's dying. Sullivan, please.'
He stared back at me.
'Please.'
My voice sounded strange to me. Thin. Desperate.
Sullivan let out a breath and released me. He rubbed his hand into his face for a long moment before he joined me again at the bed. 'James, you've got to be wrong. The leanan sidhe fades when she's going without. She can't stay visible. This faerie--this girl--this is a human reaction.'
'She's not human.'
Sullivan lay a hand on Nuala's forehead; his eyes roamed over her body. 'She's very thin,' he observed. 'When was the last time she's eaten?'
'What? I don't know. She doesn't eat food.' But even as I said it, I remembered the grain of rice on her lip.
'Let's humor me. Cover her up. She's freezing.'
He disappeared into the kitchen area and I heard the little fridge opening. I eased a blanket from under Nuala's legs and pulled it up around her. I ran a finger over her cold cheekbones; they did seem more prominent than when we'd first met. I traced the dark hollows under her closed eyes. Some sort of weird, miserable emotion made me want to curl up next to her and close my eyes too.
A fruity aroma accompanied Sullivan as he returned. 'It's soda,' he said, apologetically. His eyes paused for the briefest second on my fingers resting on Nuala's skin. 'It was the most sugary thing I had on hand. I had honey, too, but that sounded sticky.
Prop her up. I hope she's conscious enough to swallow. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.'
She fit in the crook of my arm. Together, Sullivan and I did the crappy nursemaid thing. I supported her jaw and he tipped a bit of Mountain Dew into her mouth.
'Careful she doesn't choke.'
I tipped her head back and ran a hand along her throat. I'd seen
Dee do it when she was trying to get her dog to swallow pills.
Nuala swallowed.
Rinse and repeat. We kept going until she had about a half a glass of soda down, and then she coughed. Coughing was good, right?
'More?' Sullivan asked. I didn't know who he was asking, because I sure didn't know.
Nuala opened her eyes. For a second, I could tell she wasn't really focused on anything, but then I saw her eyes slide slowly toward me, and then toward Sullivan, and then around the room.
And the words she said were just classic Nuala. 'Oh, shit.'
