[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
smooth and dark and unreadable. He gave a formal bow and offered me his arm as
any gentleman would.
I took his arm, encircling it with both my hands, but as my right hand rested
on top of my left, it didn't touch his skin. I thought about touching him
accidentally on purpose, but I didn't know exactly what the ring did. I didn't
know what it was for, and until I did, it was probably not a good idea to keep
invoking its magic.
We walked down the path arm in arm, at a sedate but steady pace. My heels made
a sharp sound on the stones. Doyle paced beside me silent as a shadow; only
the solidness of his arm, the sweep of his cloak against my body let me know
he was there. I knew that if I let go of his arm, he could melt into the
darkness that was his namesake -I would never see the blow that killed me
unless he wished it. No, unless my aunt wished it.
I would have liked to fill the silence with talk, but Doyle had never been
much for small talk, and tonight neither was I.
Chapter 25
THE STONE PATH MET THE MAIN AVENUE, WHICH WAS WIDE ENOUGH FOR a cart and horse
or a small car, if cars had been allowed, which they were not. Once upon a
time, so I was told, there had hung torches, then lanterns, to light the
avenue. Modern fire laws frowned on all-night torches, so now the poles that
rested every eighteen feet or so held will-o'-the-wisps. One of the craftsfolk
had fashioned wooden and glass cages for the lights. The lights were palest
blue, ghostly white, a yellow so pale it was almost another shade of white,
and a green leeched to a dim color, barely distinguishable from the faint glow
of the yellow lights. It was like walking through pools of colored phantoms as
we passed from one dim light to the next.
When Jefferson had invited the fey into this country, he'd also offered them
land of their choice. They'd chosen the mounds at Cahokia. There are tales
whispered on long winter nights about what lived in the mounds before we came.
What we... evicted from the mounds. The things that lived inside the land were
chased away or destroyed, but magic is a hardier thing. There was a feel to
the place as you walked down the avenue with the great hulking mounds to
either side. The largest mound in the city proper was at the end of the
avenue. I went to Washington, D. C., during college, and when I came home it
was almost unnerving how forcibly the mound city reminded me of being in
Washington, standing on the plaza surrounded by those monuments to American
Page 156
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
glory. Now, walking down the center and only street, I
had the sense of great time passing. This place had once been a great city as
Washington was now, a center of culture and power, and now it lay quiet,
cleansed of its original inhabitants. The humans had thought the mounds were
empty when they offered them up to us, just bones and some pots buried here
and there. But the magic had still been there, deep and slumbering. It had
fought and then embraced the fey. The conquering or winning over of that alien
magic had been one of the last times the two courts worked together against a
common foe.
Of course, the very last time had been World War II. Hitler had at first
embraced the fey of Europe.
He'd wanted to add them to the genetic mix of his master race. Then he'd met a
few of the less human members of the fey. Among ourselves there is a class
structure as rigid and unbreakable as it is foolish;
the Seelie Court especially looks down on those who do not look like blood.
Hitler mistook this
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
arrogance for lack of caring. But it was like a family with siblings. Among
themselves they could fight and beat each other bloody, but let anyone turn on
one of them and they became a united force against the common enemy.
Hitler used the wizards he'd gathered to trap and destroy the lesser fey. His
fey allies didn't desert him.
They turned on him without warning. Humans would have felt the need to
distance themselves from him, to warn him of their change of heart, or maybe
that was an American ideal. It certainly wasn't a fey ideal.
The allies found Hitler and all the wizards hanging up by their feet in his
underground bunker. They never found his mistress, Eva Braun. Every once in a
while the tabloids say that Hitler's grandson has been found.
None of my direct relatives were involved in Hitler's death, so I don't know
for sure, but I suspect strongly that something simply ate her.
My father had gotten two silver stars in the war. He'd been a spy. I never
remembered being particularly proud of the medals, mainly because my father
never seemed to care about them. But when he died, he left them to me in their
satin-lined box. I'd carried them around in a carved wooden box along with the
rest of my childhood treasures: colored bird feathers, rocks that sparkled in
the sun, the tiny plastic ballerinas that had graced my sixth-birthday cake, a
dried bit of lavender, a toy cat with fake jewel eyes, and two silver stars
given to my dead father. Now the medals were back in their satin box in a
drawer in my dresser. The rest of my "treasures" were scattered to the winds.
"Your thoughts are far away, Meredith," Doyle said.
I was still walking at his side, hands on his arm, but for a moment only my
body had been there. It startled me to realize how far away I'd been.
"I'm sorry, Doyle, were you speaking to me?" I shook my head.
"What were you thinking about so very hard?" he asked. The lights played over
his face, painting colored shadows against his black skin. It was almost as if
his skin reflected the lights like carved and polished wood. I was touching
his arm, so I could feel the warmth, the muscles underneath, the softness of
his skin. His skin felt like anyone's skin, but light didn't reflect off skin,
not like that.
"I was thinking about my father," I said.
"What of him?" Doyle turned his head to look at me as we walked. The long
feathers brushed his neck, mingling with the spill of black hair that was only
partially trapped down the back of the cloak. I realized that except for the
small knot that captured the front pieces of his hair, the rest of his hair
was spilling out underneath the cloak, loose.
"I was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II."
He kept walking but turned his face full to me, never missing a step. He
looked bemused. "Why would you be thinking of that now?"
Page 157
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
I shook my head. "I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The
mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and
purpose. It must have been like that here once."
Doyle looked up at the mounds. "And now it is quiet, almost deserted."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
I smiled. "I know better than that. There's hundreds, thousands under our
feet."
"But yet the comparison of the two cities saddens you. Why?"
I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. We were standing in a pool of
yellow light, but there were pinpricks of every color of will-o'-the-wisp in
his eyes, swirling like a tiny cloud of colored fireflies.
Except the colors in his eyes were rich and pure, not ghostly, and there were
reds and purples and colors that shone nowhere near us.
I closed my eyes, suddenly dizzy and nauseated. I answered with my eyes still
shut. "Sad to think that
Washington may someday be a tired ruin. Sad to know that the glory days passed
this place by long before we arrived." I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
His eyes were just black mirrors once more. "Sad to think that the fey's glory
days are passed and us being here in this place is proof of that." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl chiara76.opx.pl
smooth and dark and unreadable. He gave a formal bow and offered me his arm as
any gentleman would.
I took his arm, encircling it with both my hands, but as my right hand rested
on top of my left, it didn't touch his skin. I thought about touching him
accidentally on purpose, but I didn't know exactly what the ring did. I didn't
know what it was for, and until I did, it was probably not a good idea to keep
invoking its magic.
We walked down the path arm in arm, at a sedate but steady pace. My heels made
a sharp sound on the stones. Doyle paced beside me silent as a shadow; only
the solidness of his arm, the sweep of his cloak against my body let me know
he was there. I knew that if I let go of his arm, he could melt into the
darkness that was his namesake -I would never see the blow that killed me
unless he wished it. No, unless my aunt wished it.
I would have liked to fill the silence with talk, but Doyle had never been
much for small talk, and tonight neither was I.
Chapter 25
THE STONE PATH MET THE MAIN AVENUE, WHICH WAS WIDE ENOUGH FOR a cart and horse
or a small car, if cars had been allowed, which they were not. Once upon a
time, so I was told, there had hung torches, then lanterns, to light the
avenue. Modern fire laws frowned on all-night torches, so now the poles that
rested every eighteen feet or so held will-o'-the-wisps. One of the craftsfolk
had fashioned wooden and glass cages for the lights. The lights were palest
blue, ghostly white, a yellow so pale it was almost another shade of white,
and a green leeched to a dim color, barely distinguishable from the faint glow
of the yellow lights. It was like walking through pools of colored phantoms as
we passed from one dim light to the next.
When Jefferson had invited the fey into this country, he'd also offered them
land of their choice. They'd chosen the mounds at Cahokia. There are tales
whispered on long winter nights about what lived in the mounds before we came.
What we... evicted from the mounds. The things that lived inside the land were
chased away or destroyed, but magic is a hardier thing. There was a feel to
the place as you walked down the avenue with the great hulking mounds to
either side. The largest mound in the city proper was at the end of the
avenue. I went to Washington, D. C., during college, and when I came home it
was almost unnerving how forcibly the mound city reminded me of being in
Washington, standing on the plaza surrounded by those monuments to American
Page 156
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
glory. Now, walking down the center and only street, I
had the sense of great time passing. This place had once been a great city as
Washington was now, a center of culture and power, and now it lay quiet,
cleansed of its original inhabitants. The humans had thought the mounds were
empty when they offered them up to us, just bones and some pots buried here
and there. But the magic had still been there, deep and slumbering. It had
fought and then embraced the fey. The conquering or winning over of that alien
magic had been one of the last times the two courts worked together against a
common foe.
Of course, the very last time had been World War II. Hitler had at first
embraced the fey of Europe.
He'd wanted to add them to the genetic mix of his master race. Then he'd met a
few of the less human members of the fey. Among ourselves there is a class
structure as rigid and unbreakable as it is foolish;
the Seelie Court especially looks down on those who do not look like blood.
Hitler mistook this
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
arrogance for lack of caring. But it was like a family with siblings. Among
themselves they could fight and beat each other bloody, but let anyone turn on
one of them and they became a united force against the common enemy.
Hitler used the wizards he'd gathered to trap and destroy the lesser fey. His
fey allies didn't desert him.
They turned on him without warning. Humans would have felt the need to
distance themselves from him, to warn him of their change of heart, or maybe
that was an American ideal. It certainly wasn't a fey ideal.
The allies found Hitler and all the wizards hanging up by their feet in his
underground bunker. They never found his mistress, Eva Braun. Every once in a
while the tabloids say that Hitler's grandson has been found.
None of my direct relatives were involved in Hitler's death, so I don't know
for sure, but I suspect strongly that something simply ate her.
My father had gotten two silver stars in the war. He'd been a spy. I never
remembered being particularly proud of the medals, mainly because my father
never seemed to care about them. But when he died, he left them to me in their
satin-lined box. I'd carried them around in a carved wooden box along with the
rest of my childhood treasures: colored bird feathers, rocks that sparkled in
the sun, the tiny plastic ballerinas that had graced my sixth-birthday cake, a
dried bit of lavender, a toy cat with fake jewel eyes, and two silver stars
given to my dead father. Now the medals were back in their satin box in a
drawer in my dresser. The rest of my "treasures" were scattered to the winds.
"Your thoughts are far away, Meredith," Doyle said.
I was still walking at his side, hands on his arm, but for a moment only my
body had been there. It startled me to realize how far away I'd been.
"I'm sorry, Doyle, were you speaking to me?" I shook my head.
"What were you thinking about so very hard?" he asked. The lights played over
his face, painting colored shadows against his black skin. It was almost as if
his skin reflected the lights like carved and polished wood. I was touching
his arm, so I could feel the warmth, the muscles underneath, the softness of
his skin. His skin felt like anyone's skin, but light didn't reflect off skin,
not like that.
"I was thinking about my father," I said.
"What of him?" Doyle turned his head to look at me as we walked. The long
feathers brushed his neck, mingling with the spill of black hair that was only
partially trapped down the back of the cloak. I realized that except for the
small knot that captured the front pieces of his hair, the rest of his hair
was spilling out underneath the cloak, loose.
"I was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II."
He kept walking but turned his face full to me, never missing a step. He
looked bemused. "Why would you be thinking of that now?"
Page 157
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
I shook my head. "I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The
mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and
purpose. It must have been like that here once."
Doyle looked up at the mounds. "And now it is quiet, almost deserted."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
I smiled. "I know better than that. There's hundreds, thousands under our
feet."
"But yet the comparison of the two cities saddens you. Why?"
I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. We were standing in a pool of
yellow light, but there were pinpricks of every color of will-o'-the-wisp in
his eyes, swirling like a tiny cloud of colored fireflies.
Except the colors in his eyes were rich and pure, not ghostly, and there were
reds and purples and colors that shone nowhere near us.
I closed my eyes, suddenly dizzy and nauseated. I answered with my eyes still
shut. "Sad to think that
Washington may someday be a tired ruin. Sad to know that the glory days passed
this place by long before we arrived." I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
His eyes were just black mirrors once more. "Sad to think that the fey's glory
days are passed and us being here in this place is proof of that." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]