Echo City Read online

  I looked up and saw him leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets and the loose folds of his sweater hanging on his long, lean frame. His green eyes glittered in the shadows, and his smile had a sharp edge.

  "A poet who is most appreciative of the bed and board that he receives under your roof," Taliesin said humbly.

  "Mmm, and yet you continually seek other beds to sleep in, and other halls in which to sing."

  "You knew when you invited me that I had road dust on my feet, my lord."

  "I did indeed," Gwyn said. "I did indeed."

  Fresca nudged me, and whispered, "Did you show him the picture yet?"

  "I've hardly had time," I whispered back. I was actually hoping to get Taliesin alone and ask him about Muirin before I did anything else. But now both were looking at me, not to mention Fresca's expectant stare, so I cleared my throat and reached into my back pocket. The picture of Creiddylad was creased and smudged, and I smoothed it out apologetically, then rose and held it out to Gwyn.

  "This is what I was going to give you for the books. It's a little ruined now, so I'll paint you something better when I can."

  His smile was warm. "There is no need. This is done from the heart. I consider it a payment fair."

  "But that's not all." I unfolded the other picture, the portrait of Jill Frost. "I wanted to ask if you know this woman."

  Gwyn's eyes snapped sharply. "I do." He raised that clear green gaze from the picture to my face. "But I wonder how you came to know her."

  "She came to my house looking for Muirin. She put a sort of spell on me—I couldn't talk about it. But that's gone away now. I guess she got what she was after."

  "Her name is Fand," Gwyn said. "Looking for Muirin, you say? Not surprising. Muirin is her creature."

  "I don't understand," I said carefully. "What do you mean?"

  "Fand is Muirin's liege lady," Taliesin said. "Or used to be, once upon a time."

  "Fand is the wife of Manannán mac Lir," Gwyn put in.

  "Oh!" I said. "Him! I've met him."

  For an instant I had the satisfaction of seeing utter astonishment on the face of the God of the Dead, before he smoothed his expression over. "Really," he said in a neutral tone.

  "We talked," I said. Well, exchanged a few words, anyway. I decided not to explain that I'd met Manannán mac Lir very briefly in the afterlife after poisoning myself at Muirin's behest. I also hoped that Manannán mac Lir didn't actually remember me.

  "And that resolves a puzzle," Taliesin said.

  He and Gwyn exchanged a loaded look, and Gwyn murmured, "Yes."

  Fresca cleared her throat. "Hey, guys, I—I don't want to interrupt, but ... I have a cat. I don't know how long we'll be here, or how long we've been here already, but I have to feed her."

  "Yeah," I said. "And—Grandma. Oh my God, Fresca. I forgot about Grandma. I abandoned her."

  Fresca grinned. "Kay, have you met your grandmother? She's okay. When I last saw her, she was having the time of her life, drinking and sightseeing and talking to anyone who'd hold still long enough. By now she probably knows everyone in town."

  "Okay, maybe she's fine, but she's probably worried as heck about me." I turned to Gwyn. "Listen, we really, really appreciate the help, but we have to get back to the real world as soon as possible."

  "No," Gwyn said.

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. "What do you mean, no?"

  "No," Gwyn repeated. His voice was quiet but firm. "First you need to do a task for me; then you may leave."

  "A ... task," I said cautiously. Fresca was speechless.

  "I saved your lives," Gwyn pointed out. "At a certain risk to my own status in Shadow New York. Such help is not free, and you are in my court now. You must repay me so the scales are balanced."

  "I thought you rescued us because you owed Lily-Bell a favor." Saying her name made my throat clench painfully. "You said we were guests."

  "You are guests."

  "The kind who can't leave?" Fresca broke in.

  "Not until you have repaid me, no. I came to Lily's call because she had done a service for me, so I owed her a service in return. But rescuing you did not have to be part of that. I saved you; now I require a service from you."

  Fresca was now wearing a thunderous scowl. It made more sense to me, because I'd been around Muirin enough to know how her kind of people operated. They were ruthless, but honorable in their own way. And I had to remember that no matter how nice Gwyn seemed, no matter how human he looked, he wasn't either of those things. He was a creature older than cities, older than writing, so powerful he could probably kill us with a thought. He owed us nothing except what he chose to give us.

  "Tell me what you want," I said.

  "Based on what you've said, and information I've collected myself," Gwyn said, "I believe Muirin is being held prisoner by Fand and Manannán mac Lir, in their stronghold on the Isle of Man. I wish to have her brought to me. Or, if that cannot be done, I wish a message passed to her."

  "Why?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why are you interested in Muirin?" I said. "That letter that Lily tried to give her, that day in the woods—that was from you, wasn't it?"

  He smiled, very faintly. "A service," he agreed.

  "You gave me one, as well." I still had it with me, of all the things to have kept. I wished I'd burned it. "Unfortunately, she doesn't appear to want to have anything to do with you."

  Gwyn shrugged. "That may be. I still don't wish to see her suffer."

  "What makes you think she's suffering?" Fresca asked. "If she's with Fand and ... er, that other guy, maybe that's where she wants to be."

  "She was condemned to millennia of punishment for transgressions against her liege lord, long ago," Gwyn said. "If she wishes to remain, that's her business. But I would like to give her the option of leaving, should she so choose."

  "So why don't you just go over there and ask to see her? One death god to another."

  Taliesin stifled a smile behind his hand. Gwyn said, "Manannán and I have a history. I do not think he would appreciate having me arrive on his doorstep."

  "You could probably sneak in a lot easier than we could," I said.

  "No, I could not. You're human. You are not bound by the rules that bind me. I would need to address myself to Manannán's embassy, so to speak, but you ..."

  "Sneak in, grab Muirin, sneak out," I said. "Easy peasy, right?"

  Fresca wet her lips. "I ... I don't feel good about this. I'm not so good at the whole infiltrating the enemy fortress thing."

  "You will not be going," Gwyn said. "I require a guarantee that you will keep up your end of our deal, Kay, so I will keep your friend as a hostage while you are gone."

  "Hostage?" I said sharply, and Fresca rose from her seat.

  "Wait!" Taliesin held up a hand, checking us. "I think we're having a difference of terminology. He's talking about a hostage in the traditional sense—a ceremonial prisoner, well-treated, held to ensure that you keep up your end of the deal."

  "It's the 'prisoner' part I'm having a problem with," I snapped. "And what if I don't come back? What happens to her then?"

  "Kay." Fresca's hand settled on my arm. The anger in her face I expected; what I didn't expect was that it was directed at me. "Can I speak for myself here? I'm willing to do it."

  "No," I said.

  "It'll get us out of here, won't it? It's my decision too. Not just yours."

  "No."

  "Stop," she said harshly. "Stop telling me what I should do. Just ... stop. We're both in this. So let's deal with it together. You don't get to make the decision for both of us."

  "I want you to be safe." My voice came out breathless. I wished desperately that we weren't having this discussion in front of Taliesin and Gwyn.

  Fresca held my wrist, her dark eyes steady on mine. And in that moment I saw the steely core of her, the deep-down part of Fresca that knew who she was and had never compromised, that h
ad carried her through years as an out Filipina lesbian in a mostly-white small-town high school. I had always admired Fresca's dauntless courage. Now it was pointed at me like a spear.

  "Kay ..." she said. "You stopped being able to keep me safe the minute you picked up that sword, and you know it."

  I fought down my fury and fear, swallowed it back. And I turned to Gwyn.

  "I want your word," I said. "No harm will come to her while I'm gone. You'll give her back just as I left her, as long as I do my best, even if I don't manage to come back with Muirin. And then you'll release us both, unharmed, back to the real world."

  Gwyn dipped his head. "I do so promise, and this will discharge the debt for both of you, provided you serve your end of the bargain."

  "I will," I said. "I always do. Just ask Muirin. If I can't, though—if I don't come back, if I get killed, you will let Fresca go, with or without me."

  He hesitated.

  "You promise," I said, "or there's no deal."

  Gwyn tilted his head and studied me. At that moment, there was nothing human in his eyes at all. "If you succeed, this will discharge the debt for both of you. If you fail, I will still require a service from her."

  "No. She's only involved in this because of me."

  "That is not your decision," Gwyn said quietly. "It is the bargain. Accept or not."

  "I accept," Fresca said.

  I swallowed heavily. The words were torn out of my chest, raw and bloody. "I accept."

  I turned and left the room. I heard Fresca call my name, but I didn't answer. No one followed me as I retraced my steps through the barrow maze to the bedroom where I'd woken up. At least I thought it was the same one. It was private; that was all that mattered now. I closed the door, stubbornly refusing to slam it. Shut away from the minimal warmth of the hall, the room was even colder than I'd remembered. I sat down on the bed, tucked my chilly hands between my knees and closed my eyes, breathing in and out. Just existing.

  There was a very soft tap at the door. "Kay?" Fresca said. "Are you in there?"

  I could let her walk away. But we might not get another chance to talk before I left for the Isle of Man. "Come," I said—an old joke between us, mimicking Captain Picard on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

  She entered hesitantly, like a stranger, and closed the door before sitting on the other end of the bed. The few feet between us felt like a hundred miles.

  "It's really unfair of you to be mad at me right now," she said.

  She was right; that made it worse. "They want to make a prisoner out of you, Fresca."

  "We're already prisoners," she pointed out. "And it's really not that bad. There's a library. No Internet, but I don't plan to be here that long ..."

  "You don't know that."

  "Damn it, Kay," Fresca said. "I'm okay with this. I don't know why you're being bitchy about it—"

  "Because you're completely fucked up from the last time, that's why!"

  The words fell like lead weights into the space between us. Fresca hugged herself, burying her hands in her fur cape. We sat in silence for a while; then I said in a small voice, "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not." Fresca looked over at me, then put her shoulders back, straightening. "I'm not, you know that? I know you're eaten up with guilt about what happened with Scylla. And me—I'm working through a lot of shit, and I'm not gonna say I'm not sorry it happened, because I'd do just about anything to be able to go back and undo it, but ... it did happen. And you know what's different this time?"

  I shook my head.

  "I get to make a choice." Fresca reached out and put a hand on my knee, gripping so hard that she hurt me a little. "It's a shitty choice out of a bunch of shitty options, but it is a choice. That makes some difference. It's better than having none at all."

  She hesitated, opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, then closed it. I twined my fingers through hers. We both lay back, flopping on the bed; then I toed off my shoes and pulled myself all the way on top of the pile of furs. Fresca followed suit. With her fur cloak on top of her, she looked like a heap of fur herself, the green hair incongruously tufted on top. I giggled.

  "What?"

  "You. Me. This." I raised my free hand, waving it around. The other I kept tightly entwined with Fresca's. Her fingers were small and cold. "Three months ago, neither of us had any idea that all of this existed. We would have said the idea was crazy."

  "And now we know." Her voice was a breathy sigh.

  I rolled over to face her. The fur rasped against my cheek, and I could smell its animal tang, a primal Ice Age musk. "Fresca, I'm so sorry I got you into this."

  "Stop apologizing. If we have to blame anyone, let's blame Muirin. She's not here to defend herself."

  We both giggled at this. The fur tickled the corner of my mouth.

  "God, poor Twinkie," Fresca said with a small sigh. "Do you think she's all right?"

  "We always put way too much kibble in her bowl anyway. She's probably got enough for weeks. And she can see Drew, you know. They can keep each other company."

  Fresca smiled. "Ghost and cat. They're like a crime-solving team from those cozy mysteries my sister Sarah likes."

  There was still a smudge of green down the side of her face. I ached to reach out and wipe it away.

  "Are you really okay with staying here as Gwyn's hostage?" I asked.

  "Not really. But in case I haven't made it abundantly clear, I want to. I choose to stay here so you can go get Muirin back and we can all get out of here."

  "Aren't you afraid?"

  This startled a little laugh out of her. "I'm scared to death. Look at me." She held up her free hand; the fingers were trembling. "But, Kay, it's what we gotta do. I can deal. Apparently you're the Big Damn Hero in this scenario, and I'm the girl waving her handkerchief from the porch."

  She was so close. Our faces were only inches apart. Fresca faltered; her eyes dropped and then rose to meet mine, liquid and uncertain. I wasn't sure when the distance between us had closed. She came to me, or I came to her; we met halfway.

  I had been afraid of what the reality of kissing her would be like. I'd kissed boys; I wasn't a virgin. But I had never kissed a girl before. There was a part of me that had been very deeply afraid that I might not like it.

  Instead it was like coming home.

  Her lips were soft, tasting of strawberry lip gloss. I wanted to take in everything, the taste and smell of her, the clash of our teeth and tongue and breath, the roughness of the fur under my face and the warmth of her body pressing against mine.

  Then she pulled back quickly. I'd been moving my hand to cup the back of her head and ended up whacking her in the ear. "Ow!" she said, and I said "Sorry!" and we both sat up, tousled, and for a moment just stared at each other.

  "Did I do something wrong?" I asked.

  "Other than hitting me?" Fresca rubbed her ear. "No—no, Kay, I did something wrong. I've been telling myself I wouldn't do that—"

  I couldn't help laughing. "In case you didn't notice, I was enjoying myself."

  "Me too." Fresca ran her tongue around her lips speculatively—tasting me, I thought, and a flash of heat went through the pit of my stomach. "How long have you ..."

  "A while," I said. I didn't want to bring up the monster's lair, not right now.

  "I thought you were straight."

  "Me too."

  "But you're not."

  I shook my head.

  "You're sure," Fresca said.

  I had to laugh. "Yeah. Fres. I'm sure."

  Rather than leaning into me again, she pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself.

  This was exactly why I had waited so long to make a move. All I'd done was push her away. "Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?"

  Fresca shook her head vigorously, swishing the cotton-candy hair. "No, it's not that. Damn it, Kay. I'm not going to lie, I've had a teeny-tiny crush on you ever since I met you. But I told myself you were straight and nothing was
going to happen, and that was—"

  My stomach flipped over. "Wait, if you wanted it and I want it, why are you being weird about this?"

  "Because we wouldn't work!"

  "Why not? I don't understand. Explain it to me."

  "Because ..." Fresca smiled sadly. It was beautiful on her. Why had it taken me so long to notice how beautiful she was? "Because there's the monster-hunting thing. Because I'm a total basket case. Because ... because the only time I feel like me these days is when I get away from the house and go out on a date, or go out with my friends and ... I need that normal in my life. I can't have it be 24/7 weird. I just ... can't."

  "Couldn't we compromise, like—I'm trying to get rid of the sword, and I can try harder. I can tell Muirin I can't do the monster-hunting thing anymore—"

  "Can you really?"

  I didn't have an answer for her. I knew what I wanted the answer to be. But ... could I just walk away and leave the sword in Tweed's hands? Leave Millie as a traitor among the Gatekeepers?

  But if the alternative was losing Fresca ...

  "I want to," I said. "I don't care what it takes."

  "Oh honey, it's not—it's—Kay—" She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. Her hair fell across the side of her face, beside the green smudge. I reached out tentatively and then dropped my hand. What was between us, this moment of openness, was so fragile that I feared to touch her would be to break it.

  "I just need ..." Fresca said, with her eyes still shut. She raised her hands to her face and covered it for a minute, then lowered them and looked at me with glistening eyes. "I need to have space, okay? I know it's a horrible cliché, but I do. I decided a long time ago I wasn't going to break my heart or yours by going down that road with you."

  "You can't know that. How can we know if we don't try?"

  "Because I know you," she said gently. "You're a nester, Kay. You want to find someone and fall in love forever and have a nice little house and everything. But I'm not like that. I'm not ready. I don't do the one-on-one, picket fence thing. Maybe someday I'll want that, but it's not what I want for myself right now. I want to experiment and explore and try everything."