FULL MOON Page 5

  "You gave me tea earlier?" Ceidrin asked. He didn't remember anything after her arrival at the burned out house.

  "You were unconscious," Sennet said. "But I'm serious, Ceidrin."

  "Is Lucien alive?"

  "Yes. He's asleep, and he won't wake up before I get back." Sennet smiled at him, but the smile never reached her eyes. "Do I have to make you promise me?"

  "No." Ceidrin couldn't find enough strength to smile back at her. "I'll stay right here. I won't move. Just–please. Find Gene."

  So the coldness of panic would go away, and he could concentrate on healing.

  Sennet left the house with a heavy heart, not at all wanting to discover what she thought she would find when she arrived at the house Ceidrin and Gene shared. It was an odd little house, hand-built and sheltered by a grove of trees, anchored in wards and surrounded by meadows. Gene's garden sprawled across what would have been lawn in any suburban setting, but it was winter now, and the snow covered everything.

  The snow also made it more difficult not to leave tracks, but she saw nothing amiss as she approached, save for a small package lying on the doorstep, innocuous in its innocence.

  Gene's little car sat in the driveway, cleaned off, not covered in snow. There was no sign of a struggle or anything else as she walked up the cleared path to the door.

  She picked up the package as soon as she reached it. It had Ceidrin's name on it–his full name, not the one he used in the human realm–and it had no return address.

  And then, almost out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the passenger side door of Gene's car wasn't closed all the way. Holding the package, she veered away from the front door and walked down the path to where the car sat.

  She couldn't see the ground until she grew closer; the snowbank on the side of the driveway hid it from view. But as she approached, she saw the first signs of trouble–a bunch of celery, now brown and wilted; a bottle of something–wine?–and a host of other groceries lying scattered across the driveway.

  From the look of it, the groceries had been there for at least a day, maybe more. The eggs had cracked and frozen in slimy streaks across the asphalt; something had dragged away a package of meat and devoured half of it. But there was no sign of Gene at all.

  Sennet carefully set the package on the bench beside the door, and walked to the side door, stepping over broken bottles and quite a few packages of ruined fresh fruit and vegetables.

  The screen door was closed, and so was the door beyond. Both were locked, but with Ceidrin's permission to enter, Sennet didn't need a key anyway, so she opened the doors and stepped inside.

  She'd always rather envied Gene's kitchen. It wasn't very big, but it had enough storage to put most kitchens to shame. He had an ancient, cranky stove that he loved, an equally ancient fridge–bright blue–and a stained glass window over the sink. What was there not to love?

  The house, however, was empty and silent. Sennet sensed no sign of life, save for a lonely betta in a sparkling clean bowl. Even then, she searched the entire house before reassuring herself that Gene was not there.

  She almost would have rather found him lying in a pool of blood–still alive, of course–than conspicuously absent.

  Did the package have something to do with that?

  Sennet fed the fish, locked the door behind her, and picked up the box again. It was damp on the bottom, of course, from where it had sat on the wet concrete, but it wasn't heavy or ticking or anything like that.

  She opened it carefully, poised to neutralize a spell, but the box only contained a small leather bag, worn and supple. Inside that leather bag was a folded piece of paper, a lock of dark hair and a ring–twin to the one Ceidrin wore.

  Sennet unfolded the paper and read the contents with a frown.

  Do not get involved in this. If you do, your lover will die.

  How had they acted so quickly? Both Oriellen and Meinren had been at the gathering, and Ceidrin had been attacked an hour after the council disbanded. No one had known that Ceidrin would volunteer to search out Nidrea and the others; he had even professed that he wished he had not come.

  But from the look of the groceries, Gene had been snatched before the meeting. Not afterwards. Had they taken him as collateral, just in case?

  Perhaps knowing that Ceidrin couldn't stay uninvolved?

  Sennet transported herself back to her house, then, since there was no trail to follow. She gently laid the leather bag back in the box, then carried it to Ceidrin's room.

  And hesitated outside the door. What could he do but worry and fret and curse his kin until he drove himself crazy? It would be more of a kindness not to tell him and let him heal.

  But she couldn't keep so terrible of a secret to herself. Not without destroying their friendship when he discovered she had lied to him.

  Sennet opened the door and stepped inside. Ceidrin's smile of welcome fell from his lips as soon as he saw the expression on her face.

  He closed his eyes–to steel himself, she thought–and took a deep breath.

  "Is he dead?" His voice cracked on the last word.

  "Honestly? I don't know," Sennet said. "But he was taken, and his kidnappers left you this." She held out the box.

  With shaking hands, Ceidrin opened the leather bag and emptied its contents in his lap. His breath caught at the sight of the ring more than the lock of Gene's hair.

  But when he raised his head after reading the note, Sennet saw only fury in his gaze.

  "They–"

  "Who are they?" Sennet asked.

  Ceidrin threw the box on the floor. "My cousins. Oriellen and Meinren, I'd guess. One warning was not enough?"

  "They took Gene at least a day ago, maybe longer," Sennet said. "I think they knew you'd get involved." She told him about the groceries, and watched the color leech out of his face.

  "Damn them."

  "Is there anything I can do?" Sennet asked. "To get him back? Anyone I can talk to?"

  Ceidrin buried his head in his hands. "No. Short of finding a way to heal me faster, so I can kill them both–"

  He was, she thought, absolutely serious. That was the scary part. She had never seen him like this before. But then again, no one had ever kidnapped his lover before, either.

  "Your knee was shattered," she said. "Elves heal quickly, but not that fast. And you know the rules."

  "I know. You can heal the wound, but not give me back my strength." Ceidrin growled something under his breath. "I can't do anything from a sickbed."

  "You can tell me where to look," Sennet offered.

  "Healers are neutral, and this is not your fight," Ceidrin whispered, and closed his eyes. "How bad would it be if I walked on this?"

  "It might not fully heal," Sennet said. She'd expected that question before, when he first awoke. "You could–potentially–limp forever."

  He kept his eyes closed, as if he didn't want to see the expression on her face. "Could you–could you make it strong enough for me to walk? I'll use a cane if I have to, for the rest of my life if I have to, but I can't–I can't leave him there, Sennet."

  "Only if you let me help you," Sennet said. "Tell me about these hounds. Surely your cousins themselves did not shoot you."

  "One of the hounds shifted shape," Ceidrin whispered. "It–I had no idea they could do that. It took away my phone, and shot me. As a warning." He opened his eyes finally, and stared at her. "It had every intention of killing Lucien."

  "He wasn't shot," Sennet said. "He had quite a few broken bones and a lot of other wounds, but he wasn't shot."

  "I warded us both against the last three shots," Ceidrin said. "I didn't think it would work."

  And he didn't seem to realize how remarkable that was in itself. "You warded yourself against iron?"

  A slow smile spread across his face. "Yes. Yes, I did. Desperation does amazing things, doesn't it?"

  "Just as long as desperation doesn't get you killed," Sennet said. "Now. You had to have some idea as to whe
re Nidrea ended up or you never would have volunteered to find her heir."

  "I know where she ended up," Ceidrin said, and leaned back against the pillows again. "I spoke to her once, almost a century after she ran away. We–ran into each other by accident." His eyes slipped shut. "She swore me to secrecy, and you are the only person–other than myself, of course–who knows."

  "Did she have any children?" Sennet asked softly.

  Ceidrin grimaced as he shifted position a bit. "A son."

  "Older than Meinren?" Sennet asked.

  "Yes, by at least fifty years if he's still alive," Ceidrin said. "And by default, he would be the heir even if Isabel left one."

  "Because Nidrea is the elder sister," Sennet said, nodding.

  "Do you have any more of that tea?"

  "It will put you to sleep," Sennet warned.

  "At the moment, falling sleep is the only way for me to see Gene again," Ceidrin whispered. "Will you heal me?"

  "I'll do my best," Sennet said. "And I'll find you a cane to help you walk."

  "Thank you."

  He was asleep by the time she returned with the tea, but she helped him drink it anyway, and then set to work on repairing his knee as much as she could.

  She owed him that much, at the very least.

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  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Elinor stared at him with her mouth half-open, gaping like a fish. "But...the full moon's tonight," she said, not understanding. "You can't be a werewolf--"

  He closed his eyes, and she wondered if he had intended to tell her anything at all, at first. "I'm not." The smile fell from his lips. "My...my curse is just the opposite. The moon's still full, at least until dusk, and I'll remain human until then. But after that, I'll be a wolf, unless I have enough strength to fight the change for a day or two."

  Something changed in the way he held himself as he said this; some invisible string of tension finally snapped. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then stared at her, slightly challenging.

  "And--" Elinor did a rapid calculation in her head. "You're only human during the full moon? For the past century?" Which meant a little more than three years as a human, and more than ninety as a wolf. She had wondered why he lived without any modern conveniences; without any stores for the winter, in a dusty old house that had never seen the advent of electricity. Now she knew. How could he plan any sort of life around that?

  "Yes." With obvious effort, he stood and slowly walked back into the parlor. When he returned, he held a small, framed photograph in his hand.

  She took it from him and stared down at a faded portrait--a young man dressed in a sober suit, unsmiling and stiff. Even with the passage of time and the addition of scars, the young man was very obviously Edward Lange. "You weren't born this way, I presume?"

  "No." He took the picture back without looking at it. "I was cursed. By an–an elf. A witch." He limped back into the parlor, carefully placed the photograph back in its place on a bookshelf, and sank down into a dusty chair. "Winter's the worst time of the year. Game isn't as plentiful as it used to be, and I--I'm tired."

  Elinor followed him, but stopped in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on what seemed to be such a private sorrow. He wasn't accustomed to visitors, or speaking; it was almost as if he had forgotten her presence.

  "You said you were walking home--from where?" she asked when the pall of silence became too thick for her to stand.

  Her question startled a laugh from his lips. "I--I tried to go farther afield last month. But I killed the wrong chicken, I guess, and the people who lived at the farm called the--the authorities. I spent two weeks in a cage until the moon allowed me to change, and then I left. The dog–the dog came with me." His face turned bleak in an instant. "That's the first time I've eaten well all winter long. And I wasn't sure what I'd find when I came back here."

  "You were trying to walk home from the city?" Elinor asked. It had taken her hours to get out of the city--in a car.

  "I don't think they had taken me that far," Edward said, and stood up again. "If you don't mind, I'd like to change my clothes before...before it's too late."

  Before he couldn't change them, Elinor realized. "Go ahead," she said, her throat dry. "It's your house; I'm just a guest here, and nothing more."

  How had he survived for so long? Alone? Perhaps the witch he'd mentioned had been an ill-fated request for help. Surely he had to have tried to break the curse over the years--and even more surely, he had probably given up.

  She watched as he limped through another doorway, leaving her alone in his refuge--and the place that might one day become his grave. She hadn't healed his leg completely; her talent wasn't strong enough to mend broken bones without a single trace. Had she helped him at all, or just prolonged the inevitable?

  His wards wrapped around her as she walked through the downstairs, peeking into dusty rooms that held echoes of long ago eras. The boarded up windows only let in thin ribbons of sunlight; not enough to hurt, but enough to see by.

  There were three other rooms--a library crammed with books, another parlor, and what had probably been a scullery off the kitchen back in the time that the house was last in the present and not stuck firmly in the past. It hadn't seemed right to explore before. It didn't seem right now. But she couldn't sit still.

  The house was full of oddments–-a strangely familiar sword peeking out of an umbrella stand, a collection of dusty rocks that sparkled when she picked one up. There were other photographs, and even a painting of a gray-eyed lady hanging over a small table in the hallway.

  She ended up back in the first parlor, on a chair that was probably antique and worth a decent amount of money, considering its age and condition, no closer to a solution than she had been before.

  When Edward appeared in the doorway wearing jeans and a long sleeved black t-shirt that only accentuated his pallor, Elinor knew that she had to make sure the hunters never caught wind of his involvement. He didn't deserve to be caught up in her mess.

  His feet were bare. He followed her gaze, smiled, and shrugged. "It's harder to find shoes that fit than it is to find clothes. I'm still working through a bag of clothes that I found on the side of the road last spring."

  "What will happen tonight?" Elinor asked before she could stop herself.

  Edward sat down in the same chair. "I don't know," he said. "I used to fight the change. And maybe manage to stay human one or two more days and nights. Sometimes–sometimes even close to a week. But I haven't fought in a long time, and it was difficult even then."

  "Why didn't you...surely there's some way to feed yourself, especially in the wintertime. You could go to a store--"

  "And steal?" Edward asked with a small smile. "I feel badly enough about the things I have stolen already."

  "Oh." She hadn't realized how hard it would be. Without money. Without help.

  Edward pulled out a pair of crumpled bills. "I stole these," he said. "Thinking that I might--" He favored her with another small smile. "I thought that if I could make it to a store, I could--perhaps--buy food enough to last the month, but I can't quite bring myself to buy--" He let the money drift down to the floor. "It is no matter now. I wouldn't have been able to carry anything home as it was."

  "But you...you can't just give up," Elinor said. "I can buy you food with the money you have. I'll drive to the nearest grocery store when the sun sets and bring back enough food to last--" And she could do it, too. But how would he keep the food from spoiling? How would he open cans as a wolf? Short of buying a really big bag of dog food--

  "I had thought there might be food for...for pets," Edward said softly, as if he could read her mind. "But that seems more akin to giving up. And I can't--quite--bring myself to do that." He hesitated. "Yet."

  Elinor shook her head. "No. I would call that survival. Sometimes...sometimes you do what you have to do, and damn your pride."

  "I do have to feed the dog, if she's staying," Edwar
d said. "And I don't think the witch who cursed me expected me to survive this long." He hesitated. "Where will you go from here?"

  It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, and at first, she was tempted not to let him get away with it. "I don't know," she said. "My mother has family in Faerie, of course, but some of that family are the ones who murdered her. I don't know who I can trust. Not anymore." When he didn't reply, she pushed on to break the silence. "I have a cousin who lives here in the human world, but I haven't seen him in years."

  "You should get some rest." Edward yawned, then shook his head, as if to shake the weariness away.

  "Do you want some more tea?" Elinor asked.

  "No. I want to sleep. But I...I don't sleep when I'm human." He sighed. "I try not to, at least."

  "What would you be doing if I wasn't here?" She asked the question before she realized what the answer had to be. Without food, provided he could have made it back to the house, he would have been dying. Starving. Alone, with no strength for spellfire or anything else.

  Edward met her gaze. "I wouldn't be here," he said, and hunched over in the chair, covering his face with his hands.

  Had she done this to him, somehow? Had she made it worse by helping him? "I'm--"

  "No. Stop apologizing," Edward snapped, the first sign of actual anger she had seen. "This is not your fault, and not your affair." He stood, swaying slightly, and averted his gaze from her face. "I need...I need to be alone."

  Elinor nodded. "Of course. I'll just...I'll stay in the other parlor until dusk, and then I'll leave you in peace." Her chest felt tight; she wanted to help him, but she also realized she had no claim on his time or how he lived what life he had. If he wanted to give up, then who was she to stop him? He'd been living like this for a century.

  Blindly, Elinor left the room and crossed the wide foyer to the other parlor. This one was smaller, but no less dusty, and the sofa's rusty springs poked through the faded upholstery. Elinor chose a small loveseat as her bed, cast spellfire in the tiny fireplace to warm the room, and curled up under a velvet quilt. Only then, after she'd cast all thought of Edward from her mind, did she allow herself to fall asleep.