Мэгги Стифватер - Lament

• Название: Lament
• Автор: Мэгги Стифватер
• Жанр: Фэнтези

ixteen-year-old Deirdre Monaghan is a painfully shy but prodigiously gifted musician. She's about to find out she's also a cloverhand—one who can see faeries. When a mysterious boy enters her ordinary suburban life, seemingly out of nowhere, Deirdre finds herself infatuated. Trouble is, the enigmatic and conflicted Luke turns out to be a gallowglass—a soulless faerie assassin—and Deirdre is meant to be his next mark. Deirdre has to decide if Luke's feelings towards her are real, or only a way to lure her deeper into the world of Faerie.

---

"I don't doubt it," Luke said loudly. "C'mon. Let's get back to civilization. What were you doing way out here, anyway?"

I glanced around. All my spinning had taken me surprisingly far from the tents. The chamber music was only a faint music-box sound from here. "I--I was just trying to get away from my annoying aunt."

"Well, let's get closer to her and farther from invisible freaks," Luke suggested. He turned me with the barest touch on the small of my back and we headed toward the noise. "I like your dress, by the way. Suits you."

I secretly preened, then surprised myself by saying, "I know."

Luke said, "It's not polite to gloat," but he grinned. "So, tell me about your annoying aunt."

I sighed as we approached the food tent. "That would be her, over there. Aggravating my mom by the food tent."

He stood with me and quietly observed Delia and Mom. I was beginning to like that about him.

He listened. He watched. "She's quite awful, isn't she?"

"The sort of aunt that's in storybooks," I said. "If they put evil aunts in storybooks. She and my mom have never gotten along."

Even from here, I could hear Delia's loud voice as she told someone how Mom had been quite talented in her youth, but had never done anything with it. Bitch, I thought uncharitably.

"I just thought a very uncharitable thing about a family member," I admitted.

Luke leaned in, close enough that I could smell his faintly musky odor--nothing like an herb, nothing like any high-school boy--and whispered, "Did it start with a 5? I thought it, too."

I laughed, loud enough that Delia looked up at me. She made motions for me to come over, but I pretended to be looking past her into the food tent. "Hurry. Pretend you're pointing something out so I can pretend to not see her."

Luke put a hand on my shoulder and pointed with the other toward the sky. "Look, the moon."

"That was the best you could come up with?" I demanded. But I looked at it anyway--pale, mysterious, hanging in blue instead of black. Once again I felt I could look at it forever, or at least until I could remember why I wanted to look at it. "It's beautiful, though, isn't it?"

I didn't think he was looking at the moon anymore, but he said, "Very."

I kept gazing up. "This will sound stupid, but--it makes me feel funny." The same way Luke made me feel funny.

"That's because it's from the night. The night keeps secrets."

Luke kept secrets as well, didn't he? Secrets we both pretended he didn't have. "Very poetic."

"I can be very literary when I want to be. I'm a very complex person. Like yourself, I have hidden depths."

I looked down. "Awww, you think I have hidden depths? That's awfully sweet." His eyes shifted from me to a point just behind me, and I turned to see what he saw.

A very tall, very blond woman was approaching us with a modelesque stride. She was as fair as an Easter lily, with perfect blue eyes and a perfect snowy neck. My dress suddenly felt shabby.

"Eleanor," Luke said, face expressionless.

"Luke. How wonderful to see you again." She placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, running a finger down to his chin. I looked away. "It seems like forever."

"Yes."

"Well, you're not in a very good mood tonight, are you?" Eleanor said. "I'd have thought you'd be in heaven with all this good music."

Luke didn't reply.

"Especially you, Deirdre. You played beautifully. We all were amazed by how you played."

I looked up at the sound of my name and was blinded by her radiant smile. Still, for all her beauty, it was just another compliment. "Thanks. Luke helped a lot."

Eleanor turned her smile to Luke, who still had that strange, expressionless face. "Oh yes, Luke helps out a lot." She smiled at him. "Luke, dear, you don't believe in small talk?"

Luke's voice was flat. "How's work." She laughed. It was annoyingly beautiful. "Going very well."

He raised an eyebrow. "How's the boss?" Eleanor studied her gently sculpted nails. "Oh, more like a co-worker these days, I should say." "That must be thrilling."

"The masses appreciate someone like them." She gestured to herself. "Someone like me."

Luke said, "How lucky for both of you."

"Oh, I think so, lamb." She turned to me. "Well, you're certainly a rising star. I'll be watching you."

Beside me, Luke stiffened.

"It was very nice to meet you, Deirdre. Have a lovely evening." She touched Luke's cheek again.

"And I'll see you again, Luke."

After she'd gone, I looked at Luke, biting my lip before speaking. "Ex-girlfriend?"

Luke's eyes widened and he laughed. "That," he said, "Would be a terrible thing to wish on a man. No. Remember that storybook that would have Delia in it? Eleanor belongs in it as well.

Think of her as an evil godmother."

I relaxed. I shouldn't be thinking of Luke that way at all, considering how long I'd known him. But still, the idea of having Eleanor as competition had momentarily floored me.

"Evil godmother is much better than ex-girlfriend." What makes you so different, Luke, that I should give a rat's butt either way?

Luke glanced over at me. "Oh yeah?"

I looked away, losing my bravado, and nodded shyly. "Yeah."

I became aware that the speakers from the awards tent had been blaring for quite some time.

"Second place in solo performance to Carmen Macy." There was polite clapping from behind us.

We walked silently over to Mom, and stopped when we realized that she was speaking to someone and that Delia had gone quite still.

"--I heard her play this evening, and I just wanted to say that I am quite blown away by her talent. She and her friend are just the sort of people we're looking for. Please, please, take my card and do give us a call."

I looked at the man who was speaking. His pleasant voice belied his image, which was that of a bare-knuckle fighter. Though he was wearing a button-down shirt, the sleeves couldn't hide his enormous biceps and muscled chest. He wasn't like any school representative I'd ever imagined.

"First prize in ensemble goes to Andrew Manx, Tina Chin--" the speaker blared, but Mom's voice seemed louder. "Well, thanks. We'll definitely take a look."

Mr. Gigantic Muscles gave me a small nod before looking back to Delia and Mom. "Well, I know you've had a long day, so I'll let you go get a well-deserved rest. They should be announcing the grand prize very soon, shouldn't they? Enjoy the reception."

Mom exchanged a look with me and then stared at Delia after the man had gone.

There was more clapping behind us as awards were read. I was surprised to find that I didn't really care if I won anything. The competition seemed so insignificant--so ordinary--in comparison to the here and now, standing next to Luke and looking at the business card the conservatory representative had left.

"Thornking-Ash," Delia read from the card. She sniffed. "Sounds like a funeral home."

I sniffed, too, but only because I smelled the same herbal smell as before. Was that freak still here?

Luke was at my elbow, saying, "I think I'm going to have to leave early. I think I might have to go now."

I was about to protest or beg unabashedly for his number when I realized the clapping had gone quiet. The voice crackled on the speaker. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's six o'clock, and as promised, we're going to announce the winners of the grand prize. Thank you everyone for competing and sharing your talent with us. The judges would like to congratulate the grand prize winners for this year's arts festival--Deirdre Monaghan and Luke Dilling."

Luke whispered into my ear, close enough that his lips brushed my hair. "Tell me you want to see me again."

I smiled.

THREE

 Hey psycho, what's up?" I rolled back onto my bed, cradling the phone on my shoulder.

"Nothing much." I caught sight of the clock on my bedstand and groaned. "James, it's not really ten o'clock, is it?" He didn't have to answer. I could tell from the fierceness of the sun coming through the white curtains that it was late.

"I hear," James said, "that introverts have to sleep a lot after stressful encounters with people."

I sat up. "That's true." It was also true that I'd spent way too much time last night unable to sleep.

Thinking about winning the whole freakin' grand prize of the competition.

Thinking about Luke. Thinking about Thornking-Ash. Mostly thinking about Luke. I didn't mention that part to James.

"So. Today's your birthday." James made a sound like he was chewing something. "Sorry, hangnail. Anyway. Today! The celebration of the first day you screamed."

"Yesterday was my birthday," I corrected, getting out of bed. I pulled a T-shirt out of a drawer and found some jeans, cradling the phone on my shoulder. "I'm getting old." I checked my pants from the day before for any money, and instead found the four-leaf clover that had been stuck to my phone. Good luck.

"You were busy yesterday. I'm designating today your birthday. You can't stop me."

"Okay, fine. It's my birthday. Want to make something of it?"

"Actually, your mom already did. In typical overbearing fashion, she's invited me and my parents to your house for dinner and cake this evening. Normally, this is the part where I'd complain bitterly about how you let your mom arrange your life for you, but since I really like her food, I'm not going to say anything."

I made a face. Trust Mom to throw me a kiddie party. She'd apparently missed the memo where I officially became an adult, or maybe the memo that said you don't arrange a teenager's birthday like a catering event. Come to think of it, I think she missed most memos.

"Boy, thanks, Mom," I said.

"Well, you could just tell her you wanted to hang out with me unofficially," James suggested. "You're the birthday girl. Snap the fingers. Make it happen."

Ha. Make it happen. It reminded me of Luke last night, of what he'd said. You know how some people can do anything? They want something, they make it happen.

"I like that idea better," I said slowly, distracted. I set the clover down on my bedside table, studying it--the way the sun cast a perfectly clover-shaped shadow behind it. "But you do like her food." I cupped my hand on the edge of the table, a few inches away from the clover.

James moaned. "Oh, it pushes me over the edge, baby."

Some people can do anything. Come here, clover.

The clover fluttered in an invisible wind. Then, leaves billowing out like a miniature ship, it scuttled across the desk into my palm.

Oh crap.

"What, not even a laugh for that? Wow, you're never allowed to sleep late again. You're crankier than a fat guy in stilettos."

James voice brought me back to reality. It made me realize that the air-conditioning vents in the room were roaring; the central air had just kicked in. The blast from the vent had sent the clover rushing into my hand. Nothing more.

I was oddly relieved.

"Dee?"

"What--yeah--no--sorry." Movement caught my eye from my window. Down below, an unfamiliar car was pulling into the driveway. "I'm really sorry, James, but I'm totally crazy right now. I think I need breakfast or caffeine or something. Can I call you back?"

"Yeah, of course. I've got practice today, but I'll be around this afternoon." His voice was concerned. "Are you okay?"

I bit my lip. I had never kept anything from him before. Duh, you're not keeping anything from him now, either. There's nothing to keep. "I'm okay. I'm just like you said: all introverted and worn out."

His tone warmed slightly. "Poor Dee. Go get victuals. I'll be 'round when you need me." The phone clicked and I went closer to the window, pulling the curtain to the side to see who it was. I jumped slightly as I realized the driver of the car was looking up at me, craning his head out the window. Luke. How the hell did he know where I lived? Did I care?

I scurried away from the window and tore off my T-shirt. A quick and untidy dig through my closet netted a better shirt. I'd keep the jeans. They made my butt look awesome. I put the clover back in my pocket and tore down the stairs, where I encountered the first defensive lineman: Delia.

"That flute player is here. Who is he, anyway?" Good question.

"Luke Dillon," I said. I tried to edge past her into the kitchen but she followed, coffee cup in hand. Caffeine was her secret weapon. To foil Delia was to separate her from her coffee. It wasn't going to happen in time to save me this morning.

"Does he go to your school?"

My lie wouldn't have convinced Mom, but it worked for Delia. "He has friends there." "He was quite good-looking."

Mom's voice sounded from the kitchen--more defenders, not good--and Delia shuttled me in to be finished off for good. "Who's good-looking?" Mom was holding the coffeepot; she refilled Delia's cup, not realizing that she was topping off Delia's head-demoness powers by doing so. I tried to see out, past the yellow-checked curtains above the sink.

"The flute player who just pulled into the driveway," Delia replied.

Mom spun toward the window. "I didn't see anyone come up! He hasn't knocked, has he?"

I said firmly, "I'm going outside."

Mom pointed to the counter as I was leaving. "Did you want to keep that? Dad found it on your harp case last night when he was bringing it in from the car."

It was a four-leaf clover, sitting on the counter next to the toaster. Like the other two I'd found, it was perfect--all leaves symmetrical--and completely unwilted despite its overnight stay in the car.

"It's not a hard question, Deirdre." Mom pulled her standing mixer out of the cabinet and set it on the counter, no doubt preparing for my birthday cake. "You could press it in a book if you want it to stay nice."

I didn't know if I wanted it to stay nice but I took it anyway, twirling the stem between my fingers. I had a prickling sensation in my stomach but I couldn't tell what it was. Excitement? Fear? Hunger?

"Yeah, maybe." I went outside to meet Luke.

He was crouching by the door of his car, eyes squinted in the white-hot sun, looking at my dog, Rye. Despite Rye's unusual color--chalky white body and crimson red ears-- he's a typical hound dog: loyal, loving, and friendly to everyone in the world.

Which is why his raised hackles stopped me in my tracks. Lying in the front yard, his head so low that it barely cleared the grass, Rye was staring at Luke, his lips raised almost into a snarl.

Luke was calling to him in a soft voice, the pattern of it hypnotic and lulling. I guess his words could have been in a lot of different languages--but English wasn't one of them.

Luke saw my approach and straightened. He was wearing the same jeans as before, but his shirt today was a dark V-neck that accentuated the paleness of his hair and eyes. "Hello, lovely.