“But . . .” He raked his hands through his hair again, giving me a helpless, hopeless look. “What if they call your bluff?”
“It will not be a bluff.” I felt oddly serene. “You, yourself, agreed that it was reasonable to prioritize one resurrection above the rest. If the night-haunts will not restore my mother so that we might attempt her awakening, I will not permit the others to be returned to their bodies. Without my consent, given that they are my subjects, Li Qin will be unable to approve October’s intervention. The night-haunts will never be granted access to their deaths. They will go hungry when they could have been fed.”
“I—” Elliot stopped. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”
“No.”
“What do you need from me?”
I frowned. “Are you finished arguing?”
“No.” He laughed unsteadily. “I want to fight you for a year. You’re willing to gamble everything for Jan—and so am I. Almost.”
“You do not wish to gamble with Yui.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Then why are you agreeing?”
His laughter this time was even unsteadier. “Because whether I like it or not, you’re my liege.”
“For now.” If January could be restored, her oaths would supersede mine.
I had never wanted anything more in all my life.
“When do you want to do this?”
“As soon as possible. Tonight. It must begin at sunset.”
“All right.” Elliot stood again. “I guess I’m going to start calling florists.”
I nodded to him and disappeared, trusting him to call me when he was ready to begin. For the moment, I needed . . .
I needed the code. I needed my mother. Not the reality of her, which was still outside my grasp, but the idea of her, the cool and continuous dream of her. She had never questioned my right to be the person that I am, only rejoiced as I grew more and more into the space she had opened for me. She had saved me. All I wanted now was the opportunity to do the same for her.
Deeper and deeper I traveled into the company file server, until I reached the security files I had sequestered away from all other eyes. Some things are not for sharing. I dove into them, and there she was, my mother, January O’Leary, a book open on her knees, paper and pictures and physical reality, with a little blonde girl pressed against her side. It was always odd to see myself from the outside, but I could no more remove my image from the footage than I could delete a part of my own personality. This had happened. This was true.
I started the playback.
“‘But when the girl came out of the woods, what do you think she saw?’” read my mother, giving the child beside her a small squeeze. “‘It was a stone well, set against a low stone wall, surrounded by the most beautiful roses she had ever seen . . .’”
The memory of my mother continued to read, while the memory of the girl I had once been listened with the rapt attention of someone who did not believe that the world was ever going to change. I sat down at their feet, resting my elbows on my knees, and closed my eyes, and listened.
When the story ended—and it was an unfortunate truth of the things I had learned, of the woman I had become, that all stories end—I started the recording over again with barely a thought. Over and over, I played it, until it seemed like I had been safe in this preserved moment forever, until it seemed I would never be compelled to leave. I could stay here, with my mother telling me stories, and leave the running of my County to better hands. I could be happy.
But my mother would still be dead, and Li Qin would not be happy without her. The thought of Li Qin’s unhappiness troubled me. I frowned, reaching past the still-looping video to check the time. Three hours had passed since I had gone into the code. Worse, I had messages, five of them, all waiting patiently, like trained puppies, for me to notice them.
Three were from Elliot. He had the things I had requested. He was ready to bring them to me, as soon as I told him where to go. The other two were from Li Qin. October had agreed to come and wake our sleepers . . .
. . . and she was coming tonight. At midnight.
I was running out of time.
Cursing to myself in modem squeal and the sound of static, I dropped out of the code and back into Elliot’s office. He wasn’t there. I reached for the network of cameras and connections that spanned the company, and found him in the cafeteria, having pushed all the tables up against the walls.
A flicker of electricity and I was standing next to him, demanding, “Why didn’t you send a priority alert?”
He didn’t jump. He’s known me for too long. “I wanted time to sort through my thoughts, and it wasn’t sunset yet.”
“Li Qin says October is on her way.”
“October will be here at midnight.”
“What if that isn’t enough time?”
Elliot looked at me, and there was a weariness beyond measure in his eyes. “April, what you want to do will either happen in five minutes, or it won’t happen at all. This isn’t something that comes with a clear set of milestones and a set release schedule. The night-haunts will come or they won’t. If they come, they’ll do what you’re asking, or they won’t.”
“I see.” I glanced at the pile of supplies he had made on the nearest table. “This should be sufficient. Please proceed to my office and collect the bag of blood on my counter. It should be fully thawed by now. After that, you are excused.”
“April—”
“I have reviewed the footage a hundred times,” I said. “I know the ritual. I am not a blood-worker, but I am my mother’s daughter. I have the right to borrow what magic may remain in her stored blood. You are not a blood-worker. You lack even that connection.”
Elliot’s face fell. “If you’re going to do something this dangerous, I want to help. I need to help.”
“I am made of light.”
He paused. “I don’t see how that follows.”
“When October called them, they threatened to devour her. She was afraid. She is a hero, and she was afraid. You are not a hero. I do not want to risk you. I am made of light. Should they threaten me, I can remove myself from their presence with a thought. No damage need be done.”
“Jan would never forgive me for leaving you alone.”
I smiled, wan, strained, and hoping he could see how much I meant it. Emotion has never come easily to me, however much I wish it. “Let us hope she will soon be here to fail in her forgiveness.”
Elliot hesitated. Then, in a low, tight voice, he said, “I’ll get the blood.”
He turned and walked toward the door, and I was alone. Truly and utterly alone.
“I will do this,” I whispered, and started for the flowers.
EIGHT