The Last Changeling (12 page)

“The courtiers created the feud,” I confessed, awed by the way my time in the human world had loosened my tongue. “They always create a feud when the servants become too friendly.”

“The courtiers killed that naiad? But I thought—”

“You believed what you were meant to believe,” I said. “One decade ago, the centaur and naiad servants planned an uprising against their masters. Unfortunately for them, the Lady Claremondes learned of their secret while lurking in the waters of the Selyphin.”

“Slithery little snake.”

“Indeed. It was she who dragged that naiad's corpse into the centaurs' forest quarters.”

“But the girl had clearly been trampled.”

“The girl was already dead when the Lady Claremondes found her. Poisoned by polluted waters, I'm afraid.”

“But the trampling … ”

“An effect the Lady Claremondes created by a rockslide and simple glamour.” I closed my eyes, unable to escape the memory of the girl, the way one bruise blended into the next, purple and yellow and black.

“But everyone believed it,” Illya breathed, her voice laced with despair. “The centaurs became exiles among the servants.”

“Until the naiads retaliated by leading that foal into waters too deep, inciting discord that spanned years.”

“Why didn't you tell me? I could have warned them. I could have saved lives.”

“Anyone who spoke of it was silenced.”

“But Lady—”

“I was a coward, Illya.”

“You were afraid,” she said, excusing my transgressions. “We all were.”

“I am still afraid. But I no longer let it stop me from doing what is right.”

“Then you've completed your task? You know who the
bane of the darkness
is?”

“I have my suspicions.” I peered out from under my blankets. Taylor had turned onto his stomach and was snoring into his pillow. “But suspicions are not enough to … spirit someone away from his home. And his family. I need evidence.”

“How will you get
evidence
?” Illya asked.

I thought it must not have sunk in yet, that I was walking among humans, engaging with them.
Touching them.

“That, my darling, is the greatest part of all. In a little over a week, the local students are hosting a ball, where one boy will be crowned king of the school. After that … ” I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of the sleeping mortal. “I'll be seeing you shortly.”

16

T
aylo
R

Friday came, and then I was trapped. Trapped in my least favorite room of the house. Trapped in one of a million forced, awkward meals.

In short, I was having dinner with my parents.

Lora sat beside me, a multicolored tapestry compared to the black-and-white photo that was my family. Teal eyes, blue veins, red lips. But it was her hair, crawling like fire toward the yellowed tablecloth, that had the power to burn away the façade of a happy home and reveal the house for what it was. A skeleton stuffed with forgotten artifacts, emitting an unnameable stench.

A carcass.

I knew she could sense my nervousness. My hands were so sweaty I'd dropped the ketchup twice. I couldn't stop bouncing my foot.

She poked me with her plastic fork.

That made me smile. She'd carried the utensil to every meal since her first dinner in my bedroom; and though an allergy to silverware wasn't something I'd ever heard of, stranger
things had happened since her arrival. Like every time we touched, I felt the electric charge of a thunderstorm. And tonight she was wearing a mysteriously acquired dress, an emerald vintage cocktail dress that made her hair crackle and
pop.

My eyes traveled from her dress, where they'd lingered without her permission, to the place settings laid out before us. The table was designed to seat six, so the four of us could have been arranged one on each side. But Mom had put Lora next to me, leaving one side of the table unoccupied.

No one was allowed to sit in Aaron's place.

“Well, this is nice.” Mom sat across from us, disappearing into her hideous floral dress. She was shrinking, the way people did when they aged, but that was nothing compared to Dad's khaki shirt and pants. He looked like he was going to sink into the wallpaper.

Maybe he'll fall into the family room.

Then he'd be with his real family: the people who lived in the TV.

“It
is
nice,” I said to Mom, wondering if lies were the glue that kept all families together.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Lora chimed in.

Mom squinted, like she was seeing her for the first time. “You're welcome,” she said. Then, silence. It seemed like she was searching for the right words to say: an
I've heard so much about you
, or a
Taylor tells me you two have caused quite a stir at Unity
. But she knew nothing, not even a whisper of Lora's influence in my life.

“I made your favorite,” she said finally, smiling at the sloppy mess on her plate.

My favorite when I was in kindergarten,
I thought, nodding anyway. Did all parents view their children this way, as if trapped in time? Could I return home covered in scars, a warrior, a junkie, and still be seen as the snowy-headed toddler who hated Brussels sprouts and wanted a squirrel for a pet?

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

I couldn't help but feel the tiniest hint of pleasure as I bit into my bun. The Sloppy Joe was Mom's personal recipe, with one small adjustment: the ground beef had been switched with vegan soy crumbles, to suit Lora's dietary restrictions. Only my father was unaware of the switch.

“My pleasure, sweetie.” She glanced to the right, to the roll of wallpaper propped up against the wall.

Now
? I thought, my eyes widening.

Mom nodded.

“Looks like you're redecorating,” I squeaked.
Smooth.
That didn't sound rehearsed at all.
I cleared my throat. “Dad?”

His eyes narrowed. I guessed it was difficult to focus on something that didn't feature a scrolling eight-hundred number. “You didn't fill him in?” he said to Mom, scowling.

Apparently, he couldn't see me at all.

Mom swallowed audibly. “We started talking about it. But—”

Dad threw his napkin onto the table. Unfortunately for him, it was a
napkin
, so it didn't make too much of an impact. “Damn it, Amelia. Every time, I have to—” He stopped when he glanced at Lora.

I shouldn't have brought her here
.

Still, I felt grateful for her presence. She exuded a calmness that fell over everything. It muffled the anger, the unease. The pain.

“The matter is settled,” Dad said in a softer tone, like he was a kindly grandpa and we'd all asked to hear about life in the Olden Days.

Spare me
.

Mom kept looking at me, like,
Now's your cue
. But she hadn't briefed me on my lines, and she'd be sorry for it. I couldn't stand this ambiguity anymore.

My heart couldn't.

“Actually, I think it's time,” I said, resisting the urge to push my hand against my chest. My heart felt like it was going to burst through my skin. I couldn't believe how badly it was hurting. “It's not like you couldn't put the room back if you had to, and in the meantime, it'll clear up space for you—”

“Put the room back?” Dad said. “How could we put the room back?”

“I'm not saying you would.” I glanced at Mom, my eyes saying,
Help me. Help me!
“I'm just saying, redecorating doesn't have to be permanent. It could just be—”

“We're not redecorating for fun. Jesus, Amelia.” Dad shook his head. “We're selling the house.”

My fork clattered to my plate. Really, I wanted to stab it into my chest. That would calm this throbbing pain, right? “
What
?”

Finally, Dad looked me in the eye. “We can't afford it. We can't justify keeping a house this size, now that—”

“We wanted to wait until you turned eighteen,” Mom broke in. “But we just can't. As it is, your father won't be able to retire until … ” She trailed off.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't
process
it. They were selling the house. My house. My home. So what if I hadn't been living within its walls? I'd always believed I could come back if I wanted to.

In that moment, I realized the story I'd been telling myself about a happy family reunion was just that. A story.

A lie.

“Isn't there any other way?” I asked. Beneath the table, Lora's hand slid over mine. It should've made me feel safe, but it just made me angry. Why had I brought her here? How could I have been that stupid?

Dad's eyes shifted from me to Lora. I could tell he'd seen the movement of her arm by the way he frowned. I could tell, too, that he hated me for bringing her here.

For bringing both of us.

“Are you going to take me with you?” I managed. I could hardly form proper sentences, but what did it matter? I was going to lose everything.

“Of course you'll be coming with us.” Mom said it firmly, like maybe she was trying to convince herself. “You're seventeen,” she added.

Oh, so that's why. You have a legal obligation to keep me. But I'll only be seventeen for a few more months.

I couldn't focus on her face. I kept watching Dad, studying his reaction to what I was saying. He was ignoring me, still staring at Lora. That told me all I needed to know.

He wanted to leave me behind.

Why wouldn't he?

It might've made sense to keep the house when Aaron and I were living in it. But now, with just the two of them … They were all that remained of our family.

I was nothing.

“Where will you go?” I asked. It made no sense to say “we.” Why prolong the inevitable?

“Not far,” Mom said, because Dad was busy looking at Lora. His focus on her was getting creepy. “We just want something smaller. More practical. Don't worry about the details.”

“Why would he worry?” Dad said. “When does he ever worry about anything?”

That was about all I could take.

“I get it.” I stood up, pushing my chair against the wall. Lora made no move to follow. She seemed mesmerized, watching my father watch her. “Sell the house. I'll take care of myself. Everyone will be perfectly happy.” I shoved the chair out of my way. “No one will worry about anyone else.”

“Taylor,” Mom said. Not
Of course we worry about you.
Not
I care about you enough to keep you.
Just my name. Just
Taylor.

“Let him go, Amelia,” said Dad.

“He's our son.”

“He's made absolutely no effort to be a part of this family!”

I closed my eyes. How could he hurt me like this? No matter what I did, it was wrong.

Finally, Lora stood. At least she worried about me.

But she's leaving too
.

“It appears,” she said in a soft, low voice, “that dysfunction comes in many shapes and sizes. It was foolish to think myself unique.”

Both my parents were staring at her now. She stared back, unafraid. “Since you have shared such insight with me, I will return the favor in kind,” she said, leaning in. My dad actually jerked away. It was beautiful. “Love is a living entity. If you forsake it, it will leave you.”

She turned away.

But Dad grabbed her arm. He looked possessed. “I know you,” he said. “How do I know you?”

I stepped forward, prepared to knock him out if I had to. But Lora pulled herself out of his grip with no trouble at all. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

–––––

I spread out a blanket beneath Unity's fattest oak and gestured for Lora to join me. She did, sitting beside me and gazing up at the sky. Fifteen minutes ago, I'd ushered her out of my parents' house, creating the façade that I was walking her home. After the weirdness at dinner, I wasn't taking any chances with my parents figuring out our little scheme. But once we'd reached the end of the street, I'd known I wouldn't be ready to go back there for a while.

Maybe ever.

I sat in silence, fraying the cuticles on my hand. I didn't want to talk about my family. I didn't really want to talk about anything, but I felt something needed to be said.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, turning away.

“Don't be.” Lora touched my back. “If you met my family, you wouldn't feel so strange.” Her breath was warm on my neck. “What you see as imperfection draws me to you. People grow languorous from their joy. They derive strength from their pain.”

It was a weird thing to say. I didn't think my pain gave way to anything but more pain. Lying down on my back, I guided her along so that she lay next to me. The sky framed her face, and I was suddenly filled with the clarity that whatever she was, she was not an angel. She hadn't come to save me. Maybe she'd come to destroy me.

Still, I wanted her.

“Tell me what you want.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Now all I could do was wait and hope that something besides her breath filled the air.

She appeared to consider the request. “Sometimes the hardest thing is finding the right question to ask.”

“I thought that was a pretty good one.”

She liked that. Laughing, she draped her upper body across my chest. Her thigh pressed into my leg. I could feel its heat, could feel how close it was to sliding over me, and I wanted to pull her on top of me. My anger at my parents hadn't subsided, and it made me feel brave, but beneath that was the overwhelming fear that she could crush me if she rejected me tonight.

I waited.

Above our heads, leaves twirled and waved. I watched them move in the air, marveling at the passage of time since Lora had arrived. The days used to pass slowly. Now I could barely keep track of the weeks as they flew by. Prom was only a week away. Then finals and graduation.

I didn't want to think about what would happen after that.

Lora's lips were close now, pulling my attention away from the trees. All of her was close, and I tried to convince myself that it meant she liked me. She wouldn't be lying here, so close, if she didn't. Would she? She wouldn't keep crawling toward me, the way I literally fell toward her, unless she felt something too. If I could just kiss her—God, if she would only kiss me—I could finally be sure.

“Dangerous game, beautiful boy,” she said when I touched her hair.

“I'm not afraid.”

Our lips inched closer, as if pulled by invisible strands in the air. I struggled with my conflicting thoughts. What if she was waiting for me to make a move? What if she already knew it would never happen? Would I waste away in misery, never knowing the taste of her lips?

“Come here,” I said, my hand on her face.

She kissed my palm. “You're angry,” she said, moving her mouth over my fingers. It felt so good, I thought I might die right then. “You're in pain,” she murmured. “And you seek to replace that pain with other things. But it is not what you need from me now.”

“How would you know?” I was devastated by the weight of her words.

“Because I know you, Taylor Alder. Haven't you figured that out?”

I sighed, not knowing how to feel. “You don't,” I said. “I haven't let you.”

“Then let me.”

Unpleasant warmth spread through my chest. “I want to.” I swallowed, pushing back the confession that was trying to spill out of me. “But I think you'll hate me.”

“If you think I could hate you, then I'm the one who has kept myself hidden.”

I sat very still, feeling brave and fearful and reckless.

Don't say it.
Don't say it.
Whatever you do, do not say it.

“I killed my brother.”

I couldn't read her face, and it terrified me.

Finally, she said, “Tell me.”

“I got my first set of paints when I was eleven,” I said, feeling my mind separate from my body. I needed it this way. When I spoke, it was as if a stranger inhabited my body while the real me sat off to the side, listening. “By the time I was in high school, they were calling me a prodigy. I could look at anything and paint it perfectly. But I could never do it in my head. All these local artists were looking at my stuff and raving, but instead of enjoying it, I kept beating myself up because I couldn't draw from memory.” I turned onto my side, away from her.