Page 115 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Fairy Lights And Keystones

Twilight dimmed the vast expanse of sky over the English countryside, southeast of Oxford proper. The ponderous stones of the mansion, some clad in ivy, stood as stately sentinels overlooking the gardens. Hanging paper lanterns spilled golden light from the veranda. Along with strings of restaurant bulbs, they cast elegant, latticed shadows across the steps and the grass beyond. The blooming roses, hydrangeas, and lavender turned mere air into a fragrant bouquet.

A heady space for our ceremony. Yes, what was about to happen was urgent, but the sacrifices being made needed to be recognized, to be honored.

Wickham had gone to the Edinburgh house that morning, to invite anyone who wanted to attend, both witches and Uncast. In his absence, he put Persi and Felicity in charge of preparing the yard. The two rushed around all afternoon, heads bent together, whispering and rummaging. I had never seen Persi so intent. But that night, when we were finally out the veranda doors, I understood why.

Twinkling fairy lights were threaded through the trees. Larger lights hung throughout the orchard in the distance. All without electricity—it was Persi’s magic!

A number of kilts, worn by the male attendees, added a little magic for me as well. Urban in his blue, Wickham in navy and green. The black and gray of Kitch’s tartan made me laugh, knowing he’d chosen it for the sober color and not for clan ties. J.W. and Gavin were missing, but Alexander was there in his Sunday best, along with Davey Johnstone, both tugging on their ties like they were afraid they might choke to death.

I overheard a dead-serious Urban warning the boys if he caught them drinking alcohol, he’d cut off their noses with a hot knife. They visibly paled. I hoped they believed him, because I did.

Becca and Daniel Young, along with Deb and Ranald, stood to the side. The women’s long skirts were made of the same tartan as their husbands, a cheerful green with peach lines. Becca had a sash that matched Daniel’s. Deb wore a large, ruffled flower over her heart of the same cloth.

Light reflected off every metal buckle and sword hilt, bounced off the shine of polished shoes and stick pins. The kilts, worn with suit jackets and crisp white tuxedo shirts seemed surprisingly formal paired with the long gowns we women wore.

Lucky for us, Everly took charge of dressing us all.

Lorraine and Loretta looked elegant in sapphire-blue velvet. Their eyes glittered like a fairy’s with the reflection of a thousand lights. Persi wore deep green silk that played with those same reflections when she moved. Everly wore a sexy number--or rather, it wore her. It had long cutouts on the sides, baring her from armpit to mid ass-cheek. The intense sunflower yellow set off the dark of her tanned skin and her long smooth ponytail.

How long before she’d outgrow her sexy wardrobe?

My gown was magenta, with a high collar and bare shoulders. With my fresh haircut, I genuinely felt like myself and not just an extra hanger for one of Everly’s dresses.

The Bahri sisters chose their traditional orange kaftans. Rinky looked perfectly at home in bubblegum pink. With Alwyn, who wore a white sport coat with a pink pocket square, they looked like they were heading off to prom. Felicity wore a gown of shiny aqua, silver, and purple squares, which was also used to create a kale-sized flower over her heart. No cameras or red carpet in sight.

The doors opened once more, and Ivy stepped out in a black gown that covered one shoulder, her matching gloves reached past her elbows. The entire night sky sparkled inside the threads of her dress, small and bright like real stars. The contrast with her white-blond hair was stunning, but all attention was drawn to her throat, to her necklace of black stones cut in long, geometric shapes and outlined with diamonds.

Her diamond bracelet was hardly noticeable.

She stepped aside and a couple joined her. The woman was in her twenties and wore a gown of dusty sage taffeta with a mermaid skirt. Her hair was rich, dark, and full of loose curls, her grin infectious, though she clung to her companion like her life depended on it.

Hewas a Highlander. Blond hair, ponytail. Tall and young. The plaid of his kilt was sage and pale blue. His sharp gaze took in every face, every detail. He scanned the gardens like he was expecting trouble. I remembered him from my rescue party. His name was Simon.

Wickham moved to Ivy’s side, then introduced the young couple. “For those of ye who havenae met, this is my niece, Soncerae, and her husband, Simon McLaren.”

This was Soni. Soni, whose wedding was interrupted by Big Bad and his monsters. Soni, who had once been aThird,who once held the power of life and death in her hands. Those delicate, young hands had brought Urban and 78 others like him, back to life.

The significance of the evening struck me then. We had in our midst four of the seven women who had been entrusted with the Naming Powers. Felicity, Rinky, Persephone, and Soncerae.

If Soni still had her power, we wouldn’t be here, and the fabric of the world would still be whole, with no little tears in it for retrieving Orion’s dead. The Covenant would still be intact. I would still be pouring out my life in exchange for hourly wages and occasional pity from my friends, paying off someone else’s debt, struggling to keep my stubborn, homeless friend alive in the Idaho cold. I’d be dreading the next moment when a drunk Randy Weaver would catch me alone in the dark.

Only a matter of time… It had only, ever been a matter of time.

Silently, selfishly, I thanked God Soncerae had been forced to give her power away. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have this hodgepodge of friends who believed, foolishly, that they needed me.

* * *

Felicityand I held onto Brian’s elbows as we descended the stone stairs in the stunning shoes hidden by our skirts. Flann had one of Wickham’s sisters on each arm. No one was in a hurry.

The old Lennon would have considered it all a waste. The new me felt it was all so necessary, so appropriate. If I were expected to give up my magic, my Hank, for the sake of these people, let alone the survival of mankind, I’d have wanted this sort of reverence for my sacrifice—even if I didn’t know all my pet rock’s secrets.

On the lower patio, the furniture had been moved back to make room for tables that bore the weight of crystal glasses, champagne bottles, and various liquors. Empty silver platters winked under the lights from the pagoda overhead, as if waiting for someone to wave a wand and have finger foods appear.

Beyond the patio and cleverly patterned garden beds, lines of white chairs cut the lawn in half. At the head of those chairs, instead of some wedding arch, which would have looked appropriate in that space, a small fire crackled and danced in a fire pit. It cast a warm, inviting glow heavenward and made the leaves of the trees shift. That, along with the orbs of light hovering on every branch, made it seem like a thousand tiny fairies had come to watch the ceremony too.

Large white stones had been carefully arranged around the pit. Moths danced above the heat, among the sparks, their wings catching the light—a flickering ballet performed for our entertainment while we all found our seats.

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