Chimes at Midnight

It was a trick she’d been using on me since she was born. Littlest sister, getting ready to cry, needing comfort. It usually worked, whether I wanted it to or not. But it wasn’t going to work this time. I stepped closer, moving into her personal space as I lowered my voice to a hiss. “You were killing her. Every time you twisted that little girl’s blood, you took centuries off of her life, centuries that weren’t yours to steal—”

“Annie, please . . .”

“No, you’re going to listen. Every time you twisted her blood, you took centuries off of her life, and you made her that much more vulnerable. Faerie is not going to treat her kindly. Not thin-blooded, and not as your daughter.”

She sniffled, trying to lift her head proudly. She almost succeeded. “I was going to make sure Faerie never had the chance to hurt her.”

I laughed before I could stop myself: a brief, bitter sound. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Amy? You could destroy that little girl. For all I know, you already have. But you can never, never save her from Faerie.” A thin smile twisted my lips as I added, “It’s in her blood. Even you can’t change that.”

“You never gave me the chance,” she whispered.

“You never had a chance; it wasn’t mine to give,” I replied, as kindly as I could. “What you did to her, what you were clearly planning—that’s monstrous, Amy. That’s Eira’s territory.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you compare me to her.”

“Then don’t you act like her. You have to be better than she is. There’s no point if we can’t be better than she is.” As far as I know, Eira Rosynhwyr is the oldest of my still-living sisters. I’d kill her in a heartbeat if I thought I could do it. But she’s Titania’s eldest daughter, as I’m Maeve’s, and if there’s anyone in Faerie I fear, it’s her.

Amy wiped her eyes, looking at me beseechingly. “I don’t know what to do, Annie. Why didn’t you ask me before you went to them?”

“Because you would have cried. You would have said you just needed a little bit more time. And I would have given it to you, and by the time I realized I was making a mistake, that little girl would have been completely human, and completely unable to protect herself.” I shook my head. “You say I didn’t give you a choice. You didn’t give me one, either, Amy. The only one with a Choice to make was October, and she’s made it.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing.” Amy turned away from me, shaking her head. “I can still change her. I can still save her from all of this—”

“If you touch one hair on that little girl’s head, they will never find your body.” My voice was low and dangerous, filled with a warning that I knew she would never heed. My poor Amy. She never did learn when to leave well enough alone. “She’s not yours anymore. She made her Choice. She belongs to herself.”

“You’ve forgotten what it was to be a mother.” A note of smug satisfaction crept into her tone, and I was briefly, burningly glad that I couldn’t see her face. If her expression had matched her voice, I might have slapped the smug right out of her. “Children require sacrifice.”

“Dammit, Amy, you’re not listening to me!” It took everything I had to keep my anger in check. This was my fault as much as it was hers. She was the youngest of us, and when she needed me, I wasn’t there. She should never have been given so much freedom, never allowed to make so many poor decisions. But the Firstborn had scattered in the wake of losing our parents, and we left her free for so long. Too long. This is my fault.

She whirled, blonde hair flying, hands balled into fists. Sudden rage contorted her face as she shouted, “You had no right!”

“I had every right, Amy; I had every right. That little girl deserves better than what you were trying to do to her, and you know it.”

“She deserves a life!”

“She’s not human! No matter what you do to her, no matter how deep you go, Faerie will always know her as its own. Do you understand? You can’t free her. All you can do is make her defenseless. She’ll belong to Faerie until she dies. You’re making sure that happens sooner.”

She looked at me, my beautiful baby sister, and her broken heart was shining in her eyes like a fallen star. Finally, she shook her head. “So be it,” she said, and I knew.

I knew she had given up again.

“Amy—”

“I hate you,” said Amy, the sorrow in her eyes replaced almost instantly by sullenness. She’d been the baby of the family for centuries. We were all too used to giving her what she wanted. “You’ve gotten so wrapped up in being the Luidaeg—being the all-mighty sea witch—that you’ve forgotten what it takes to be a sister.”

“This may come as a surprise to you, but right now, I don’t give a shit what you think of me. I did what had to be done. That’s my job. How about you start doing yours?”

Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

“Little late.”