it was all so strange and so surreal

[more_magic]

“I just want to know if Jodie Foster is here,” said Alex, and Darlington didn’t bother trying to suppress the flicker of irritation that bubbled up within him. They’d seen wonders tonight; the Arcadian peace of that vast forest, the glories of a Parrish painting come to life, reckless sacreligious hedonism in a flower-filled cathedral. And yet all she wanted was to celebrity-watch. Typical.

The fireflies lighting the room swarmed around them, the green-gold flash of their light almost pulsing with the beat of his heart. “For all you know,” he said, the words coming out thick and sluggish. His head reeled; he blinked hard, once, twice. “For all you know, that was Jodie Foster.” The room shimmered, the air suddenly heavy and cloying. They should keep going, finish their journey down; do the job they’d been set to at the start of the night. Before he could say anything, do anything, chivvy Alex along and out of the suffocation of the fifth level of Manuscript’s tomb, Lan Caihe turned back to face them, that enigmatic smile still on her face and the vast mirror of power churning behind her.

Descend.

He shouldn’t have heard her, not from this distance, but the word was as loud as if she’d been standing by his side.

Descend.

It passed through him like a shudder, and the world gave way along with it. He fell--he descended--landing on his feet in the middle of a cavern, the walls slick with moisture and the scent of tilled soil in the air. Someone was humming, something was humming, the sound reverberating straight to the center of him like it was the only thing that mattered. Darlington looked around for the source, his head taking an age to turn from one side to the other, until--

The mirror, that vault of power. It was here, bolted to the wall of the cave, the magic contained within swirling in eddies and whorls for a moment before slowly parting. Something was wrong here, gravely wrong, and he had to look away. But why would he? He’d wanted these glimpses of the uncanny, chased them and dreamed them and craved them, driven by his need to know everything he could about a world he’d only ever been given small tastes of. He could drink his fill now, granted this glorious opportunity by a goddess in celadon robes, and so he stared as the mist parted and the mirror cleared.

It was the room he’d just left, the banquet table still laden, the guests still crowded around the feast now rotted and spoiled, flies swarming around the goblets and maggots squirming in the cheese; everyone there aged and frail, using the last of their strength to lift a cup to their lips or bite into the desiccated husk of what might once have been a peach. Above them all stood Caihe, still youthful, lit by fire and glowing with power, her face changing with every breath: high priestess, hermit, hierophant, king and empress and fool. Darlington stared, shaking, at the face of his grandfather until the next exhalation whisked the sight away. His upper lip was wet; he lifted fingers to his face and saw them come away bloody.

“Darlington?” Someone was saying his name, a voice he knew, one he’d thought of as a broken woodwind when in fact it was the richest tone he’d ever heard, a symphony contained in the three syllables of his name. No, not his name. Not his name, any more than Alex was hers; they’d both christened themselves something new. He looked away from the crimson smear on his fingertips and back to the mirror. Like Caihe, she was unchanged, that Queen Mab crown still on her head and starlight still spangling her skin, her dress a dark flow of fabric along the lines of her body--but no, now she was Mab, a true Queen of the Night, beautiful and breathtaking, the points of a wheel or a crown seeming to turn behind her. Her mouth was lush and red, constellations he didn’t recognize reflected in the pooling blackness of her eyes, so much power coursing through her that it ought to be terrifying.

“What are you?” he heard himself ask, his voice soft with awe. No answer came, but that didn’t matter; he knelt anyway, putting himself at her feet and in her hands. He could see himself in the mirror, not as he was but as he wished to be: a knight with sword in hand, his fealty pledged to the creature before him if only she would choose to accept it. There was an ache in his chest from the wanting of it, another sword plunged into his back, piercing his heart; he felt the tears spill down his cheeks, mingling with the blood, the taste of copper and salt in his mouth.

“An acolyte at heart,” said Caihe, and Darlington knew she spoke truth. Choose me, he thought, he begged, staring up at Alex. She was not what she had seemed, nothing like what he’d assumed her to be, this girl who’d done nothing to earn the gift she’d been granted. She was his queen, and he would serve her until the end of his days, if only she would…

“Darlington,” she said again, one slim hand reaching for him, fingertips brushing the side of his face, cupping his chin. He closed his eyes, and dared to hope.

Comments

[more_magic]

A few of the wards he draws flicker as he sets them, requiring him to make spontaneous changes to their construction in a way he never has before. It almost feels like some change in the flowing reservoir of magic, a shift in the pools and streams he's learned the shape of over the last three years--but that's impossible. They may have left Manuscript, somehow, but they can't have gotten far.

He's in place to set the last ward when Alex calls his name, and the quaver in her voice makes his stomach twist. It might not work; he isn't under the effects of Hiram's Bullet and he knows it, but Darlington makes himself try, stepping towards the empty patch of air she's shrinking back from.

"Unwept, unhonored, and unsung!" he barks, the first thing that comes to mind, short and sharp and cruel.

[takecourage]

The gray looks at Darlington for the first time, recoiling from the words or from the fierce authority with which they're said. He turns and flees, gone without a trace and Alex all but collapses to sit on the floor behind the couch.

[more_magic]

Darlington sees her go limp, the tension draining out of her all at once as she sinks down by the couch. It takes more effort than he might have thought to turn away, to draw that last ward against the last of the windows. This one, at least, holds after the first try.

With everything secured, he goes to her, moving to sit on the floor at her side. His hand reaches for hers, then pauses, another wave of that shame from before rising up within him. "It's done," he says. "Everything's...the wards are up."

[takecourage]

"Thanks," says Alex. She's half bent forward, her hair curtaining her face, but she reaches out and takes his hand. "How's your head? I...guess I owe you an explanation..." She looks up at him, eyes dark and hollow in a pale face. "Daniel Arlington, welcome to Darrow."

[more_magic]

Alex closes the distance that he wouldn't--or couldn't--manage himself, and when her hand takes his, Darlington doesn't pull away. "Growing clearer by the minute," he says. "Sudden peril has that effect, even on Manuscript's brand of tricks."

Mentioning it only makes the memory spring unbidden back to life, like one of the Grays they'd just banished: the arch of her body against him, the press of her lips, his hands moving beneath her shirt. He feels his face grow hot. "And I owe you...more than an apology. Much more. It was unforgivable, I never should have..." Darlington lapses back into silence, looking down at the floor, shame settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. "We can talk to Sandow, work out some kind of arrangement. Whatever you'll be comfortable with."

All the effort they'd put in, that equilibrium they'd just found, ruined in the space of an evening by his own foolishness. How could he have been so stupid?

He's so lost in thought, in shame and recrimination, in anger at himself and Manuscript, that he nearly misses what comes next. It's only the use of his given name, something he's never heard her say, that pulls his focus back. "Darrow?" he echoes, his brow furrowing as he looks back up and into her weary, worried face. "What do you mean?"

[takecourage]

"I've got some really good coffee," she says, squeezing his hand because it feels like the right thing to do then. It feels like something she needs. "The way I had it described to me was that it's a pocket universe. Life goes on as normal back home; nobody even notices we're gone, but...we're here." So at least it's better than whatever had happened to Darlington at home. At least they're in it together this time. "Whatever it is, though. We're stuck. I've been here for abotu a week."

She huffs out a weary laugh.

"Somehow I don't think Sandlow's going to be our biggest problem."

S

[more_magic]

After everything, Darlington wants to ask for something far stronger than coffee--but after everything, that's the last thing he needs. "Coffee would be great," he says, glancing down as her fingers tighten around his. It doesn't feel as much like absolution as he wants it to, needs it to, but it's a start. "Thank you."

He listens carefully to what Alex says next, trying to square the idea with the things he already knows after three years in Lethe and a lifetime of dreaming. It fits, and doesn't. "So what, it's a...we walked through a portal? And you left New Haven a week ago and came to this Darrow with none of us the wiser?"

Darlington tries to think of what they'd been doing a week prior. Scroll and Key's failed rite hadn't been that recent, and St. Elmo could barely manage their own magics, let alone borrow anyone else's. But somehow, she'd dropped out of the world and he hadn't even suspected. The idea of it puts another heavy stone of guilt in his chest. He was her Virgil, her mentor, her guide to the uncanny. He should have known.

"And now we're both here. Trapped in a pocket universe."

[takecourage]

Alex almost tells him that he wasn't around to notice if she was gone or not, but she doesn't. That's a conversation they don't need to have right now. That's an explanation she doesn't need to find words for.

"Something like that," she says. "It's like you...drop out of the moment you're in, whatever you're doing. It's how everyone who wasn't born here gets here."

[more_magic]

"How many people has it happened to?" That they aren't alone in this is of only slight comfort, but Darlington's happy to grab onto whatever scraps of information he can. "This feels like something we ought to have been aware of. Lethe should have known, Sandow, even if we didn't."

All of that, of course, is now a world away, but the thought of it is all he has.

[takecourage]

"There's a whole town full," she says, taking her hand away from his, but only so that she can push to her feet and offer him both of her hands.

"Come on. Coffee."

[more_magic]

"Definitely something we ought to have known." He's never missed the vast library at Il Bastone more than right now, even as he has no idea how he'd even phrase his request for information. Pocket universes; disappearances thereof, maybe, though even that might just have the bookshelf shaking and smoking furiously at him.

Alex gets up and reaches for him, and for a second there's that echo of before; him on the ground, desperate for the touch of her hand. He blinks, pushing the surge of his need back once again, and lets her help him to his feet. "Coffee," he echoes, managing a smile at last as they stand there, their hands still linked. "Since you say it's really good."

[takecourage]

"It's really good," she says, letting go of his hands and padding into the kitchen, leaving him to follow. "You can stay here tonight. We can go to the station tomorrow and grab your welcome packet and your keys.'"

[more_magic]

A bit more of his guilt slips away as he follows her into the kitchen and hears the offer she so generously extends. Maybe she's just being nice in the wake of his sudden arrival, but Darlington finds himself hoping he hadn't ruined things as badly as he'd initially feared. "As long as you're sure you don't mind," he says, taking the magnets out of his coat pocket and placing them back onto the refrigerator door. "Having me on the couch for the night."

He does his best to ignore the thought, just as sudden as all the others, of the two of them tangled there only a short while ago.

As she measures out the grounds and starts the coffee brewing, Darlington leans against the counter, out of her way. There's something still unsettled and off-kilter about this in a way he doesn't like, but there's a steadiness to Alex now that he hadn't seen before--or maybe just hadn't noticed. It's almost soothing.

"Welcome packet?"

[takecourage]

It feels good just having him there, in her space. Alex finds herself glancing at him almost constantly like she's expecting him to have evaporated.

"Everyone gets on. Mine's on the counter if you want to look."

[more_magic]

He follows the bob of her head, grabbing the large manila envelope and studying it, reading the neat type of her name along the front before he pulls the flap open and lets the contents slide out onto the Formica of the countertop. "They're...thorough," he says, looking through everything, unfolding the city map and studying the lines of the streets.

A small card almost slides off the edge of the counter and he grabs it; some kind of identification, the picture on it showing Alex bare-shouldered and oddly damp, her dark hair limp and her eyes wary. It feels like prying, just looking at it, and he sets it aside.

"Whoever it is that puts these together, I mean. As though we're expected."

[takecourage]

Alex hops up to sit on the edge of the counter while the coffee brews, idly drumming her heels back against a cupboard door as she watches him read through the packet.

"Exactly like that, right?" She says. "It's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen."

And they both know the kinds of things that Alex has seen.

"And it's crawling with Grays. They're everywhere."

[more_magic]

At home, it might have sounded like crass hyperbole, worthy only of a roll of Darlington's eyes. After tonight, calling it the weirdest fucking thing almost seems inadequate. "There has to be some account of it," he murmurs, mostly to himself, already grabbing onto the idea of this place like a project; something to delve into and map, full of questions in need of answers. Just like New Haven. "A history, something."

He looks up from the map when Alex mentions the Grays, that concern from before back in his expression. "How bad has it been?"

[takecourage]

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when she catches a glimpse of the boy she saw evidence of in the crowded room at Black Elm. When he asks the next question, she rolls her skinny shoulder in a shrug.

"Hasn't been the best week of my life," she says. "Pretty much just like being back in L.A."

[more_magic]

All he can do is nod at that, any words he might have thought to say likely to be mocked--and deservedly so--by Alex as nothing but empty, polite platitudes. He'd read her file. Despite the dismissiveness of that rolling shrug, it's not the kind of comparison Darlington thinks she'd make lightly.

"The ones I put up should hold," he says, and it feels like an apology. He'd tried to teach her, that night he'd gone by Vanderbilt under the guise of helping her study, but her roommates had come bounding in just as he'd put up the last of the wards and they'd had to fall back on their flimsy excuse for the next hour. "Strengthen them with the usual things, when you can, but you'll have some quiet now."

Darlington pauses, putting everything but the map back into the envelope and setting it on the counter again. "I'll ward my place too, when I know where it is," he says quietly. "Have an extra key made. If you'd want it."

After his conduct, he wouldn't blame her if she simply rebuffed him, but maybe this can serve as enough of an olive branch to keep that from happening.

[takecourage]

"I'd like that," she says, finally. The coffee clicks off and she reaches for the pot, pouring them both generous mugs full and nudging his in his general direction. "You don't have to sleep on the couch. You're going to need good sleep and you'll wake up with a horrible headache. I'll take the couch. The bed is actually ridiculously comfortable."

[more_magic]

It's nearly absurd how quickly and completely something lightens in his chest when she says that, agreeing so readily to what he'd offered.

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed, Stern," he argues, reaching for the mug as she passes it to him. "The couch will be fine." His long fingers wrap around the mug, the warmth of it just as comforting as the liquid inside. "I'm tired enough, I could sleep almost anywhere."

[takecourage]

"You're too tall for the couch," she says, getting down off the counter and walking in the direction of her bedroom like she expects him to just follow her.

[more_magic]

She tosses the observation off and saunters away, and all Darlington can do is laugh. "I'm sorry the pocket universe didn't foresee that you'd be hosting your still-baffled and reasonably tall Virgil for a night," he calls, before pushing up out of his slouch and following her down the hallway. "We'll have to have a talk with it."

[takecourage]

"In the morning, maybe," she says, leading him into her bedroom, which is relatively neat, thank god. "It's big enough for both of us. Neither of us have to sleep on the crappy couch."

[more_magic]

"Definitely in the morning," Darlington says, just before he yawns wide enough that he can hear the faint crack of his jaw. "No energy for it now."

He stops in the doorway to her room, taking in the surprising neatness, the lack of even those few perfunctory bits of decor that had adorned her side of the room back at Yale. Of course, she'd only been here for a week--a long and wearying one, from what she'd said before--and with far more immediate concerns. Buying another copy of that ridiculous Leighton painting had to have been vanishingly low on her list.

The uncertainty and embarrassment he thought he'd managed to banish come back to the fore when Alex moves to turn down the covers. She's right, and he knows it; the bed's large enough to fit them both, and far more inviting than the thought of folding himself into the couch with his coat for a blanket and one of the cushions for a pillow, but the memory of those visions he still can't entirely separate from reality is still fresh enough to give him pause. He sips his coffee, knowing it's little more than another kind of delay.

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed," he repeats, his cheeks going faintly pink. "But I don't want you to feel obligated. To share, after..." He makes a vague gesture with his free hand, absurdly at a loss for words. "After."