your sister?"
She grabbed the stick and slammed it down on the floor. "My sister lives on blood and sacrifice. She cares nothing for what's already dead. But then, she has the distinct advantage of being born heartless."
"It's heartless to think dead things should stay dead?"
"No," said the Morrigan. "It's heartless to use children so callously, to toss them away simply because she'd rather have something else. But look at me, I'm going on. You've come for the hawthorn analeptic, and I intend to give it."
When she came around the front of the desk and reached for my hand, I followed her.
She led me out through a narrow door and down a short flight of stone steps. The air smelled damp and mineralized, but it was nice and I wanted to keep breathing it. I followed her through doorways and tunnels, amazed by how far the House of Mayhem seemed to sprawl.
We turned down a wide hallway and into a huge room, far bigger than the lobby. The floor of it was covered in patches of standing water, so much in places that there was no way to avoid it.
The Morrigan splashed happily, jumping into the smallest puddles and kicking at the surface so that water sprayed up around her. I followed more carefully, walking around it where I could.
"Mind the pools," she said, pulling me back from the edge of a wide puddle. "Some of them go quite deep and I would have to call Luther to fish you out."
I looked closer at the puddle I'd almost stepped in. The edges were steep, cut straight down into the stone, and the puddle was so deep that I couldn't see the bottom.
At the end of the room, we skirted around a pool that was even bigger than the others. A woman lay on her back, floating in the water. Her arms were crossed over her chest and buckled to her sides with canvas straps, but she drifted on the surface without going under. Her dress was stuck to her legs, sinking down so the hem of it disappeared into the murky water. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, and her hair fanned out around her head, tangled with leaves and twigs. There were deep scars running down her cheeks, crisscrossing and overlapping, like someone had carved a grid into her face.
The Morrigan barely glanced at her, but I stopped and leaned down to get a better look. "Is she dead too?"
The Morrigan scampered back and came up next to me. "Her? Oh, not remotely."
"What happened to her, then?"
The Morrigan took a deep breath, like she was trying to find the best way to explain something, and said carefully, "Some can go out and some can't, and some can only go out on nights when strangeness passes for merriment, and some used to go out but due to misfortune or accident cannot go out anymore." She slipped her arm through mine and whispered, "My sister's man did that to her--the Cutter. He laid iron rods against her face because it amused him, and now we have to fasten her arms down to keep her from clawing off her own skin."
In the pool at my feet, the woman opened her mouth but didn't make any noise. Her lips were a chilly blue and she stared up at me with wide, anguished eyes until I had to look away.
I turned to the Morrigan. "Why, though? What good does it do to hurt someone like that?"
"Not good. It's never a matter of good. But my sister does love to punish the innocent for our trespasses. She was displeased with me, so she took it out on someone else." The Morrigan fumbled for my hand. Hers was tiny and hot. "It wasn't my intention to make you sad. Here, don't let's dwell on misfortune. Come along and we'll fetch you something nice to take away with you."
When I looked over my shoulder, the woman was still floating, staring at the ceiling as the water slopped gently against her tattered cheeks.
The Morrigan glanced up at me. "It's not always so bad as that," she said. "My sister is only unduly cruel to those who cross her. She makes sure we know where we stand and who we answer to, but if you keep out of her way, there's nothing to fear."
We left
She grabbed the stick and slammed it down on the floor. "My sister lives on blood and sacrifice. She cares nothing for what's already dead. But then, she has the distinct advantage of being born heartless."
"It's heartless to think dead things should stay dead?"
"No," said the Morrigan. "It's heartless to use children so callously, to toss them away simply because she'd rather have something else. But look at me, I'm going on. You've come for the hawthorn analeptic, and I intend to give it."
When she came around the front of the desk and reached for my hand, I followed her.
She led me out through a narrow door and down a short flight of stone steps. The air smelled damp and mineralized, but it was nice and I wanted to keep breathing it. I followed her through doorways and tunnels, amazed by how far the House of Mayhem seemed to sprawl.
We turned down a wide hallway and into a huge room, far bigger than the lobby. The floor of it was covered in patches of standing water, so much in places that there was no way to avoid it.
The Morrigan splashed happily, jumping into the smallest puddles and kicking at the surface so that water sprayed up around her. I followed more carefully, walking around it where I could.
"Mind the pools," she said, pulling me back from the edge of a wide puddle. "Some of them go quite deep and I would have to call Luther to fish you out."
I looked closer at the puddle I'd almost stepped in. The edges were steep, cut straight down into the stone, and the puddle was so deep that I couldn't see the bottom.
At the end of the room, we skirted around a pool that was even bigger than the others. A woman lay on her back, floating in the water. Her arms were crossed over her chest and buckled to her sides with canvas straps, but she drifted on the surface without going under. Her dress was stuck to her legs, sinking down so the hem of it disappeared into the murky water. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, and her hair fanned out around her head, tangled with leaves and twigs. There were deep scars running down her cheeks, crisscrossing and overlapping, like someone had carved a grid into her face.
The Morrigan barely glanced at her, but I stopped and leaned down to get a better look. "Is she dead too?"
The Morrigan scampered back and came up next to me. "Her? Oh, not remotely."
"What happened to her, then?"
The Morrigan took a deep breath, like she was trying to find the best way to explain something, and said carefully, "Some can go out and some can't, and some can only go out on nights when strangeness passes for merriment, and some used to go out but due to misfortune or accident cannot go out anymore." She slipped her arm through mine and whispered, "My sister's man did that to her--the Cutter. He laid iron rods against her face because it amused him, and now we have to fasten her arms down to keep her from clawing off her own skin."
In the pool at my feet, the woman opened her mouth but didn't make any noise. Her lips were a chilly blue and she stared up at me with wide, anguished eyes until I had to look away.
I turned to the Morrigan. "Why, though? What good does it do to hurt someone like that?"
"Not good. It's never a matter of good. But my sister does love to punish the innocent for our trespasses. She was displeased with me, so she took it out on someone else." The Morrigan fumbled for my hand. Hers was tiny and hot. "It wasn't my intention to make you sad. Here, don't let's dwell on misfortune. Come along and we'll fetch you something nice to take away with you."
When I looked over my shoulder, the woman was still floating, staring at the ceiling as the water slopped gently against her tattered cheeks.
The Morrigan glanced up at me. "It's not always so bad as that," she said. "My sister is only unduly cruel to those who cross her. She makes sure we know where we stand and who we answer to, but if you keep out of her way, there's nothing to fear."
We left
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