Strange Candy (Vampire Hunter 0.5)

“But if she wasn’t your wife, she would be a non-person. A peasant.”

“Mother, please remember, she is my wife, and I love her.”

His father added, “Son, why, why did you do this?”

Trevelyn took Rudelle’s hand and drew her aside. “This could take some time, my beloved. Why don’t you go out in the garden for a time?”

“No, I will stand beside you.”

“It will be an argument. An argument with my parents means magic. I would rather have you settled in a few days before being turned into a frog.”

Rudelle’s eyes widened. “They could really do that?”

“My parents? Without a word or a gesture. Most sorcerers have to at least say a spell, to help their concentration, but not my parents.”

Rudelle swallowed. “I’ll remember that, and go wait in the garden.”

She paused before a blank wall and asked, “How do I get there?”

He kissed her then, hard and full on the lips. “Enjoy the garden. Mother, if you please, teleport her gently into our garden.”

His mother looked unhappy but waved her hand and the world vanished for a moment.

Rudelle appeared in the garden. Two teleports so close together were too much for her stomach. She vomited into the grass. At least she hadn’t thrown up in front of anyone, but she decided then and there that she did not care for teleportation.

The garden was a contrast to the house. Neat, trimmed fruit trees formed a small orchard in the west. An herb garden formed an intricate green-leafed knot around a small garden. Flower beds were isolated and planted to be viewed from every side: carnations in pink and scarlet, delphiniums in shades of royal blue, and brown speckles over all, the pure white of crystal stars on their dainty nodding stems.

A vegetable patch opened behind a screen of hedges. Never had Rudelle seen such perfect red tomatoes, crooknecks so large and glossy yellow that they did not seem real. Bees hummed among the bean blossoms. The bean plants were rainbows of bean pods; purple, spotted and streaked, bright yellow and pale pink. Two short rows and every color Rudelle had ever heard of, and some she had not. No one grew them like this, for the eye’s beauty more than the harvest.

Then Rudelle came to the rose garden. She stopped and simply stared. There was nothing else to be done. The reds were an eye-searing scarlet, pinks from the palest dawn’s blush to deep coral, yellows the color of goldfinches and buttercups, and whites like crystal shining in the sun. Then she came to one of pale lavender. Another was orange like the rare fruit itself. The scent on the afternoon breeze was almost intoxicating. Then the sound of humming came to her ears. For a moment she thought the roses were singing, then she spied a young girl kneeling among the bushes.

Long yellow hair blew free in the wind. The white and silver of a party gown was bunched underneath her knees. She was working with a small hand trowel in the soil underneath a yellow rose.

Rudelle cleared her throat quietly. The humming stopped abruptly, and the girl turned, flinging her hair from her eyes. There was a smudge of fresh dirt on one cheek. Her eyes were the startled blue of an autumn sky.

They stared at each other a moment, then Rudelle said, “I am Trevelyn’s new wife, Rudelle.”

The girl smiled. “I am Ilis, his youngest sister.” Ilis stood, bunching the silk of her dress in muddy hands.

Rudelle asked, “Do you always garden in a party dress?”

The girl smiled down at the ruined cloth. “Well, sorcery can fix it instantly, so it’s not ruined. It is the last clean dress I have. Mother and Father have both been terribly busy with their research as of late.”

“Trevelyn tells me you’re an earth-witch.”

“Yes.”

“And you made this garden.”

“Helped it.” Ilis stroked a rose bud, and it opened instantly, bursting with color and scattering scent both rich and welcoming.

“That rose, it opened when you touched it.”

“Of course, it did. I am an earth-witch, and this is my special bit of ground.” Ilis looked at her new sister-in-law critically for a moment. Then she laughed, “You aren’t magic, are you?”

“No.”

“Oh, Mother must have had a fit.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Where are you from?”

“Calthu.”

“Oh, no. No magic. You’ve never seen it, have you?”

“Not really.”

The girl laughed and grabbed Rudelle’s hand. “Come. I’ll show you some real magic.”

Rudelle had to laugh. A feeling of such warmth, health, wholeness came through the girl’s touch.

She let her pull her along the grass paths until they came to the center of the rose garden. There they stopped, still hand in hand.

There was a white painted arbor with a bench underneath. A rose climbed and fell and curved over the wood until it was like a small house. The roses were the size of cabbages, white like frost, the lip of each petal kissed with the palest pink, and outlined and ribbed with silver that sparkled metallic in the sun.

The girl walked forward, leaving Rudelle to gawk. Ilis touched the bending flower, larger than her own face. The flower nodded in response, moving all on its own. It rubbed against her cheek, like a cat.

“It moved.”

“This,” the girl said, “is real earth-magic. Not just every earth-witch can animate a growing thing. It took me three years to get flower color and size, and only the last month has she lived for me.”

“She?”

“Yes. Blinny.” Ilis held out her hand. “Come. She’ll like you.”

Rudelle approached slowly, noticing now how the flower heads wavered independent of the wind. The ruffling of petals was a soft, sibilant sound. A half-opened rose nodded over her and touched pink-tinged lips to her face.

“Oh,” Rudelle said.

A lightning bolt struck near Rudelle. She screamed and Ilis dragged her to the ground.

Ilis tried to hide Rudelle underneath her, as a sound of explosions and lightning cracks got closer.

Rudelle struggled to raise her head and asked, “What is happening?”

“Elva and Ailin are having a quarrel.”

“What…”

There was a roaring whine overhead; Ilis dragged Rudelle to her feet and screamed, “Run!”

They ran, Ilis leading them toward dubious safety, as fire rained down from the sky. They huddled at the base of a small oak tree. Now Rudelle could see the combatants.

A young woman of about seventeen was shooting balls of greenish flame toward a boy of about ten. The green flame splattered harmlessly against nothing that Rudelle could see, as if there were an invisible shield around the child. The boy was flushed and sweating; the girl calm and unstained. She waved aside his attacks with a careless hand. Then, laughing, she vanished.

Ilis let out a sigh and slumped against the tree trunk.

“Where did the woman go?” Rudelle asked.

“Elva? She teleported. She’ll stay gone until Ailin cools down.”

“You can’t teleport, though?”

“No.”

“How do you hide from your brother when he’s angry?”

“I stay out of his way as best I can.”

The little boy was furious. His pale face was flushed, and his hands balled into fists at his side. Rudelle could see him trembling with rage.

There was no sound in the garden but the boy’s labored breathing. Then the climbing rose moved; a mere whisper of silken petals, but it was enough. Ailin pointed one small fist at the bush and began to chant.

Ilis cried, “No, Ailin, no, please!”

Rudelle was uncertain what was happening, then fire like a furnace blast swallowed the climbing rose. Half the bush melted like hot wax.

Ilis screamed, wordlessly, and hid her face in her hands.

Rudelle was numbed at the careless cruelty of it. She wondered, briefly, if she had drawn attention to herself, if the boy would have melted her. Then she stood and strode toward the child.

Ilis called, “Rudelle, don’t!”

Ailin turned, still angry.

Ilis called, “Ailin, this is Trevelyn’s new wife, your sister-in-law. She doesn’t mean any harm. Don’t hurt her.” Ilis got to her feet, uncertain what to do.

Rudelle wasn’t certain either, but one thing she knew, no ten-year-old boy was going to bully her. And no one had the right to destroy such harmless beauty.