Knock knock knock. Benedick and Small Thomas yell.
—Here is the Mayor!
They run to the door. Benedick knocks over the big thing with all the presents on it and Ketura picks them up, she looks so sad since she got back. The one wrapped in blue silver with the featherbells is mine from Raphael. It’s a mirror made of faĕ’ro eggs. I peeked.
—The Mayor, the Old Gray Mayor! yells Benedick. He goes to pull the door open but Neville Warnick grabs him.
—Ho ho ho little boy, I wouldn’t do that!
Benedick starts to cry because Neville is taking him to the Lustrous Chamber and he’ll miss the guise. I want to cry too because Raphael isn’t here yet. Small Thomas opens the door instead.
They are all there, the mummers in disguise for the Winterlong masque. Doctor Foster has on a big hat but I know it’s him. One of the Curators pretends to be afraid of him but Miramar tells him Shush, Listen.
—Who in this House will let the Winter in?
That is Galatea Saint-Alaban dressed as the Old Gray Mayor. She wears a black tuxedo and a horse’s head from the Zoologists. Mandala Persia showed me once where they keep the bones.
—Who will let me in?
—Not I, Miramar says very loud.
—Who will let the Winter in? That is Doctor Foster, he makes the Dead Boy in the masque better after he dies.
—Not me! Not me!
I yell too, I am laughing too even with Jada and Quistana, it is not such a bad dress. Malva Persia is dressed just like Aspasia Persia, when he walks in everybody laughs. He looks so funny! He lifts his dress and he has bells on, the Mayor pretends to bite him and he screams just like her.
—Who will let the Winter in, who will let the Winter in?
But nobody does. Old Nick comes, he was behind Malva. He kisses Ketura and gives her a golden hat but he gives me a peacock mask and throws comfits in the air.
—Send her on, send her on, we won’t keep the Winter here! everyone yells to Winter the Old Gray Mayor.
—Take her to Persia, take her to Illyria, take her to Saint-Alaban!
—Take her to the lazars! says Small Thomas, Take her to the la —
Constance Beech kisses him so he will shut up.
— I will be back! screams the Mayor. The bones clack and she takes off her top hat and paper snow comes out and her teeth snap clack-clack-clack. I know she is Galatea Saint-Alaban but it is scary anyway. I wish Raphael was here, I wish so hard I close my eyes. I open them, here he is.
—Fancy!
He smells so good, like opium and silver powder.
—They made me cacique! I can’t stay, Whitlock is paired with me, Miramar is late too and why are the masquers still here?
He grabs me and throws me in the air, I sit on his shoulders and pull his hair and everyone is looking at me because I am his favorite and he is everyone’s favorite, Raphael, they say Raphael! The Mayor goes snap and bites at his hair, he yells because his costume is getting messed.
—They’re waiting for you for Winterlong! he says. Hurry up! I have to go back —
No one hears him, they are singing now. Doctor Foster takes the Mayor by a white rope and hits her, not hard. They hurry because they have to go to Illyria and Persia and Saint-Alaban last of all for the Masque of Winterlong. Everyone starts singing.
We will walk, we will wander
Farther on and over yonder
Not a song not a word nothing more is spoken
Hang the boy and raise the girl ‘til Winterlong is broken.
—Don’t go, Raphael.
— I can’t stay, Whitlock is waiting! Hurry, Miramar!
— I want to come!
—You’re too little.
Constance Beech frowns at me.
— I want to come, I want to come!
—Let her! Raphael smiles, he takes me in his arms and swings me around and kisses me, his hair falls in my face and I see his eyes looking at me, gray eyes shading to green and he shakes his flaming hair and it falls in my face and it is him, Raphael Miramar, I can see him now and it is me, I am seeing my brother —
I scream, thrash, and tear at wires that are not there.
“Go!” Justice is shouting. Something falls from my hands, another voice cries out, but it is too late, he is gone—
A door slams. Later it slammed again.
“She’s gone. I had their Doctor give her something. Maybe she won’t remember.” Justice’s face was dark with anger. “How could you be so careless? Didn’t you hear Miramar? The Ascendants are looking for someone, they may still be searching for you. If they hear of this—”
“You told me they think I’m dead. Leave me alone.” I stumbled toward the bed. Before I reached it he was there behind me, pulling me to him as I tried to push him away.
“Then why not me, Wendy? Why her and not me?” His voice cracked as he sought to caress me.
“Justice, don’t—” I rolled away from him.
I shut my eyes and tried desperately to retain that image of a face so like my own. A hundred tree-strung candles cast golden light upon his hair as he turned from me, from the child Fancy, the smell of him like jasmine and opium, burning wax and balsam, his pale gray skin, his eyes—
“Yes, Wendy!” Justice murmured in my ear, mistaking my silence for compliance. I pushed him away, his lips leaving mine with a sigh.
Too late. Already the metallic taste flooded my mouth and my heart pounded, as it had each time he had approached me thus backstage. Then it had always been furtive, a stolen embrace with blood bartered in exchange; his swollen mouth in no need of rouge because I bled it each ‘evening, but slowly so that I could taste his own desire and climax as he moved against me.
But it infuriated me now, when I had for a moment glimpsed my brother’s heart and past. I punched him in the ribs.
“Leave me,” I yelled. “Go away!”
Justice gasped. Clutching at his stomach he sat up, tears glittering in his eyes. “Why?” His voice tripped into a fit of coughing. “Why, Wendy? Why won’t you let me? I understand—”
“You don’t understand, or else you’d leave me.” I kicked aside a pillow so that I could slide beneath the blankets. “Emma and Morgan and that other woman are dead, Justice. It killed them, I killed them—”
“But you slept with other empties at HEL ,” he protested, yanking back the coverlets. “They didn’t die. And you just took that girl—”
“She knew something,” I said. “About me; about my brother. I care nothing for her, nothing at all. And you understand nothing, Justice, or you’d be afraid even to touch me.”
He knotted the blankets, avoiding my eyes. I felt a sudden pang, pity mingling with my anger. “Don’t you see, Justice? It kills them sometimes—what I see, what I am—and I … I don’t want to hurt you.”