The Girl Who Drank the Moon(37)

“Can the girl rest her hands on my belly for a little bit?” the woman asked. “Or perhaps she could sing to the child. I would appreciate her blessing—living as she does in the presence of magic.”

Luna did not know why the woman would want her blessing—or even what a blessing was. And that last word . . . it sounded familiar. But Luna couldn’t remember. And just like that, she could barely remember the word at all—and was only aware of a pulsing sensation in her skull, like the ticking of a clock. In any case, Luna’s grandmother hastily shooed her out the door, and then her thinking went fuzzy, and then she was back inside pouring tea from the pot. But the tea had gone cold. How long had she been outside? She hit the side of her head a few times with the heel of her hand to un-addle her brains. Nothing seemed to help.

At the next house, Luna arranged the herbs for the mother’s care in order of usefulness. She rearranged the furniture to better accommodate the growing belly of the expectant lady, and rearranged the kitchen supplies so she wouldn’t have to reach as far.

“Well, look at you,” the mother said. “So helpful!”

“Thank you,” Luna said bashfully.

“And smart as a whip,” she added.

“Of course she is,” Xan agreed. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”

Luna felt a rush of cold. Once again, that memory of waving black hair, and strong hands and the smell of milk and thyme and black pepper, and a woman’s voice screaming, She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.

The image was so clear, so present and immediate, that Luna felt her breath catch and her heart pound. The pregnant woman didn’t notice. Xan didn’t notice. Luna could feel the screaming woman’s voice in her ears. She could feel that black hair in her fingertips. She lifted her gaze to the rafters, but no one was there.

The rest of their visit passed without incident, and Luna and Xan made the long journey home. They did not speak of the memory of the man in the robes. Or of any other kind of memory. They did not speak of sorrow or worries or black-haired women on ceilings.

And the things that they did not speak of began to outweigh the things that they did. Each secret, each unspoken thing was round and hard and heavy and cold, like a stone hung around the necks of both grandmother and girl.

Their backs bent under the weight of secrets.





20.


In Which Luna Tells a Story





Listen, you ridiculous dragon. Stop wiggling this minute, or I will not tell you a story ever again in my life.

You’re still wiggling.

Yes, cuddling is fine. You may cuddle.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had no memory.

Once upon a time there was a dragon who never grew up.

Once upon a time there was a grandmother who didn’t tell the truth.

Once upon a time there was a swamp monster who was older than the world and who loved the world and loved the people in it but who didn’t always know the right thing to say.

Once upon a time there was a girl with no memory. Wait. Did I say that already?

Once upon a time there was a girl who had no memory of losing her memory.

Once upon a time there was a girl who had memories that followed her like shadows. They whispered like ghosts. She could not look them in the eye.

Once upon a time there was a man in a robe with a face like a vulture.

Once upon a time there was a woman on the ceiling.

Once upon a time there was black hair and black eyes and a righteous howl. Once upon a time a woman with hair like snakes said, She is mine, and she meant it. And then they took her away.

Once upon a time there was a dark tower that pierced the sky and turned everything gray.

Yes. This is all one story. This is my story. I just don’t know how it ends.

Once upon a time, something terrifying lived in the woods. Or perhaps the woods were terrifying. Or perhaps the whole world is poisoned with wickedness and lies, and it’s best to learn that now.

No, Fyrian, darling. I don’t believe that last bit, either.





21.


In Which Fyrian Makes a Discovery





“Luna, Luna, Luna, Luna,” Fyrian sang, spinning a pirouette in the air.

Two weeks she had been home. Fyrian remained delighted.

“Luna, Luna, Luna, Luna.” He finished his dance with a bit of a flourish, landing on one toe on the center of Luna’s palm. He bowed low. Luna smiled in spite of herself. Her grandmother was sick in bed. Still. She had been sick since they returned home.

When it was time for bed, she kissed Glerk good night and went to the house with Fyrian, who wasn’t supposed to sleep in Luna’s bed, but surely would.

“Good night, Grandmama,” Luna said, leaning over her sleeping grandmother and kissing her papery cheek. “Sweet dreams,” she added, noticing a catch in her voice. Xan didn’t move. She continued to sleep her openmouthed sleep. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter.

And because Xan was in no condition to object, Luna told Fyrian that he could sleep at the foot of her bed, just like old times.

“Oh, joyful joyness!” Fyrian sighed, clutching his front paws to his heart and nearly fainting dead away.

“But, Fyrian, I will kick you out if you snore. You nearly lit my pillow on fire last time.”