Free Late Eclipses by Seanan McGuire

wrist before the other woman had a chance to react.
    I shouldn’t have been able to hear what came next. We were too far away, and she was speaking too softly. But this was a dream, and I was going to hear what Karen wanted me to hear.
    “If you come near my daughter, if you touch her, if you look at her, I will know, and I will make you pay.” Amandine’s tone was light. She would have sounded almost reasonable, if not for the fury in her expression . . . and the fear in Oleander’s. Oak and ash, one of the scariest women in Faerie was looking at my mother like she was the monster in the closet. “Do you understand me, Oleander? I will make you pay in ways you can barely comprehend. I will make it hurt , and the pain won’t stop just because I do. Do you understand?”
    “Bitch,” hissed Oleander.
    Amandine narrowed her eyes. The smell of her magic—blood and roses—suddenly filled the formerly scentless garden, and Oleander screamed. Her own magic rose in response, acid and oleanders, and was almost immediately buried under Mother’s blood and roses. Amandine didn’t move, but she must have been doing something , because Oleander kept screaming, a high, keening sound that wasn’t meant to come from any human-shaped throat.
    The smell of blood and roses faded. Oleander slumped in Amandine’s hands. My mother looked down at her dispassionately, not letting go.
    “How much of who you are is what you are?” Amandine asked. Her voice was still soft. That was possibly the worst part. “How much do you think it would change? Would you like to find out?”
    “No,” whispered Oleander.
    “I’m afraid I can’t hear you. What was that you said?”
    Oleander licked her lips. “I said I wouldn’t go near your daughter. I’ll leave. I’ll say you don’t want to be disturbed.”
    “Ah, good.” Amandine released her, looking satisfied. Oleander dropped to her knees, gasping, as Amandine stepped back to her original position. “That’s what I hoped you said. Your visit has been most enlightening, Oleander. I trust it won’t be repeated.”
    Oleander staggered to her feet, glaring daggers at my mother as she stumbled backward, out of reach. “It won’t. I won’t come here again.”
    “Not even if he sends you?”
    “There are some things I won’t risk for anyone.” Oleander took another step back, keeping her eyes on Amandine the whole time. “Keep your little half-breed bitch. The two of you can rot for all I care.”
    “I’ll take that under advisement,” said Amandine. Turning her back on Oleander, she walked back into the tower and closed the door.
    Oleander stayed where she was for a brief second, glaring daggers at my mother’s wake. Then she turned, storming down the path and out the gate, into the fields beyond the tower grounds.
    I turned to Karen. “Why did you show me that?”
    “I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m still not very good at this. I just sort of do what the dreams tell me I have to. But I didn’t show it to you.”
    “What?” I frowned. “Of course you did. I just saw it.”
    “No.” She looked past me, into the bower of whiteon-white flowers where the dream began. “I didn’t show you. I just reminded you that you knew it.”
    It took me a moment to realize what she was saying. Slowly, I turned, and saw myself—my much smaller, much younger self, still new to the Summerlands, still so dazed by the wonders of Faerie that I hadn’t started looking for the dangers—crawling out from underneath the branches.
    “See?” said Karen. “You already knew.”
    “I . . . I don’t remember this.”
    “You do now.” I felt her hand on my arm, as light as the flower petals still drifting in the air around us. “It’s time to wake up, Auntie Birdie.”
    So I did.

SEVEN
     
     
     
    L ATE AFTERNOON SUN STREAMED through the bedroom window, hitting me full in the face. I opened my eyes, trying to blink and squint against the glare at the same time. Not