"They do not exist. Or if they do, they trouble themselves little with mortal and immortal affairs."

She spoke into the darkness, into the eyes. "Then sign, and break your pledge, and fear nothing."

She felt his enmity and his rage pressing against her. The blood beat in her ears; breathing became an effort. But the rage was controlled, though barely, and beneath the enmity she sensed his wavering and the seed of fear that she had dared to name.

"If I agree," he said at last, and in that "if" she knew she had won, "then you will drink your draft, here, tonight?"

The darkness was shrinking, becoming once more a shadow in a suit, and she stood in his office, and the light of the desk lamp shone red on the red file. "If you agree," she said, "then you will sign, and I will give the paper to someone I trust, and at the appointed time I will drink, and our pact will be sealed."

"When is the appointed time?"

She had thought carefully about that one. "Midnight on Christmas Eve."

There was a silence while he appeared to reflect, but she felt he had done with reflection. And at last he said it, the thing she had waited to hear, and the tension began to ebb from her muscles, leaving them weak and shaking. "Very well. I accept your offer. You have hara.s.sed me enough, Morcadis, and this way I can dispose of you without further trouble. I will make a deal with you for my unsoul, in exchange for all that you were, and all that you are, and all that you might have been."

She opened the file and took out a single sheet of paper, thick creamy paper, crisp and expensive, covered with spiky calligraphy. Her signature was already there, written clearly and carefully across the bottom; below it, a s.p.a.ce remained for his. He picked up the quill, snapped his fingers to conjure an ink bottle. "That is not valid," she said. "It must be signed in blood, or whatever ichor flows in your immortal veins."

"There is no blade here that will draw blood from me."

She took out the knife-the knife with which Luc had threatened her-and thrust it quivering into the desktop. She did not have the force to thrust hard, but the point bit deep. He stared at it for a second or two before pulling it out. She saw him extend a shadowy arm, roll up the sleeve-if there was a sleeve-draw the blade across it. Some dark fluid welled out and dripped onto the ebony, smoking slightly. He dipped the nib in it and signed-Azmordis, for that was the name in which the doc.u.ment was drawn up, the name by which Fern had always known him-and the scritch scritch, scritch scritch of his pen was the only sound in the whole world. She waited for the clap of thunder, the lightning flash, but there was just that terrible silence. The paper wrinkled around his signature. of his pen was the only sound in the whole world. She waited for the clap of thunder, the lightning flash, but there was just that terrible silence. The paper wrinkled around his signature.

"It is done," he said, pushing the doc.u.ment toward her as if in contempt, but she wasn't deceived. "Take care of it. No other mortal has ever made such a bargain with me, and I may yet change my mind, ere midnight strikes on Christmas Eve. Then look to yourself, and all you hold dear."

She picked up the paper, replaced it in the red file. "Do not think to cheat me. The bargain may not be sealed, but it is signed, and the Ultimate Powers have borne witness. You know the cost of betrayal."

"Get out: I am done with you. Now you are self-ordained a n.o.body. Get out!"

She moved to the door, and it slid open in front of her-a part of her had believed she would never see it open again-and she was standing on the escalator, crawling like a snail around the Tower walls. Her escort waited by the elevator. She crossed the bridge as if it were broad and railed, and sped earthward, and her heart beat fast as she went toward the exit, and pa.s.sed between the guards, and crossed the square. She thought the knots of people turned to stare, but she paid them no heed. She was running now, running and running, through the pa.s.sageway, under the arch, and she was back in the City, the real City, teeming with people and lights and noise, and it was Christmas, and she was crying, tears of sadness and loss and relief and joy, blurring her view of the happy crowds, crying softly all the way home.

EPILOGUE:.

Exit Third Witch

It was Christmas Eve. Fern had been to a party with Dane Hunter, and joined Will and Gaynor for dinner, and had one digestif too many and sung carols out of tune and returned to her flat almost happy, almost sad. She and Dane would spend Christmas Day together, but she had told him that tonight she needed to be alone. She didn't say why, and he wasn't satisfied, but he left her with a smile and a kiss, not a quarrel, because he had always sensed that certain fragility about her, the burden of secrets she would not tell. She had entrusted the red file to Gaynor-after all, ma.n.u.scripts were her area of expertise-explaining to her and Will what she intended to do. Now she sat in the drawing room with a single candle and a gla.s.s of cognac, playing a compilation of seasonal songs by the likes of Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole and waiting for the hour to strike. It was barely eleven: she had time yet. Time to think, to regret, to relive all those bittersweet moments just once more. But instead her mind planed on nothingness, vacant if not at ease. Beside her, a folded newspaper told her Kaspar Walgrim's case would come up for trial next year. He had an expensive lawyer and high-level contacts; she doubted he would get a long sentence. Dana Walgrim had gone to Australia and engaged herself to a beach b.u.m. No one had ever found any trace of Luc.

Soon it will be over, she thought, and the ghoulies and ghosties will go back in the shadows, and I will live out my life in the light, even if it is an artificial light. She remembered G.o.d in His blue cape, sitting on the gra.s.s to chat, and hoped He at least would not be lost to her. He had seemed a kindly G.o.d, a comfortable G.o.d; she would like to know more of Him. And maybe, when her time came to pa.s.s the Gate, He would open the locked door in her soul, and she would have Atlantis again, and the unicorn would be there, waiting to take her home. She could not know-you could never know-but she must hold on to her faith, because soon faith would be all that remained. All the memories-the pa.s.sion-the darkness and the magic-everything would be gone.

She found she had drained her gla.s.s, and replenished it, just a little way. 'Twas the night before Christmas, she quoted to herself, and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring . . . But beside the curtain, something stirred. A burglar. A goblin burglar in a crooked hat, with a sprig of holly stuck through the brim. And because he was werefolk-the last she would ever know-because it was Christmas, because of the holly in his hat, Fern was more than pleased to see him. "Her highness sends you greeting," he said, "and wishes you a merry Yuletide."

"Thank you," said Fern. "Have a drink."

He choked on the cognac, but persisted.

"I didn't know goblins celebrated Christmas," Fern went on. "It seems a little inappropriate."

"We celebrate Yule," Skuldunder explained when he had recovered. "That is a far, far older festival than Christmas. This is the moment when the year turns. Under the deep cold, in the warmth of earth, the first shoots waken. The snow may lie thick, but after Yule, we know that spring will come again."

"There isn't any snow," Fern pointed out.

"Mabb has moved to the woods and mountains of the far north," Skuldunder said on a faintly admonitory note. "There, the snow lies thick."

Fern took a moment to picture the goblin queen careering down a mountainside on a makeshift toboggan, or throwing s...o...b..a.l.l.s at her hapless courtiers and allowing them to throw s...o...b..a.l.l.s back, provided they did not hit their mark. She had no idea if it was a true picture, but it made her smile. "Tell the queen I too send her greeting," she said with something like a sigh, "but our alliance is at an end. Not because I doubt her, or have other allies in view, but because from midnight I will cease to be a witch, and become an ordinary mortal."

"Why?" asked Skuldunder, clearly baffled.

"The story is too long for now, and the ending too sad. It is enough to say I wish it."

"But-how can you cease to be what you are?" the goblin demanded.

"An ancient magic," said Fern, "and my last. Let's not talk of it. Merry Christmas! I mean, Yule." She raised her gla.s.s. "Go back to the north where the snow lies thick, and tell Mabb-tell her farewell. This is my final gift." She detached a tiny model of a violin from her Christmas tree. "It doesn't play, but it's pretty. Still, she has some magic. Maybe she will be able to wring a tune from it." She blanched slightly at the thought.

"It's a beautiful thing," said Skuldunder solemnly. "I never stole anything like it."

"Now go," Fern said. "Midnight is coming. After that, I will no longer be able to see you, nor any of your kind. But I'm glad you came tonight."

He faded, slowly and sorrowfully, or at least in bewilderment, and she was left alone with her vigil. She fetched the phial, and stood it beside her gla.s.s, and knew that soon it would be no more to her than a curiosity, an unusual perfume bottle that she had acquired she couldn't recall where. She would have liked to say good-bye to Kal, but she sensed it was unnecessary. He had given her the phial; he would know she had used it. And now now the memories began, jostling for place in her head, memories of golden city and giant tree, of starfoam and dragonfire, of Rafarl and Ruvindra, enemies and friends, of riding the wind and feeling the heartbeat of the earth . . . She needed leisure to savor every second, to live it all one more time, before it slipped over the boundary into the realm of dream and fantasy, never to return again. But the clock ticked inexorably onward, hand closing on hand, and her Time was running out. Three minutes left. With a little difficulty, she unstoppered the phial. Her grip was unsteady. It seemed to her that the memories had spilled out of her mind and thronged the room, reaching out, calling to her: Fernani- the memories began, jostling for place in her head, memories of golden city and giant tree, of starfoam and dragonfire, of Rafarl and Ruvindra, enemies and friends, of riding the wind and feeling the heartbeat of the earth . . . She needed leisure to savor every second, to live it all one more time, before it slipped over the boundary into the realm of dream and fantasy, never to return again. But the clock ticked inexorably onward, hand closing on hand, and her Time was running out. Three minutes left. With a little difficulty, she unstoppered the phial. Her grip was unsteady. It seemed to her that the memories had spilled out of her mind and thronged the room, reaching out, calling to her: Fernani-nevelinde-Simple Susan sewing samplers-Morcadis-witch maiden-sorceress-lover . . . On the clock face, the hands touched. The chimes of midnight began. She raised the phial to her lips and drank.

And then there was only the music playing in the empty room.

Glossary

Boros (Boor-ross) Possibly derived from Boreas, the Greek name for the North Wind.

Bradachin (Brad-da-chin) From the Scots Gaelic meaning "little thief." The ch is p.r.o.nounced as in loch.

Cerne (Sern) The antlered G.o.d also known as Herne, Lord of the Hunt. This name, one of many, comes from Cernus, a Celtic deity about whom little is known.

Cthorn (K-thorn) An obscure name that may have some connection with the Greek chthonos chthonos, earth. G.o.ds of the underworld are often referred to as chthonic.

Dibbuck (Dib-buk) Presumably from the Hebrew dybbuk dybbuk, an evil spirit that possesses a living body, though why a house-goblin should acquire such a name is not clear. Perhaps he was considered to "possess" the house.

Eriost (Eri-osst) This may be a corruption of Eros, or from the Greek eris eris, strife. The other names mentioned for this spirit seem to come from a variety of sources. Vallorn is from "valiant"; Idunor from Iduna, the Norse G.o.ddess of youth; Sifril may also be Norse (Thor's wife was Sif of the Golden Hair); Teagan is a Welsh name meaning "beautiful"; Maharac sounds like a spirit name, possibly of Indian origin; Varli may connect with Vali the Slayer.

Leopana Pthaia (Lay-oh-pa-na P-thai-a) Leopana is from the Latin mean "leopardess" or "lioness"; Pthaia is possibly from the Greek pythoness, or the Atlantean that predates it: pythe, pythe, seer. seer.

Mallebolg (Mal-leh-bolg) Morgus (Moor-guss) Also called Morgause or Morgawse, the half sister of Arthur. Her sibling Morgun (Morgana, Morgan Le Fay) is better known to common legend.

Nehemet (Neh-heh-met) The name sounds Egyptian, a land in which cats were revered and (it is thought) first domesticated. Bastet was the cat G.o.ddess.

Nimwe (Nim-way) Also spelt Nimue, an enchantress who was in love with Merlin.

Oedaphor (Ee-da-foor) Probably from Greek, this could relate to oidema oidema, swelling.

Pangaea (Pan-gae-a) Gaia was the Greek earth G.o.ddess; pan pan is a prefix meaning "everything." is a prefix meaning "everything."

Skaetha (Skay-tha) There may be a connection with Skuld the Vola in the Edda, the seeress who foretold the battle of Ragnarok.

Skuldunder (Skul-dun-da) This sounds like an uncomplimentary nickname of human origin, similar to "dunderhead," meaning "stupid."

Sleer Bronaw (Slee-a Broh-noor) A corruption of the Scots Gaelic sleagh sleagh, spear, and bron bron, grief.

Sysselore (Siss-se-loor) See The Dragon Charmer. The Dragon Charmer.

Ysis-Astolante (Ey-siss a.s.s-toh-lan-tay) Isis was the Egyptian moon G.o.ddess; Astolante is probably derived from the a.s.syrian Ishtar, or Ashtoreth.

About the Author.

Jan Siegel is also the author of The Dragon Charmer The Dragon Charmer and and Prospero's Children Prospero's Children, which was chosen by the San Francisco Chronicle San Francisco Chronicle and and Library Journal Library Journal as One of the Best Books of the Year. She has already lived through one lifetime-during which she traveled the world and supported herself through a variety of professions, including that of actress, barmaid, garage hand, laboratory a.s.sistant, journalist, and model. Her new life is devoted to her writing. as One of the Best Books of the Year. She has already lived through one lifetime-during which she traveled the world and supported herself through a variety of professions, including that of actress, barmaid, garage hand, laboratory a.s.sistant, journalist, and model. Her new life is devoted to her writing.

Also by Jan Siegel

Prospero's Children

The Dragon Queen