Cold Days (The Dresden Files #14) - Jim Butcher Page 0,209
for me!”
Sarissa rolled her eyes and gave a helpless little lift and fall of her hands. “Maeve, what could I possibly have ruined for you? Did finally moving out of that studio apartment destroy your life? Did getting my nursing degree somehow diminish your power? Did I steal some boyfriend of yours that you accidently left breathing after the first night?”
“It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?” Maeve said, her tone waspish. “How important you think men are. And here you are trying to impress Mother by bedding this one.”
“It was work, Maeve. Therapy.”
“I could see how therapeutic that dress was at his party.”
“My dress? You were wearing rhinestones. And nothing else!”
Maeve’s face contorted in rage. “They. Were. Diamonds.”
Karrin looked back and forth between them with an expression of startled recognition. “Harry . . .” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I got it,” I said. I turned to Sarissa, who looked younger than Molly. “Mab’s BFF, eh?” I asked her.
“You said that, not me,” she said quickly.
“Right,” I said. “You’re just a young, single rehabilitative health professional.”
“This decade,” sneered Maeve. “What was it last time? Mathematics? You were going to describe the universe or some such? And before that, what was it? Environmental science? Did you save the Earth, Sarissa? And before that, an actress? You thought you could create art. Which soap opera was it again?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sarissa said. She saw me staring at her and said, “It was before your time.”
I blinked. “What?”
She looked embarrassed. “I told you I was older than I looked.”
“Finally I realize who you remind me of.” I sighed, looking back and forth between Sarissa and Maeve. “It must have been the scrubs that threw me off. Maeve is always dressed like a stripper, and she’s always had the piercings and the club lighting and the crazy Rasta hair.” I looked back and forth between the two. “Hell’s bells, you’re identical twins.”
“Not identical twins,” they both said at exactly the same time, in the exact same tone of outrage. They broke off to glare at each other.
“How does that work, exactly?” I asked. I was curious, but it was also an effort to buy time. I’ve yet to meet a megalomaniac who doesn’t love talking about him- or herself, if you give them half a chance. Especially the nonmortal ones. To them, a few minutes of chat in several centuries of life is nothing, and they let things build up inside them for decades at a time. “You two . . . were born changelings, weren’t you? What happened?”
“I Chose to be Sidhe,” Maeve spat.
“And you Chose humanity?” I asked Sarissa.
Sarissa shrugged a shoulder and looked away.
“Hah,” Maeve spat. “No. She never Chose at all. Just remained between worlds. Never making anything of herself, never committing to anything.”
“Maeve,” Sarissa said quietly. “Don’t.”
“Just floating along, pretty and empty and bored,” Maeve went on in a sweet, poisonous tone. “Unnoticed. Unremarkable.”
“Maeve,” said Lily in a harsh voice, looking up from where she stood. The Summer Lady kept a hand extended toward Demonreach, and her face was covered in sweat, and she seemed to be leaning back against the hands of the Sidhe behind her to stay upright. “I can’t hold the spirit alone all night. We have to talk about this before it gets any more out of control. Hurry, and let’s finish this.”
Maeve whirled toward Lily, stamping her foot on the ground. “This is my night! Do not rush me, you stupid cow!”
“Always so charming,” Sarissa noted.
Maeve turned back to Sarissa, and her right arm, the one holding the gun, twitched several times. “Oh, keep it up, darling. See what happens.”
“You aren’t going to let me live anyway, Maeve,” Sarissa said. “I’m not stupid.”
“And I am not blind,” Maeve spat back. “Do you think I did not know about all the time she has been spending with you? All the intimate talk, the activity together. Do you think I don’t know what it means? She’s doing with you what she always meant to do with you—using you as a spare. Preparing you as a vessel for the mantle. Preparing my replacement. As if I were a broken piece of a machine.”
Sarissa looked pale and nodded slowly. “Maeve,” she said, her voice very soft. “You’re . . . you’re sick. You’ve got to know that.”
Maeve stopped, tilting her head, and her hair covered most of her face.
“Somewhere, you have to realize it. She wants to help you. She cares in her way, Maeve.”