Chapter 4: Mark's Christmas

By Mark's estimation, it was Christmas. Time moved differently in Faerie, but Mark thought that it had been the right amount of days.

Christmas without his family was strange. Mark remembered them - he would not allow himself to forget - but some of the memories had grown hazy. Still, he knew that he always spent Christmas with his family. For this year, Helen had been planning to come back to Los Angeles with Aline, and there had even been talk of Uncle Arthur coming to visit as well.

Instead, Mark was stuck in Faerie, and who knew what had happened to his family?

Mark lay down on the ground, looking up at the stars. He would name them after his siblings, so he wouldn't forget, and with each one, he would remember what he had gotten his family for Christmas. All of the presents he'd bought were wrapped and in his closet at home, where all the Blackthorn children hid their presents. It was something of an unwritten rule that the children would all put their presents in their closets, and through the months of November and December, everyone knew not to look. Mark wondered if the other would find his presents and open them, or if they would leave them there, leaving his room untouched until some other family took over the Institute and cleared out the rooms. He hoped they would find the presents; even if he couldn't give them out himself, he wanted his family to have them.

The first star Mark saw, the brightest, was Helen. His sister by blood, the eldest, the one who kept them all together, even when she was off with Aline. Mark had bought her a scarf, silky and beautiful and the same blue-green as their eyes. The same blue-green as only one of Mark's eyes, now.

The next star was Julian, the little artist. Mark had bought him a watercolor set, knowing that Julian had wanted to experiment with more than just his oil paints. Mark knew that Julian had painted everyone pictures for Christmas, despite his attempts at subtlety. Mark didn't know what Julian had painted, though; he wished he could see it.

Next to Julian was Emma; not technically family, but close enough that Mark had bought her a present too. He'd gotten her throwing knives from the weapons shop in Idris - the name of which was annoyingly elusive - after she mentioned that she wanted to try them out. Mark knew Emma would be good at using them; she seemed to be good at using any weapon she picked up.

Below Emma and Julian was Ty, short for- Mark closed his eyes, trying to remember. Ty, short for- The name came to him with a flash of insight: Tiberius. Little Tiberius, always so solemn and removed. Mark had bought him a set of Sherlock Holmes stories. He knew that Ty had read them already, but Ty liked owning things, and Mark hoped the gift would be a success.

Next was Ty's twin, and Mark's heart pounded when he couldn't remember her name. It was another Roman name, since his father had given them all Roman names. And Ty's namesake was related to his twin's in some way - was it mother and son? Husband and wife? Mark couldn't remember. Her name was… Her name was… Not Lucie, not Elaine, but something that started with an L…?

Livia, Mark remembered suddenly, the name slipping into his mind as if it had always been there. Sweet Livia, so protective of her family and her twin especially. Mark had bought her a lovely notebook, knowing she liked to write in a diary every day. Mark had found a notebook with a deep purple cover and gold swirling designs for her.

Next was Drusilla, sweet little Drusilla, still too young to bear Marks or begin training. Mark had bought her a book, but he couldn't remember the title. Even at only eight years old, Drusilla devoured any book put in front of her. Ty didn't like it when she borrowed his books, but there was some book that Drusilla had loved, so Mark had bought her a copy. He couldn't remember what it was. It didn't matter; Mark remembered her name and face, and that was the most important part.

Then there was the littlest, baby Tavvy, the youngest by far. Mark wondered if Octavian would even remember him as he grew; he was so young. Would Octavian always think of himself as the youngest of six, not of five? Would he think of himself as having two brothers instead of three? Mark had bought him a stuffed bear; Tavvy loved soft things, and the bear had the softest fur that Mark had ever felt.

That was all of his siblings and their presents: Helen and her scarf, Julian and his paints, Emma and her knives, Ty and his book, Livia and her notebook, Drusilla and her book, and Tavvy and his bear. But there was another present in Mark's closet, he suddenly remembered. A present for his father.

Mark's stomach hurt at the thought. He could remember his father being forced to the ground, drinking from that horrible Cup. Mark didn't know what had happened to him after that. Had he died? Had they managed to save him? Mark couldn't say.

But he remembered the present for his father. It had been from all the children. Everyone old enough to have money had pitched in on a frame, which they decorated together. Then, one day when their father was off dealing with a demon problem, their tutor Katerina had taken a family picture of all the children. They'd printed out the picture, put it in the frame, and wrapped it. Somehow, the finished present had ended up in Mark's closet.

And now Mark's father was gone, and so was Katerina, and so was Mark. Helen would take care of them, Mark knew. She would make sure the children were alright. And Julian would help, and he'd have Emma at his side.

But Mark wouldn't be there to watch his little siblings grow up.

"Mark," a voice called. Mark turned his head to see Kieran walking over to him, his gold and silver eyes glowing in the dark.

"Kieran," Mark replied as Kieran lay down on the ground next to Mark, propping himself up on his arm.

"Naming the stars after your family again?" Kieran asked. There was softness in his voice. Kieran could be soft sometimes in a way that the other members of the Hunt weren't. But Kieran wasn't to be trusted, Mark knew. No faerie was.

How long would it be before that rule included Mark himself?

"I'm remembering their names," Mark replied. "And what I got them for Christmas."

"Christmas?" Kieran parroted. "I've never heard of it. Tell me about it."

The distraction was welcome, as Mark thought Kieran had intended. Mark settled himself on the ground so he could comfortably look as Kieran as he talked. "Christmas," he began to explain, "is a gift-giving holiday…"

It wasn't how Mark had intended to celebrate his Christmas - in Faerie with the Wild Hunt, explaining the holiday to another faerie. But, Mark supposed, there were worse things.