Bones of Faerie (4 page)

Something howled in the night. The cat opened her eyes and raised one ear. Wild dogs, I thought. Trees and their shadows weren't the only danger here.

Matthew lifted a metal mug from the fire, holding it carefully by the leather-wrapped handle. “Here. You need to get something warm into you.”

Wearing dry clothes, wrapped in Matthew's blanket, I'd finally stopped shivering. Steam rose from the mug, the scent of mint and lemon balm mixing with that of smoke and wet wool. Some night creature screamed and fell silent in a flurry of leaves. The wild dogs howled again, a little closer. Matthew set the mug down at my feet and poked the fire with his branch. Sparks leaped into the air, turned to ash, and softly fell. Matthew looked at me as if unsure whether to speak.

I looked away. “You need to go,” I said.

Matthew laughed uneasily. “And venture out alone into the dark? What would your father say?” I think he meant it as a joke, but I saw nothing funny about it. A moth flew toward the fire and through the flames. It flew out again with the veins in its gray wings glowing orange. Moths were drawn to light and always took some away with them when they found it.

I stood and pulled the blanket around me like a
cloak, ignoring the pain that stiffened my back. “Cast out the magic born among you,” I said slowly, “before it can turn on its parents.”

Matthew took a small metal pot from his pack and silently filled it with water from a plastic bottle. Tallow stretched and sniffed the air. Matthew lifted his head, as if whatever Tallow smelled, he smelled, too.

“You know what happened to my sister.” The wind picked up with a mournful sound like a baby's cry.

Matthew's frightened look hardened into something else. His eyes narrowed as he set the pot on the fire. “What your father did. He had no right.” Matthew's voice was low and fierce. His lips drew back from his teeth.

“He had every right. And now it's happening to me.”

“I know.” Matthew took cornmeal from a leather pouch and added it to the pot. He lifted his head, and his gray eyes seemed to reflect distant light—not firelight, more like the moon rising through the trees.

I looked away from him, down to the bubbling pot. Light reflected off its metal surface, and as I watched, the metal grew bright—just like the water and the mirror behind Kate's loom. I tried to turn away, but my gaze was held fast, and in the brightness I saw—

Myself, fleeing the town I'd known all my life, while behind me Kate called, “Wait—”

A pale young man walking through a forest, not alone this time but with a dark-haired young woman— my age—smiling by his side. Sun turned the leaves green-gold and made the air around them shimmer—

A land of steel and glass, of towers and sharp angles. A sky the color of dried blood. Shadows reaching like grasping branches for the towers. The towers shuddered and crumbled to dust, while beyond them a broad river flowed swiftly on, its waters muddy and deep—

Mom gazing at me through water, through a curving wall of silver light. Mom whispering, “Lizzy, my baby, my girl. Stay hidden, Liza; stay safe—”

I stared at her sad eyes, reached for her hand—

—and screamed as hot metal burned me. Matthew yanked my arm from the heated pot, even as I fought to reach for that heat—for my mother—once more.

“Mom!” I cried, but he didn't let go. Blisters rose on my fingers. I felt pain, but it seemed a distant thing, less real than the images I'd seen.

Matthew held me until I stopped struggling and sank wearily beside the fire. He pressed a cool cloth against
my burned fingers. The metal pot reflected orange firelight, nothing more. Mom was gone.

Cornmeal boiled over into the fire, but Matthew didn't move to pull the pot away. Tallow butted my knee with her head, and I absently shoved her back. “What did you see?” Matthew asked.

I didn't want to put the images into words. That would make them more real—or less. “Nothing,” I said.

Matthew shook his head, dismissing my answer. “Gram thought you saw something in her mirror, even though she couldn't see it for herself. I couldn't see anything, either, but only someone in the grip of magic would reach toward a fire as if she didn't know it was there.”

“How would you know?” My blisters throbbed. My back still ached. How badly would I have been burned if Matthew hadn't pulled me away?

In the woods the howling grew louder. Matthew hesitated, then said, “You're not the only person I've known with magic.”

“Yes, but all the others are
dead.”
The words came out before I could stop them. My sister. His brother. An unnamed baby with a bird's sharp claws. Other babies, born to other women, one every few years since the War.

Matthew's gaze was sharp, nothing like the smiling boy I knew back home. “When Cam died I swore he'd be the last. I swore no one else would die for magic if I could help it.”

“Well, you failed, then, didn't you?” My voice came out harsher than I'd expected.
Father had no choice,
I thought.
He was protecting us all.
I turned away from Matthew.

Even as I did, something brown and furred leaped out of the night, knocking me to the ground. I fumbled for my knife and slashed upward, ignoring pain as blisters burst. Teeth snapped, ripping wool and leather. Howls and yips rang all around. My knife struck deep, and blood splattered my face. I struggled for breath as I pulled the knife away, looking up into the bloodshot yellow eyes of a wild dog. Claws slashed at my cheek. I rolled away, back throbbing, arms protecting my neck, bracing for the bite of teeth against skin.

Instead the creature whined, deep in its throat. Abruptly it turned and ran, tail between its legs. Other dogs ran after it, a whole pack. What could scare a pack of wild dogs?

I heard panting behind me and felt hot breath on my arms. Clutching my knife, I stood and turned.

I saw—not a dog, not quite. Its eyes were too bright, its teeth too sharp, its fur as much silver as gray. The creature snarled as it watched the pack retreat. Its lips were drawn back, its ears and tail erect. Blood dripped from a hind leg. Dark gray markings around the eyes and nose gave the creature a strange look, too intelligent for a dog. A word came to mind—wolf, though I'd never seen one save in Kate's old books. I backed away, getting the fire between myself and the creature. Tallow hissed and retreated beneath Matthew's pack. With my free hand I drew a burning branch from the flames.

The wolf growled. For a moment I was sure it would attack. But then it shuddered, and silver light flowed over its gray fur. It shook off the light like Tallow might shake off water. Tail and teeth drew inward. Fur retreated from arms and chest and legs. The creature's eyes lost their bright wildness as it stood on two legs, leaving behind—

“Matthew?” My voice sounded far away, like someone else's voice. He was naked, shivering in the firelight, blood dripping from a ragged wound in his right calf. He stretched uncomfortably, as if uncertain how to wear his own skin.

“You—” Words stuck in my throat. Matthew ran a hand through loose hair that suddenly resembled fine fur.

He didn't seem to notice his lack of clothes. I couldn't stop noticing, though, seeing far more than I should have. Matthew looked down at his bleeding leg, then up at me. He seemed small and scared compared to the wolf he'd been.

Magic. I'd never heard of magic like this. I should have helped him. I should have offered him a blanket, cut cloth to bind his wound. I should at least have thanked him for saving my life. Yet I could only stare. How could Matthew possibly be a wolf?

Matthew looked at the knife I held, blood dripping from the blade. He reached forward, and I handed him the knife, wondering why anyone with teeth and claws would need such a weapon. My blistered fingers stung. Liquid oozed where the blisters had burst.

Matthew wiped the blood off with the blanket I'd dropped near the fire, then held the knife into the flames to cleanse it further. He reached for the blanket again and cut off several long strips of wool. He dampened the first strip with water and used it to clean the gash in his leg. The other strips he turned into bandages that he wrapped around his wound.

Matthew looked around the fire and found his clothes scattered nearby. They weren't torn, which made no
sense. I turned away as he pulled on wool socks and underwear, feeling a flush crawl up my cheeks.

“Thank you, Liza.” A fully clothed and booted Matthew returned my knife to me. His own knife now hung from his belt. It must have been with his clothes. He scanned the ground, picked up a strip of leather, and tied his hair back.

He looked so ordinary, just the same quiet boy I'd always known. No, not boy—I looked down at my knife as my face grew hotter. I touched my cheek and was surprised to feel dried blood there. Matthew took the corn-meal from the fire and set the pot down on the ground, limping a little as he did. Tallow crept out from her hiding place and moved closer to the flames, licking dog blood from her fur. Matthew crouched near the fire. I found myself putting distance between us once more. “How long?” I asked, my voice strange and thin.

“Two years.” Matthew spoke softly but without shame.

“Ever since …” My voice trailed off.

Matthew rubbed at his scarred wrist. “When Cam called the brambles—they grabbed me just like they grabbed Mom and Dad. I should have died with them.

The thorns dug in so deep—I couldn't possibly have gotten away. Only then …” Matthew hunched over. I looked away, into the flames.

“I didn't even understand what had happened, not right away. I just knew that I was free and that I had to run. I didn't realize I'd changed until later, when I was human again.” Matthew jammed both hands into his jacket pockets. “I almost didn't remember I
was
human, that first time.”

He wasn't a coward. He'd run because he'd had no choice. I'd had no idea. No one had. “You kept this hidden for two years,” I said, not sure whether hiding was the right thing to do. Yet I'd tried to hide, too, at first.

“I didn't hide from everyone,” Matthew said.

“Who knew?” There was no one I'd trust enough to speak to of magic, not if I had a choice.

Matthew sighed and didn't answer. “The dogs will be back, Liza. They won't be so easily scared next time. We need to move.” He stood and began shoving gear into his pack.

I thought of his sharp claws and teeth. How could I know he would always remember he was human, even now? What if next time he turned those teeth and claws
on me? I didn't speak aloud, but still Matthew glanced sharply up, as if he'd read my thoughts. I hoped there wasn't any magic for that, or else we'd all go mad.

“Liza.” He drew a deep breath. “The War is over. It's been over for almost twenty years. Magic can be controlled, no matter what your father says.”

Like Cam controlled it? Like the faerie folk controlled it? “Magic kills, Matthew.”

“Not always.” There was real anger in those words, the first anger I'd ever heard from him. Something began building in Matthew, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. He stepped forward, lips drawing back from his teeth, fur sprouting on the backs of his hands. But before I could step back—before I could run—he clenched those hands into fists and stepped away again. He drew a deep breath and the fur receded, making him look almost human once more.

Almost. There was something in his gray eyes—too bright, too wild. Matthew looked down at his hands, then up at me, asking me without words to understand.

What I understood was that he couldn't go back home any more than I could. Neither of us could be sure we wouldn't do harm. Better to stay far from our town and those who lived there.

The dogs started howling again. I handed Matthew supplies, ignoring my stinging, blistered fingers as I did: the firewood bag and food pouch, the mug and bowl and what remained of our blanket. The pot I left behind; it was too hot to pack, and maybe the cornmeal would distract the dogs. Matthew zipped the pack closed even as Tallow leaped to my shoulders, hiding her nose in my hair.

The howls grew louder. Matthew pulled the pack over his shoulders, grabbed the torch in one hand, and quickly lit it in the fire. “Come
on,”
he said, and together we fled, the howling close behind.

Chapter 5