Briar Queen (10 page)

“For us, there are many ways into the
Taibhse na Tir
. It's our element. I've shut most of those ways. For your kind, there's only one entrance now.”

“Okay. A bargain then—”

“No.” Phouka's eyes darkened and she almost seemed like the girl she might once have been. “You poor mortals, with all your heartweaving and unraveling.
There'll be no bargain. I'll help you because you already did me a good turn on All Hallows' Eve.”

PHOUKA WANTED TO SPEAK TO JACK ALONE,
so Finn and Moth stepped onto a terrace overlooking the revel in the courtyard, where bonfires roared in stone urns and lanterns of colored glass hung from the trees. A young man in a floor-length dark coat was playing a fiddle while a wiry man with black-and-gold hair beat at drums. Finn recognized the fiddler as Farouche the love-talker, one of Jack's friends, the one who had lured Sylvie into Reiko's spell. She still didn't understand Fata allegiances—they seemed to be loyal to no one but themselves.

Moth frowned down at the revelers, all of whom were either masked, tattooed, or wearing elaborate face paint. Finn, who had finally stopped feeling the effects from the encounter with the Grindylow, suspected the adrenaline spike now keeping her alert would also prevent her from sleeping. “I'm sorry, Moth, for what happened to you.”

He raised his head and looked at her. “Finn—”

A girl in a sleeveless black gown moved up the terrace stairs, her hair the color of the marigolds wreathing it. She smiled. “Serafina Sullivan. Hullo—I'm Aurora Sae, one of Jack's friends. We haven't met properly.”

“Hello.” Finn reluctantly clasped the Fata girl's hand.

“I'm glad”—Aurora Sae smiled—“that you had a better trick than Reiko.”

The fiddler in the long coat was swaggering toward the terrace, blood-red hair sweeping over his face in the snowy wind. He bounded up the stairs, bowed briefly, and said, “No hard feelings, serpent slayer?”

“No hard feelings?” Finn felt snarly. “You terrorized one friend and handed both to the Grindylow.”

“Farouche!” Aurora Sae pushed at him, seeming genuinely angry.

“It was the Teind and Reiko was my queen.” Farouche shook his hair back from a face that would have been beautiful if he wasn't what he was. “I couldn't
not
do what she wanted.” He smiled at Moth. “Who is your sullen friend?”

Moth leaned against a wall painted with a mural of a winged boy burning a butterfly. He didn't answer. If he didn't recognize Farouche, he recognized what he was.

“We're not all like Farouche.” Aurora Sae slid an arm through Finn's. “Come meet the others.”

“I'd rather not,” Finn began, but Aurora Sae whispered, “You must make friends among us. We
do
understand friendship, Finn Sullivan.”

With Moth following, Finn allowed the Fata girl to introduce her to Jack's vagabonds, who were as stunningly attractive as other Fatas but less alien in their nature—or better at hiding it: the wiry drummer, Atheno; the dark-haired boy called Black Apple; Darling Ivy, the girl with the shaven head. Dogrose was dressed in old velvet, with glitter dusting his brown skin. Pretty, tawny-haired Wren's Knot leaned against Dogrose's knee, holding a staff topped with a doll's head.

Finn soon found herself seated at the base of a winged statue with Aurora Sae, who began weaving violets into Finn's hair. The drummer Atheno brought Finn a slice of wedding cake, and the boy called Black Apple offered her a cup of dark wine, which Moth seized and dumped.

Black Apple frowned. “
Rude
.”

As the Fata boy drifted back among the revelers with Aurora Sae, to dance, Moth hunkered down beside the statue and, for a moment, he reminded Finn of Jack when he'd been a Jack. As Moth disdainfully watched the Fatas, Finn said faintly, “It must be nice.”

Moth's eyes narrowed. “Nice? They've no purpose. No history. Just this. Just now. And they are as thoughtlessly cruel as rabid cats.”

Finn considered the Fatas. “They're acting like the Winkie guards after Dorothy killed the Wicked Witch.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” She saw Jack and Phouka step onto the terrace and it looked as though they were arguing. She met Moth's gaze. “Tell me about my sister.”

Moth bowed his head, hesitated, before speaking softly, “He cannot touch Lily, the Wolf. She's innocent and strong. To him, she's like the sun. His court is filled with criminals and outcasts—”

“So was Reiko's.”

“Lot's Fatas are not like these. Lot's tribe are blood drinkers, ghouls, elf knights, corrupting spirits, goblins, gorgons . . .”

Finn felt fear whip through her. “Lily . . .”

“There is one among them who became Lily Rose's armor, who kept her from any mischief, a boy who was once mortal.”

“You mean Leander.” She remembered what Leander had shown her—Lily Rose in that decaying mansion.

“Cyrus didn't know, when he met Lily, what Lot was planning for her.”

“What about you? Were you Lily's friend?”

“Lot was never concerned about me and Lily Rose in his house. But when he found out about Leander's visits to Lily—Leander had to run. Yes, I think Lily Rose and I were friends.”

He stood and looked down at her, and his tangled hair shone. “Your sister won't break. But you need to get her out of there. There are things I'm remembering. I remember the inside of the Wolf's house, if Jack has forgotten. I'll lead you to her.”

Finn smiled. “I know you will.”

MOTH REMAINED AT TIRNAGOTH
and Jack drove Finn home. As they got out of the car, she gripped his hand, worried about the darkness in his eyes. “You're staying, aren't you? I don't want you to be in that apartment alone.”

Jack's voice bled exhaustion. “Let Moth and me fetch your sister. Live your life. Be happy. If we succeed, you'll be happier.”

“And if you don't succeed? What then? I just live my
happy
life without you? Without a sister I could have saved? Waiting for that bastard to come after me? No. You can't change my mind, so why are you trying?” She stalked toward her house.

He caught up to her. “I've stolen away enough of your days and nights.”

She frowned. “‘
Stolen my days . . . ?
' Don't you ever say anything like that to me again.”

His voice was low. “You could have died tonight.”

“I didn't. How are your wounds?”

“And who asks their boyfriend questions like: ‘How are your wounds?' That isn't normal, Finn.”

“Well, what if you were really into football or skateboarding or extreme sports?”

“I wouldn't have
wounds,
” he gently explained. “I'd have injuries.”

“How are your
injuries
?”

“They hurt.”

“Come on. My da's out. I'll fix you up.”

His smile was wicked. “Are we going to play doctor?”

“Maybe.” She unlocked the door and pulled him into the house, which was still drafty despite the heat rattling the radiators. The hall lamp had been left on. They trudged up the stairs.

The instant he shut the door to her room, he dragged her against him and she wound her arms around his neck as his mouth slid over hers. The wanton gentleness of the kiss sent sparks through her and he smelled so good. Their coats landed on the floor. She needed only this, his salty skin and his mouth, this fragile desire—

“Ouch,” he said and she pulled back. He smiled ruefully and she noticed, now, the split in his lip.

“I thought I tasted blood.” She tenderly touched his mouth. “Do you hate it?”

“Hate what?”

“Being . . . you know . . . breakable.”

“Well, if you can do it, so can I.” He grinned, winced again.

When someone rapped gently at her terrace doors, Jack sighed. “It's Absalom.”

She saw, beyond the glass, the youth with the orange hair. When he winked, she scowled and wondered how long he'd been there. She stepped away from Jack, rubbing the back of her neck.

Jack opened the doors and Absalom, looking like a harmless waif in a down coat, said, “May I come in?”

“Finn?” Jack glanced at her.

“He's
your
friend.”

“But this is
your
house.”

“Absalom may come in.
Only
Absalom.”

“There's only me.” Absalom stepped over the threshold. He carried a Bruce Lee lunchbox, which he opened to reveal a piece of brass shaped like a heart with a compass in it. Jack, gazing down at it, said, “What is that?”

“The Grindylow's heart.” Absalom held it out to Jack, who tentatively accepted it. “Phouka sent me to LeafStruck to clean up the Grindylow and check on Miss Olive. So I took this as a souvenir. It's a compass. It guides the Grindylow back to its owner.”

Jack nodded once. “The Wolf. This will lead us to the Wolf's house?”

“I've tinkered with it. It'll send you in any direction you want.” Absalom moved
into the room, peered at the Cheshire Cat clock on the wall. “Do you know why a raven's like a writing desk?”

Irritated by Absalom's verbal wandering, Finn planted herself in front of him. “Did you come here to help us or talk a lot of crazy?”

Absalom gently told her, “If the Wolf sent a Grindylow after that boy you call Moth, he knows Moth has escaped him. And then there's Leander Cyrus . . . Phouka doesn't trust either one of them.”

“I want Moth with us.” Finn sat on the edge of her bed. “He says he remembers the
inside
of Seth Lot's house—and we can't find Leander.”

“Seth Lot's house.” Absalom sat in the rocking chair, picked up a
National Geographic
magazine, and began leafing through it. “Do you understand the nature of how we travel? Has Jack told you?”

Finn looked at Jack, who dropped with a sigh into her red plush chair as Absalom continued, “To prevent mortals crossing into the Ghostlands, a skeleton key was created—get it? A skelet—never mind. Reiko used the seven abandoned houses of the blessed: LeafStruck, MoonGlass, etc.; Phouka sealed all those. Now there's only one Way into the Ghostlands—for mortals—and one key, divided between Phouka and Rowan Cruithnear. Phouka will give you her half of the key.” He hunched forward in his chair. “The Wolf stole his domicile from a creature of dreams. The house travels. You must get your sister out while his house is in the Ghostlands, because there you can pin his house in place. The house will cease to exist, in either world, until he finds whatever pinned it. You'll then be able to escape.”

“How do we pin his house?” Finn leaned forward.

“I don't know how, Finn Sullivan. With iron, I suppose. But you won't find iron there, and you can't bring it . . . iron transforms into something else in the Ghostlands.”

“Sacred wood,” Jack said. “Reiko once used sacred wood to hold Lot's house down.”

“There you go then.” Absalom tucked the
National Geographic
into his coat, stood up, and began sauntering toward the glass doors. “One more thing: Lot's house . . . it hoards dreams, memories, phantasms. If you get in, be careful.”

Jack was gazing at Absalom with dark skepticism. As the Fata opened the glass doors, Finn got to her feet and strode after him, onto the terrace. Jack remained in the chair, examining the Grindylow's heart.

Finn shivered in the winter night. “Absalom, what will the Ghostlands do to Jack?”

“He already died, technically, so don't worry about it.”

“Absalom—”

“Finn, you're very young.” He turned to her and his voice was gentle. “You believe you've lived your entire short life to find love. Life is more than that. Do you understand that Jack is still immortal, that his every molecule now mimicking human is really still ‘other'? He wasn't transformed by that divine fire—he was offered a form, and he chose the form of something he'd always wanted to be—a mortal. It's an
illusion
.”

“He's real, Absalom. He has a
soul
.”

“Have you ever heard of the
Tamasgi'po,
Finn? No? ‘Spirit in a kiss,' a lethal poison to our kind because it infects us with memories. And we are
old,
some of us. What are memories but the cellular structure of a soul?”

“Absalom,” Finn hesitated, “do
you
have a soul?”

“Oh, we don't believe in souls.” Absalom began moving down the stone stairs. “Which is why we try so very hard not to die.”

May their backs be towards us, their faces turned away from us, and may God save us from harm
.

                
—O
LD
I
RISH SAYING

S
ince Finn needed to meet with the HallowHeart professors to ask for their half of the skeleton key into the Ghostlands, she went to the one professor she grudgingly knew better than the others—Jane Emory.

Jane Emory's cottage was located at the end of a woodsy, residential road, and it was exactly what Finn had expected—a charming oasis of wind chimes, stone sun faces, and clay cherubs. The garden was now veiled beneath snow. Attached to the kitchen was a small greenhouse.

As Finn stepped into the kitchen, Miss Emory opened the fridge and drew out plates of neat little sandwiches and a pasta salad. “Would you like tea or this green juice I blended? I forgot what I put in it . . . kale, garlic—”

“I'll take the tea, thanks, Miss Emory.” Finn, draping her coat over a chair, noticed the alarming amount of rabbit figurines in the kitchen—not cuddly ones either. Some were primitive totems; others, disturbing hybrids of human and animal.

“Please call me Jane.” As Jane lifted the plastic wrap from the tea sandwiches, she said, “I wanted to talk to you about Halloween night.”

“Why weren't you there?”

“Sophia Avaline wanted me to look after your father while she and the others
went to watch over you and your friends. I think Sophia suspected something terrible was going to happen. I think she put safeties in place.”

Finn sat down and remembered Sophia Avaline's white face the moment Reiko had announced Finn was to be the sacrifice. “What about Dean Cruithnear?”

Jane hesitated. “I honestly believe he didn't suspect it would be you. It would have been
helpful
if he'd told us about the sacrifice in the first place . . . Perhaps he thought it was none of our business because Nathan Clare had agreed to it.”

“Professor Avaline said, that night, the sacrifice is something that must be done, to keep the peace.
She
didn't seem surprised.”

“Of course she said that—Reiko needed to believe we were harmless, that we'd accept whatever she threw at us.” Jane looked at her. “They all had knives, you know, and Wyatt had a revolver filled with silver bullets. If any of the Fatas had even
suspected
that Wyatt and the others were armed . . .”

Finn's eyes widened as she imagined what would have happened if the professors had gone to war with the Fatas.

Jane sighed. “When I saw you in your kitchen on Halloween night . . . I knew. I just knew something had gone wrong. And then I glimpsed Absalom Askew behind you. He winked at me.”

“Absalom.”

Jane turned to put the kettle on. “From what we've noticed, Absalom is an unstable element.”

“You think? And you mean an unstable
elemental
.” As Finn selected one of the sandwiches, Jane continued, “Before Halloween, Absalom told James Wyatt that Jack would be the death of you.”

Finn frowned at the sandwich. The sunlit kitchen suddenly seemed to darken as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

“Sophia Avaline believed it was a warning.” Jane sat down. “So they all brought iron or silver, sharp things hidden in their clothes, because who would suspect a bunch of college professors to be armed? Before all hell broke loose, Sophia, Hobson, Wyatt, Charlotte Perangelo, and yes, even Edmund Fairchild, were all prepared to battle through that ring of malevolence to free you, armed with nothing more than old-timey kitchen implements and fancy silverware and Wyatt's Colt.” Jane rose to lift the whistling kettle from the stove. “But you and Jack pretty
much allowed us to remain neutral. Halloween . . . well, that was a game changer.”

“Despite what Sophia Avaline said that night, about allowing me to be sacrificed to keep the peace, you don't intend to
ever
let the Fatas take another life, do you?”

Jane set two mugs down on the table. “We've failed at that, haven't we? Angyll Weaver was murdered. And Nathan . . . no one knows what happened to Nathan.”

Finn bit into her sandwich even as her stomach convulsed.

“Finn, the Fatas are like earth, fire, water, and air. They can either help or harm—and Reiko's Fatas seemed intent on harm.”

“You allowed her to get away with so much.”

“We didn't
allow
it.” Jane's voice was filled with sorrow. “We couldn't
stop
it.”

“How did you find out about the Fatas? I mean, you, personally?”

“Each of us encountered them in our teens—not Reiko's Fatas, but others. And we kept our memories of them even after we got older. That's not common. It was Rowan Cruithnear and Sophia Avaline who found each of us and organized us, and Rowan Cruithnear who gave us jobs in this very haunted town.”

“So there are probably others like you? In the country? The world?”

“It would be nice if we knew that. Rowan had to stop searching after a while. But you asked how
I
found out about the Fatas.” Jane chose a sandwich. “I was eighteen. In Virginia Beach, at dusk, I met a boy on the seashore. He was lovely and charming and he had hair as red as reef coral. No one else ever saw him. He was my secret.”

Finn wished she hadn't guessed where this story was going.

Jane stirred cream into her tea. “I began to get sick. I was tired all the time.”

“You weren't . . . ?”

“No, I wasn't pregnant. But I learned, after my parents took me to a doctor, that I'd lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh.” Finn sat back.

“He was what they call, in Irish mythology, a ganconer, a love-talker. In Greece, he would be an incubus. He was bleeding me and taking away the memory of it. He was also a creature of the sea tribes, the water Fatas, who are in no way friendly to us.”

“How did you know it was him? The red-haired boy?”

“I did some research. I wrapped up an old iron spoon and went to meet him. But it's as if he knew. He never showed up. I never saw him again. After that, though, I could tell . . . I noticed others.”

“So he was like a mermaid love-talker?”

“He didn't have a tail.” Jane smiled wryly.

“My sister once did a drawing of a mermaid, with starfish and crabs in her hair. She looked like a shark. It was creepy—it wasn't a
nice
mermaid. Then Lily started to read about mermaids,
a lot
. Whenever we went to the beach, she wouldn't go in the water. I knew something was wrong. Like she was going crazy. But it wasn't that . . . someone had
told
her about mermaids.”

“Before she met Leander Cyrus?”

“She had an imaginary friend she called Norn.”

“Did she?” Jane sounded troubled. Delicately, she continued, “Finn, do you think Jack knew about Lil—”

“No.”

“I understand how you feel about him. But he's been badly hurt—manipulated, traumatized. I can't even imagine what he's
seen
—”

“And I'm only an eighteen-year-old girl who can't possibly understand those things.”

“Don't get defensive. Just be careful.”

Finn ruthlessly changed the subject. “I've seen Sophia Avaline's sister. Eve.”

Jane became startled and wary.

“Her name was Eve, right? She's dead. I mean, well, she's a spirit, I think. And I think Professor Avaline knows. I think she blames Jack.”

“Finn.” Jane sat back in her chair. “
Did
he . . . ?”

“Jack didn't kill Eve. It was Reiko.” Finn gazed down into her tea. “Jack thought he loved Eve.”

Jane was quiet, so Finn filled in the silence: “My sister might be alive, Jane.”

Jane lifted her head, her eyes widening, and Finn told her about Moth, Seth Lot, Lily's charm bracelet, and Leander Cyrus. Jane looked dumbfounded, then horrified, as Finn told her that she needed the key to the Ghostlands. “Finn, you
can't
.”

“If you don't help me, I'll find another way.”

“Your father—”

“Won't know. And have you heard him when he talks about my sister? No. Because he still
can't
. Phouka told me no time will pass here while we're gone, as long as we return the way we came.”

“Damn her.”

Finn leaned forward and calmly said, “My sister, Lily Rose, is a monster's prisoner. If you don't help me—”

“You don't know this is
true,
Finn.”

“Leander loved her and he's a Jack. He
bleeds
. Jane, you have to—”

“Stop.” Jane's voice was strained. “I know what I have to do.”

AS JACK ENTERED MURRAY'S ARCADE
,
he surveyed the throngs of teenagers until he saw Absalom disguised as one of them, standing with a plastic gun and shooting at monsters on a screen.

“Jack.” Murray, a Scotsman in his late fifties, approached Jack. The owner of the arcade wore a tracksuit as if he'd just returned from jogging. “A word with you please?”

“About what?”

“Don't be confrontational. Just”—Murray nodded to the exit door—“come join me on the patio.”

THE “PATIO” WAS A CEMENT BLOCK
with a railing, a view of the alley, and an expensive outdoor grill, all garishly illuminated by Christmas lights strung from the eaves. After brushing snow from one of the plastic chairs, Jack sat and regarded the grill with amusement. “Aren't you afraid someone's going to steal that?”

“Oh, the someones know better.” Murray settled into the other chair and glanced around. “I should have brought beer. Would you like me to fetch some Killian's? You are of an age, aren't you?”

Jack was suddenly on edge. “I am.”

“And how long have you been that particular age?”

Jack's new heart rocketed. He was on his feet in an instant.

“Now, now.” Murray held up both hands. “I'm Scottish—you think I'd
not
notice the damn fairy folk in my own backyard?”

Jack sat back down. “Do all Scots have this sort of radar?”

“Only the ones with superstitious grandmothers. And you
did
obtain some antique pieces for me that seemed impossible to acquire. Also, you're always gloomy and ghost-eyed, I never saw you until after sunset, and, as for your ‘family'—”

“Okay.” Jack settled back, calmer now. “You've got the sight.”

“Ah, yes, I've got me ‘
the
shining
.' I'm not the only one who noticed your tribe . . . Clive Redhawk had an idea the Fata family was otherworldly. I heard him muttering ‘goddamn skinwalkers' one night when we were in BrambleBerry Books and you lot got out of a Mercedes.
Skinwalkers,
Jack. How unpleasant is that?”

“Redhawk—
Christie's neighbor
?”

“God rest his soul.” Murray looked at his hands as if missing that bottle of Killian's. “He was full-blood Iroquois. This whole town is haunted, isn't it?”

“Somewhat. Murray, don't tell anyone about them.”

“Do I seem eager to spend time in the cuckoo's nest? Or, if
they
find out, twisted up like a pretzel? Now, tell me”—Murray leaned forward—“are they a danger to us?”

“Like fire. Like wind or earth or water, if it turns against you.”

“How absolutely terrifying. I've already got horseshoes hung all over my doors and iron nails in the window frames.”

“A wise precaution, if a bit dated. Electricity and goodwill usually keep the Unseelie at bay. Or silver. Elder wood. Not steel though. Only pure iron.”

“I've got friends here, Jack.”

“And family in Scotland? You should worry more about them. The Scottish court is a bit hostile toward mortals.”

“What a bloody comfort you are. And what about the little girl you're running around with?”

“Finn?” Jack felt wary. “I won't let anything happen to her.”

“And Clive Redhawk? Was that a natural death?”

“As far as I know.”

“Jack, if
we've
noticed, don't think there aren't others who haven't also clued in on what's going on. And don't think
that tribe
doesn't have mortal enemies who could be just as dangerous. Look at how hard-core the Puritans were about the supernatural—”

“Are you trying to tell me something in a roundabout sort of way? Because I get enough of that from my ‘family.'”

“I'm just saying . . . be careful. Now, have you come to talk to that redheaded devil playing
Zombie House
and pretending to be a boy?”

THE DEVIL PRETENDING TO BE A BOY
didn't look up from shooting zombies on the screen as Jack approached. Jack leaned against the game console and said, “You forgot to change out of that nice suit.”