Briar Queen (12 page)

She gripped his hand. They trudged across the snow-crusted ground and he walked in his skates like a pro. As she stepped onto the ice, she glanced back and saw a slender figure speaking with Hester Kierney. Her heart jumped when she recognized Phouka Fata—now Phouka Banríon—all wintery, flower-child elegance, her auburn hair coiled up with sparkling flowers.

Aubrey gripped Finn's hands and gently spun her. She laughed when she found her balance so easily. “I haven't done this in years.”

“It's just like riding a bike. You know, I've never ridden a bike.”

Christie was weaving in and out among the skaters. Sylvie was spinning with a pretty boy—Black Apple, one of Jack's Fata friends. A willowy figure wearing a rabbit mask swerved past them. A bald girl in black fur spun, ribbons fluttering on her sleeves. Finn recognized her as Darling Ivy.

“Oh, hell,” Aubrey murmured. “
They're
here. Jack's friends.”

“Well, you can't
not
invite the fairies to the ball.” Finn was actually a bit relieved to see Jack's crew.

“You're a very brave girl for using that word.” Aubrey glided backward. A blonde in a clinging dress of green silk—Aurora Sae—caught his hand and drew him away.

Finn felt someone grab her wrist, and spun, expecting Jack.

It was Moth, in jeans and a black hoodie, his pewter-colored hair tousled beneath the jacket's hood, his face shadowed. His gaze in the firelight reminded
her of phosphorous. With the shadows sharp in his face, he looked completely otherworldly.

“Finn Sullivan,” he said in his low, British voice, his fingers twining firmly with hers as they glided in a circle, “you should not have come. Keep skating.”

“Why?” she whispered. The air began to buzz as if a thousand invisible flies had just descended. Something pricked at her brain, and she felt the first drop of blood slip from one nostril.

“Because the Wolf is no longer at the door—he's come through it.” He gently turned her so that she could see the blessed had stepped back from the bonfire and Phouka stood before it, facing away from the pond, her posture that of a warrior about to defend her castle. Some of the Fata skaters were halting near Finn, forming a protective semicircle. The other guests, the normals who hadn't noticed anything, continued to frolic.

The world spun around Finn.

Christie and Sylvie slid to her side. Christie whispered, “What the
hell
is going on?”

“Don't you see?” Sylvie's voice was faint, her gaze fixed on the activity near the bonfire. “He's here.”

Here is your enemy,
Finn thought.
Here is the one who took Lily away
.

Tall shadows moved from the hedge maze, bleeding across the snow, unseen as yet by the gathering of HallowHeart's oblivious, frivolous students. The shadows became strangers in fur coats and clothes with a punk, belle epoque flair. Old jewelry flashed on their fingers and throats. Their faces were young, beautiful, their brutal aristocracy meant to inspire terror.

One figure separated from the pack and approached Phouka. His hair was mahogany brown, his face that of a Brontë antihero with a thin scar across one cheekbone. He wore an expensive suit beneath a fur-lined greatcoat and he carried a walking stick like a weapon.

Phouka walked toward him and greeted him.

“No,” Finn breathed, her stomach knotting up at the betrayal.

“Finn.” It was Aubrey behind her. “You've got to trust her.”

Finn thought,
Where is Jack?
And was glad a moment later that he wasn't here, because the Wolf was strolling past Phouka, approaching the pond, followed by his pack, and the Wolf knew Jack.

Watching Seth Lot walk toward her, Finn felt a dazzling terror that was almost ecstasy.

Seth Lot halted on the snowy shore with only a few inches of ice separating him from Finn and her protectors. He appeared exactly as he had in Finn's memory: a young man with an exotic, black-rimmed gaze the blue of tundra skies. Those eyes reflected the firelight as he tilted his head and studied Finn, who met his gaze only because she had no choice. Confused by his attractiveness and his gentle manner—she hadn't expected a
soulful
evil—she remained very still.

“Serafina Sullivan.” His eyes didn't silver and he didn't smile, but his voice was amiable, a young man's voice. “I've been looking forward to meeting you.”

He extended one hand, its fingers scabbed with rings that looked as if they could have belonged to pharaohs or Russian kings. “Please, don't be afraid.”

This was the wolf-eyed man who had seduced Lily, who had kissed Lily's wrist and left a mark. Finn glided forward on her skates, defiant, even as Christie tried to catch her and Sylvie whispered her name. She approached the Wolf to show him she wasn't going to let fear rule her, and said, “Seth Lot,” holding out the hand adorned with her sister's bracelet.

His cool, strong fingers grasped hers. Although his nails were short and manicured, she could imagine claws as he said, “You've heard things about me that may have been exaggerations.” He looked past her, at Moth, and softly said, “Hello, traitor.”

Finn realized Lot had stepped onto the ice. His hands firm around hers, he turned her in a circle as his gangsters prowled forward. Gently, he said, “I've heard things about
you,
Serafina Sullivan, how you caused the death of Reiko.”

“I didn't”—her voice shook a little—“kill Reiko.”

“I think you did.” He smiled.

My, what big teeth you have
. He didn't, but a threat was implicit in that smile. Finn's eyelashes fluttered as a poisonous drowsiness crept over her. The Wolf leaned down and, scented with winter and expensive cologne, whispered in her ear, “You know that your sister lives.” He stepped back, releasing her so suddenly, she staggered. He said, “Come for her. I'll give you seven days in my world. If you don't find my house by the seventh day, I come find you. Your sister dies. Your Jack dies.”

Finn felt as if something else were speaking through her, past her terror. “And what happens when I do find your house?”

“Then I give you a fair, fighting chance to win Lily back.”

Jack's vagabonds, in their tatterdemalion finery, now surrounded the wolves on the ice. The Fata called Atheno, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Iggy Pop, grinned and stretched out his arms. “Why does the
Madadh aillaid
come to a gathering of mortal children, to threaten a braveheart who only defended herself from one who did her wrong?”

The scarlet-haired fiddler, Farouche, stepped to Atheno's side, his face remote with caution. “Careful, Atheno. It isn't like the old days.”

“No, it isn't.” Seth Lot continued, almost lovingly. “In the old days, we would have torn all of you apart and bitten the bones.”

The blessed, and the other students—aware now of the standoff—stood like deer in headlights, fascinated and confused. As Seth Lot and his pack faced Atheno and the vagabonds, Phouka, fierce in her punk fairy-tale glamour, moved toward the Wolf. More Fatas were arriving from the hedge maze, striding across the snow—Phouka had called in reinforcements. Finn hoped things weren't about to get ugly as Lot's words jumbled around in her brain.

“This is my court,
Madadh aillaid
.” Phouka spoke in a voice that could have cut steel. “And you are not welcome here.”

Seth Lot's gaze scathed the small army behind Phouka. He said something low and vicious. Finn stepped back and felt Christie grip her elbow as Sylvie flung an arm around her. Then Seth Lot continued, “By the Law of Tooth and Claw, I am entitled to the lives of the queen killers.”

Phouka replied, “We don't follow La Bestia's rules here. This isn't the French court or the wolf tribe. You've no right in this land to claim anything.”

Seth Lot's attention returned to Finn, and his blue eyes seemed to glow. Fear almost shattered Finn's composure.

Then a voice carried through the vagabonds, “I'm here, Wolf.”

“Jack,” Finn whispered, turning her head.

Jack, in a navy greatcoat, moved carefully through the Fatas to place himself between Seth Lot and Finn.

“Jack.” Seth Lot smiled. The two of them seemed like young men, not antique
spirits. “My favorite and best
sluagh
. Regardless of what your false monarch says”—he nodded to Phouka—“I expect you and your
muirneach
to come find me. If you do not, I'll rip through every one of these pretty children”—he gracefully indicated the blessed and the students, who were, fortunately, too far away to hear his threat—except for Aubrey, who swore breathlessly—“until you do. Do you understand me, Jack Fata?”

The tension in the air crackled like gunpowder. Finn whispered, “His name is Jack Hawthorn.”

Seth Lot's gaze fell upon her and she continued faintly, “He is mine and I am his. Until the end of the world.”

“Is that so, Serafina Sullivan?” Seth Lot spoke intimately, as if it were only the two of them. “Then I look forward to ending your world.”

He turned and, followed by his pack, strode past Phouka and the other Fatas, toward the hedge maze.

When the wolves had gone, Finn felt all the strength leave her. Jack's body shored hers up and one of his arms braced her. He said hoarsely, “What were you
thinking
? Challenging him like that?”

She wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his scent, pressing her face against his chest and the drum of his heart. “He knows we're coming after Lily. It's what he wants.”

FINN AND JACK ENTERED HER ROOM
through the terrace doors. Christie and Sylvie had driven home with a Fata escort from Phouka. Moth had remained with the Fatas.

As Finn switched on the lights, the malicious resonance of Seth Lot's voice echoed in her head. She said to Jack, “Are you going to tell me why you're all bruised and banged up?”

“Caliban came to visit.” Jack lowered himself onto the pink sofa, wincing a little. “He killed my cat.”

“BlackJack Slade?” She sat beside him. “Jack, I'm
so
sorry . . .”

Then she asked, “Do you wish—”

His mouth curved at one corner and he rested his arms on the back of the sofa, legs apart. “If you're asking if I wish I'd never been made human, shame on you.”

She settled beside him, into the curve of his arm. “Ouch.” She slipped a hand into an inside pocket of his coat and drew out the dagger that had poked her shoulder blade. “How many of these do you
have
?”

“As many as I need.” He smiled rakishly as she drew her legs beneath her and frowned at him. She was much more afraid for him than she was for herself. The way Lot had said Jack's name—it had been like an old lover who wanted to tear the other's throat out.

“I
am
sorry about BlackJack.” She slid a hand into one of his and his lashes lowered briefly. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He said, “I think our main concern should be the Wolf.”

“He's not lying about Lily.”

“Finn—”

“Why would he lie? He could just
tell
us to go to the Ghostlands or he'll kill our friends and family . . . my friends and . . . I mean . . .”

“I know what you mean.” He met her gaze, his own warm. “And you're right—he doesn't need to lie.”

A shiver convulsed her as her mind conjured an eternal sentience, a freak of nature that had willed itself into a solid form—the Wolf.

“We can take him,” she whispered fiercely. “
You
can take him.”

“No need to stroke my ego. And you sound like a gangster's moll.”

She slid onto his lap and folded her arms around him. She pressed her brow against his. “Jack. We'll be okay.”

He shifted a little, winced again. “It hurts, doesn't it? Being mortal. I forgot how much it hurts.”

TONIGHT, JACK WALKED IN A GARDEN
with a girl in a red dress. As she turned, her skin split and fell away and a charred creature of fire and ashes said, “
Jack . . . don't you love me?
”

He woke with Reiko's name clotted in his throat and an unearthly cold in his bones. His heart was like a stone. He was dead again. He breathed out an anguished, “No . . .”

Beside him, Finn stirred in her sleep, tightened her hand around his, her white sweater rucked up around her midriff. Clad only in his jeans, he shivered in the cold room. He could feel things now—chill and warmth, the drum of his heartbeat,
the heaviness of the blood through his body. Tonight, he felt a breathless terror of the inevitable, of his heart stopping, of the blood pouring from him, of
mortality
.

His heart beat once, twice, and continued its steady pulse. The blood moved sluggishly through his veins.

It's only temporary,
he thought, closing his eyes,
this
.

He tenderly touched Finn's warm, tangled hair with trembling fingers. To protect her, he might have to give up all that he was and once again become the otherworldly monster he had been.

There are more of the Sheogue in America than what there are here, and more of the other sort of spirits
.

                
—
V
ISIONS AND
B
ELIEFS IN THE
W
EST OF
I
RELAND
,
L
ADY
G
REGORY

A
s Jane Emory steered her VW Bug around a corner, Finn said, “What will I do if your friends don't let us have the other half of the key?”

Jane kept her eyes on the street. “I don't know, Finn.”

“Is it a vote?”

“The decision needs to be unanimous, yes.” Jane parked her yellow Bug opposite a well-kept brownstone apartment building. The branches of a large elm—Finn was getting quite good at identifying trees thanks to Jane's class—concealed the building's upper windows, and the setting sun burnished the brick exterior, glinting red across the glass. “This is it. Rowan Cruithnear's domain.”

“It's very like him.”

“I
hate
this. If you go, Finn . . . if you go
there . . .
God, I don't want you to go.”

“My sister is alive, and when I come back with her, it'll make everything all right.” As they got out of the car, Finn tried not to sound as jittery as she felt. “I'm not going to ask you about your vote, so you can stop being all tense.”

“Honestly? I haven't decided yet. The Ghostlands . . . and then there's your father . . .”

“ . . . Who can't know and wouldn't believe it even if he did.”

They were buzzed into the building's pale green hall and ascended a flight of stairs that seemed to curve up forever. By the time they'd reached the top landing and a door as green as wood moss, Jane's doubts had reasserted themselves; she turned to Finn. “Are you sure—”

“Jane, Leander Cyrus, a Jack, loved Lily. He bleeds and has a pulse. That's how I know my sister's alive, not just because of the bracelet from Moth or what Moth has said.” Or because of Seth Lot's terrifying challenge. “Would it ease your conscience if I told you I'd find a way into the Ghostlands no matter what any of you say?”

They heard the downstairs door slam. As familiar voices echoed up to them, Jane rapped on the green door.

Sylvie and Christie appeared on the stairs, followed by Jack, who moved to Finn. His gaze was dark. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

Christie was looking around. “Have you ever seen
Rosemary's Baby,
Miss Emory?”

As Jane regarded Christie with fond exasperation, the door opened and Rowan Cruithnear, dressed as usual in a suit finer than any college dean should be able to afford, greeted each of them before leading them into an apartment that was as Spartan and elegant as he was. There were neat bookshelves everywhere, little bonsai trees on the sills, and furniture that seemed a hybrid of Ikea and ancient Rome.

Sophia Avaline was seated on the sofa, legs crossed, black hair in a knot. Mr. Wyatt crouched near the fireplace while Professor Fairchild leaned beside a window, an open book in one hand—even out of class, Fairchild looked like an eighteenth-century poet. Miss Perangelo stood beside him. Hobson, the red-bearded math professor, was pouring coffee into several china cups on a tray.

“Serafina.” Sophia Avaline gestured to an unoccupied love seat and Finn sat with her friends as Jack settled in the chair beside them. Avaline continued, “Tell us.”

Jack's fingers twined with Finn's as Finn spoke with quiet savagery. “I thought my sister, Lily Rose, had killed herself. She didn't. Her boyfriend was a Jack who served a Fata named Seth Lot. Seth Lot took her. He's given me seven days to come find her in the Ghostlands. Or he'll kill her. I need to get into the Ghostlands.”

“
Madadh aillaid
.” Mr. Wyatt, a neutral figure Finn didn't quite trust, seemed shocked. “Do you have any witnesses, Miss Sullivan? That the Wolf would be
here . . .”

“The witness is on his way,” Jack said. “Phouka Banríon is bringing him.”

Sophia Avaline had become coolly angry. “Do you realize what you're asking us to do? You're asking us to allow you, with this damaged young man—my apologies, Jack—to enter a place most people only glimpse through drugs or a psychotic break from reality. The
Taibhse na Tir
.”

That breathy, alien word seemed to convey all sorts of unpleasant possibilities, and Finn felt goose bumps break out over her skin. Being here, speaking to adults who knew about the Fatas . . . this made what she was about to do a cold reality. For one horrifying moment, she thought she might blurt out that she couldn't go.

Then Jack said, in that calm voice that always made her brave, “I believe Finn's entire time in Fair Hollow has been a psychotic break from reality.”

“
Thank
you,” Christie said.

“I'm sorry”—Finn looked soulfully at Christie and Sylvie—“about all of this.”

“You're sorry?” Sylvie leaned forward. “For opening our eyes? Who knows what might have happened if we didn't know about—”

The door buzzer went off. Rowan Cruithnear walked out of the room and returned a few moments later—to a profound silence—with Phouka and Moth. Phouka, radiating casual regality, said, “Has the tribunal begun without us?”

“Madame.” Rowan Cruithnear inclined his head. “Could you introduce your companion?”

“This is Moth, one of Seth Lot's victims.”

“Not a victim.” Moth pulled back his hood. “An accomplice, once, before I knew there was a world beyond the Wolf's.”

Professor Fairchild, intrigued, asked, “What changed your mind? About the Wolf?”

“I don't remember much more than scattered things, horrors. In Seth Lot's house, a girl named Lily Rose befriended me, helped me escape, and sent me to watch over her sister. I . . . remember the inside of that house.
That
I remember.”

“When was your sister taken?” As Miss Perangelo spoke to Finn, she watched Moth.

“It doesn't matter. She's
alive
.” Finn hated that her voice shook.

“We aren't prepared to deal with other Fatas,” Professor Fairchild murmured, “outside of Reiko's court. And the
Wolf—
”

“Are you kidding?” Christie glared around the room. “Angyll Weaver was
murdered
by one of Reiko's monsters. So was Nathan Clare. What does it take to activate you people?”

“First of all,” Mr. Wyatt said in his casual baritone, “we're not Transformers, so there's no
activating
us. Second”—he looked around at his fellow teachers—“you're not seriously considering allowing this
child
into the Ghostlands? With two unreliable Fata creatures?”

Jack said, his voice low, “Seth Lot and his pack made a surprise appearance at Hester Kierney's party. He's going to begin ripping through Fair Hollow unless Finn and I come after him in the Ghostlands. Are you prepared to deal with it now?”

Avaline glanced at Phouka. “
Why didn't you tell us Seth Lot was here?
”

Phouka's eyes mirrored the lamplight. “Why worry you? It's not as if you're of much use anyway.”

“We can't fight Seth Lot.” Rowan Cruithnear straightened, his demeanor stony. “Not here. There is only controlling the damage he does.”

“There's also Caliban.” Jack's pronouncement was met with uneasy silence.

Professor Avaline once again addressed Phouka. “I thought your kind had that situation under control?”

Phouka's demeanor matched Sophia Avaline's in coolness. “The
crom cu
returned to his master. Like you, I cannot afford to declare war on the Wolf. Finn Sullivan has no choice but to go to the Ghostlands and you've no choice but to let her. The Wolf has taken all choice from us. Here, she will die and so will others. Here, there's only so many ways we can protect her. As you say, we would only be controlling the damage.”

“What we are
doing
is sacrificing her, yet again.” Sophia Avaline's anger was startling. “For
convenience,
this time. And we can't follow her into the Ghostlands with kitchen knives and handguns. She'll only have Jack and those Fatas allied with Phouka Fata—I'm sorry . . . Phouka
Banríon
.”

Phouka's silver eyes narrowed. “It's always been
Banríon
. And the moment the Wolf took Lily Rose Sullivan, Serafina's fate was sealed. She'll have to journey
into the Ghostlands now, where there will be
options
that are not available here.”

“She's a
child,
” Avaline said. Jane remained silent, Finn noticed.

Rowan Cruithnear moved to the center of the room. “We are straying from the topic of this meeting, which is to decide if we give Finn Sullivan half of a key that will take her into the Ghostlands.”

Finn sat very still, not daring to speak, afraid any wrong word would tilt the balance out of her favor.

“Yes.” Jane's voice was anguished. “Because I know she will not give up.”

“No.” Mr. Wyatt folded his arms. “I vote ‘no.'”

Miss Perangelo frowned. “No.”

“Of course
yes
.” Professor Fairchild looked at Miss Perangelo. “Blood calls to blood. She
must
bring her sister home.”

Professor Hobson glared at Wyatt and Perangelo. His red hair was almost bristling. It seemed he was about to say yes, when his shoulders slumped. “No—I can't send a child there.”

It was Sophia Avaline's turn. “We've never entered the Ghostlands. With a few exceptions—such as Rowan—adults can't. The Way never opens for us. But we've had to deal with the young people who've returned from there, and we've had to put them back together again. So I say no.”

Finn looked pleadingly at Rowan Cruithnear, who bowed his head. “Serafina, if this is a trap set by the Wolf, I am condemning you.”

“If you say no,” Finn managed past the ache in her throat, “you're condemning my sister. You're thinking it's too late, she's been with that monster for a year, that she's lost. But Lily is strong. She'll keep herself . . . somewhere. The way Reiko removed her own heart and put it in a box, my sister will hide her soul so that the Wolf doesn't get it.
I can't leave here there
.”

“May I speak?” Jack's voice sliced the resulting silence like a finely honed blade. “I don't want this for Finn. But she is
not
a child, and she doesn't belong to me or any of
you
. And she has made this decision because it is the only one true to her heart. If you had any genuine affection or concern for her, you'd allow her to do this.”

Wyatt muttered, “Fatas and their damn warrior ethic.”

As Sylvie gripped one of Finn's hands and Christie glanced at Jack with sober respect, Finn felt as if a brilliant sun warmed her through.

Rowan Cruithnear regarded the other professors and the years seemed to age him. “I am sorry, Miss Sullivan. We cannot, in good conscience, allow you into the Ghostlands. If the Wolf comes for the children of Fair Hollow, we'll deal with him.”

FINN FELT AS IF
she was losing Lily all over again. Too broken to speak to Jack, Christie, or Sylvie, she asked Jane to drive her home.

In her room, in the dark, she curled on her bed and reached for her sister's journal. She skimmed through it using the flashlight app on her phone, until she came to the passage she remembered:
The
Madadh aillaid,
the Wolf king. I should never have let him kiss my wrist and leave that mark. I've let him into my world now
. Finn remembered Seth Lot in Golden Gate Park, a young man with wolf-blue eyes—even then, he'd had them in his sights.

She heard the doorbell ring, then her father's voice and a woman's.

Moments later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. She called out and her da stuck his head in. “Jane's here, Finn. She needs to talk to you. About the argument you two had earlier—you argued?”

Jane stepped into the room and switched on the lamp near the door. She held out a small box of black velvet. “I brought you a gift.”

“I'll leave you two to talk then?”

“Yes, Da, thank you. I'd like to speak to Miss—Jane—alone.”

He began to close the door. “Don't stay angry at each other.” Then he was gone.

Finn hadn't taken her gaze from the box in Jane's hand. She whispered, “What is it?”

Jane walked over, sat on the end of Finn's bed, and opened the box. Finn stared at a spiral of silver with a silver skull in the center. “Is that—”

“Yes. Rowan didn't want to give it to you in front of the others, because he suspects one of them of being a traitor. Rowan has . . . let's call it a medieval psyche. He believes in honor and sacrifice and all those other philosophies. And then there's this, what he found fluttering on his desk.” Jane took a box of transparent plastic from her purse. The box had airholes, and flickering inside of it was a monarch butterfly the color of daisies.