Briar Queen (40 page)

Jack cast a disbelieving glance at her. “You
had
it?”

“Charming.” Caliban stepped back, almost drunkenly. “Having defeated the villain, they think, the hero and heroine embrace before the cameras.”

“We're not embracing.” Jack's voice was flat.

“Jack.” Finn frowned at him. “Are the wolves at Tirnagoth?”

“Phouka and her people will be there, too.” Jack didn't take his attention from Caliban as the crooked dog reeled, hunched over, and spat out black liquid. Jack said, “Finn? What did you do?”

She fumbled the vial out of her pocket. “I dumped this into his wine.”

“The
elixir
?”

“ . . .
poisoned
me.” Caliban's eyes had darkened. He hunched over and coughed up a slimy knot of black petals. He took a halting step forward, before falling to one knee.

“It shouldn't be effective in this world.” Jack drew Finn away. “Not to mortals . . . I don't know what it'll do to a Fata.”

Without taking their gazes from Caliban, Finn and Jack backed toward the doors. Caliban rasped out, “
What did you do to me?
”

Jack raised a revolver—Finn realized he must have gotten it out of Caliban's coat, because Caliban had had it in the Ghostlands.
Let him do it,
something savage inside of her urged.

“Jack . . .” She remembered how, together, they had stabbed Seth Lot with the wooden dagger, an act of desperate self-defense. This was different—

“Remember the ones he's slaughtered.” Jack aimed at Caliban and fired.

AFTER FINN AND JACK LEFT STARDUST STUDIOS,
a voice drifted from the dark, saying, “It's
him
.”

“The crooked dog.”

“Hyena. Killer.”

“Poor little doggie. Is he dying?”

Two shadowy girl figures crouched beside the body of Caliban Ariel'Pan, which had begun to bleed from a wound in the head. A third shadow girl stood watching. “Beatrice. Abigail. Leave him.”

“Oh no, Evie. He doesn't deserve to go on so easily. Ooh, look . . . is that real blood?”

“This is a border place and he drank a border potion.”

One of the girls smiled, and it was a slash of white in her shadow face. “We'll fix him. We'll fix him good.”

FINN AND JACK SPRINTED THROUGH THE WOODS.

Tirnagoth's windows radiated saffron, crimson, and viridian light. The snow on the ground in front of the stairs was trampled and a trail of red led through the slush, up the stairs, to the closed doors. The silence was worse than the blood.

Thinking only of Christie and Sylvie, Finn raced up the stairs, Jack at her side as the doors swept open and two Fatas in dark suits appeared, one armed with a handheld crossbow, the other with a dragon-shaped brass revolver.

“Come in.” Phouka stepped into view. Sleek in leather and a fur-lined aviator's jacket, she looked at Jack. “You missed the wolves, but your friends are mostly safe.”

“What do you mean ‘mostly'?” Finn frantically surveyed the wrecked lobby. She skirted a pool of water and shied away from a pile of ichor-streaked leaves, glimpsing a fossilized animal skull that had rolled beneath one table. The lobby desk was splintered. The floor was littered with bits of stained glass. “Whose blood is on the steps?”

“They took Leander.”

Shocked, Finn glanced at Jack, who said to Phouka, “Took him alive?”

“Finn!” Sylvie appeared and ran to Finn and hugged her, hard. Then she turned and threw her arms around Jack. When Sylvie faced Finn again, her eyes were rimmed with red, as if she'd been crying. “They took Leander.”

“I know.” Finn's voice shook. She watched a black-haired Fata in a dark suit stride past, his eyes flashing. A girl in brown velvet knelt mournfully beside a pile of ivory wands and pearls wound with red seaweed.

“Fatas.” Sylvie followed Finn's gaze. “Some of them died.”

Moth strode toward them, Christie at his side. Christie had a black eye and there were scratches across Moth's face.

“Finn, where
were
you?” Christie looked as if he wanted to shake her.

“With Jack. Are you all right?”

“Moth saved Christie.” Sylvie threw a comradely arm around Christie's shoulders.

Christie, who also had a rip in his T-shirt, forced a smile, but his gaze was harrowed as he said, “I didn't get to kill anyone though.”

“Why would they take Leander?” Jack asked Phouka, who shrugged.

“Because they thought Leander knew where you hid Lily Rose Sullivan. Yes, Serafina, I know that your sister is in the world. You shouldn't have brought her back here.”

Finn felt something snap. “Jack and I were supposed to play assassin for you and get rid of Lot. My sister was the lure you used to get me into the Ghostlands. And now Leander is in the hands of that monster and some of your people are dead. Happy?”

“That's what happens in war.” Phouka turned and moved away. “There is someone I want you to listen to.”

As they followed Phouka, Finn wound a hand around one of Jack's and whispered, “Lily.”

“She's safe where she is. How could the Wolf know?”

THE SNOW HAD TURNED TO FREEZING RAIN,
a dreary and relentless veil of it drenching Fair Hollow. Across the street from Hecate's Attic, the New Age shop owned by the Weavers, two figures stood. The tall one, his jeweled hand resting on a wolf-headed walking stick, didn't seem to mind the rain that scarcely touched his hair or fur-lined coat. The other figure stood beneath an orange umbrella that sheltered his slim body and citrus-bright mane.

“I know how Jack thinks,” the slight figure said. “He brought your queen of briars here. Oh, and look, there's a light on in the attic. I bet that's where she's hiding. The oracle is mine, so let her be.”

“I don't trust you, Fool, considering your habit of switching sides.” Seth Lot sauntered toward Hecate's Attic. “So I'll be taking your oracle girl as insurance.”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Absalom called out as the Wolf moved across the street, followed by three shadowy shapes from his pack. Seth Lot ignored him and Absalom turned, twirling his umbrella and humming softly. Walking away, he lightly said, “It's your funeral.”

AS FINN AND JACK FOLLOWED
Phouka, Moth, Christie, and Sylvie down a hall in Tirnagoth, Jack said to Finn, his voice low, “I need you to give me the elixir.”

She tried not to flinch. “It's all gone.”

“Your eyes are silver, you're pale as the dead, and you're not casting a shadow—and you kept up with me as I ran. The elixir shouldn't affect you in the true world. That stuff was supposed to leave you and it hasn't. Which means
you're still taking it
.”

“I dumped all of it into Caliban's glass.”

Jack gazed at her with despair ghosting his silver eyes. “Do you think it's going to make you invulnerable? It won't. It will
kill
you.”

“I'm not dead. I won't let him take Lily again. I don't have any more of it.”

“Are you even aware of what a terrible liar you are?”

They reached the parlor where Phouka's guest waited.

“I'm not dead—” Finn halted. “
Micah?
”

Micah Govannon, her coworker from BrambleBerry Books, sat on the sofa, a large bruise on his face, bandages white beneath his bloody, ripped T-shirt.

“So”—Christie dropped into a chair and stared at his friend—“it turns out Micah, here, is secretly a wolf slayer.”

“I haven't actually slain any—”

Christie continued, “He works for Jill Scarlet.”

Finn sat down, because she needed to. “Who is Jill Scarlet?”

“Red Riding Hood,” Jack told her, perfectly serious.

“Sit. All of you.” Phouka gestured. “Micah has a story to tell.”

THE MICAH SEATED ON THE RED VELVET SOFA
across from Finn was not the shy, harmless boy Finn worked with at BrambleBerry Books. This was a warrior, graceful and strong, and he didn't wear his glasses; his scars were explained now. There were talismans braided into his brown hair, on a leather thong around his neck.

“Seth Lot declared war when his house found its way back to the Ghostlands from whatever void you sent it to. He has more allies than we thought. He went after the guardians first, the ones
you,
my lady”—Micah inclined his head to Phouka—“set up at the border stations.”

Phouka swore in something that sounded like Latin. Finn said faintly, “Did he kill them all? The guardians?”

“Most of them are dead. He can do damage with his Grindylow, his Jacks and Jills.”

Finn looked at Phouka. “Do you do that?”

“There are no Jacks or Jills in my court, other than what has already been. I don't practice stitchery.” Phouka studied Micah. “What about Rowan Cruithnear and the
Dearh Cota
?”

“I think Rowan Cruithnear and Jill Scarlet are still in the Ghostlands. For now, no one can come in or out—I got away. The
crom cu
found me.” He shuddered.

“We've encountered the
crom cu,
” Jack said, “in the woods. He's dead.”

There was a moment of disbelieving silence. Then Christie hunched forward. “If the Wolf is searching for Finn and Lily, won't he go to Finn's house? Her dad—”

Finn said, “My da's with Sylvie's dad, playing poker at the Antlered Moon.”

“No, he isn't,” Sylvie breathed. “Poker night was canceled.”

Finn snatched Lily's phone from her backpack and hit Home, standing as the phone buzzed. She strode out of the parlor. Jack followed with Christie and Sylvie hurrying after.

Outside, in the driveway, Finn felt as if she was falling to pieces. The phone went to her da's voice mail.

Moth strode toward them. He had the jackal walking stick over one shoulder and held a set of jangling keys in one hand. “Phouka gave me the keys to her vehicle—it'll apparently be faster than yours, Jack. She and some of the others will follow.”

Jack guided Finn to Phouka's Cadillac as Finn said, into the phone, “Da. Da? When you get this message, get out of the house. Just drive somewhere.
Please . . .”

Jack turned to Christie and Sylvie. “You two stay here. You're safe here. The Wolf has already made his move on Tirnagoth.”

“Don't argue,” Sylvie said to Christie, who shut his mouth. “We'll stay. Finn, call me the
minute
you know your dad's okay.”

AS THE CADILLAC TORE AWAY DOWN THE DRIVE,
Sylvie drew Christie back up the stairs. He said forlornly, “She's always leaving us.”

“Remember what happened the last time we followed her? We both, individually, almost got eaten?”

“Point taken.” He looked determined suddenly. “But we're her backup. Let's make sure Phouka follows.”

JACK DROVE LIKE A MADMAN
as Finn attempted again and again to reach her father by phone. Moth said, “What if the Wolf's waiting for us there?”

“Moth.” Jack spoke lightly, which meant he was in a dangerous mood. “You need to be the strong, silent type now.”

“Have you told her about the sword?”

“The one the Black Scissors gave us? Sylvie told me.” Finn looked over her shoulder at Moth.

Moth pulled the jackal-hilted blade from the walking stick, horizontally, revealing that the sword was razor-sharp steel. He said, “Iron, beneath the steel.”

Jack said, “For decapitating the Wolf. That's what I had it made for, way back when. I remember it now. And it's sheathed in enchanted elder wood so the Ghostlands wouldn't ruin the iron.”

Finn breathed out and faced the front window. Even with the sword, she didn't know how they'd kill Seth Lot.

When the Cadillac swerved around a corner, onto her street, she wanted, irrationally, to scream at Jack to hurry. Then they were pulling into the driveway of her house. Before Jack could hit the brakes, she was out.

Jack caught up to her on the veranda and grabbed her wrist. “He's not here.”

“There's no car in the garage.” Moth strode toward them.

Headlights glowed down the street and Finn turned, thinking
Phouka
.

But it was a dark limousine that appeared.

Moth vanished into a shimmering light. His form diminished. As the insect he'd become fluttered into the collar of Finn's coat, she whispered, “Phouka isn't coming, is she?”

Jack gripped her hand as the limousine halted at the curb.

“Did we break a rule”—Finn didn't look away from the limousine—“when we brought Lily back?”

“Well, there've been so many rules broken, it's a bit late to start worrying about them now.”

The passenger door opened and Finn whispered, “
No . . .”

Anna Weaver emerged from the limousine. Dressed in a pale coat, white dress, and boots, the fifteen-year-old opened her Alice in Wonderland umbrella and held it over her head against the rain as she said solemnly, “The Wolf has Lily Rose. He sent me for you.”

Black the town yonder,

Black those that are in it;

I am the White Swan,

Queen of them all
.

                
—
C
ARMINA
G
ADELICA
,
A
LEXANDER
C
ARMICHAEL

F
inn had known this confrontation was inevitable. It had lain like a shadow over the brightness of her first day back in the world. Now, in the limousine, she felt naked, defenseless, almost unbearably afraid for Jack, Lily, and Anna. Only horror awaited them, and it came at her in such a thorny rush, she found herself slipping into a dreamlike stillness.

“Finn.” Jack's voice, calm and velvety, made her turn her head to gaze at him. His eyes were dark as he said, “
Remember what you are
.”

And what am I?
she thought.
Just a girl about to face down a monster
.

As the limousine Lot had sent for them coasted up the road into the Blackbird Mountains, Anna whispered to Finn and Jack, “The Wolf came in through the attic window. Lily tried to hurt him. He got hold of her. He made me follow. There were others with him.”

Finn began, “Anna, I didn't mean to—”

“It's okay.” Anna folded her hands over the painted umbrella Absalom had given her. “This was meant to be. Just like Christie and Sylvie were
supposed to go with you to the Ghostlands, I was meant to be here with you.”

She was trembling. Finn said to the two wolves in front, “
Let her go
. She's only—”

“—an oracle who knows too much.” The shaven-headed Fata girl seated next to the driver smiled—Finn recognized her as the one from the Wolf's house, Antoinette, glamorous and sinister in a silver silk gown and fur coat. “Naughty children.”

The rakish wolf driving didn't look back at them, but the rearview mirror revealed his smile, the gold of one tooth. Beneath his hair, gold hoops glinted in his earlobes.

Finn took the vial of
Tamasgi'po
from her pocket, opened it, and traced the liquid over her lips. The Fata girl, watching in the rearview, smirked. “Our little mayfly is making herself lovely for the
Madadh aillaid
. How charming. What kind of lip gloss is that, sweetmeat?”

Jack said, idly, to the wolves, “You can stop smiling.”

“Is that a threat?” the male wolf mocked. “What can you do, pretty boy? You've still got a mortal taint.”

“
I
won't do anything.” Jack indicated Finn with a tilt of his head. “
She
might, being the queen killer.”

The male Fata muttered something in French.

Antoinette turned and held out a hand to Finn. “Give it to me. Your bottle.”

Finn dropped the vial of
Tamasgi'po
on the floor.

“Clumsy child.
You're
a threat?” Antoinette's lips curled.

Finn, pretending to scrabble for the fallen vial—which was clearly labeled
Tamasgi'po
—furtively switched it under the seat with the nearly empty vial of elixir in her other hand.

“Got it.” She straightened and set the elixir vial into the wolf girl's palm. She didn't dare look at Jack as he wound one of his hands with her other.

“Elixir, girl? It won't help you.” Antoinette opened her window and tossed the bottle out.

The limousine detoured into the woods, down a road that had appeared out of nowhere. The rain was coming down in sheets by now, and the sound of it battering the car was accompanied by the hiss of the windshield wipers and
the crunch of tires on gravel. The headlights illuminated nothing but endless corridors of trees. Finn whispered to Jack, “
We're not going to die tonight
.”

“I know.”

Anna, to Finn's dismay, remained silent.

The limousine broke from the giant trees, its headlights blazing over what seemed to be a medieval cathedral that resembled one of those Gothic ruins from a Turner painting. The stone walls were barbed with briars. Roses as crimson as though they'd been dipped in blood bloomed as if winter had no hold here. Graceful angel figures carved from obsidian framed the arched entrance, but the angels had the faces of wolves.

The limousine halted. The female Fata exited the car, opened the back door, and bowed mockingly. Jack slid out. He turned, extending a hand to assist Finn, then Anna. Anna handed him her umbrella and he opened it and held it over their heads.

As they approached the massive ruin of stained glass and mottled stone, its more sinister aspects became apparent. A chiaroscuro of candlelight and shadows flickered beyond a screen of spiky briars draped over the entrance. A large pale snake moved among the briars as if it was some true-world embodiment of a guardian dragon. Living eyeballs nestled in the centers of the roses—Finn didn't flinch from the snake, but she winced when she saw the eyeballs. A skull-headed gargoyle with a female body turned its head to regard them with malice. This was the true shape of the Wolf's house, a piece of the Ghostlands wrecked on the shores of reality, now infecting the world around it.

Finn and Jack moved forward, hands clasped, with Anna following. As they passed beneath the arch, pollen swept over them, whirling around Finn and falling away. She looked down at herself and inhaled sharply—she now wore a summer dress of silver silk and gossamer, but she still had the lionheart pendant and her Doc Martens. She could smell the roses that had appeared in her hair and touched them to make sure they didn't have eyes. She checked to see that Moth was still fluttering against her neck, hidden by her hair.

Jack and Anna hadn't been changed.

“It's psychological warfare,” Jack said gently.

“I know.” She ducked as he lifted the curtain of briars for her and Anna to pass beneath.

They stepped into the cavernous nave, where a cracked ceiling failed to prevent flecks of rain from entering and a rectangular table of old oak was set with a grotesque feast of roasted meats, tiered cakes, and goblets of black glass. Morning glories tumbled from vases of dark crystal. Seated at the table was Seth Lot's pack in their modern finery of fur, velvet, and leather, their faces concealed by elaborate half masks. The Rooks were there, in the beaked visages of medieval plague doctors. Hip Hop wore a cowled coat of crimson crushed velvet.

Lot sat at the other end of the table behind a roasted, skinned swan with a gilt crown on its skull. The candles' glow highlighted the ivory scar snaking along his cheekbone and shone in the glass eyes of the jawless wolf's head he wore as a headdress. One jeweled hand rested on his walking stick. His fur-lined coat was open, revealing a bare, muscled torso decorated with a golden torque and tribal-looking tattoos.

“Well, Serafina Sullivan. Here we are.” The gentleman Wolf's black-rimmed eyes glittered with amusement. “And Jack. Thank you, Anna.”

Anna looked warily around at the wolves. Finn felt the elixir shimmering coldly through her blood and slid an arm around Anna's shoulders as Jack snapped shut the umbrella and handed it back to Anna.

“You see, Finn, Anna,” Jack said, his voice sultry, “the
Madadh aillaid
doesn't like to play with his victims unless he has an audience.”

“Jack knows me well.” Seth Lot didn't smile. “Once, we were very alike.”

“We were
never
”—Jack watched Seth Lot from beneath lowered lashes—“alike.”

“You were a killer, Jack.” Seth Lot spoke gently. “You enjoyed it—sending those Fatas to their deaths . . . White Bee and Mr. Bones and that idiot carnival giant.”

The wind drifted Jack's rain-glittering hair over his face as he said quietly, “I never killed innocents.”

Lot continued, “And what about the Lily Girls?”

There was a bitter twist to Jack's mouth. “They were
tricked—
”

“But you
knew,
Jack, that by making those three girls fall in love with you you'd be putting them in danger. You grew a heart for each, but they were selfish hearts—especially the last one, seeded by the girl who would have taken your place as a sacrifice, the girl standing beside you right now.”

Finn, who did not care that Jack had once loved the three Lily Girls, and who reasonably knew she hadn't been Jack's only love—he'd been around for nearly two hundred years, after all—withdrew her hand from Jack's and took a step back, pretending that the news hurt her, when it did not. She turned and walked to one of the empty chairs. Tracking her with his gaze, Jack moved along the other side of the table.

As Anna sat beside Finn, the masked wolves began talking among themselves, reaching for wine goblets, slicing meat from the ornately posed roadkill on the table.

Finn spoke as if the words were shards of glass in her throat. “
Where is Lily?
”

Lot curled his fingers. “Here.”

Two female Fatas glided from the shadows with Lily between them like a young queen in a gown of sleeveless black with a high, ruffled collar. Lily lurched toward Finn, was yanked back by one of the wolf girls.

Finn began to rise, but Lot's jeweled fingers closed over hers and she sat back, watching as her sister was escorted to the chair next to Jack. The wolves continued to revel as if mortal pain and fear were exquisite appetizers. Seth Lot said to Finn, in a voice luxurious with hate, “You stole her from me. With me, she was a
queen
. Now she is
nothing
.”

Lily's eyes, inked around with elaborate designs, widened as she leaned toward Lot and smiled fiercely. “I faked
all
of it. Every
minute
with you.”

He stared at her and the beast flickered beneath his skin but was swiftly concealed. Civility returned to his manner. “Here is my offer, Serafina Sullivan. You take your sister's place at my side and I'll allow your loved ones to leave. Alive.”

It was a deal meant to cause the most harm, to leave Finn's family and friends—and Jack—forever not knowing what had become of her.

“Don't you
touch
her!” Lily leaped to her feet, was slammed back into her chair by Antoinette. The Rooks stirred. Bottle looked up, his injured eye obscured by the beaked mask.

When Jack met Anna's gaze, Finn glanced at Anna and saw a flickering sorrow there. Doubt began to shadow her—Jack had a plan, one he had not told her about.

“Anna,” Finn whispered, “what do you know?”

Anna bowed her head. “I see a death that should have been and never was.”

A death that should have been . . .
Finn lifted her gaze to Lot's blue one. “You invited Jack and me.
You can't hurt us
.”

“Not
that
again. I didn't invite your sister or the oracle. I
took
them.” Lot twirled a bone-handled knife between his fingers, his expression disdainful. “Stop trying to be clever.” He pushed a plate of little white cakes oozing red toward her. “Have a cake. Someone put their heart into them.”

Finn saw the killer in Jack's eyes when he turned his head to regard Seth Lot, who reached out to pluck one of the morning glories from a vase. “Do you like the morning glories, Lily, my love? And the utensils—the handles are made from real bone.”

He flung the bone-handled knife and the morning glory at Lily. Both landed before her, the knife pinning the flower to the table. As Lily stared down at the knife and the flower, Anna murmured, “Morning glories and bones, from the boy taken by the sea, the boy who wanted to make stories with pictures.”

Finn looked at the bleeding cakes, the forks and knives, the wet purple flowers that now reminded her of internal organs. Sour bile filled her throat. Horror shook her.
Leander . . .

“And this is especially for you, my Lily.” Lot sat back as Antoinette set a large bronze platter with a lid in front of Lily, who was now arched as far from the table as her chair would allow.

“No . . . Lily—” Finn slid to her feet as her sister reached for the handle on the lid and tilted it up so that only she could see what was beneath.

As Lily's voice broke in a lament that caused the wolves to cease their carousing, Seth Lot smiled and Antoinette, the shaven-headed Fata girl, touched a band of teeth around her throat. Jack swore with vicious fury. Anna curled up in her chair, her arms over her head.

Lily's eyes were black holes in her face.

As she lunged, screaming, across the table, the bone-handled steak knife in one hand, a legion of black butterflies streaked with neon red descended on the wolves, who leaped from their chairs, shouting.

Finn jumped up, reaching for her sister.

Lily was dragged back by Antoinette. Jack snatched up two knives and flung them—one at Lot, the other at Antoinette. Antoinette received hers in the left eye and fell back, howling. Lot caught the blade meant for him in midair and whipped it back at Jack. Jack fell into his chair, the knife sunk in the middle of his chest.