The Iron Witch (4 page)

Donna slouched deeper into her seat and stared out of the greasy window, barely noticing the scenery that the bus grumbled past. She didn’t want to see Maker today, but her experience with Xan last night had worried her enough that she wanted to get her hands and arms checked out.

It never hurt to be careful, although it
had
hurt to get up so early on a Sunday morning.

Feeling a bit like Cinderella, she had made it home at two minutes past one last night, sneaking into the house with as much stealth as she could manage, being so tired. Aunt Paige was, thankfully, already asleep; Donna was relieved she hadn’t waited up.

And then, this morning, there was no sign of her aunt apart from a note saying she had a last-minute breakfast meeting (she apologized for working on a Sunday) and that she’d be back to spend time together in the afternoon. At least it meant Donna didn’t need to explain where she was going.

Late-autumn sun glanced off the bus windows, making patterns in the smeared glass. Donna idly traced the shapes with her stiff fingers—clad in purple velvet gloves today—as she watched the wide main streets of Ironbridge bump past. Tucked into a riverside nook, Ironbridge always seemed like a miniature version of Boston to Donna. It was quite charming for a small-sized city.

She closed her eyes against another sudden pain. Resting her gloved hands carefully in her lap, she waited for the spasm to pass. Maybe seeing Maker today wasn’t such a bad idea. Although stiffness in her hands wasn’t unusual, especially once the weather turned cold, this sharp ache was new. It made her feel old and tired, like maybe she had arthritis way too young. If Maker knew what was happening to her—what was causing these strange sensations—he might be able to fix it. That’s what he did, after all: fixed things.

Donna tried to forget the cold ache in her bones and focus, instead, on the streets sweeping past. Ironbridge was like a story to her, a fairy tale filled with tricks and trials and monsters in the shadows waiting to take away everything you cared about. Since she was as good as orphaned, Donna felt like that most clichéd of fairy-tale heroines—except that her mother was still alive, living a half-life at the Institute.

At the ripe old age of seventeen, Donna had decided that “happily ever after” didn’t exist for freaks like her.

The bus finally shuddered to a stop outside an industrial park. Tall, corrugated steel fencing wrapped around the property like silver packaging. Donna jumped to her feet and clattered down the narrow aisle. “Wait, I’m getting off here!” The doors had already closed, but hissed and sighed as they reluctantly re-opened for her.

“Thanks,” she called back, stepping onto the dusty concrete sidewalk.

As the bus pulled away, she had a clear view across the road. It was empty, apart from an elderly woman pushing a rusty-looking shopping cart, but Donna had the strange, creeping feeling that just moments before she was being watched. Again.

Frowning, she tried to shake off the crazy new levels of paranoia that seemed to be haunting her. Just because she’d been brought up in the bosom of a secret society of centuries-old magic didn’t mean that she had to let herself become as obsessed as Quentin and Simon and all the others.

Buttoning her black corduroy jacket against the chill in the air, Donna walked along the scarred and graffiti-clad fencing. Cars intermittently rushed past, even this early on a Sunday, since the industrial park was along a popular shortcut to the center of town.

She reached the rarely used side-entrance and pushed the rusty gate open as far as it would go before the heavy padlock and chain pulled taut. There was just enough room to squeeze through, if she crouched down and breathed in.

The morning sun bounced off the high, barred windows of the familiar stone warehouse. Other buildings were spread out around the lot, though some were now deserted thanks to the recession. This particular warehouse had been Maker’s workshop for as long as she could remember, hidden amid the hustle and bustle of local businesses and manufacturers. Donna knew that, were it not for the injury to her hands, she would never have had a reason to come out here, never been privy to as many secrets of the Order as she was. Maker could be serious and focused at times, but he was also talkative when he worked on her. She probably knew a lot more about the alchemists than Aunt Paige would approve of.

Donna knocked on the heavy iron door and waited for a moment. There was often no reply. The old man was usually buried in some experiment or other, working weekends when everything else was quiet out here. She banged on the door once more, her hand aching, and was just about to try opening it when something brushed her shoulder.

She screamed and spun around—

“Navin!”

Navin dropped his bike with a crash of metal and stumbled backward over it. His face mirrored the shock on her own as they stared at each other.

The moment seemed to stretch on for too long. Donna’s mind raced. Where had Navin come from? Had he followed her?

“What are you
doing
here?” she managed to choke out.

Navin ignored her, picking up his bike and making a big show of checking it for damage.

Donna knew him too well. “Quit stalling and start talking, Sharma. Did you
follow
me? Please don’t tell me you’ve turned stalker, because that would
not
be cool.”

He glared at her, his brown eyes filled with a conflicting mixture of guilt and anger. “Can you blame me? You keep so many secrets, Donna. And then when you acted all freaked out last night—”

“Oh my God, you
did
follow me!”

“Shut up, it’s not like you can blame me.” His shoulders were tense inside the ever-present biker jacket. “You met that guy at the party and weren’t even going to tell me. What’s
that
all about?”

Donna opened her mouth to reply, but immediately shut it. This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. And what was she supposed to say? She settled for shoving him—harder than she knew she should, but it made her feel better.

He almost toppled over his bike again. “Dammit, woman, stop trying to beat me. I’ll sue you for domestic violence.”

They scowled at each other, and then Navin’s mouth twitched and Donna could feel her own cold lips spread into a reluctant grin.

“
Domestic violence?
You’re deluded, Sharma.”

“And again, you have too many secrets, Underwood. What are you, a teenage spy?”

She almost laughed. “No, definitely not that.”

Navin wheeled his bike to the side of the warehouse door and leaned it against the wall. “So, where are we going?”

Donna rolled her eyes, trying to keep her rising sense of panic in check. “
I
am going to see … a family friend. Whatever
you’re
doing, I hope you have fun.”

She watched Navin’s expressive face as he battled with varying degrees of disappointment, curiosity, and anger. She wondered which would win. She would never get used to lying to Navin, even though she’d had to do it for most of the time they’d known each other. And she mostly lied by omission, which she liked to think didn’t count. Even though she knew it did.

All this because the Order of the Dragon was so strict with her. Still a minor, she had no standing among the alchemists except for being the daughter of two of their legends and the niece of a currently rising star within their ranks. Thinking of Aunt Paige now, Donna couldn’t help wondering what she would say if she knew what her charge was considering. How close she finally was to telling Navin the truth.

At least,
some
of the truth. Would that hurt so much?

She could answer that question for herself: of
course
it would hurt. That was why she’d protected him all this time, why she was willing to go along with the secrecy of the Order despite the lies. Navin was blessed with a pretty normal life. It wasn’t without its own loss and sadness, but at least his sadness had a human flavor. Donna wanted to protect that normality as much as she could. The thought of Navin suffering the same nightmares that she did filled her with more horror than she could contemplate.

“What is this place?” he asked now, looking around.

“Oh, Navin … why did you have to follow me?” Donna’s voice was almost a whisper, but she knew that he’d heard.

His cheeks flushed. “I thought that maybe you were going to meet that guy. Zod, or whatever he’s called.”

“It’s
Xan
, which you totally know. Idiot.”

“Hey, you don’t know him at all. And you were so spooked last night, outside the house … I was worried about you.”

Donna wanted to believe him; she really wanted to believe that Navin had done this out of innocent concern for her. But given the twitchy look on his face, she knew there was a lot more to it than that.
Crap
. She fixed him with a fierce stare and made a decision. “Wait here for a minute.”

“But—”

“I said,
wait
.” The iron in her voice was a match for the iron that encased her arms. Donna still didn’t know how much she would tell him, but Navin was here now and she’d have to figure something out. Even if she left and made him come home with her, there was nothing to stop him from going back alone and doing some investigating on his own, interrupting Maker’s work. Donna dreaded what would happen then. While the workshop was hidden in plain sight and looked pretty much abandoned, it was also protected by magical wards that warned Maker whenever anyone unfamiliar approached. And even though Navin had probably already tripped the alarm, making caution pointless, being careful was a tough habit to break.

She pushed open the heavy door to the alchemist’s workshop. It wasn’t unusual for it to be unlocked, which is why Donna was unprepared for the sight that greeted her as she stepped into the dimly lit workroom, Navin close behind her.

“Maker?” Her voice sounded small in the cavernous space.

The room, although generally filled with junk and metal and machinery of all descriptions, usually had a strange sense of order to it, too. Donna was used to seeing piles of tools and scrap metal all over the place, plans and paperwork on the huge desk against the side wall underneath one of the tall windows, and whatever Maker was currently working on in the center of the room.

Today, however, the disorder in the workshop had none of the old man’s personal stamp on it. Papers and files were strewn across the floor like oversized confetti; giant sheets of hammered steel, usually piled up against the far wall, had fallen to the floor as though someone had been trying to look behind them; the central workbench had been swept clear of plans that were now on the floor, the paper crumpled and torn. A plate and mug were smashed to pieces nearby.

“Maker!” Donna called, louder this time.

“What is this place?” Navin’s voice echoed around the large open space.

“Shh … he’s not here. This is weird.”

A mechanical clacking and chirping suddenly filled the air, and Donna was forced to duck as something flew overhead.

“What was
that
?” Navin hissed, his voice almost cracking.

They both covered their heads and ducked again as the whirring sounds swept above them.

Donna brushed hair out of her eyes and slowly stood up. “It’s okay, they’re harmless. Just Maker’s birds. He doesn’t usually let them out of their cage … ”

The two clockwork birds—the size of very large crows—were made from brass and copper and iron, with bright silver eyes and polished wings that reflected the natural light from the high windows. They arced and swooped all the way up to the workshop’s roof, finally settling in the rafters with a click of metallic claws.

Navin’s eyes were the widest she’d ever seen them. “This … ‘Maker’ of yours. Who the heck is he, Donna? The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?”

“Something like that,” she muttered, trying to step out of his reach.

But Navin placed a cautionary hand on her shoulder. “Wait. I have a bad feeling about this.”