“Oh, no,” he said. “Did he forget to tell you?”
The woman’s emotionless eyes bored into his, unblinking.
“He did not tell me about any… picnic. And now we are doing something else.” She massaged her right wrist with her left hand.
“Typical Jack,” Fabian said, forcing himself not to squirm or look away. “Never mind. I don’t suppose you could send him down for a minute, could you? I just wanted to ask him something. It’s about a school project.”
“Jack cannot come down.” The voice grew colder. “He is a little tied up.”
Despite the fact that he was sweating heavily, the words sent a chill running over Fabian’s flesh.
He is a little tied up.
It’s the truth, he realized. The truth spell means she can’t lie… but she’s managing to choose her words carefully to try to throw me off the scent.
“Not to worry, then,” he said, backing down the stairs. “I’ll catch up with him soon.”
On the last step he turned, skin crawling at the thought of the thing’s eyes fixed on the back of his head. He carried on past the stairs, out of sight, and stopped short just before the back door.
He bent down, quickly pulling his shoelaces loose to buy time in case he was discovered by Jack’s father or the barmaid. In his head he counted slowly to thirty, listening for any movement from the stairs. From the main bar he heard voices and low music from the radio. He forced himself to tune them out, his mind wrestling with what to do. Suki had warned him to avoid going upstairs. But he had failed to draw Jack away, leaving the boy and his little sister at the mercy of the changeling. For that, Fabian could not help feeling somehow responsible.
A slow, creeping footstep retreated on the landing above, and a tiny click sounded as the light was switched off again. Somewhere upstairs a door closed softly, and a young child began to cry. The plaintive noise set alarm bells clanging in his brain, making his decision for him.
Fabian finished counting and tied his shoelaces again. He stood up and wiped his hand across his face. Then he rounded the corner to the stairs, gripping the banister, and began to climb as quietly as he knew how.
The crying grew more pronounced as Fabian got to the top of the stairs. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light now, and he saw the outlines of doorways from daylight squeezing through the gaps in the frames. One door was open a tiny crack; he tried to get a sense of which room it might be, or whether anyone was in it, but neither saw nor heard anything. The wailing came from a door behind him, the furthest from the stairs. To reach it, he needed to pass the door that was ajar.
He crept along the hallway, the carpeted floor absorbing the sound of his footsteps. He passed two closed doors. The third was the one that was slightly open. He paused outside, pressing himself against the wall. His heart pumped like that of a frightened rabbit. A frantic whispering from inside the room made it to his ears. He strained to decipher any words, but could not.
Chancing a quick look through the gap, he assessed what he saw. Wooden units, a sink, and a black-and-white tiled floor. Liquid glistened on the smooth tiles. Nearby were fragments of glass. Something had been broken and spilled, and there was a horrid smell coming from the room, briny and metallic.
A loud bang from inside the kitchen made him bite his lip. The whispering became a mutter.
“I’ve tried to act like a good mother, haven’t I? But it’s not easy. Never easy. And what does a mother do? She makes dinner. But cooking isn’t the thing. Cooking spoils it….”
A manic chuckle followed, and Fabian squeezed his eyes shut. Composing himself with great effort, he leaned around and this time looked through the other gap—the one in the hinge side of the door.
The changeling mother stood hunched over the work surface, its back to the door. Behind it the kitchen table was laid with four plates, and one of the settings was for a high chair.
The changeling’s body shook with effort, but Fabian could not see what she was doing from where he was. Between the cries from Jack’s sister in the back room, he thought he heard wet sounds, like something being cut. He contemplated creeping to the furthest door while the changeling was still occupied. But then it turned, cementing him to the spot.
In its right hand it clutched a large, dead fish. It was still raw and had been opened up, but it had not been cleaned properly, for its innards dangled in a wet, dark mass. The changeling mother slapped it down on one of the plates and stared at it. Speckles of red hit the white crockery.
“No good,” she murmured. She lifted her hand, slimy with fish guts, and tugged at her hair. “Can’t do it anymore… can’t keep pretending. They’ll know now. Only wanted her. I only want the girl.”
Fabian retched, clamping his hand over his mouth and nostrils. Unable to watch any longer, he slid past the door and followed the crying noise, almost staggering in fear. He reached the door and turned the handle, silently begging it to open. It did. However, his next footstep yielded the very same creaking of the loose floorboard that he had heard earlier. Had the changeling heard it above the child’s cries?
Panicking, he pushed the door open and entered the room. It was dim, for the curtains had been drawn, but he saw that it was a toy room. In a playpen over by the window, a toddler sat wailing, snot trailing from her nose. Jack sat on a chair in the opposite corner, a gag in his mouth and his eyes bulging in terror. At first Fabian could not see what bound him to the chair, but on approaching he recognized the glittering strands of weblike thread that encompassed Jack. There were crisscross cuts over the boy’s hands where he had struggled against it. Fabian had seen it before a year ago in Hangman’s Wood on the night Tanya had almost vanished into the fairy realm.
Hurriedly, he yanked the gag away from Jack’s mouth, holding his finger to his lips to indicate that they should keep quiet.
“She’s in the kitchen,” he whispered. “I couldn’t get you to come down so I decided to come up.” He glanced at the child. “And she’s not leaving. I think we need to take your sister with us and get out of here. We can’t wait for Rowan to come up—we just need to escape, all three of us.”
Jack shook his head. “I can’t get free—I don’t know what this stuff is but it’s not coming off! Just leave me…. Take Lucy and go.”
“Shh. It’s spidertwine,” said Fabian. He pulled Tanya’s scissors from his pocket and started to cut at the thread, which fell away at their touch. “It can’t be broken by human hands, because it’s magical.” He held up the scissors. “But so are these. How did she tie you up? I thought you were protected.”
Jack’s face was pained. “I was. My dad noticed my shirt was inside out just after I’d got the potion and made me turn it the right way. I meant to turn it back again when I got upstairs but I was so focused on what to do with the potion that I forgot.”
Jack brushed at the last of the disintegrating strands and stood up, rushing to the playpen. “I put the spell in a glass and made out it was a drink,” he said, lifting Lucy out. The little girl clung to him, her crying easing to a whimper. “Then I dropped it on the floor for her to walk in. That’s when she went crazy and tied me up. She said if I didn’t let her she’d take Lucy…”
Fabian nodded and hushed him. “Is there any other way out apart from going past the stairs?” he asked. “Do any of the rooms below have bay windows that we could climb out onto?”
Jack’s eyes darted over Fabian’s face. “I don’t… no. There’s nothing. The only way is past the kitchen—”
The floorboard outside the room creaked, cutting him off. Fabian felt ill with dread as the door opened wider.
The changeling mother stepped into the room. Her mouth twisted into a snarl at the sight of Fabian and the freed Jack. From his position on the stairs minutes ago, Fabian had not had the advantage—or disadvantage—of seeing her fully. Now that he did, his eyes were drawn to her feet. They were bare, wet, and bloody from walking through the spilled truth spell and broken glass. They wer
e feet that did not look human.
She took a limping step toward them, her maddened eyes sliding over Jack.
“How did you get free? That’s not possible….”
Jack cringed away from her, holding Lucy out of reach. The child began crying again at the sight of the changeling mother. Fabian stood between them, brandishing the scissors as though they were a sword. The changeling eyed them, a spark of something in her eyes that Fabian could not read.
“Anything is possible when you’ve got the right tools,” he said, using all his energy to summon an air of confidence he did not feel. “And unfortunately for you, you’re beaten.” He had a sudden, desperate idea. “These scissors will cut through almost anything. I imagine that includes skin and bone, but we’ll all find out for sure if you take one more step toward us.” With his free hand, he reached into his pocket, forcing his mouth into what he hoped was a smug smile. “And if you think the truth spell was bad, you don’t even want to know what’s coming next.”
The changeling’s chin dipped. She viewed him through hooded eyes. Fabian held his ground, his hand still in his pocket. He was certain she had seen through his bluff and was about to spring at him….
But to his amazement, she turned and fled, her footsteps beating a drum on her descent of the stairs.
The changeling whipped past Rowan and Suki, momentarily stunning them both. Her lank hair trailed after her as she ran, barefoot and uncaring, through the beer garden and vanished into the alleyway.
Recovering herself, Suki sprinted after her. Rowan put her eyes up to the wooden slats of the trash area. Through a gap she saw that the few people in the garden were looking toward the alley, wondering what was going on. With their attention elsewhere, she darted from her hiding place and slipped through the door and up the stairs, unseen.
The smell of blood hit, like a punch to the gut, near to one of the rooms. She nosed through the door, terrified of what she was about to see. Why had she ever agreed to Fabian’s involvement?
Because you had no choice, a little voice inside her said. Even now, she wondered if that were true.
Something wet and thick dripped from the kitchen tabletop. She skirted around the broken glass and wetness on the floor, coming closer to the table. Terror made the situation surreal. Pushing up, she lifted herself to balance on her hind legs, resting her forepaws on the table. The dead eyes of the mangled fish stared back at her. She slid back down, relieved, but for seconds only.
A noise drew her to the room furthest away: a muffled sob. She followed it, her fox ears twitching. The door was open, but not until she was through it did she see Fabian, Jack, and Lucy, frozen in position.
Fabian sank to his knees when he saw her. Rowan ran to him and he threw his arms around her, pressing his face into her rough fur.
“We thought you were her,” he said shakily. “We thought she’d come back….”
“She’s gone,” said Rowan gruffly, her muzzle by Fabian’s ear. His bushy hair brushed against her nose. “Now let me go, Fabian. I’m not a dog, you know.”
“Right.” Fabian dropped his arms, embarrassed. She gave him a quick affectionate nip.
“Now, follow me. I don’t think she’ll be coming back but we can’t take the chance. We need Jack and Lucy away from here until we know where she is.”
“She said she wanted the girl,” Fabian mumbled, clambering to his feet. “She said she only came for the girl.”
Rowan looked at Jack. Though Suki had undoubtedly told him about the fox-skin coat, he was watching her in astonishment. Lucy had burrowed her face into his neck, like a woodland creature hibernating.
“Thank goodness she didn’t take her,” said Rowan. She led the way out of the room, motioning for Fabian and Jack to follow. She considered removing the coat. It would not do to be seen as a fox inside a public building. Yet she dismissed it, for already another thought was brewing in her mind.
They crept downstairs, leaving the horrid, fishy scent behind them to gulp at the fresh air in the garden. Rowan scampered quickly to the trash area, speaking quietly to Fabian through the wooden slats.
“Take Jack and Lucy to the tea shop where Tanya is. Keep them there until I come back. You’ll be safe there.”
“Where are you going?” Fabian asked.
“I’m going after Suki. That thing has just shown how dangerous it is, and Suki could probably use the help.”
“But—”
“Do as I say,” she insisted. “There’s not much time.”
“Fine,” Fabian said reluctantly. “We’ll wait for you there. Just… be careful.”
Rowan watched as they made their way through the leafy arch and left the garden. Once they were out of sight, she set off at a gallop into the deserted alleyway with only her fox senses to guide her.
The alley led straight on at first. Ivy dressed the fences and walls, litter caught in it like flies in a spider’s web. Tall trees lined the gardens on the other sides of these walls, leaving the alley cold and dark, the perfect gathering place—or escape route—for anyone up to no good.
Soon the alley dead-ended into another running horizontally, offering two different directions. Rowan skittered to a halt, just managing to steer clear of a jagged shard of glass from a broken bottle. She nosed the air, trying to get an instinct for which way to go. The iron tang of blood and the smell of fish caught her nose. She saw a smear of something dark and wet on a fence post to the right. She took off, dodging trash, more broken glass, and stinging nettles.
The pathways grew tidier as she trailed away from the town and its shops and into the alleys behind the residential streets of Tickey End. Here the alleys bordered back gardens. In one of them she heard children playing, splashing in paddling pools and shrieking with laughter; in another she smelled the delicious waft of food being cooked on a barbecue.
She kept going, her claws clattering over the ground.
A piercing scream rang out up ahead, one that rose above the childish ones in the garden. This was a different scream, and she thought she recognized the voice.
“Suki,” she murmured, racing toward it.
The alley ended unexpectedly and branched off again. She did not know which way to go, and she was afraid to call out for Suki in case the changeling was near. Rowan tried to scent the air but the barbecue was overriding things.
A slash of blond hair on the pathway to her far left caught her eye. She edged toward it, resisting the urge to run. It could be a trap.
Drawing closer, her caution vanished.
Suki lay sprawled on the dirty ground, eyes closed and one cheek pressed against the gravel. Her lower body was caught in an impossible tangle of ivy that could only be enchanted. Rowan nudged her face gingerly.
“Suki!” she whispered. “Suki, wake up!”
To her immense relief Suki stirred. Grit and dirt peppered her face and some of the gravel was embedded into her skin as she lifted her head.
“Wha—” she began. “My head feels like it’s about to split in two….”
“You’re tangled up,” Rowan whispered. “It’s obviously the changeling’s doing—you must have banged your head when you fell. Why weren’t you protected?”
Suki groaned. “I don’t know—I had an iron nail in my pocket but it must have fallen out as I ran. I nearly had her….” She rested her cheek back on the ground. “She went… through there….”
Rowan followed Suki’s hand, streaked with blood, to where it pointed, through a broken gap in a fence opposite them.
“What’s through there? Do you know?”
Suki shook her head, grimacing. “No. I was just about to follow when the ivy wound around me and pulled me back. She’s probably gone by now.”
“The trail might still lead to Jack’s mother,” said Rowan. “But I don’t want to leave you like this—”
She was interrupted by a shout from the far end of the alley. Sparrow was hurtling toward them, holding his sides and fighting for breath.
r /> “Suki!” he gasped, falling to his knees at her side. He turned to Rowan. “Is she all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Suki, trying to pull herself into a sitting position. Sparrow pulled a penknife from his back pocket and began to cut at the ivy.
“Where’s Jack’s father?” Rowan asked.
“Lost him,” said Sparrow. “Finally. He can really run, but I think he’s gone back to the pub now.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t go upstairs for a while, then,” said Rowan. “Stay with Suki. I’m going after the changeling.” She nodded to the gap in the fence. “Suki saw her go through there.”
“I can go,” Sparrow began.
“No. I’ve got the coat—she won’t immediately know I’m a threat, and even when she does she can’t use magic on me. I’m protected, remember?”
“All right,” he conceded. “Watch yourself.”
The broken wood surrounding the hole in the fence stuck out at jagged angles. Rowan jumped through it, but it was not a clean jump, and her paws gathered splinters from the wood as she brushed against it.
She landed in the large, overgrown garden of an old terraced house. It was prewar, for at the very back of it, past a neglected vegetable patch, squatted an old corrugated steel structure, dug into the ground with its roof curving out. It was an abandoned bomb shelter. She looked past it to the house. It was derelict. Some of the windows had been smashed and no one had bothered to board them up.
A ginger-colored cat wound its way out of the broken glass of a downstairs window, a squirming rat clamped between its jaws. The cat froze and then leapt to safety over the fence when it saw the fox. Rowan eyed the hole the cat had exited from, wondering if she could make it through into the house—but a whimpering sound stopped her.
She pricked up her ears. There it was again… coming from the bomb shelter. Skirting closer to it, she dipped her head to the open space between the rounded roof and the ground and peered past thick gray cobwebs to the inside.