She averted her eyes guiltily. “I know that he only punishes me when I do something he doesn’t want me to, and he says it’s for my own good, but…”
“You don’t have to tell me whatever it was.” Her grandmother’s gray eyes were suddenly wistful. “I was young once too, you know.” She stared down at her hands, crinkled and faded like a years-old newspaper. “I remember what it was like.” She shook her head faintly. “I wasn’t much older than you when I found myself asking the same question of Raven. She didn’t want to answer, but eventually I wheedled it out of her.
“As you know by now, Elizabeth Elvesden was a changeling. Her fairy bloodline resulted in some of the family, including you and me, having the second sight. That lineage will stay in our family for many, many years to come before it weakens. Now, we know from Elizabeth’s diaries that her mother believed she was switched when she was a child. Most changeling cases are similar. What we may never know is who was responsible for switching her, or why.
“But sometimes, those involved in the changeling trade are found out. And when they are they must face trial in the Seelie Court. Of course, some of those who are guilty are protected—employed even—by the Unseelie Court, and so they escape notice, and punishment. Those who are caught are handed a sentence.” Florence paused and stared into Tanya’s eyes.
Tanya’s pulse quickened. “I think I can guess what’s coming.”
“That sentence is to serve the best interests of both the human and the fairy changeling. Depending on the circumstances, this could involve either switching them back or protecting them in their new environment. But the punishment doesn’t stop there. If any children are born following a switch, leading to a bloodline like ours, the sentence is also handed out to the descendants of those found guilty.”
“So… some fairy guardians were never actually involved in the changeling trade, but are paying for the actions of their ancestors?” Tanya asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Florence agreed. “But the view is taken by the Seelie Court that it’s not fair for the descendants of the changeling, like you and me, to have the burden of the second sight through no fault of our own, either.”
“Then what about someone like Rowan?” Tanya asked. “Someone who’s half-fey, half-human? That’s not the same as a changeling switch, is it?”
“No,” her grandmother replied. “But in Rowan’s case, it was still a matter of fairies meddling with humans. Rose was enchanted and deceived by a fairy. It amounts to the same thing.”
“Is there a way we can release them, so they don’t have to be our guardians anymore?” Tanya asked.
“There is a way,” said Florence. “It’s forgiveness and acceptance. If you can truly say that you accept your ability, and blame no one, then your guardian will no longer be bound to you out of duty. But in my experience, you’d be better to keep Gredin around for now. Just until you’re a little older…. I’d wait until you make that decision.”
“But why?” Tanya asked, frustrated. “Why wait if I’m certain now?”
“Are you certain? Are you really? I thought I was certain once, about something. That something was the plan to run away to the fairy realm with Morwenna Bloom. I was sure it was for the best. Now, when I look back, I’m so grateful I was talked out of it. And who do you think was the one to do it?”
“Raven,” Tanya whispered.
Her grandmother nodded and smiled. “Don’t be hasty. You could regret it one day.” She reached forward and patted Tanya’s hand, the gesture less awkward than usual. “Now, how about a nice cup of tea?”
“Thanks,” said Tanya. She watched as the lid to the tea caddy lifted. Two tea bags were thrown out onto the counter before the lid slammed down.
Florence retrieved them without batting an eyelid and popped them into two cups. The back door opened and Fabian appeared, ruddy-cheeked and carrying a basket of large brown eggs.
“Actually, I’ll leave the tea.” Tanya caught Fabian’s eye and gave him a meaningful look. “Thanks all the same, but I really need to take Oberon for his walk.”
While Fabian washed his hands, Tanya ran to her room and ducked inside before Nell, who was trundling along the landing with her vacuum cleaner. She quickly grabbed the puzzle book she had bought for Morag, then, after a moment’s consideration, the compass and scissors from under the loose floorboard.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” she muttered. The smaller objects she tucked in her pockets. The book she hid under her top. She replaced the floorboard and threw the rug back in place just as Nell knocked on the door.
“All yours,” Tanya said, squeezing past her to run downstairs. She took Oberon’s leash from the back door. “Ready?” she asked Fabian.
They fought their way through the jungle of weeds in the garden.
“I’m going to see Morag,” she said in a low voice, as they shut the gate after them. Oberon bounded off ahead, then stopped a little way off. “Are you coming with me?”
“Only if you’ve got the compass,” Fabian said.
Tanya patted her pocket. “The scissors too. After yesterday I’m going to carry them with me all the time.”
“But are you sure you want to go?” Fabian asked. “If Gredin finds out we’ve been asking Morag about the thirteen secrets, he could punish you again.”
“I’m not going to ask about the thirteen secrets,” said Tanya defiantly. “But if Morag tells me something more about them, then I can’t stop her, can I? I’m going to ask if she can help me do something about Oberon, and I’m going to give her this book of puzzles.”
Oberon barked at the sound of his name, then yawned and lay down, his head on his huge paws. By the time Tanya and Fabian drew level with him he was fast asleep.
“Oberon, come on,” Tanya said. She nudged him with her toe, but he gave a tired, squeaky groan and didn’t move.
“What’s up with him?” Fabian asked.
Tanya knelt and picked the sleepy Oberon up. “Puppies always fall asleep at the worst times. I’m going to have to carry him until he wants to wake up.”
By the time they arrived at the brook, Tanya’s arms were already aching. They paused before the stepping stones.
“Are you protected?” she asked breathlessly.
“Socks are inside out,” Fabian replied. “You?”
“Iron nail in my pocket. Let’s go, then.”
Before they were even halfway across the brook, Tanya staggered and was forced to put Oberon down. He woke up with a jerk as his rear hit the icy water and gave a startled bark. This time, it was a deep sound. Something was happening.
“He’s too heavy!” she gasped. “He’s growing again!”
And he was. Within moments, Oberon was full size once more and standing on the other side of the bank, shaking water droplets from his coat.
“Running water,” said Tanya, grinning triumphantly at Fabian. “Of course! I completely forgot—crossing running water dispels magic!”
“Do you still want to go into the woods?” Fabian asked.
Tanya patted the puzzle book in her waistband. “Yes. We’re not doing anything wrong by going to see Morag, at least as far as Gredin is concerned.”
They set off. Within minutes the forest yawned above, the veil of branches above them a leafy lip, and the trunks impaling the ground like twisted wooden teeth.
The stench hit like a choking, cloying wall the instant Crooks pried the door open. Rowan clamped her hand over her mouth and nose as it beat them back, away from the caravan and into the vast field that was its home.
“Let it air,” said Sparrow, pulling Rowan back from the entrance.
They stepped away, silent with anxiety, and surveyed the rundown structure that had been Dawn’s home. Unlike the traditional caravans used by circus folk, Dawn’s home had been relatively modern and was far larger. It was an ugly beige, accumulating rust in places, but it was otherwise clean and well-kept.
Rowan breathed th
e scent of the surrounding fields. A bee buzzed near some clover by her foot, its drone almost matching that of a tiny tractor in the distance. The sun blazed above in a cloudless sky, but it filled her with dread rather than pleasure. Its heat, beating down on the old metal caravan, was no friend to whatever lay waiting for them, stinking and rotting.
“Stay here,” said Sparrow.
She watched him step up and go inside, the neck of his T-shirt pulled up to cover his nose and mouth, and squirmed at her own cowardice. Crooks hung around by the door, making no effort to keep the disgust from his expression—or to go in.
Tap. Rowan looked up. A large, black bird peered down at her from the roof, its head cocked to one side. Then it straightened and bobbed, pecking. Tap.
“Raven?” she whispered.
The bird ignored her, continuing to peck stupidly at the roof. Another one joined it, and she averted her eyes dismissively. It was just a bird after all.
Sparrow leaned out of the door. “You can come in. That smell… I didn’t find nothing, except the rubbish.” He jerked his head over his shoulder to an open cupboard under the sink. A swarm of flies buzzed over an open trash bag.
Queasy, Rowan stepped inside. As Merchant had described, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everything was neat, with the exception of the stinking trash and a few crocks submerged in stale, greasy water in the sink. All the heavy, dark curtains were open. Her eyes lingered on one of the windows, the curtain tiebacks hanging limply.
“She kept the curtains closed in the daytime,” she murmured. “And opened them at night, when the sun went down.”
“What are you thinking?” Sparrow asked.
“Merchant said the curtains were open during the day when he came here. But if they haven’t been touched since, then they’re still as he saw them.”
“So?” said Crooks, having finally entered the caravan.
“So, if they’d been opened by Dawn at night, she’d have used the tiebacks,” said Rowan. “But they haven’t been used. Whoever pulled them open did it quickly. I’m guessing they came here in the day when they were drawn, then pulled them back to render Dawn powerless in the sunlight….”
“Then what?” asked Crooks.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, wherever she is, she’s not here,” said Sparrow. “And if what that gypsy woman saw was right, she’s outside somewhere. We should start searching.”
“Like we’ve a chance of finding her,” Crooks said, his dark eyes scornful. “She could be anywhere.”
“I don’t think so,” said Sparrow. “If someone killed Fix, they made no effort to hide her body.”
Crooks leaned against the kitchen counter, sullen. “Maybe they didn’t mean to kill her. They might have thought the poison was something else, a sleeping potion, perhaps.”
“Well the vision suggested that all three of them are dead,” said Sparrow. “One death might have been an accident, but three?”
The heat and the smell oozed over Rowan, making her skin crawl. Pushing past Crooks she stood in the doorway, gulping at the sweet meadow air. Above her the birds continued to peck at the roof.
Crooks swiped a hand across his forehead, brushing away a strand of hair, limp with humidity. In the pause where no one spoke, the clip of beaks on metal was extraordinarily sharp.
“What is that bloody noise?” he said, irritable.
“Birds,” Rowan answered, staring out across the field. She wanted to get away, to be anywhere but there in Dawn’s empty, forlorn home. “They’re pecking at something on the roof.”
She’s outside somewhere.
A sick thought hit her, making her sway. Sparrow hurried to her side, holding her elbow. “What is it?” he said urgently. “The heat getting to you? Come outside—”
“The roof,” she protested weakly, allowing him to pull her out onto the grass. “The birds on the roof…”
She steadied herself on the side of the caravan and looked along its length. At the rear, a thin metal ladder attached to the side led up to the roof. She pulled away from Sparrow and stumbled toward it. Her foot was on the first rung when Sparrow pushed her aside. Her eyes searched his and found the same grim thought echoed in them.
“What are you doing?” Crooks called from the door, as Rowan tried to jostle Sparrow out of the way.
“Don’t,” Sparrow told her gruffly. “I’ll go.” Nimble as a monkey he took the ladder. She watched, feeling both guilty and horrified as he steeled himself with deep breaths before peering over the edge of the roof.
“Oh, god!” He slid back, his feet thunking against the rungs before he fell to the ground.
“Sparrow!” she cried, rushing to him.
He rolled onto his hands and knees, his body wracked by dry sobs. Crooks grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and shook him.
“What’s up there? What did you see?”
“Get off him!” Rowan shoved Crooks away and fell to her knees beside Sparrow.
He turned to them with haunted eyes. “It’s her… it’s Dawn.”
Despite the lack of sun in Hangman’s Wood, Tanya’s hair stuck to the back of her neck. The forest was damp and airless, keeping her movements sluggish as she traipsed over brush and undergrowth.
She heard a breathless Fabian stop walking behind her and turned. He peeled his thin shirt away from his skin and flapped it in a fruitless attempt to create some kind of breeze.
“Are we going the right way?”
Tanya pointed ahead. “Yes. There’s the first catacomb.”
They began walking again, reaching the clearing presently. As always, Fabian went right up to the railings, peering through to the denehole.
“Come on,” Tanya called, impatient. “We don’t have time to hang around.” Her voice stirred things in the trees above; a few whisperings and flutterings floated down to her. She continued onward, her eyes on Oberon, ambling ahead. The whispering died down. The heat was making even the fairies lazy today.
Fabian drew level with her by the time they were near the second catacomb. The further they ventured into the woods, the less the heat seemed to have penetrated.
“Have you had any more thoughts about Rowan or any of the others?” he asked.
“You mean to do with the thirteen treasures? I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t had any more ideas.”
“We need to find out more about each of them and the role they play within the group,” Fabian said thoughtfully. “But in a way that Rowan doesn’t suspect what we’re doing.”
“That’s going to be difficult,” said Tanya, swatting at a cloud of gnats humming beneath a tree. “Rowan’s sharp. She could easily see through it if we’re too obvious.”
“Then perhaps we should just ask her up-front,” said Fabian. “Faced with what we’ve got so far, she might come clean.”
“Perhaps,” said Tanya. “But I don’t think so.”
“Do you think Mad Morag will be able to help us? If she was able to see any more, wouldn’t she have seen it in the first vision?”
“I don’t know,” said Tanya. “I’m not sure how her visions work. But at the very least I wanted to give her the puzzle book I bought to thank her for everything she’s done for us so far. And I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you stopped calling her Mad Morag.”
“Sorry. It’s just… you know. Habit.”
Glimpsing the familiar daffodil-yellow of the old gypsy caravan, Tanya headed toward it, the forest floor tamer where Morag maintained it. Fabian paused to admire first the herb garden, then the caravan itself, and she was reminded that this was only the second time he had seen it.
“Do you think she’ll let me come in?” he whispered, clearly dying to look inside.
“If you’re polite.” Tanya weaved her way up the little path, climbed the steps, and knocked. The door opened a little at her touch, but there was no reply. The chirrups of birds and shuffles of woodland creatures filled the empty silence. She knocked again, pushing the door open a lit
tle further.
“Hello? Morag?”
Still there was no answer.
“She might be doing a spell,” Fabian said uneasily. “Or she might be asleep.”
“Then why would she leave the door open?” Tanya wondered.
“Well, she’s probably not expecting any interruptions. It can’t be like she gets many visitors,” Fabian pointed out.
“I don’t like it,” said Tanya. “Something doesn’t feel right.” She pushed the door open the whole way and stepped inside. “Go and look around the side—she was sitting out the back in her rocking chair when I came the other day.”
The steps creaked as Fabian retreated down them. Tanya went further into the caravan, but it was empty—even the deep red velvet curtain at the back, normally closed, was open, revealing Morag’s sleeping place. She looked for Grimalkin, half-expecting the yellow-eyed glare from some dark corner, but it never came. Everything was tidy, organized.
“Tanya!”
Fabian’s shout, almost a scream, sent prickles of fear over her skin. She flew to the door, tripping down the steps, and scrambled around to the back of the caravan.
The sight before her sent her reeling: Morag slumped and motionless in her rocking chair, her skin ashen and her eyes closed. Fabian was at her side, frantically tugging at her shawl, which had been tightly and viciously wrapped around the old woman’s neck.
“Tanya!” Fabian whispered, his voice a half-sob. “It’s knotted too tight—I can’t get it off! The scissors, quickly…”
“No,” Tanya choked out, rushing to Morag’s side. She pulled out the scissors and hacked at the shawl, tearing it apart.
“Hurry,” Fabian begged. “She’s not breathing…”
“No, no, no…” Her words rushed out in a meaningless jumble as her vision clouded. She worked the scissors, as hard and as fast as she could, and the mutilated shawl loosened and fell away.
Tanya grabbed the old woman’s wrist, her fingers searching for a pulse.
“I can’t feel anything!”
“She’s still not breathing. Loosen her clothes!”