“Hope I can hold him for that long….”
Grunts and scuffles came from the stairwell as Tino and Sparrow wrestled for control. Rowan watched, stricken, but there was only ever going to be one winner. A sharp jolt to Sparrow’s arm put an end to every squirm.
The partition started to move.
“The door’s closing.” Warwick stepped forward. “You need to get out of there in the next few seconds.”
More scuffles sounded, and Rowan shifted to get a view through the rapidly narrowing gap. Already the space beyond it was darkening.
“It wasn’t me!” Sparrow twisted, in obvious pain, his eyes wide. “Tell them, Red! You know me! You know I wouldn’t do this!”
“I’m sorry, Sparrow,” Tino said through gritted teeth. He maneuvered Sparrow away from him, then sent him flying with one huge shove.
“No, the stairs!” Rowan cried, her hands flying to her mouth. Sickening sounds of bumps and scuffs reached her as Sparrow rolled down the hard stone staircase, then Tino squeezed through the closing gap.
“That was the idea,” said Tino, unable to look at her. “It was the only thing I could think of.”
“But he could be hurt….” She ran to the gap and pressed her face against it. Groans came from somewhere below, then stopped as the doorway sealed itself.
“What are the chances of him finding the ball of string?” Tino asked.
“Without any light, slim to none.” She continued to stare at the bookcase. “Tino, we can’t do this.”
“We just did.”
“But I don’t think it was him—I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t want to believe it,” Tino said softly. “And neither do I. But look at the evidence. We can’t ignore it. Until we find something to say it wasn’t Sparrow, that’s the best place for him. If someone else did set him up, they’ll give themselves away eventually—we need to keep our eyes open.”
He moved toward the door. “For now, this stays between us. If someone is framing Sparrow, they’ll know we’re on the lookout if we tell them what’s just happened.”
“Wait.” Rowan closed her eyes. “At least let me listen for a minute. As soon as I can hear him moving, I’ll come out.”
“We don’t have time.” Warwick’s voice was gentle, but firm. “We’ve got work to do—we don’t even know that he’ll try to come back up the stairs straight away. He could go off into the tunnels….”
“He could get lost,” she whispered, allowing Warwick to herd her out of the room. Tino was already in the hallway and had been joined by Crooks. Evidently, he had overheard most of what had happened, and Tino did not look pleased.
“Not a word to anyone about this,” he hissed to him. “Get back to whatever you were doing.”
Crooks slunk off as Warwick locked the library door. “No one is to go into this room, understand?”
She nodded blankly.
“We’ll need a new safe room,” Tino muttered as he and Warwick went off in the direction of the kitchen. “For now, let’s say the exit in the library has jammed.”
“There’s one upstairs,” Warwick answered. “An old servants’ room with a false fireplace. Door doesn’t lock, but Crooks could fix that….”
Rowan stared at the library door. In a daze she went upstairs to her room, closing the door quietly, and then she went and sat on the bed. For a full minute she stared at the wall, seeing only Sparrow’s eyes, wide and disbelieving.
“What have I done?” she whispered to herself. The tears came then, hot and plentiful, soaking her face in a flood. It was only as one ran all the way down her wrist that she suddenly became aware that her fingers were pressed against her cheek, touching the exact spot where Sparrow had kissed her yesterday. She did not even remember lifting her hand.
I might not get a second chance, Sparrow had said. Now it seemed he had been right.
She dropped her hand, wiping her face with her cuff, and got up to check herself in the mirror.
“Why are you crying?”
Rowan gasped and spun to face the door.
Fabian stared back in concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “I’m not crying. I’ve got dust in my eye. And will you please learn to knock?”
“Sorry.” Without waiting for an invitation, Fabian shuffled across the room and sat down on the bed.
“What are you doing? I never told you to come in.”
“Sorry,” said Fabian again.
Rowan turned away from the mirror. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Your voice sounds strange.”
“I found something in one of the rooms,” said Fabian. He was staring into his lap. One of his hands was in a fist.
“Spit it out, then.”
He flinched at her tone and got up. “Never mind.”
“Fabian, wait. I’m sorry for snapping.” She gestured to the bed and sat down on the stool, sniffing. “What did you find?”
Fabian’s lips were pinched together. Slowly, he unfurled his hand and pushed it toward her.
“There’s nothing in it.”
“Look closer.”
Rowan wiped at her eyes again. Then she saw it. A very long, very red hair, the exact same color as her own.
“It’s Rose’s,” she said, frowning. “Why are you showing me this?”
“I found it in my dad’s room.” His voice was tight. “I was in there looking for red stuff, and I saw that his pillowcase was red. That’s where I found this.” He looked up at her, his blue eyes huge behind his glasses.
“My dad, and your mum…”
“No,” she said. “They can’t be… they wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t they?” Fabian gave a hollow laugh. “Why not? They seem to have been getting along just fine. He gives her a ride home every night, and she’s been staying later and later.”
“But that’s because of the animals,” said Rowan. “And because of me. That’s why she’s always here. One hair doesn’t mean anything, Fabian. You’re jumping to conclusions. It was probably just caught up on his clothes.”
“It wasn’t the only one.” Fabian wound the hair around his fingers, tighter and tighter until it snapped. “There were more. Do you still think they were just caught on his clothes?”
She swallowed, trying to process the thought, but unable to. Her head was already swimming with confusion.
“I don’t know… I can’t think about this now, Fabian. I’m sorry….”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Don’t you want to at least ask them?”
“No… yes….” She sighed. “I’m not sure.”
“Thanks for the support.” He got up in disgust.
“Look, I’m not saying we shouldn’t ask, but just not yet. This can wait—there’s too much going on. If you leave it until this is over, then we’ll confront them together.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” She got up and went toward him. “I promise. But I still think there’ll be an explanation. There’s no way they’d be able to keep something like that a secret.”
Fabian let the broken hair drop to the floor. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet, for now. But do you want to know what I think? I think everyone in this house is full of secrets, and they don’t give them up easily.” He went to the door and flung it open. “Including you. I’ll leave you to get that dust out of your eye.”
“Fabian—”
A heavy thud sounded from above, startling them both.
“What was that noise?” Fabian asked, his rant momentarily forgotten.
“It came from over by the window,” said Rowan. She moved away from the dressing table and closer to the bed. “I thought I heard something earlier, on the roof… I thought it was mice. Maybe it’s a bird.”
“It’d have to be the size of an emu to make a thunk that loud.”
Scratches and scrabbling came from above. A piece of slate slipped past the window a second later. Fabian ran to the bed and jumped on it, his nose p
ressed against the glass. They both heard the slate smash on the path at the side of the house.
“Whoa,” Fabian breathed, his breath misting the glass. He twisted his head, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was on the roof. Another tile slid past and shattered below. He reached for the catch on the window.
“Don’t open it,” she said sharply.
“I just want to see what’s up there,” he protested, his fingers working the catch.
“I said leave it!”
They both froze as a long tail dropped into view in front of the window. It was thin at the tip, growing wider as it went up, and it was the color and texture of an elephant’s hide. It flicked from side to side in the manner of an agitated cat, then disappeared above again.
Fabian found his limbs and scrambled back off the bed.
“What the hell was that?”
They got their answer an instant later when it dropped into view, landing on the windowsill. Its thick claws scrabbled for a hold, and two leathery wings flapped to give it balance on the narrow ledge. It was about the size of a four- or five-year-old child, but there the similarity ended. The domed head was bald, and the lips drew back in an ugly snarl as it gazed into the room. A metal ring was clamped around its neck, with one broken link dangling from it.
Rowan recognized it immediately. “It was a spy,” she whispered. “For the Hedgewitch… Someone’s freed it.” She shoved Fabian toward the door, never taking her eyes off the window. “Move, now!” she whispered urgently.
The creature hissed, its yellow eyes fixed on her, but made no attempt to get in. They staggered out into the hallway, slamming the bedroom door.
Rowan ran for the stairs, Fabian at her heels.
“Where are we going?”
“To tell Warwick. If that thing’s here, then I’m guessing Eldritch isn’t far behind it.”
Tanya was salting the windowsills in the dining room when chaos broke out. Feet thundered down the hallway, and she saw Fabian and Rowan racing for the kitchen, shouting Warwick’s name. She left the sack of salt and hurried around the table.
Going through the hallway, she was aware of people upstairs. Voices, including those of her grandmother and Rose, drifted down to her, and in a closed room nearby she thought she heard Morag and Suki. However, it seemed that everyone else on the ground floor had either witnessed or heard Fabian and Rowan’s panic and was gathering to find out the cause of it.
The kitchen was a swarming hive. Merchant and Crooks leaned over the sink to look through the window into the garden. To the side of them, Rowan and Fabian were in the doorway. Outside, Warwick, Victor, and Tino were beneath the horse chestnut tree, looking to the skies and shielding their eyes from the sunlight. At the rear of the garden stood Samson, also looking up.
Tanya wedged herself between Rowan and Fabian. “What’s going on?”
Fabian turned, pasty-faced. “There’s something on the roof.”
“Where did it go?” she heard Warwick say.
“There.” Tino pointed, his eyes both golden in the sun. “Behind those chimneys.”
“See if we can get it closer,” Victor said in a low voice. His hand gripped one of his daggers, and there were several more lined up in his belt. “Just a few more meters and I could take it out, no problem.”
“Not yet,” said Tino. “No kills, remember? Not unless we have to. It hasn’t attacked.”
“Yet,” said Victor.
“It’s moving again,” said Warwick. “Over by that window—it’s looking in.”
Tiles fell and smashed at the side of the house.
Victor’s hand tightened around his dagger. “Not exactly subtle, is it?”
“I don’t think it means to be,” said Warwick. “It’s not attacking, but it’s watching us all right. It wants us to know it’s there.”
Samson’s head turned suddenly. “Look!”
Warwick and Tino stepped back to view where he was pointing. Victor stayed where he was, his knife at the ready.
Warwick’s eyes fixed on something. He swore. “Another one. Up there. See it?”
Tino lowered his hand. “I see it.” He looked to Samson, making a small signal. “Let’s try something—a little experiment.”
Warwick looked around in alarm. All eyes were on Samson as he lifted the latch to the gate and took a few steps out of the garden.
No sooner had the gate swung closed than a terrible, hissing screech sounded from above. Tanya saw the creature’s shadow gliding across her grandmother’s garden toward Samson. Its cries pierced her ears and filled her with dread. Then it came into view, a gray, ugly thing, not dissimilar from the gargoyles on the front gates. It swooped toward Samson, talons scraping and grabbing, narrowly missing his face as he ducked out of the way and vaulted the gate back into the garden.
The creature turned in the air, its snakelike tail curving in a wide arc as it twisted and changed direction.
“It’s coming back,” said Warwick. “Samson, move! Come back to the house, quickly!” He climbed up the steps to the door, shepherding them all further back into the kitchen. “Tino, Victor—get in here!”
Tino stepped into the house, taking Crooks’s place at the window, but Victor remained outside, his eyes on his brother. Samson had started to run, but though he was only a short way from the house, his heavy build meant that speed wasn’t on his side. It was clear he could not outrun the flying creature.
“Keep moving!” Victor yelled. He dropped into a crouch, the blade poised. “I’m covering you!”
Samson continued to run, hazarding quick looks over his shoulder at the approaching creature. It was almost upon him.
“Stop looking back!” Victor cried. “It’s slowing you down!”
By now everyone knew that Samson was not going to make it to the door unscathed. Less than three meters from his target, the creature caught up with him. He bellowed as it sank its talons into his shoulder.
At the same time, Victor unleashed his dagger. It spun unwaveringly through the air, missing Samson’s face by a handspan, and sliced the top corner of one leathery wing clean away. With a howl the creature released him and surged into the air, showering the garden with droplets of blood. The dagger continued on its way, finally ending its journey a short distance away in one of the wooden fence posts.
Victor pulled his brother into the kitchen. The shoulder of Samson’s tunic hung in shreds, already steeped in blood.
He craned his neck to view the damage. “It’s just scratches. Could have been a lot worse. Anyone know what those demons are?” He accepted a tea towel soaked in water from Victor and held it to his shoulder, wincing.
“Yes,” said Merchant unexpectedly. “They’re called garvern. I saw one once a few years back—Peg helped me to identify it through her books. They’re a rare fey breed—a mixture of gargoyles and wyvern—both vicious creatures in their own right. The hybrid of the two is even more deadly. They’re highly territorial and make excellent hunters—usually working in packs. More could be coming.”
“Great,” said Warwick. “And now we’ve got one on the roof that’s bound to be cranky. Just what we need. What were you thinking of, goading it like that?” he asked Tino.
“Testing it,” Tino replied calmly. “Now we know why they’re really here—to keep us where we are. For now, at least.”
“So if anyone attempts to leave the grounds of the house, they’ll be attacked?” said Warwick, glancing at Tanya. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s what I’m guessing, after witnessing that.”
“What about if we’re protected—wearing red, or turning clothes inside out?”
“Then they can’t touch you,” said Merchant. “But they can still do other things—their size means they can cause accidents by attacking vehicles—even jumping in front of them to cause a distraction.”
Warwick rubbed his hands over his face. “Looks like you got what you wanted, after all,” he told Tanya. “You’re not going any
where.”
She felt her insides flip. Warwick looked to Tino. “I thought we’d have more time.” He shut the back door and locked it. “From now on we should remain inside the house until whatever’s coming comes. Those of you with jobs, continue with what you’re doing, and make it quick. Those who have finished, see Tino or me for what to do next. Be prepared to move fast now—they could strike at any time. When they do, head for the safe room on the second floor, or remain in position if you’re fighting.” He glanced at Tanya with a warning look in his eyes. “In case you’re in any doubt at all, you’ll be in the safe room. I’ll go and tell Florence.”
“Do you think Gredin and Raven will come?”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Warwick grimly. “I’m just concerned with them getting in, if we can’t even get out.”
The pantry held enough salt only to make safe the windows of the ground floor. Tanya’s hands were dry and stinging from it. Throughout the house, fewer words were spoken; the only conversation was relevant to the tasks at hand. In the kitchen, Brunswick deftly stitched together the red garments that had been gathered, and gradually, those windows free from salt barriers were swathed in red fabric.
Flames sprung up in every working grate, laid by the brownie of the tea caddy and lit by the hearthfay, to prevent the chimneys being breached. With the windows closed and at the height of summer, the heat in the individual rooms soared to unbearable heights.
The garvern could be heard scratching overhead on the second floor. Frequently, a contorted gray face or tail appeared in a window that wasn’t yet protected, causing another flurry of panic. Merchant had been right—more had come.
Rowan moved around the house, a stick of chalk in her hand. She checked each room one by one, closing the door and marking it with a cross to show it was protected.
She passed Crooks, who was fixing the lock to the safe room. Fabian crouched in a door on the opposite side of the hallway.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“All the red cloth’s been used. For the rest of the rooms with no protection I’m rigging up trip wires. They could warn us if something enters, provided it’s not flying.”