“He’s right,” said Rowan shortly. “Here’s me trying to keep them out”—she gestured around the room—“and you’re positively looking to encourage them in!”
Fabian’s face began to flush. “I’m not encouraging them. I just want to be able to see them.” He flicked the book open and hunched over it again, muttering to himself. “I’ll find my own way to see them. Plenty of ideas in here.”
Rowan made a noise of exasperation, and Tanya decided to take the plunge.
“Why are you being so cautious?” she asked. “Do you even need all these charms to keep the fairies out? I mean… now that we know about your name….”
Rowan didn’t look at her. “It’s not a case of whether I need it. I want it. And yes, being named after the rowan tree protects me from harmful magic, but what if that’s not enough?” She lifted her feet up onto the chair and hugged her knees to herself.
“I don’t understand,” Tanya said. “How can it not be enough? You’ve faced the worst and won, surely? You defeated the fairies after they took James. They let you go! You’re here, with us. You’re safe!”
“Am I?” Rowan turned to face her. “Am I really? It’s not easy to let go of the past. Not easy to start fresh, even when you want to, more than anything.”
“But you already have,” said Fabian, putting the book down again.
Rowan gave a short laugh. “Some things aren’t easy to put behind you. I’ve done things, bad things. I can’t help feeling that somehow, someday, they’re going to catch up with me.”
Tanya felt a chill at her words. “What things?”
But Rowan’s face had changed, closed off. Whatever was on her mind was not about to be shared.
“Come on,” Tanya said firmly. “Let’s take all these deterrents down.”
“We can help,” Fabian said eagerly. He got up and reached for the horseshoe above the bed.
But Rowan shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
Fabian lowered his hand, and then Tanya saw him lean closer to the calendar on the wall.
“You’ve circled the thirteenth,” he commented, a forced brightness in his tone that told Tanya he was trying hard to change the subject and lighten the mood in the room. “That’s today. What’s the big event?”
His words seemed to have completely the opposite effect from what he had intended. Tanya glanced at Rowan and saw a look of panic and fury sweep across her face.
“Nothing! Mind your own business and stop poking around my stuff!”
“I wasn’t exactly poking around,” Fabian retorted. “I just saw it!”
The emotion left Rowan’s face suddenly. It became unreadable.
“If you must know, I circled the date because I knew Tanya was coming today,” she said smoothly. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“Huh,” said Fabian. “Then why didn’t you just say so, instead of biting my head off?” He snatched his book and, looking decidedly grumpy, headed for the door. “I’m going back to my room.”
“I think I’ll go back to mine too,” said Tanya. “I’ve still got some unpacking to do.”
“All right,” said Rowan, meeting her eyes. The look in them was challenging, as though she knew Tanya had lied about the unpacking.
Tanya shut the door behind her and stood in the hallway. She did not enjoy lying, but it was something she had grown accomplished at over the years. Consequently, she had also learned to recognize when she was being lied to.
So, standing in the cool, dark hallway with her back to the door, she trusted her own judgement enough to know that Rowan had just lied about the meaning of the date on the calendar.
She just didn’t know why.
The cottage had been without an owner for several months. For a long time it had been a feared place, but news of its owner’s death had spread, and the deserted woods surrounding it began to stir once more.
Inside, cold ash was all that remained in the grate of the fireplace. Jars and bottles cluttered the surfaces, their contents untouched, and around the edges of the cottage, cages stood empty, doors open. Animal skins of all kinds hung from the rafters, stiff and dried and no longer dripping. Below them the stone floor was dotted with old, dark stains, but the tangy scent of blood no longer filled the air.
Rowan stepped into the center of the cottage, her heart drumming a familiar beat of fear. She kicked aside the animal pelt on the floor, revealing the trapdoor beneath. Slowly, slowly, she descended the staircase into the cellar, not wanting to, but unable to fight the need to know what the cellar held.
The stench hit her a few steps down, sending her reeling. It was the smell of dead, rotten things. Covering her nose with her hand she urged herself to the bottom. Blindly stumbling in the darkness, she felt her feet hit something solid on the floor. A body. Suppressing a scream, she recoiled, allowing herself a moment of composure. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, and she was able to make out the dark shapes littering the cellar. Only one remained upright. As she edged toward it, her breathing quickened. It was slumped forward, one wrist encircled in an iron manacle. Greasy black hair fell over the face. There was no movement.
She moved closer. Things crunched under her boots, glinting in the light filtering down. Fragments of mirror, eggshell, and a curse that had gone horribly wrong. She remembered it all. She stopped in front of the motionless figure, trembling. Only then did she realize she had something clenched in her sweating hand. She looked down and found a key there.
Reaching forward, she jammed the key into the iron manacle and jiggled it around, trying to unlock it. Something was in there, some wedge of dirt perhaps, preventing it from turning.
The hand in the manacle sprang to life, grabbing her wrist. Rowan screamed, dropping the key as the head snapped up. Two black eyes burned in a waxen face, emanating hatred.
“I’m sorry…” she babbled in terror. “I’m sorry—”
The lips in the face parted, breaking a thin seal of crusted spittle. The face loomed as the hand pulled her nearer… nearer… and three words were spat into her face.
“YOU… LEFT… ME…!”
Rowan awoke, trembling and soaked in perspiration. The dream clung to her like a cobweb. It was the same dream she’d been having for months now. Everything about it felt so real: the memory of the hanging animal skins, the trapdoor, the cellar… the stench. She threw the covers back, sniffing at herself self-consciously. All she could smell was her own sweat. She shook herself, forcing it out of her mind. She would not think about it. Not now. She had other things to attend to, and drifting off to sleep hadn’t been part of the plan.
She glanced worriedly at the clock but found that she had only dozed off for about ten minutes. It was late now, past eleven o’clock, and gradually the manor was going silent. Only Warwick was yet to go to bed, his heavy footsteps clumping through the house as he locked up for the night. Finally, she heard his boots on the stairs, then the sliver of light beneath her door vanished as Warwick turned off the light in the hallway. She heard his door close, and then silence.
She waited another twenty minutes to give him the chance to drop off to sleep. Silently, she drew back the covers and slid out of bed, fully clothed, and then padded silently to her bookshelf. From there she removed the slip of paper tucked into one of the books and cast her eyes over it again in the moonlight from the window. There was a map, roughly drawn in pencil, and a few lines of writing—a scrawled instruction. Committing both to memory, she crossed to the fireplace, took a box of matches from the mantelpiece, and lit one. In the darkness of the room the yellow light glowed brilliantly, the hiss of the flame loud. She held the piece of paper to it until it caught, then put it carefully in the empty grate. By the time she had collected her fox-skin coat from the wardrobe and slipped her knife into her belt, the paper had curled and blackened and fallen away to ash.
With a final glance around the room, Rowan crept to the door and opened it, stooping to collect her boots on the way out. In the hallway she paused
for a split second outside Tanya’s room, half-wishing she could knock. Swallowing down her regret, she continued onward, down the stairs and toward the front door. All was well until she reached the little table upon which the telephone stood. Something warm and soft moved beneath her right foot. An angry yowl pierced the silence.
Spitfire shot out from under the table and fled to the grandfather clock, stopping to lick his matted tail where it had been stepped on. His single eye glowed through the darkness in a demon glare.
Rowan remained still, alert for signs that anyone had awoken. There were none. Edging down the hallway, she took her key from the hook and quietly opened the front door. Stepping outside, she pulled the door to and inserted her key to hold the latch back until the door was closed. On the porch she slipped her boots on and laced them. Then, standing up, she drew the fox-skin coat around her shoulders and fastened the clasp. The transformation, as always, was instant. Every hair follicle twitched, as though red-brown fur really was growing all over her. The night loomed large as she shrank into it, yet all her senses magnified and became pin-sharp.
Then she was off, over the courtyard and through the gates into the lanes beyond Elvesden Manor. The dream had been pushed into the furthest corners of her mind.
Tanya’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Spitfire’s yowl. She lay quiet for a moment as sleep pulled at her, wondering if perhaps Oberon had dared to get too close to the crotchety old cat, but this seemed unlikely. She was almost asleep again when a draught unexpectedly whistled past her ears. It was enough to wake her fully, sending her eyes to the windowsill, where she expected to see Gredin, Raven, and the Mizhog. But there were no fairies.
She sat up. Somewhere in the house, a door had opened. She slid out of bed and crossed to the bathroom. Faint gurgles and gargles could be heard coming from the drain-dweller in the plughole. She ignored them and quietly entered Rowan’s room, sniffing at a smoky scent. Something had been burning. Approaching the bed, Tanya reached out.
“Rowan,” she whispered. “Are you awake? I think there’s someone in the house!”
Her hand sank into the empty bedclothes. Where was Rowan?
She hurried back to her room, throwing on jeans, a sweater, socks, and sneakers. Then she left her room and tiptoed across the landing to Fabian’s door. From Nell’s room, next to Fabian’s, loud snores were making the floor practically vibrate. Tanya twisted the doorknob and slipped into Fabian’s room, closing the door behind her.
The lamp was on, but Fabian was fast asleep, still wearing his glasses. His right cheek rested against some loose pages. He had evidently fallen asleep while reading them. Tanya leaned closer, wrinkling her nose at the gusts of stale, dragon-like breath coming from Fabian’s wide-open mouth.
She reached out and poked him. “Fabian! Wake up.”
His eyes flickered open momentarily, then shut again. “Drain-dwellers took it,” he mumbled, and started to turn over.
“Fabian!” She pulled back the covers. Fabian huddled up like a squirrel at the sudden lack of warmth. Tanya prodded him again.
“Rowan’s gone!” she whispered fiercely. “Get up, quickly!”
Fabian shot up in bed, a page stuck to his cheek.
“Gone where? What?” He straightened his glasses and peeled the piece of paper away from his face.
“I don’t know!” Tanya hissed, throwing a rumpled shirt and trousers at him from off the floor. “That’s the point. Get dressed; we’re going after her. Nice pajamas, by the way.”
Fabian blinked sleepily and peered down at himself. A brightly colored solar system was printed on the dark blue fabric.
She turned to face the door to allow him to get changed, but he appeared beside her so quickly that she realized he’d simply pulled his clothes on over his pajamas.
“Let’s go.”
They crept downstairs, walking a short distance apart to minimize creaks. When they reached the clock, Spitfire slunk out of their way as they passed.
Fabian grabbed some socks from a pile of laundry in the hallway. “Darn it, Nell,” he muttered to himself. “These socks aren’t properly dry.” He pulled them on anyway, grimacing, and they backed away from the stairs toward the kitchen. There, Tanya quickly put a leash on Oberon.
“Did you even see which way she went?” asked Fabian. “Front or back?”
Tanya shook her head. “I didn’t see anything. But I think we should go the front way. If Rowan’s been so intent on keeping fairies away, then it doesn’t make sense for her to head toward the woods that are full of them.”
“Good thinking,” said Fabian. “Now, where’s my other shoe?”
Oberon stepped behind Tanya as Fabian huffily pulled his missing shoe, lightly nibbled, from Oberon’s basket. Fabian glared at the dog and tugged the shoe on with as much dignity as he could muster.
“You were right. Rowan’s key is missing,” he whispered as they opened the front door. He took his own front door key from his pocket.
Outside, there was no crunching across the gravel. This time they stuck to the path through the forecourt.
“We’re going to have to run,” said Tanya, once they were safely through the gates. Broken moonlight played on the dirt road through the gaps in the trees. “She’s got at least five minutes on us. She could be anywhere.”
“Head for the bus stop,” said Fabian. “All the main routes out go from there.”
They began to run, wordlessly, side by side, with Oberon slightly ahead. Five minutes later they neared the junction.
“Slow down,” Fabian said, his chest heaving for breath. “If she’s close by, she could hear us running.”
They continued forward, though with Oberon’s heavy panting a quiet approach seemed unlikely. Tanya stared in both directions, searching the lanes. They were quiet even during the day. At night, they were deserted.
“We’re too late,” she said in dismay, seeing nothing. “We’ve lost her.”
“Don’t give up yet,” said Fabian. “She would only have gone this way”—he nodded to the left—“or that way, toward Tickey End. Let’s just pick one and take a chance. We can’t be that far behind.”
Tanya turned from side to side. She was desperate to know where Rowan was—what was going on. “You decide,” she said finally. “I feel like whichever way I choose will be the wrong one.”
Fabian raked a hand through his bushy hair.
“Tickey End,” he said at last, as a look of recognition lit up his face. “I’ve just remembered something. Last week after school I saw her speaking to a homeless girl on the street. She acted like she didn’t know her, but I heard the girl call her ‘Red.’ I didn’t think of it until just now, but that’s when she started acting cagey. It’s something to do with that girl, I’m sure of it.” He started to walk. “Come on.”
Tanya made to follow, but a sudden jerk on her arm made her stop. Oberon was resisting, staring in the opposite direction with his nose twitching and his ears pricked up, alert.
“Wait,” she said.
“What’s up with him?” Fabian said impatiently.
“He doesn’t want to go that way,” said Tanya. “He’s pulling to go the other way. He’s scented something—it must be Rowan!”
They followed Oberon along the narrow lane, walking as quickly as they could while still remaining quiet. Less than a minute later, they followed the road over the crest of a hill. Before them, the lane spread out. There was no sign of Rowan’s boyish figure anywhere. Yet the road was not quite empty, for a small animal was skirting along the shoulder. They both saw it at once.
“Of course,” Fabian breathed. “That’s her. She’s wearing the fox-skin coat!”
“It could just be a fox,” said Tanya.
Fabian shook his head. “Look at the way it’s moving. It’s sticking to the edges but it’s bold as brass. Real foxes are more alert for predators, I’m sure of it.” His nostrils flared indignantly. “What’s she playing at? I say we just catch her up and conf
ront her!”
“Don’t be nuts,” said Tanya. “She wouldn’t tell us a thing if we did that. The only way we’ll find out what she’s up to is by following her. If she’d wanted us to know what was going on she would have told us, wouldn’t she? Instead she’s chosen to sneak out in the middle of the night without saying a word.” Her throat tightened. “I thought she trusted us.”
“So did I,” said Fabian, bitterly. “Just shows that we don’t really know her at all.”
They set off, keeping at a safe distance from the fox-form up ahead. Thin wisps of cloud scudded across the moon overhead, and the stars winked at them.
“Keep to the edge of the road,” Fabian whispered. “Walking on the grass is quieter, and it means we can hide in the hedges if she turns around.”
They continued through the darkness, taking the lead from the fox. Once or twice the vixen slipped out of view, causing a flurry of panicked whispers between them, before one of them caught sight of her once more and the trail picked up again.
“Does she even know where she’s going?” Fabian whispered.
They had been walking for nearly thirty minutes and, despite the coolness of the night, Tanya’s cheeks burned with heat. Now that her senses had adapted to being outside in the night, she was picking up strains of whispering fey creatures and a few rustles from the trees surrounding them. Their presence was not going unnoticed.
“Maybe she doesn’t have a particular place in mind,” she replied. “For all we know, she’s running away.”
“Why would she run away?” Fabian spluttered. “She always says how much she likes it at Elvesden Manor. And, anyway, she hasn’t taken any of her stuff. It looks like all she’s got is the coat on her back.”
“I know,” Tanya said patiently. “But she’s used to coping with having nothing.”
“That still doesn’t explain why.”
“Something’s rattled her,” said Tanya. “That’s the only explanation. She’s scared anyway, it’s obvious from the way she keeps her room full of protection against fairies. I think it’s something to do with that girl in Tickey End. Are you sure you didn’t hear what they were talking about?”