Everybody had to wake the hell up.
CHAPTER 18
Hazel had never slept in the same bed with a boy who wasn’t her brother. She figured it would highlight all the things about relationships that she wasn’t good at. She imagined she’d toss and turn, steal blankets, kick in her sleep, and then feel guilty about it. What she didn’t count on was how it would feel to pillow her head against Jack’s arm. Or how warm his skin would be or that it gave her a chance to drink in the smell of him—forests and glens and deep drowning pools—without his noticing. She hadn’t known how solid he’d feel. She couldn’t have guessed how he’d run his hand over her back, lazily, as if he didn’t know how to stop touching her, or how she’d shiver when he did.
For the first time since he’d said the words, Hazel allowed herself to luxuriate in them. I just want to say that I like you. I like you, he’d told her just before she’d informed him she’d been in the Alderking’s service. I like you, just before she admitted she had not told him a ton of stuff about herself. It had all happened so fast and it had been so hard to believe.
Which meant that she’d never told him she liked him back.
She could tell him now—wake him up and say something. Or maybe he was half-awake, the way she felt half-asleep. Maybe she could whisper in his ear. While she was puzzling that over, she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Her brother came into her bedroom without knocking, carrying three mugs of coffee. Behind him, lounging in the doorway, holding a mug of his own, was the horned boy. Severin, in Ben’s clothes, looking as comfortable there as he ever had in the woods. Severin, whom she was supposed to hunt. Severin, whom she’d freed. Severin, who gave her a wicked smile.
Hazel pushed down blankets, yawning. Sliding out of bed, she grabbed up a hair chopstick off her dresser and pointed it at him, as though it were a blade, then used it to bind up her hair.
Severin saluted her with his cup of coffee. “I see you still haven’t found my sword.” He raised his brows, a small smile on his face, and took a sip from his cup. Despite everything, she blushed.
Ben walked across the room and held out a cup of coffee to his sister like a peace offering.
She took a deep sip, but her exhaustion was beyond the reach of caffeine. Still the liquid was warm, clouded with soy milk, and it washed the taste of crying out of her mouth. She sat down hard on the chair beside her mirror. “What’s going on?”
“There’s some kind of town meeting at your house,” Ben told Jack. “About how Amanda and the stuff at school have something to do with not returning you to Faerieland. About how they want to give you back. We’ve got to get you out of here—we’ve got to get you someplace where they’re not going to find you.”
“What?” Jack’s eyes went wide. He ran a hand over his face, over his hair. “My mom thinks that?”
“He’s not a pet that you can just rehome,” Hazel said.
“I don’t think your parents have anything to do with this,” Ben said. “I think it’s a bunch of scared people being stupid.”
“That’s why she sent me away.” Jack said the words softly, as if he wanted them to be true but was afraid of being wrong. “It wasn’t because she didn’t want me in the house. It was because she knew everyone was coming. But she’s—but they’re going to blame my family if I’m not there.” He started shoving his feet into his shoes.
“Jack, everyone in town is going to be there,” Hazel said. “You know this isn’t your fault. This has nothing to do with you. Nothing.”
“That’s what I’m going to tell them,” he said, and started out of the room and down the stairs.
“I’m going, too.” Hazel grabbed for her boots, not bothering to put them on. She turned to Ben. “You keep him here. You have to keep him here until we get back.”
She ran down the stairs, Severin’s voice following her. “I think I’d rather come. I tire of people talking about me as though I am still asleep.”
But by the time she got out to the lawn, she saw Jack starting her brother’s car. He must have known where Ben kept the spare key. She barely had time to get in on the passenger side before he pulled out onto the road.
The Gordon house—cream with white trim and no peeling paint anywhere—was a shingle-style colonial in perfect condition. It sat on a slight hill, overlooking smaller and shabbier houses. It was big, old, and lovingly restored—big enough to entertain half the town, which was good, because, from the look of it, half the town was inside.
Cars parked along the side of the driveway had dug tire trenches in Mr. Gordon’s grass. She’d seen Jack’s dad out there all through the summer, mowing and watering and seeding, the skin of his brow shining with sweat. No one crossed his front lawn, not the mailman, not Carter’s or Jack’s friends, not even the dog, who knew to stay in the backyard if he wanted to run. Muddy grooves slashing up all Mr. Gordon’s work unsettled Hazel. It was as though the rules had suddenly changed.
Jack’s hands curled into loose fists as he walked—faster and faster.
Yanking open the front door, he stepped into the hallway. Inside, all the woodwork was painted a crisp, shiny white. It gleamed in the sun-filled rooms where people stood around or sat on folding chairs, balancing Styrofoam cups of tea on their laps. Ottomans and chairs had clearly been brought from all over the house to accommodate the sheer number of people. No one seemed to have noticed their entrance.
Mrs. Pitts, who worked at the post office, was shaking her head at Jack’s mother. “Nia, it’s not as though anyone prefers things to be this way. We can’t help thinking that—well, what you did, it strained our relationship with the forest people. It’s not a coincidence that they got worse around the time you stole Jack from them.”
Was that true? Hazel had been a child herself then, barely born. When people said things used to be better, that the Folk had once been less bloodthirsty, she thought they’d been referring to decades back, not the short length of her life span.
When had things started to go bad?
“We need to put things right,” said the sheriff. “In the last month, something has been going on in the woods. Some of you might have heard about a few incidents that didn’t make it into the paper and probably everyone heard about what happened at the school. Amanda Watkins wasn’t the first person we found in a coma. There was a drifter kid near the edge of town a month back. The place was overgrown, vines so big they practically covered his car. And Brian Kenning two weeks later, while he was playing in the woods behind his family’s place, found curled up in a pile of leaves. They’re moving against us, the faeries, and if anyone hoped that that horned boy waking up meant he was going to save us, I think it’s clear by now that he’s not.”
Hazel thought of the Alderking’s promise—if she brought him Severin, things in town would go back to normal, would be as ever they were. As if that were a generous offer. She’d believed she knew how bad things were in Fairfold, she’d believed that she knew all its secrets. But it turned out she’d been far from right.
What would I do if you gave me leave? The little faerie had said. What would I do if you gave me leave? What wouldn’t I do?
“We can’t trust the boy,” said Mr. Schröder. “Even if they don’t want him back, I don’t want him here. It’s too dangerous.”
All through the summer she worked at Lucky’s, Hazel had liked Mr. Schröder. Now she hated him.
“Jack is friends with both of my kids,” Mom said. “I’ve known him all my life. Blaming him, just because he’s the only one of the Folk most of us have ever met, is wrong. He’s been raised here. He’s a citizen of Fairfold, just like the rest of us.”
Hazel felt a profound sense of relief that her mother had spoken, but she could tell the others weren’t convinced. They’d already decided.
“The Folk were good to us in Fairfold,” put in old Ms. Kirtling, standing underneath some Spanish-American War sabers, looking particularly indomitable. She’d been mayor many years ago and had,
as much as anyone could recall, been decent at it. “We had an understanding. Something scuppered that.”
“They haven’t always been good to us,” Jack’s mother said in a quelling tone. “Don’t you try to rewrite history just to make what you’re asking easier. No, it’s no coincidence they got worse around when Jack came to us—if you’ll recall, they didn’t used to take our children the way they took Carter.”
“Well, maybe good’s too strong a word,” Ms. Kirtling said. “But you can’t deny that living in this town is different from other places. And you can’t deny that you like it here, because you dragged that man of yours back from that Ivy League school instead of going off with him. If normal was what you wanted, then you’d be living in Chicago. And there would never have been a Jack anyway.”
Beside Hazel, Jack tensed.
“Now, you got your son back from Themselves and you even got to raise one of theirs for a good long while, despite having no claim on him except the poor judgment of his mother. But you can’t have thought you’d keep him forever.”
Hazel had seen the college brochures on the Gordon sideboard. His mother had absolutely been planning on forever. Looking around the room, Hazel identified teachers from school, shopkeepers, the parents of people she’d known her whole life, even a few kids. Most of them nodding, acting as if handing over Jack to the faeries was more than just the means of assuaging their fears.
After all, in Fairfold, the Folk only hurt tourists, so if you got hurt, you must be acting like a tourist, right? You must have done something wrong. Someone must have done something wrong. So long as there was someone else to blame, no one ever had to admit how powerless they were.
“It’s like when you find one of those adorable little buzzard babies,” said Lexie Carver, Franklin’s sister and one of the youngest women there. Her family was infamous in town for eating roadkill and—if rumor was to be believed—had a bit of troll in their distant bloodline. “You want to take it home and take care of it and feed it little bits of steak, but if you do, you’ll drive the hunting instinct right out. It won’t be able to survive on its own later, when it needs to. He doesn’t belong here, Nia. It’s not good for him. It’s not right.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s a little too late for that metaphor?” Carter said, unfolding himself from where he’d apparently been hiding on the stairs. “The damage is done. She already fed him the little bits of steak or whatever. What you’re really saying is that Jack won’t be able to survive if we send him back.”
“Carter,” Jack’s mother said, her tone indicating that he wasn’t supposed to have spoken.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, about to swing back to his spot on the stairs, then he startled, noticing Jack and Hazel standing in the hallway opposite him.
“We’ll take all you’ve said under advisement, but I hope you understand that this is a decision for the family and—” Jack’s mom began, but when she followed Carter’s gaze, her whole body went rigid. All around the room the buzz of conversation flared up and then went silent as townsfolk slowly realized that the person they’d been discussing was standing there, listening to every word.
“I’ll go,” Jack spoke into the silence.
There was only the gentle clinking sound of teacups being returned to saucers. No one seemed to know what to say.
“Yeah,” Hazel said, maybe a little bit too loudly, grabbing for his arm, pretending a misunderstanding. “You’re right. Let’s go. As in let’s get out of here. Now.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, I’ll go. I’ll go back to them. If that’s what you all want, I’ll go.”
His mother shook her head. “You’re staying.” Her voice was steely, challenging, but around the room Hazel could see people nodding to one another. They’d already accepted his offer. Those few words, in a town like this, made a compact that might not be able to be undone.
At least, if he didn’t say something right then.
“You can’t,” Hazel said, but Jack just shook his head.
“Tell them,” she pleaded. “Tell them about the Alderking and Sorrow. Tell them the truth. I can vouch for you.”
“They won’t believe me,” he told her. “And they’ll find some reason not to believe you, either.”
“Nia, be reasonable. Maybe he doesn’t want to stay with us. We’re not his people.” One of the women was speaking. Hazel didn’t notice which, because the rush of blood to her head made the beating of her heart seem to drum out all other thoughts. Her chest felt too tight, and all the colors of the room seemed to smear together.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Carter said. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Jack whirled toward his brother, clearly frustrated. “You don’t get to make my decisions for me.”
“How about I go? Maybe they’re mad I got stolen back from them, did anyone ever think of that?” Carter looked around the room defiantly, as though daring them to tell him he wasn’t a prize. “Maybe they’d like to have me and not him at all.”
“That’s very noble,” Ms. Kirtling said. “But I don’t think—”
“Jack, listen to me.” His mother crossed the room toward him. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt when you could prevent it, even if that means putting yourself in danger. You’re a good boy, a boy who puts himself before other people, and so you have, volunteering where these cowards thought they’d have to force you or trick you.” She looked around the room, daring anyone to contradict her. “They believe your father and I will insist you not go at first, but in the end, we’d put the welfare of the town before your welfare. They think that when push comes to shove, we’d give you up. And I bet your other family thinks so, too.”
Around the room there were whispered comments.
Jack looked stunned. His face had gone blank in what might have been surprise but was also certainly fear of what she might say next.
His mother looked over at her husband. He was standing against one wall, arms folded across his chest. “Your mom and I had a long talk about this last night,” he said. “As far as we’re concerned, the whole town can burn; what we care about is you.”
At that, Jack laughed in clear surprise and maybe delight and maybe even a little embarrassment. It was an odd reaction, however, and Hazel could see that register on the faces of the townspeople. Faeries laughed at funerals and wept at weddings; they didn’t have human feelings for human things.
“This is turning into a real show,” Ms. Holt said, pursing coral-lipsticked lips and putting a hand to her eyes. Her fingers came away wet. She let out of soft sob and looked around in confusion.
Then the police chief began to weep. Around the room it spread. Tears sprang to eyes. Hazel’s mother gave a broken wail and began to pull at her hair.
Hazel looked toward Jack. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He shook his head, as though what was happening could be denied. Sorrow was here. Hazel heard her in her head. It was like being caught in the current of a river. Like a diver who had lost any sense of direction, thrashing around, not sure which way is up…
Hazel blinked. Jack was finishing tying a knot into her hair. He whispered against her neck, “You will not weep until I give you leave.”
He’d enchanted her against Sorrow’s spell. She realized her cheeks were wet. She had no idea how long she’d been lost to it, but around the room people wept and wailed still.
The front door slammed open and Ben ran into the room.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Ben’s voice had the effect of a glass crashing to the floor and shattering. Everyone stared. “The monster at the heart in the forest. She’s coming.”
Standing behind him was Severin. For a moment Hazel saw him as everyone in the room must. Tall and inhumanly beautiful, horns rising from his brown curls, moss-green eyes watching them. It didn’t matter that he was wearing ordinary clothes; he wasn’t ordinary. He was their vision of what faeries ought to be; he was the dream that brought them to Fairfold, th
at caused them to want to stay, despite all the dangers.
And in that moment, Hazel knew what they must feel, the mingled hope and terror. She felt it, too. He was her prince. She was supposed to save him and he was supposed to save her right back.
“Find cover,” Severin said, walking to the wall where the two sabers rested and pulling them from their sheaths in one smooth move that set the metal ringing. For a moment he held a sword in each hand, moving them as if to test their balance. Then, looking across the room, he grinned at Hazel and tossed her a blade.
She caught it before she knew that she could. It felt right in her hand, like an extension of her arm, like a missing limb restored to her. The weight of the saber was decent; it was obviously an actual sword and not some pot-metal reproduction. She wondered if it was expensive, because she was pretty sure she was going to ruin it on that monster’s hide.
Her blood began to race, thrilling through her veins.
“Normal blades can’t cut her,” Hazel said, moving toward the horned boy.
“We just need to drive her back,” he said, heading for the door. “Tire her out. She doesn’t really want to hurt anyone.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, right.”
Outside, wind shook the trees like rattles.
Across the room, a weeping Carter stood in front of their mother. Jack was stooped over his father, whispering in his ear, fingers fumbling in his gray hair.
Hazel braced herself. All her doubts rose at once. Her night self might have been trained by the Alderking, but her day self didn’t know how to fight any better than she had at twelve. And she didn’t have a magical sword anymore. She was going to make a hash of this.
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.
You’re a knight, she told herself. You’re a knight. A real knight.
When she opened her eyes, the monster was in the doorway. All around her, those not already weeping began to scream. Some ran for another room or the stairs, some blockaded themselves behind furniture, and a few more stood, as though turned to statues by their terror.