Like Lee, I did not sleep a wink that night. Each time I closed my eyes I imagined myself back in Sparrow’s white room of pain, her voice everywhere around me, outside of me, within me. What would have happened if I’d stayed to be tortured? Lying had felt like an impossibility, and only my powers had saved me from revealing the truth to her. Now I knew why Chijioke had warned me so thoroughly; they were dangerous, very dangerous, and not to be trusted.
But then, who was to be trusted?
The book. He wanted the book. In Mr. Morningside’s journals I had learned it was called the Black Elbion, but in my mind I only ever thought of the word BOOK in huge, ominous letters. I reluctantly called the man I’d known as Croydon Frost Father in my head as I considered his motivations and his ultimate desire. He had come here in disguise, and he had already lied to me repeatedly about who and what he was. And he had murdered or at least incapacitated Sparrow and Finch’s third companion. Mr. Morningside had told me quite clearly that endangering the book meant endangering his existence, and that without him the world would fall into chaos. Had that been a lie, too?
I felt so, so tired, pulled in every direction. Everyone wanted something. The problem now became: Who would get what they wanted, and who would become my enemy? If I helped Mr. Morningside find the location of this book he wanted so badly, then I was striking a blow against my father, and perhaps even against the world I belonged to. If Father was to be believed, then there was a kingdom of Dark Fae and all sorts out there waiting to be found, cursed to sleep forever by Mr. Morningside and the shepherd. Would that place be destroyed altogether if they found the book that sustained it?
After Sparrow’s attack upon me, I certainly felt no allegiance to the shepherd. But nor did I feel any kinship toward my father. Perhaps others would want to find that their estranged family member was actually a god, but it only filled me with dread. He was embroiled in a centuries-long dispute, which meant I, by extension, was caught up in it, too. He spoke of war, and I did not belong in a war. Now I would be required to choose a side, and the most obvious side was the Devil’s. After all, we had signed a contract, one that might just see me out of Coldthistle for good. But then, my plan had to shift now, for there was no telling if I could still get so much as a penny from Father.
The safest way out, I decided, was out. Not just for me, but for all of us. But did I really trust Mr. Morningside to honor our agreement? He had admitted that releasing all of his employees would be a major inconvenience. Perhaps he had no intention of seeing our bargain through.
There came to be only one truth I could depend upon entirely: I needed to extricate myself from this tangled web of grudges, deceit, and magic. That extrication, however, would require just a little more deceit. I would strike a deal, a new one, and not with the Devil but with my father: the Black Elbion for my freedom, and enough coin to get me comfortably to London, and from there? Comfortably normal.
It would be risky handing over the black book to my father, but then, how far would he really get with it on the grounds of Coldthistle? He was surrounded by enemies, and even if he wore his disguise while he tried to waltz out the door with the book, Mrs. Haylam would surely notice someone toying with her magicks.
I came to my decision when it was not yet dawn. A smidgen of night yet remained, perhaps enough to find my way to the upper floors, to the great, empty ballroom there only to house the book. Getting there without being seen was a cumbersome task, of course, but now I had the means to do it. Or at least, I had the means to get to the book, but perhaps not the way to leave.
Searching the room, I ran my hands along the sills and under the bed, hunting and hunting until I found what I was looking for—a fly.
It gave a half-hearted attempt at escape, but I quickly scooped it off the windowsill and into my hands, apologizing softly before smashing it to bits. I wiped off the black stain on the carpet and went to the door, opening it just a crack. The corridor was empty, but I knew that any moment a Resident might float by on its rounds. Taking a deep breath, I braced for the pain to come, pouring all of my thoughts into the fly, into its shape and size.
Somehow it was less uncomfortable this time, or I was prepared, and with a soft pop my skin and bones contorted, reshaped, shrank and shrank until I was just a tiny buzzing thing tripping through the air. More than the pain, the sensation of bobbing along with wings was disorienting, walls, floor, and ceiling all magnified and yet hazy, the slightest puff of wind blowing me completely off course. As I bumbled my way down the hallway, weaving clumsily, I nearly flew headlong into a Resident. It had emerged from the staircase above, silently turning the corner and drifting toward my room.
I narrowly avoided its blurred edge, the barely there gust of wind it created sending me spiraling toward the wall. It stopped, cold, black presence spinning slowly until its little shadow eyes found me. Nearer and nearer it came, until its face was level with me, following my path, floating next to me as I pumped my small wings desperately, heading for the staircase.
For a moment it followed, then lost interest and floated away, taking with it the chilly air of unease and dread. The effort of flying and of keeping this form was beginning to tax me greatly. I fought the exhaustion, buzzing my way up the stairs, and up again, and seeing in almost all directions I spied another Resident, though this one did not come to investigate. Still, even with that boon I was running out of time—any moment my strength would fail and my true shape be revealed.
My sight was nearly gone, blackened with weariness, when I reached the long, vaulted ballroom at the top of the house.
I flew as far as I could, invigorated by the emptiness of the room. There were no Residents guarding the book! They were practically making this too simple. On and on I coasted, until I reached the place where I had last beheld the book. And I stopped, and I fell, and I tumbled into my own human body as I landed in the dust.
There it was—not the book, but the shape of it stamped into the grime. They had moved it. I stood, naked and furious with myself. Of course they would move it. Had I not heard Mrs. Haylam and Mr. Morningside’s whispered conversation? They were nervous, and the book was too important to leave out in the open with so many suspicions lingering in the air.
I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered, miserable. This had all been for nothing, and now I had to find a way back to my chambers without a stitch of clothing. After two transformations in one evening I was beyond tired, my reserves of vigor more than tapped. I turned and tiptoed out of the ballroom, cursing my stupidity but also floundering in my mind, casting about for some new plan.
Peering out into the upper halls, I waited for a Resident to come swooping down and find me. Looking around the corner, I saw one waiting at the end of the corridor, its ugly, big-mouthed face turned away from me. I took the opportunity and dashed to the stairs, running and running, not caring or slowing down until I reached my floor. God, I was lucky, for there were none that I could see, and I rushed down toward my door, then froze—ah, of course, nobody could be that fortunate. A Resident hovered just outside my door, waiting, though it, too, was focused on the room itself, as if it sensed that I was not where I should be.
The door just to my left opened, a bed-frazzled Mary squinting out from behind a candleholder.
“What are you doing up?” She gasped at my state and pulled off her own dressing gown, tossing it around my shoulders and herding me inside. “Why . . . Why on earth are you wandering the halls at night like that?”
I let her pull me away from the door as she shut it, and I tried not to sound too catatonic with relief as I shuffled with her toward the bed. “Thank you, Mary, I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me. I . . .” I have no good reason to give you. “I must have been sleepwalking.”
“Sleepwalking!” Mary laughed, carrying the candle to the bedside table and sitting, leaving plenty of room for me to take the other half of the bed. “Louisa, if you are prone to such things, you must really learn to dress properly before bed.”
“Go ahead, laugh,” I said, sighing. I snuggled down into the warm housecoat and tried to relax. It didn’t work. My body was almost agonizingly spent, but my brain would not stop turning over and over the uncertainties hanging over me. “Mary, I know this probably isn’t the time to ask, but I need to know something. . . .”
“Amelia,” she said sadly. Mary’s green eyes grew dim, and she looked toward the window and the moonless night. “I’m well again, Louisa, and I should be back to work, but Mrs. Haylam does not trust me anymore. She thinks I stepped out of line, you know, that I killed Amelia. But I didn’t! I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it.”
I reached for her hand, squeezing it hard. “I knew it! I didn’t believe for a second that you would do such a thing. And anyway, are you even capable of that? I only ever saw you shield people with your powers. Shield me.”
Mary smiled shyly, tucking her knees up to her chest. The candle made her skin glow softly, and it was a relief to see her so rested and well, it lifted my heart just a little, and that did a world of good. “I think they just need to blame someone, and if they don’t point a finger at the shepherd’s people, then it will keep the peace. They don’t want to start a war, and I suppose that means I must be punished.”
“But that’s awful!” I blurted. “I think it was Sparrow. She’s horrid. Just tonight she tried to Judge me or whatever it is, and if I hadn’t found a way to escape I think she might have, I don’t know, taken it all the way.”
“Oh, Louisa, you mustn’t trust them. I know it sounds cold, but there’s a reason our kind never get along with them. We’re not the same, and we must stick together.” She gave me a gentle pat on the hand. Her eyes brightened, and she looked filled with sudden excitement. “I mean we must stick together, Louisa. You and I.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You’re my friend, Mary, even though I am often a very bad friend.”
“You mustn’t say that.” Mary sighed and put down the candle, now clasping my hand with both of hers. “Listen to me, we’re different, you and I. Chijioke and Poppy, they are nice, of course, but they are Unworlders.”
My brow furrowed as I searched her freckled face. “And so are we.”
“No, Louisa; they take us in, even protect us, but I’m born of a fairy’s spring, and you’re from Dark Fae blood as old as memory itself. This”—she gestured to the room, the house— “this is theirs. We’re visitors as surely as the shepherd and his flock.”
She wasn’t having me on, her frown never subsiding into a teasing laugh. “Why have you never told me this before?”
“Because . . .” She shrugged, letting go of my hand. “Because I was safe before and they trusted me. Now I don’t know what to do or where to go. Why would I want to stay here with people who think I’m capable of murdering for fun? And anyway, does it matter? I’ve told you now and that’s what counts, right?”
“Amelia was going to die anyway,” I said. “That’s why she was here.”
“Not like that. Mrs. Haylam says there is an order to things, and now she thinks I violated that order. They won’t kick me out, of course they won’t, but she will never look at me the same way again.” Mary sighed and jutted out her lip. “I hate that.”
After a moment, I stood, the full brunt of my exhaustion hitting me hard. I needed to at least lie down, though sleep would do me wonders. I hesitated next to the bed, lost, feeling sorry for her but also afraid. Every moment that passed I knew even less about myself, and about where I stood in the world.
“If I can find a way to leave and take you with me, would you go?” I asked.
Mary’s green eyes widened, lashes fluttering. “Oh yes. Please, Louisa, could we go? But where would we go?”
“I . . . don’t know that yet. I believe I’ve found a way to come into some money soon; perhaps I could use it to take us far away. To London. Or farther. I know it sounds far-fetched but I really am trying, and I think my plans just might work.”
She hopped out of the bed and flung herself at me, hugging me hard. I walked with her to the door, and she embraced me again as I turned the knob and peered out into the hall, checking for Residents. There was nobody there, though I could feel that dawn was close, and I would get very little rest.
“Nobody,” I told her. “Here,” I added, shrugging out of her housecoat and handing it back. “Almost ran off in that, wouldn’t want to accidentally steal your good-luck charm.”
Mary had begun to turn away, then laughed. “My what?”
“Your lucky charm,” I said. “Chijioke said you always have it on you. To rub for good fortune.”
“Oh.” Her brows knitted again and then she smiled, a strange, hot glow on her cheeks. I had forgotten my nakedness, aware then that she was fidgeting nervously. “Right. The, the . . .”
She was acting very strangely. I wonder . . .
“The coin,” I supplied, giving a falsely teasing wink. “How could you forget, Mary?”
“Yes! Of course. Brain must still be asleep, ha! My lucky coin, aye, don’t you run off with it!” She shook the housecoat at me playfully and I blinked, hard, feeling my heart plummet to my toes. I stared at the back of her head as she turned toward the bed, and a cold, merciless rage flooded through me, suppressed only by the lump in my throat.
A fish. Her good-luck charm was a fish.
I left, striding quickly toward my room. Behind me, I heard her sweetly calling, “Good night!”
“Good night,” I choked out, flinging open the door to my room. I sank down at once, curling up on the cold, hard floor. The tears were immediate and sobering.
A drop of blood, a lock of hair, lands you in the Changeling’s snare.
“Which did you take, Father? Blood or hair?” I whispered into my hands. Mary. God. Where was the real Mary? What did he do to her? How long had he been masquerading in her image?
I stood and wiped blindly at the tears on my cheeks. The bed felt nearly as cold as the floor, for there was no comfort to be found that night. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and bared my teeth to the darkness. “It had better be the lock of hair, Father. For your sake.”