Branches sharp and stinging clawed at my face, but I knew my purpose now and nothing would stop me.
Mary was hurt. Mary was in danger. I would not let her slip through my grasp. Knife still in hand—for who could say what had given her cause to cry?—I followed the sound of her voice whenever it rose again. She had ceased calling for help and instead wept softly. My heart ached, and I panted, running, ignoring the burn in my chest and the cutting branches scraping at my cheeks.
The forest was deeper than it looked from a distance, but I soon reached a tiny clearing. Thank God for the moonlight, else I might have stumbled and broken my ankle as the ground dipped into a shallow divot. A few larger rocks were strewn around the clearing, and there was Mary, kneeling, clinging to one of those boulders. I ran toward her, elated and afraid, then dropped to her side. Her face lit up as she caught sight of me and she flung her arms around my neck, still crying.
“Louisa! You came!” She held me tightly and I held her back.
“Are you well? Did you fall?” I held her at arm’s length, inspecting her from head to foot. She had her same wild brown hair and green eyes, and those freckles clustered thickly over her nose, the same gentle Irish lilt to her voice. Her garments were travel stained and her hem and boots were caked with mud, as if she had walked a long distance. A light lavender cloak was bunched around her neck and shoulders, and she used it to dab her wet face. Her cheeks were too hollow, as if she had gone hungry, and it made her eyes look only larger and more innocent.
“I tripped,” she said, and gave a weak laugh. “So clumsy, can you believe it? This close to the house and I had to get tangled in my own feet.”
“Is your leg badly hurt?” I asked. It didn’t look twisted or swollen, but then her skirts hid most of her lower half. “Where did you come from? I went to the spring to summon you ages ago; did something go wrong?”
Mary gave a relieved laugh and wiped more at her face, then leaned against the rock and gazed into my eyes. She reached up and touched my hair, and I felt a surge of hope. I had not failed her completely. She was back, and now things might be the slightest bit more normal, if normal existed at Coldthistle House.
“You were perfect,” Mary assured me, taking my hand and squeezing it. “I was stuck in the Dusk Lands, it was just dreadful, and then I heard you call me back, call me through. But . . . I wasn’t ready to come back. I needed time. Time for myself.”
I nodded and looked away, a little shy. “Of course. I’m . . . I’m terribly nosy, I’m sorry. After what happened with Lee . . . Well. Nobody could expect you to be jumping at the chance to return. I’m sure I’m the last person you wanted to come to your aid.”
Mary seemed calmer and began to shimmy up the rock, putting careful pressure on her left foot. I jumped up and helped, letting her lean against my side as she stood. She winced, but otherwise looked ready to be upright.
“You came,” she said softly. “That’s what matters. Oh, I’m sure my leg is not as bad as I thought. I’m just so tired. . . . It was a long way. I thought the walk would help me, you know, help to put things right in my brain.”
“You walked all the way from Waterford? That . . . How?”
She giggled and swatted my shoulder. “No, Louisa, not all the way. I wanted to walk the last bit to . . .” Mary chewed over her answer for a long moment and then shrugged. “I wanted to walk the fields, get a feel for my home again.”
“In the dead of night?” I teased.
Mary’s answer was cut short. Her eyes widened as we both heard a bloodcurdling call emanating from deep in the woods. We froze, looking at one another. I had never heard anything like it—a high, unearthly wail, almost the scream of a Resident but less hollow, filled with the raw throatiness of an animal. It was not a wolf, or if it was, it was an unnatural one.
“I have a knife,” I whispered. “But let us hasten; you are in no fit state to fend off an animal. . . .”
“Hurry,” Mary agreed with a little hiccuping cry, pulling on my shoulder.
The shrill animal scream came again, and closer, and my spine rippled, warning me, primal fear of whatever the hell that was taking over. Heavy footsteps shook the clearing and the trees behind us as I tried my best to carry her toward the house. The thing was running now and Mary forgot her injury, taking my hand and yanking me across the clearing.
“We must hurry,” she shrieked, panting. “D-do something, Louisa, you must change, change into a bear, into anything—”
“Can you shield us?” I was panicking. A bear? How could I possibly do that? I could hardly change a spoon into a sad little knife! “Are you too exhausted?”
“I—I can’t. I—”
The creature broke through the trees and into the clearing, crushing a sapling under its massive foot with ease. My instinct to run was overtaken by sheer terror as a beast, upright as a man but furred as a wolf, crashed into the open. I opened my mouth to scream, huddling against Mary as she, too, stared in openmouthed horror at the creature. It was taller than a large man by at least a yard. Ripples of scarred muscle burst through its brown-black fur in places, and its face was pointed, almost fox-like. Narrow, glittering purple eyes found us at once, shining brighter as it chose its prey. I was trembling so fiercely I could hardly stand, but I did what I could, shoving Mary behind me, shielding her with my shaking body.
My eyes traveled slowly from its face to its hands, those, too, like a man’s but longer, capped with razor-like claws. A black sash around its middle rippled as it went low and then pounced, leaping toward us with a snarl. We must have both screamed but I couldn’t hear my own voice, not as its thick arm collided with my shoulder, knocking me to the ground.
There was a ringing in my ears as I tried to sit up, pain dulled by fear as I stumbled away from the tree I had hit and raised the knife. The creature had rounded on Mary, ignoring me completely, raising one of its clawed hands and preparing to strike.
I couldn’t say when the knife had transformed into a pistol, but it had. My terror as I flew through the air must have forced the change. Whatever caused it, I did not care, raising the gun and firing, reeling back as the bullet grazed the side of the creature’s face. It roared, that same horrible, animal scream filling the clearing. I clapped my hands over my ears, deafened, watching in mute horror as it swung toward me, purple eyes brighter even than the moon above.
Now I had drawn the creature’s attention and I had no idea what to do—the pistol held only one shot and I scrambled to change the spoon yet again, this time into a knife, a spear, anything. . . . But I was too unfocused, too panicked, and the beast was upon me, its black nose tracing the shape of my head before it snorted and showed me its fangs.
And it spoke.
I closed my eyes, feeling death near, smelling the musky scent of its fur and the grass and brambles caught in its coat. One crunch of its teeth and my throat would be ripped to tatters. Blood dripped down its sharp cheek from where the bullet had torn open a wound.
“Nebet, aw ibek,” it growled, or something that sounded like those jumbled words.
How it spoke, I know not, but the voice was from the pits of Hell itself, full of malice and unnatural tremors. It turned away from me, but not before grabbing the pistol from my hand and crushing it in its great fist. I lunged, trying to reach for it, the one weapon I might have boasted against the beast, and then gasped, a flash of light blinding us all.
The creature snarled again, and when I could finally see through the haze of gold filling the clearing, I saw the thing go on all fours and sprint away into the forest. The ground shook at its going, trees creaking and groaning as it rent them in its retreat. I rubbed at my eyes, stumbling forward to try to find Mary, but she was not alone.
Finch stood over her, a pair of immense white wings flaring from his back before they folded behind his back and vanished. A glow remained around him, the obvious source of the flash that had startled the beast and made it flee. I touched my neck, feeling the raw spot where the beast had ripped at the chain on my necklace. It was gone—spoon, knife, gun, whatever it was, it was gone.
“What was that thing?” I murmured, hoarse.
Mary got slowly to her feet, helped by Finch. He was still dressed in his slim gray suit, but his hair looked rumpled from sleep.
Frowning, he turned and looked toward the path of destruction left by the creature as it escaped. “I only caught a glimpse of it,” he said, guiding Mary to lean against his shoulder. “The sound it gave was enough. I thought it better to blind first and get a good look later.”
“It . . . It was like a wolf or, or a fox, but so much bigger,” I stammered. My back ached from colliding with the tree and my hands were still shaking from shock. “What if it comes back?”
“Then I will deal with it again,” Finch said. He looked sure, but I detected a jumpiness in his gaze, his eyes shifting side to side as he held Mary. “We should get you both back to the house.”
“Are you hurt, Mary?” I asked, watching as she stared around at the edges of the clearing, vigilant.
“I . . . I don’t think so,” she said. “But I fear my leg will not allow me to return on foot.”
“That is no trouble,” Finch replied, and motioned to his back. “Climb on my back. I’ll have you both to safety in a moment’s time.”
“I am quite capable of walking,” I said with a sigh. “And besides, you could not possibly carry us both.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mary had sidled to his back and hooked her arms gingerly about his neck. He reached for me as soon as she did, sweeping me up into his strong grasp and launching into the air. Neither of us had time to properly react, those same huge, white wings sprouting from his back as if they were weightless, as if they were made of pure light.
I let out a shriek of surprise, scrambling to hang on to his shoulders as we flew up and away from the forest, leaving the forest floor far behind. Cool night air rushed over us, and my heart raced with terror all over again. It was more than just surprise, it was also dread, and the chilliness his presence always gave me. Well, and I had never been whisked through the air by a being with wings.
We landed safely in the yard just outside the kitchens. The door was still open, but now Mrs. Haylam was on the other side. Her face, twisted in fury, soon fell as she saw that it was not just me and Finch, but also Mary. I tumbled out of Finch’s grasp clumsily, wrapping my housecoat tightly around me as Mrs. Haylam rushed to Mary and herded her into an embrace.
“At last,” Mrs. Haylam was saying over and over again. It was the closest I had seen her come to tears or even joy. “At last you have returned to us. But you must be so weary.”
Mary wilted, boneless with exhaustion.
“I won’t ask what this was all about until tomorrow,” Mrs. Haylam said in a deadly whisper. Her one good eye locked on me and I pressed my lips together. “Mary is home; that earns you clemency for a few hours.”
She gave Finch an equally sharp look and then guided Mary toward the kitchens. I saw Chijioke inside, his brows knitted with concern as he scooped Mary up and brought her away from the night’s chill.
“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Finch muttered, long after Mrs. Haylam had gone.
“How about a spot of tea and a ‘thank you’?” I asked, trooping wearily into the kitchen.
“Are you sure that’s wise? Your housekeeper seems cross.”
“I’m already in trouble, what could it hurt?” I gestured him inside, then went to the range and checked to see that a low fire was still burning. With a wick, I went about the room, lighting a few stumpy candles and placing them on the table. There was pudding still in the pantry, and I retrieved it, laying out a bit of food while I fetched the kettle.
Frosty needles still prickled in my gut, but I ignored it, rationalizing that he had just saved my life and Mary’s, and so I could put up with the discomfort for the length of a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” I said, back to him as I fussed with the cups. “But how did you find us? No one else heard the commotion.”
“We . . .” He trailed off, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I found he had seated himself at the table, but would not meet my eye. His dark mane of hair fell in front of his eyes and he traced a circle on the table with one finger. “Sparrow and I are watching the house. It’s part of why we are here. We came to observe, and I know that sounds incredibly intrusive, but perhaps you can understand, given . . .”
“Given that a ruddy huge wolf just attacked me in the woods?” I finished. “Forgiven. And if it means anything, I don’t mind you so much. The others . . .”
“It’s a shame. A damn shame.”
Scrutiny. Mr. Morningside had mentioned that he was not looking forward to their poking around. He would probably be furious if he knew they had been floating about the house at night.
I managed a tired smile and measured out the tea, listening to Chijioke and Mrs. Haylam fuss as they brought Mary up the stairs to her room. “Should you be cursing?”
“Oh, don’t be fooled by the wings,” he said with a wink. “We can be dangerous.”
“That’s what everyone promises me. What shall they say now that you saved my life?”
His mirth faded and he flinched, dropping his elbow onto the table and his chin into that palm. “We were close once, you know. You are a newcomer to our worlds, so all of this must be deeply confusing. There was more than just passing civility in the old days. We were allies, those of our world and of Henry’s. We had to be. Now we just exist in a kind of . . . tense civility. I hope it can last but I fear it will not.”
“It is hard to imagine you and someone like Chijioke getting along. He is not fond of your kind, not even a little.” I filled the cups and let them steep, finding small comfort in the fragrant tea steam that drifted up from the darkening surface. “What caused the . . . How would you describe it? Rift?”
The promise of tea helped, even if my hands were still shaking. When I blinked, I saw the beast’s purple eyes and maw. That hellish voice would forever darken my dreams.
I joined Finch at the table, grateful for the rest the chair provided. It was only then that I noticed my hands were skinned and scratched, and drops of blood stained the housecoat’s sleeve. The blood of the beast. I shivered.
“We can talk of cheerier things,” Finch murmured, noticing.
“As if that were possible,” I said. My hands smoothed around the teacup, absorbing its warmth. “I have seen all manner of horrors here, but never have I seen a wolf like that.”
Finch took up his cup, too, holding it with both hands just under his chin. “There have been no wolves in England for hundreds of years. Maybe that hound I’ve seen skulking about the house has gone feral.”
“Do not tell me what I saw,” I told him sternly. “It was a wolf of a kind, taller than a man, with glowing eyes, and it could speak. Truly you did not see the thing properly if you could mistake it for Bartholomew. Besides, that dog is more interested in napping than hunting these days.”
I heard Mrs. Haylam’s pointed boots clicking on the floor outside the kitchen, and then she swept inside. She had come to retrieve a basin and some rags, which she did, but not before making her displeasure known. Standing in the door, she hitched the basin higher in her arms and nodded toward the kettle.
“Clean this up before morning,” she said curtly, then left in a huff and a whirl of skirts.
“Do not trouble yourself with my well-being, Granny,” I mumbled to where she had been. “Just a bump or two, nothing to fret about.”
Finch sipped carefully at his hot tea and tilted his head to the side, watching me. “If I may be so bold, Louisa, you are not like the others here. I get the feeling that you would not just follow Mrs. Haylam or Henry blindly.”
I shrugged off the praise. So far, I had done too much of what Mr. Morningside wanted. What would Finch think of me if he knew I had just that day signed a contract vowing to help him? Well, that was private. He did not need to know about my father, and I had promised to keep the journal and its contents a secret.
“How could I?” I looked into my teacup, hoping he could not sense the deception. “He was wrong about my friend Lee.”
“Right. Exactly. That’s good—I mean, not good that he was mistaken—but you should bring that up at the Court. It’s important that we have the truth, and that you give honest testimony.”
“Testimony?” I laughed. “Mr. Morningside is under the impression that this is some kind of party. . . .”
“He would be. I doubt he’s taken anything seriously in his life, which is how we got into this mess in the first place. Just reap souls, send them on their way . . . how hard could that really be? Why does he have to make a mess of everything?”
Sighing, I stood and drained my teacup, then carried it to the deep porcelain tub beside the range to wash up. I hadn’t exactly seen Mr. Morningside sending souls anywhere but into birds, but perhaps that was what Finch meant after all. I said nothing to contradict him. Finch’s chair scraped across the tiles as he stood and brought his cup to sit next to mine. The cold knot in my stomach only hurt worse the closer he came.
“Did I say something to offend you?” he asked softly.
“I’m . . . tired. Tired from the day’s work, tired from that ordeal in the forest, and tired of all of you speaking in circles above my head.” It came spilling out of me in a rush of words; whatever thread of patience I had left had finally snapped. I leaned hard against the washbasin and covered my face with both hands. It took just an instant before I could muster the will to take up a rag and rinse out the teacups. “I did not mean to lose my composure.”
Finch returned to the table and brought me the rest of the porcelain we had used as well as the spoons. I stared for a long moment at the tea-stained curve of one of the spoons, feeling heartsick at the thought of that creature bounding off into the forest with the one Lee had given me. Another wave of hopeless exhaustion crashed down, and I wondered if the next time I closed my eyes I would simply drift off to sleep standing up.
“I would be more worried if you weren’t overwhelmed,” he said, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him give a polite bow before he moved toward the kitchen door. “Try to rest if you can. I wish I could say the days will get easier, but I would not want to give you false hope.”
Nodding, I dried the teacups with a worn cloth and listened to his retreating steps.
“Aye, I will try to rest,” I said. “Good night.”
Good night. I had to grimace at the thought—it would be just as well if I stayed there at the basin until dawn came and I was needed in the kitchens again. How could I sleep soundly knowing that monster was out there? Could any of us stand against it? I shivered and tidied the kitchen, then pulled the door shut and stared across the room into the dark foyer. If that thing came back for Mary, mere doors would not stop it. I had to console myself with the idea that Finch and his sister would continue watching the house, and perhaps if the beast returned they would see it before it could strike.
It was cold comfort, and when I returned to my chambers and slid into bed, it was a long, lonely time before restless sleep allowed me to escape and dream.