13 Curses (19 page)

“I’m going alone,” she said coldly. “You’re injured. You’d only slow me down. And I don’t want you with me. I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you.”

The man did not even turn around.

“Maybe it’s time you started to. Because I know who you are. I know your name. Your
real
name.”

Red felt her mouth suddenly go as dry as sand.

“You can trust me because I haven’t revealed it, and I won’t,” he continued. “Ever since I found out about you, you’ve played on my mind. Knowing you
were here… alone. I felt responsible somehow. Even though it was an accident that I came to be here, now that I am, I’m glad.”

“Glad?
Why?
”

“Because now I can help you, and I don’t have to feel guilty.”

Red shook her head, confused. “Why should you feel guilty? Why should you feel
anything
?”

“Because I already have responsibilities.”

“A family,” Red guessed. “Children?” The word stuck in her throat like a hot potato.

He nodded. “A boy of twelve, nearly thirteen.” His voice was wistful when he next spoke. “That’s a lot of years to make up for.”

“What do you need to make up for?” Red asked, intrigued, despite herself.

A haunted look came into the man’s eyes. “Many things.” He tossed a log onto the fire. Longing to warm herself, Red stepped closer. “Perhaps I’ll tell you about them on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“To the court,” he replied. “That’s where you’re heading, isn’t it?”

He correctly took her silence as an agreement.

“So am I. Because it’s our best chance out of this place.”

He motioned to the furs beside him.

“Why don’t you sit awhile, and have something to eat while you think about it.”

Red slipped her bag off her shoulder and walked over to the hearth. In the few steps it took, she had already made her decision. It would be good to have a companion in this strange world, for a while at least. She had been alone for so long and the thought of company was surprisingly comforting. In addition, his connection to Tanya had softened her. She watched him. At the very least, he could cook. And if she decided it wasn’t working, she could run, and set off alone. She lowered herself down and held her hands to the flames. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

“So,” she said finally. “If we’re going to be traveling together, what should I call you?”

The man looked up and smiled—then winced, bringing his hand up to his swollen mouth. He gestured to his lips. “I think… Stitch. Call me Stitch.”

He left her by the fire, staring into the flames. She heard the door opening, then she was alone in the cottage as he went outside. Sometime later, she started to worry and got up to look out the window. But before she could open it, the latch lifted and Stitch returned with a basket of berries and fresh water from the stream.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, placing some berries before her. “Eat quickly and then gather your things. I need to have another look for that key.”

As if on cue, Eldritch hollered from below.

“Are you eating up there?”

Stitch grimaced. “On second thought, you look for
the key and I’ll go and see to him. Check everywhere, twice. Make sure there’s not another loose brick.”

Red wiped blackberry juice from her chin.

“Are you sure we should free him?”

Stitch raised a finger to his lips. “If we don’t, he’s as good as dead. I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone. Plus, he could be of use to us.”

“And he could also be dangerous,” Red whispered.

“True. But if we free him, then he’ll owe us. He knows this realm—at the very least he might guide us to where we need to get to.”

Stitch vanished into the dungeon with a share of food and water for Eldritch. Red continued to eat, her fingers stained with berry juice. It was a paltry breakfast, and the berries were long past their best, but it was better than nothing. She washed it down with icy stream water, then got up and began looking around the cottage once more.

Stitch clambered back up into the cottage, looking peaky. The stench of the cellar clung to him, and he crossed the floor and threw a window open wide, gulping in the fresh, cold air.

When he turned back, he looked a little better. He left the window ajar and limped to the tables at the back of the cottage. There he began lifting glass jars and bottles and scanning the contents.

“What are you doing?” Red asked.

“Making use of what’s available.” From one jar he pulled a handful of dark leaves; from another, a piece of withered root. Placing them into a small stone
bowl, he grabbed a nearby pestle and began grinding the contents together.

“You have healing skills?” Red asked.

“Not skills, exactly. I know a little, enough to get by on.” He continued to pound and mix. “This should help with Eldritch’s wounds—and mine. Any sign of the key?”

“Not yet,” Red answered. She knelt by the wooden chest that her bag had been found in, and opened it. After finding her bag before, she had abandoned the chest and left Stitch to search through it. Now she wanted to have another look at the many possessions the Hedgewitch had claimed.

She sifted through the contents. Her chest constricted as she found a small girl’s shoe—the twin to the one that she had found at the bottom of the Hedgewitch’s trap. She wondered what had become of the child, then pushed the unanswered question from her mind. Many of the items were of no use or interest to anyone but their owner: a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, one lens missing; a set of false teeth; and even a staring glass eye. Then she found something interesting, a simple drawstring bag of the softest leather. It was knotted tightly, and did not appear to have been opened even by the Hedgewitch. Red lifted it from the chest and began to pick at the knots. Gradually they loosened and eventually she was able to pull the bag open and reach inside.

The first thing she found was a fine cylinder, seemingly carved from wood by hand. She inspected
it for a short while before realizing that one end was removable. She twisted it and it came free, revealing a hollow in its center. Something had been rolled carefully and tucked inside. With her index and middle fingers, she eased it from the hollow. It was a piece of thick, yellowing parchment. She unfurled it, weighting the ends with a shoe and a pair of field glasses.

As she leaned over the parchment, a shadow fell onto it from behind her.

“What is it?” Stitch asked.

“A map,” Red answered, staring at the document.

Stitch dropped to his knees at once.

“That’s not just any map.” His voice was trembling and he pointed to a word in the south region. “You see that?”

“Avalon,” Red read.

He nodded. “That’s where the court is located. That’s where we need to get to.” He ran his finger over the surrounding areas and turned to face her. “This is a map of the fairy realm. It’ll lead us straight there.”

Red felt a shudder of excitement ripple through her. She looked back at him, smiling, but then her face fell.

“What is it?”

“How can we get there if we don’t know where we are now?” she said. “It’s all very well knowing where we need to go, but not if we’re lost before we even begin.”

“We’re not lost,” said Stitch, thumbing the edge of the map. “I know exactly where we are.”

“How?”

“Don’t you recognize the shape of the map over all? Doesn’t it look familiar to you?”

Red leaned back on her heels, studying the map as a whole, and then looked back at him in amazement. She had been sitting so close to it that she hadn’t noticed what was glaringly obvious.

“That’s right,” he said quietly. “It’s the British Isles—only through the eyes of the fey. We’re here, in Essex… where we entered the fairy realm in the first place.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The earth is the same, but the two worlds are on a different plane to each other. They coexist.”

“So this is…” Red trailed her finger over to Avalon.

“Somerset. Glastonbury, to be precise.”

“So how long will it take us to travel there?”

“On foot? Around five days. But we’re not going by foot.”

Red’s eyebrows shot up. “We aren’t?”

“There are horses tethered behind the cottage, and a small tack room. The horses must have belonged to the Hedgewitch—or her victims. We’ll take them—it’ll halve the traveling time.”

She heard him retreating, still mixing the herb-scented paste, and then his footsteps faded as he took the mixture down to Eldritch.

Red rolled the map and fed it back into the cylindrical tube before placing it into her bag. As an afterthought, she emptied the leather bag that the map had come from to check that nothing else of value was concealed in its depths.

Two things fell out. One was an empty water skin, which she kept. The other was a finely bound book with gilt-edged pages. Something inside her stirred at the sight of it—a distant memory. She reached for it and pulled it closer, reading the faded title on the cover.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“
The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen
,” she whispered from behind her fingers. It was exactly like the one that had belonged to her mother… the one she had treasured. The one that had gone missing with her brother.

Her eyes were filling before she had a chance to stop them, and she pressed the heels of her hands into them, forcing the tears away. She hadn’t cried in a long time. Not since she had been Rowan. She sniffed a couple of times, bringing herself back under control.
You’re not Rowan anymore
, she told herself.
You’re Red, and Red doesn’t cry.

Composed now, she stroked the book’s cover and opened it, wanting to see the familiar list of contents. Instead, she saw something that made her fingers whiten as they gripped the edges of the book.

There was a bookplate on the first page, the kind where the owner of the book writes their name. Red had seen it a hundred times before and would recog
nize it anywhere: the little pen and ink illustration of a witch on a broomstick, reading a book.

More important, she could never mistake the name written on the bookplate itself.

She sprang up, clutching the book, her tears forgotten. All she felt now was a cold rage—and fear. She turned and flew down the steps to the cellar, oblivious to the putrid air. Stitch was kneeling before Eldritch, applying the paste to his raw, red wrist. They both looked up, Eldritch eyeing her hopefully.

“You’ve found the key?”

“No.” She thrust the book at them. “I found this.”

She was completely unprepared for what followed.

“That’s mine.” Eldritch reached out with his free hand. “You found my belongings? Bring them to me… there’s a map—”

Red snatched the book back with a reflex quicker than a scalded cat’s. “What did you just say?”

Eldritch hesitated. “There should be a map,” he said. “A map showing—”

“
Before
that!”

“I said… it’s mine,” Eldritch answered, wariness creeping into his voice. “I mean… I think it is. Let me take a closer look….”

“What’s going on?” Stitch asked, setting his bowl aside.

Holding the book out of reach, Red knelt, elbowing Stitch out of the way, and leaned forward until her face was only inches from Eldritch’s. She could smell the filth of his hair, skin, and clothing.

“Could be mistaken… of course.” He ran his tongue over dry lips. “In fact, yes… I don’t believe that’s mine at all.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken all right,” Red hissed. “In fact, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

“What’s going on?” Stitch repeated.

Red did not take her eyes off Eldritch.

“He recognized this book—says it’s his. Well, it’s not.” She opened the book and turned to the bookplate, holding it up before Eldritch’s face. “Do you see this name? Do you recognize it?”

Eldritch shook his head.

“I do,” Red continued. “It’s my mother’s maiden name. This book belonged to her when she was a little girl. She used to read from it to my brother and me. And when she died, the book was one of the last things I had left to remind me of her. Then it was stolen from me. Stolen on the same night as my brother.”

At this she caught Stitch’s sharp intake of breath.

“I said I was mistaken—”

“Shut up. I found this book in a bag with a map. You knew about that map—and you knew about this book. Now you’re going to tell me how you got it, and it had better be good. Because I’ll be listening very, very carefully.”

“We don’t have time for this,” said Stitch, glancing up at the trapdoor. “We need to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers,” said Red, her voice dangerously low.

Eldritch remained silent, but then Stitch crouched beside Red.

“You’d better start talking,” he threatened. “Before I make you talk.”

Eldritch was sweating heavily now. His skin looked waxy and his black hair hung in a greasy curtain around his face. “I didn’t take it,” he said at last. “It wasn’t me.”