13 Secrets (27 page)

“Raven?” she whispered.

The bird ignored her, continuing to peck stupidly at the roof. Another one joined it, and she averted her eyes dismissively. It was just a bird after all.

Sparrow leaned out of the door. “You can come in. That smell… I didn’t find nothing, except the rubbish.” He jerked his head over his shoulder to an open cupboard under the sink. A swarm of flies buzzed over an open trash bag.

Queasy, Rowan stepped inside. As Merchant had described, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everything was neat, with the exception of the stinking trash and a few crocks submerged in stale, greasy water in the sink. All the heavy, dark curtains were open. Her eyes lingered on one of the windows, the curtain tiebacks hanging limply.

“She kept the curtains closed in the daytime,” she murmured. “And opened them at night, when the sun went down.”

“What are you thinking?” Sparrow asked.

“Merchant said the curtains were open during the day when he came here. But if they haven’t been touched since, then they’re still as he saw them.”

“So?” said Crooks, having finally entered the caravan.

“So, if they’d been opened by Dawn at night, she’d have used the tiebacks,” said Rowan. “But they haven’t been used. Whoever pulled them open did it quickly. I’m guessing they came here in the day when they were drawn, then pulled them back to render Dawn powerless in the sunlight….”

“Then what?” asked Crooks.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, wherever she is, she’s not here,” said
Sparrow. “And if what that gypsy woman saw was right, she’s outside somewhere. We should start searching.”

“Like we’ve a chance of finding her,” Crooks said, his dark eyes scornful. “She could be anywhere.”

“I don’t think so,” said Sparrow. “If someone killed Fix, they made no effort to hide her body.”

Crooks leaned against the kitchen counter, sullen. “Maybe they didn’t mean to kill her. They might have thought the poison was something else, a sleeping potion, perhaps.”

“Well the vision suggested that all three of them are dead,” said Sparrow. “One death might have been an accident, but three?”

The heat and the smell oozed over Rowan, making her skin crawl. Pushing past Crooks she stood in the doorway, gulping at the sweet meadow air. Above her the birds continued to peck at the roof.

Crooks swiped a hand across his forehead, brushing away a strand of hair, limp with humidity. In the pause where no one spoke, the clip of beaks on metal was extraordinarily sharp.

“What
is
that bloody noise?” he said, irritable.

“Birds,” Rowan answered, staring out across the field. She wanted to get away, to be anywhere but there in Dawn’s empty, forlorn home. “They’re pecking at something on the roof.”

She’s outside somewhere.

A sick thought hit her, making her sway. Sparrow hurried to her side, holding her elbow. “What is it?”
he said urgently. “The heat getting to you? Come outside—”

“The roof,” she protested weakly, allowing him to pull her out onto the grass. “The birds on the roof…”

She steadied herself on the side of the caravan and looked along its length. At the rear, a thin metal ladder attached to the side led up to the roof. She pulled away from Sparrow and stumbled toward it. Her foot was on the first rung when Sparrow pushed her aside. Her eyes searched his and found the same grim thought echoed in them.

“What are you doing?” Crooks called from the door, as Rowan tried to jostle Sparrow out of the way.

“Don’t,” Sparrow told her gruffly. “I’ll go.” Nimble as a monkey he took the ladder. She watched, feeling both guilty and horrified as he steeled himself with deep breaths before peering over the edge of the roof.

“Oh,
god
!” He slid back, his feet thunking against the rungs before he fell to the ground.

“Sparrow!” she cried, rushing to him.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, his body wracked by dry sobs. Crooks grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and shook him.

“What’s up there? What did you see?”

“Get off him!” Rowan shoved Crooks away and fell to her knees beside Sparrow.

He turned to them with haunted eyes. “It’s her… it’s Dawn.”

Despite the lack of sun in Hangman’s Wood, Tanya’s hair stuck to the back of her neck. The forest was damp and airless, keeping her movements sluggish as she traipsed over brush and undergrowth.

She heard a breathless Fabian stop walking behind her and turned. He peeled his thin shirt away from his skin and flapped it in a fruitless attempt to create some kind of breeze.

“Are we going the right way?”

Tanya pointed ahead. “Yes. There’s the first catacomb.”

They began walking again, reaching the clearing presently. As always, Fabian went right up to the railings, peering through to the denehole.

“Come on,” Tanya called, impatient. “We don’t have time to hang around.” Her voice stirred things
in the trees above; a few whisperings and flutterings floated down to her. She continued onward, her eyes on Oberon, ambling ahead. The whispering died down. The heat was making even the fairies lazy today.

Fabian drew level with her by the time they were near the second catacomb. The further they ventured into the woods, the less the heat seemed to have penetrated.

“Have you had any more thoughts about Rowan or any of the others?” he asked.

“You mean to do with the thirteen treasures? I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t had any more ideas.”

“We need to find out more about each of them and the role they play within the group,” Fabian said thoughtfully. “But in a way that Rowan doesn’t suspect what we’re doing.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” said Tanya, swatting at a cloud of gnats humming beneath a tree. “Rowan’s sharp. She could easily see through it if we’re too obvious.”

“Then perhaps we should just ask her up-front,” said Fabian. “Faced with what we’ve got so far, she might come clean.”

“Perhaps,” said Tanya. “But I don’t think so.”

“Do you think Mad Morag will be able to help us? If she was able to see any more, wouldn’t she have seen it in the first vision?”

“I don’t know,” said Tanya. “I’m not sure how
her visions work. But at the very least I wanted to give her the puzzle book I bought to thank her for everything she’s done for us so far. And I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you stopped calling her
Mad
Morag.”

“Sorry. It’s just… you know. Habit.”

Glimpsing the familiar daffodil-yellow of the old gypsy caravan, Tanya headed toward it, the forest floor tamer where Morag maintained it. Fabian paused to admire first the herb garden, then the caravan itself, and she was reminded that this was only the second time he had seen it.

“Do you think she’ll let me come in?” he whispered, clearly dying to look inside.

“If you’re polite.” Tanya weaved her way up the little path, climbed the steps, and knocked. The door opened a little at her touch, but there was no reply. The chirrups of birds and shuffles of woodland creatures filled the empty silence. She knocked again, pushing the door open a little further.

“Hello? Morag?”

Still there was no answer.

“She might be doing a spell,” Fabian said uneasily. “Or she might be asleep.”

“Then why would she leave the door open?” Tanya wondered.

“Well, she’s probably not expecting any interruptions. It can’t be like she gets many visitors,” Fabian pointed out.

“I don’t like it,” said Tanya. “Something doesn’t
feel right.” She pushed the door open the whole way and stepped inside. “Go and look around the side—she was sitting out the back in her rocking chair when I came the other day.”

The steps creaked as Fabian retreated down them. Tanya went further into the caravan, but it was empty—even the deep red velvet curtain at the back, normally closed, was open, revealing Morag’s sleeping place. She looked for Grimalkin, half-expecting the yellow-eyed glare from some dark corner, but it never came. Everything was tidy, organized.

“Tanya!”

Fabian’s shout, almost a scream, sent prickles of fear over her skin. She flew to the door, tripping down the steps, and scrambled around to the back of the caravan.

The sight before her sent her reeling: Morag slumped and motionless in her rocking chair, her skin ashen and her eyes closed. Fabian was at her side, frantically tugging at her shawl, which had been tightly and viciously wrapped around the old woman’s neck.

“Tanya!” Fabian whispered, his voice a half-sob. “It’s knotted too tight—I can’t get it off! The scissors, quickly…”

“No,” Tanya choked out, rushing to Morag’s side. She pulled out the scissors and hacked at the shawl, tearing it apart.

“Hurry,” Fabian begged. “She’s not breathing…”

“No, no, no…” Her words rushed out in a mean
ingless jumble as her vision clouded. She worked the scissors, as hard and as fast as she could, and the mutilated shawl loosened and fell away.

Tanya grabbed the old woman’s wrist, her fingers searching for a pulse.

“I can’t feel anything!”

“She’s still not breathing. Loosen her clothes!”

Tanya bent over Morag’s body, tugging at her neckline. There was no movement. Tears of despair dripped from her face and fell onto the old woman’s. “We were too late,” she whispered, brushing the tears from Morag’s face. She was still warm. “I’m so sorry….”

Fabian fell back against the caravan, his face a mask of shock. “Who did this?” he said. “Who would do this?”

Oberon began to whine, a pitiful noise that rang through the clearing. He pawed at Tanya, bowed over Morag’s unresponsive form, but she could not bring herself to pull away.

A loud rustle sounded a few meters away. Something had shifted in the woods. Tanya straightened, scanning their surroundings. The forest blurred green through her tears.

“What was that?”

The next thing she knew, Oberon jumped up at her, but his huge paws landed in the center of Morag’s chest, jolting the old woman’s body. Tanya pushed him away, horrified—but Morag’s eyes suddenly flew open. She drew in a huge gasp of air.

“She’s alive!” Fabian yelled, springing forward.

The distinctive snap of a piece of wood beneath a footfall sounded nearby. Tanya jerked around to meet it. Fabian clutched at her arm with one hand. His other hand rested on Morag’s shoulder. The old woman coughed and heaved, her eyes bloodshot.

Tanya stood in front of Morag. “Who’s there?” she demanded, staring into the trees. At her side, Oberon stiffened, his hackles and his ears pricking up. A low, rumbling growl burst from his throat.

“It’s them,” Tanya whispered. “Whoever did this is still here.
Watching
.”

Fabian froze. “What if they come back? We don’t even know how many of them there are!”

“One,” Morag wheezed. “Only… one.”

Another crackle of branches set Oberon barking. Tanya felt her limbs start to shake with adrenaline. It was a weird sensation, for half of her was afraid, and the other half surged with anger. She stepped closer to the trees.

“You see us?” she shouted. “There are two of us, plus a dog. There’s only one of you!”

“What are you
doing
?” Fabian hissed. “Trying to get us all killed?”

“I’m trying to save us,” she murmured. “If we show fear they’re more likely to attack.”

An agonizing silence followed. Then a hooded figure shot out from a nearby cluster of trees and fled away from them, cutting through the woods.

What Tanya hadn’t counted on was Oberon taking off after the figure.

“Oberon!” she yelled—but in a few bounds he had vanished into the forest. “No, come back!”

“Don’t even think about running after him!” Fabian said fiercely. “If you get lost you could end up like Mad Morag—and there’s no guarantee anyone will find you in time!”

“Less of the ‘Mad,’ ” Morag said, still weak, but indignant.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Fabian held out his arm and helped the old woman out of the rocking chair. “Steady. Do you think you can walk?”

“I don’t know.” She swayed on her feet, clutching at Fabian, then collapsed back into the chair. “No. I feel too dizzy.”