Cogling (25 page)

A rendezvous lies before you.

ke stuffed his makeshift key into the pocket of his trousers. His wrists throbbed with an impression of the chains and his back stiffened. With a final glance around his cell to make sure spyders hadn’t snuck in, he eased the door open enough to peer into the hallway. A soot demon scampered by, but otherwise the corridor lay empty. He pushed the door open further and slipped through the crack. Back in Moser City, it had been easy for him to manipulate locks and steal what he needed to survive.

He closed the door and locked it, the tiny mechanisms clicking into place. Ike touched the wall and closed his eyes, opening his mind to sense movement through the stone. An ogre wandered above and children slaved in the rooms downstairs. A memory slipped to the forefront of his mind:

Mother Sambucus forced him to sit on the loveseat in her room that reeked of vanilla, the odor she added to her poisons to hide the noxious fumes.

The muscles in his arms pulsed from grinding herbs in her clay bowls. When he paused to breathe, she slapped his back.

“Get to work. You’ll never learn if you’re lazy.”

Ike fought back tears. She would hit him harder if he cried, and call him a human boy. He hated grinding herbs because she used
them to hurt others. He became an instrument in her vendetta against humanity.

Mother Sambucus moved away to her table where she siphoned powders into glass vials. He wished he could use magic to alter the compounds in his herbs, to ruin their toxins. Someday, when he was older and knew how…

The door blew open. Mother Sambucus squawked as her vials and bowls slid off the table. Colored powders clouded the air.

Ike’s mother stormed into the room, her eyes flashing beneath her wild hair. “What are you doing with my son?”

Mother Sambucus folded her hands against her round stomach. “You have no right to enter in such a manner, without an invitation.”

“Leave him be.” His mother yanked the mortar and pestle from his hands to throw them across the room, where they thumped the wall. Herbs scattered.

“You aren’t a ruler here.” A muscle ticked in Mother Sambucus’s jaw. “You were not a queen for the humans either, were you?”

His mother stiffened. “If you touch Ike again—”

Mother Sambucus sniffed. “He needs to learn.”

His mother gripped his shoulder and her nails pinched his skin, but he didn’t cry out. She was angry, not vicious, like Mother Sambucus. He wanted to say he was glad he wasn’t full-blooded. Otherwise he’d be an ogre, huge-boned and thick-skinned. Now he looked like his father. Every time he glimpsed a mirror, he could remember the man he loved, and wish he hadn’t had to leave.

“He will still have magic.” Mother Sambucus stepped toward them. His mother lifted her chin. Ike wanted to run, but he reminded himself he wasn’t imaginative enough for that. He should protect his mother, not have her defend him. Shame scalded his senses.

“I’ll learn. I won’t cause trouble.” The words escaped his mouth.

Mother Sambucus smiled. “He could be a good boy.”

“Go behead yourself,” his mother said, “before I do it.” Still gripping his shoulder, she dragged Ike from the room. He had to jog to keep up with her pace.

“She didn’t hurt me,” Ike insisted. They passed a young hag who glowered at them even though she was friends with his mother. He thought her name was Simone.

“I don’t want you to ever know what she can teach you.” Tears trembled in his mother’s eyes. He squeezed her, despite being too old for such affection.

Ike winced. Even though his mother hadn’t wanted him to learn from Mother Sambucus, the hag hadn’t lost an opportunity to teach him dark magic.

“Thank you,” he muttered to fate. He could use what magic he did know against the hags his mother had despised, and he would never allow it to twist his heart.

He headed toward Mother Sambucus’s workroom to get an unused cogling, his hand still on the wall. It told him most of the hags were in the cellar, where spyders congregated for review. He could wonder why later.

Edna crouched in the weeds surrounding the factory, holding a thick stick with a flame at the tip, the evil a hairsbreadth from her fingers. Foxkins darted to her side carrying smaller sticks in their front paws. They passed the flame from torch to torch until each furry face glowed.

“You understand the plan?” Edna asked.

The foxkins twitched their noses.

“We follow your idea,” one said.

“Fire burn.” Another squeaked a laugh, revealing sharp teeth.

Edna gave a curt nod, then twirled on her heels and charged into the clearing. By the time the hags were defeated, she would have actual muscles on her scrawny limbs.

The flame flickered but didn’t go out. The heat tickled her face, mingling with the scent of smoke. She licked her lips, savoring the earthy taste of blood, dirt, and perspiration.

Edna charged toward the dilapidated mansion Mother Sambucus had imprisoned her in, and foxkins darted past. They grabbed stones with their paws to throw at the factory windows. Glass became slivers of rain as the windows shattered. The foxkins tossed their burning sticks through the holes where the windows had once been, empty eyes now, seeing demise but unable to prevent it.

Edna threw her stick onto the front porch. “Burn!” The fire transferred to the ancient boards with a sizzle.

Ike tiptoed into the workroom, leaving the door open to provide light from the hallway. Wooden shelves covered with metal boxes lined two walls. The third wall contained drawers. He eased open one slowly to keep it from squeaking. The drawer contained vials of liquid. He opened others, finding rags and cogling watches. He stuffed a rag, vial, and watch into the pockets in his jackets.

Holding his breath, he lifted one of the boxes and recognized the cherub engraving on the top: an unused cogling. He closed his jacket over it, keeping it in place with one arm, and slipped from Mother Sambucus’s workroom. With no hags, ogres, or spyders in sight, he headed toward the stairs.

Below, a hag screamed, and another shouted, “Fire!”

Ike froze with his foot on the top step. “Impossible.” Hearths were enchanted to make sure fire never spread. Ike headed for the stairs at the opposite end of the hallway.

A soft click, like a nail against wood, made him glance over his shoulder. A foxkin, in a ragged black jacket, dashed by holding a burning stick. The animal’s three tails had smoke caught in the red fur.

“What in the name of the Saints…?”

“Are you Ike?” The foxkin drew back his ears.

“Yes,” Ike sputtered, “you… know my name?”

The critter waved his stick. “Eddie-Na says to run to the woods. Everyone must run to the woods.”

“Wait,” Ike called when the foxkin continued down the hallway. The animal didn’t pause.

Edna waited in the woods, with
foxkins
? Could the foxkins be trusted?

Ike pulled the Confident’s knife from his belt. He would find Edna and make sure she was safe. Then they could plan their next step together.

Will you travel or stay behind?

n the first story of the factory, foxkins rushed by in copper blurs, trailing flames and smoke. The doors blazed with fire. An oncoming foxkin ran too close, so Ike spread his legs to allow it between his feet. One of the foxkin’s tails brushed Ike’s shin, the touch feather-soft against his pants.

“Set fire to the ceiling,” a foxkin screamed.

Even though the factory was constructed of stone, the ancient timber framing would burn fast and mercilessly. He had to get out before escape became impossible, and he had to take Edna and the children with him.

Ike increased his pace, but rounding a corner, he skidded. A hag pummeled toward him, her face melting beneath the onslaught of heat licking her clothes. Flames danced across her body, igniting her hair. Her shriek made the hairs on his arms stand on end. If the hags could stop fire, they could live, but fire was a substance they couldn’t control—a fact the humans had once used against them.

Smoke burned Ike’s eyes and he coughed into his elbow. His foot crunched something hard—a spyder. He scowled and kicked it. The metal body bounced off the wall before it scurried away, a shrill squeal emitting from its battered being. Spyders transferred information they heard to their owners. If there was one, there might be more; Mother Sambucus would know he’d escaped, but she had more worries now.