The Torn Wing (8 page)

“I
t sounds like Larkin’s been on the hunt for you,” Fiona said as soon as they left the bookstore. “I don’t know who else that could’ve been, do you?”

“No,” Tiki said. The station was busier now and jammed with travelers. She swerved around a mother tugging two crying children followed by a father pushing a loaded trolley. “Larkin wants something from me,” she said in a low voice as Fiona quick-stepped to catch up with her. “I’m sure she’ll come ‘round again and again until she gets what she wants.” Something bumped hard into her side and Tiki jerked around in surprise.

“S’cuse me, miss.” The boy who Fiona had noticed watching them earlier doffed his cap at Tiki. “Crowds are thick as a peasouper, today.” His face split in a charming grin revealing surprisingly good teeth before he winked at Fiona and hurried on.

“Well—” Fiona smiled at his departing back as he slid into a crowd of people— “he was a cheeky bit, wasn’t he?

It took Tiki a second to react. “He’s got my bag,” she cried and took off running in pursuit of the pickpocket. She ignored the startled looks as she raced after the boy—skirts flying around her knees, arms pumping. She cut through the travelers moving through the station. There—she spotted the boy up ahead.

As if sensing her approach, the boy glanced over his shoulder. His eyes got as wide as two full moons before he bolted through the crowd to escape. But Tiki wasn’t having any of it. She’d worked too hard for every coin in that purse to let some thief off the street steal it from her. It didn’t matter that picking pockets used to be how she survived. She wasn’t going to be a victim.

The boy was fast. He darted and squirted through tiny gaps in the crowd. Once, he just missed being run over by a trolley full of luggage. But Tiki had the advantage of knowing every hidey-hole there was in Charing Cross. She’d run from the bobbies too many times herself not to know the best escape routes.

She turned down a familiar hallway and to her surprise, the boy darted behind a tall potted plant. He was headed into the abandoned clockmaker’s shop. Tiki’s old home. The piece of wood suspended by a nail that acted as their door was still swinging when she pushed it aside and slipped in.

A watery wash of light from the station poured through the three windows above their door, barely illuminating the long rectangular room. There was just enough daylight to make out the boy’s silhouette near the box stove at the back of the room. His sides were still heaving from his mad dash. He jerked his head up in surprise when Tiki entered and scrambled for the back door that led through the maintenance tunnels out into the alley.

“I want my bag back!” Tiki shouted. She jumped over a pile of worn blankets and shoved a rickety old chair out of the way to grab a handful of his coat.

“Take it!” he cried as he threw the handbag at Tiki’s face and tried to jerk away. She let go of his jacket to catch the bag. Free of her grip, he raced to the far wall and slid out the back door.

Tiki yanked open the drawstrings to check the contents, her breath coming out in small gasps.

A low voice spoke from a dark corner behind her. “Of course the guttersnipe returns to the gutter.”

Tiki whirled and reached for the blade hidden within her sleeve, squinting to see through the darkness. She’d learned her lesson last winter with Marcus—she would never be unprepared to protect herself again.

“Larkin?” It didn’t surprise her that the faerie had found her again already—it was obvious she was desperate.

A snarl came from the corner and Tiki clenched the knife tighter, bracing herself for an attack. A wavering impression of Larkin emerged in the dark shadows. Her faint image came into focus and then dissolved again into a thousand pieces before she shifted into view again, closer to Tiki. This time she looked as Tiki remembered. Her blond hair was long and tangled. She looked windblown as though she’d just stepped out of the storm that had buffeted London the last few days. Or perhaps, Tiki thought, she was the storm. She pointed the knife at the faerie.

“Where’s Toots? Did you take him now?”

Larkin laughed under her breath. “So brave,” she said in a mocking tone. “I have no idea what a
Toots
might be.” Thin straps stretched over the creamy skin of her shoulders and held a green dress that draped in simple lines down to her ankles, revealing bare feet. Even in the dim light she shone with a delicate beauty that was mesmerizing.

“His name is Thomas. He’s a young boy who lives with me.” Tiki readjusted her grip on the knife and raised her voice. “He’s part of my family and he went missing yesterday—just about the time Isabelle Cavendish visited. Do you know where he is?”

“I will never know what William sees in you.” The faerie said, raking Tiki from head to toe with a scathing gaze. “So disgustingly sentimental about
mortals.”

“How ironic,” Tiki said, “coming from you. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Larkin contemplated Tiki with narrowed eyes. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, little orphan girl? Let me tell you this— you’re going to be in the battle of your life. I’ll make the offer again: If you help me—I’ll help you.”

The muffled noises of the railway station rumbled in the distance as though in another world. In the abandoned clockmaker’s shop, Larkin’s words pulled at Tiki like a web tightening around her.

The faerie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But you’ve got to make your mind up soon, or there won’t be anything left to save. We’ve got to reclaim the Seelie throne before the Beltane feast on May first or we’ll never get Donegal out of the Palace of Mirrors.” Then Larkin shimmered out of view.

Chapter Eleven

T
iki was exhausted by the time they returned home. Between her concern for Toots and Larkin’s unexpected appearance, her head felt like it was ready to explode.

As they walked in the front door, a familiar voice drifted from the other room. Tiki and Fiona looked at each other in surprise.

“Is that—” They hurried to the kitchen to find Toots sitting on a stool near a large wooden table with Clara. Mrs. Bosworth stood at a nearby counter. He was waving his hands about the bright orange locks of his head, talking as fast as he could, telling a story that had his audience enraptured.

“Toots!” Tiki cried. “You’re home!”

At the sound of her voice, Toots paused and glanced over his shoulder. Tiki and Fiona both rushed to hug the boy.

“I was so worried about you,” Tiki whispered in his ear, trying not to cry. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, Teek.” He wiggled out of her grasp, his face lit up with excitement. “I’m fine. I thought I was only gone a coupl’a hours, but they’re telling me I’ve been gone for two
days.”
His voice held a note of wonder.

Tiki held Toots at arm’s length, her hands braced on his shoulders as she searched his face. “Where were you?”

“I don’ know exactly, but I had the time of my life!” He laughed with glee. “There was a whole field of horses—” his eyes were round with wonder— “their manes sparkled and glittered like the stars and they ran so fast their feet didn’t touch the ground. An’ Teek—I rode one! You should have seen me. She was beautiful— white as snow—and her mane and tail swept the ground they were so long! It was like we were flyin’.”

He spoke so fast Tiki had a hard time following what he was saying. “Her mane was braided with bells that jingled as we rode an’ I swear the bridle—that’s the part that goes in their mouth—was made of pure gold and sparkled like it was covered with the Crown jewels.”

Toots grinned and cast a quick glance over at Mrs. Bosworth as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I thought about trying to nick it and bring it home but I wasn’t sure how to get it out of the horse’s mouth.” His eyes got wide. “Have you ever seen the size of their teeth?”

“That’s wonderful, Toots, but where were you?” Tiki asked again.

The little boy sobered then, a guilty expression twisting his features. “I don’t know exactly. But it was sunny and there was lots of green grass for the horses an’—”

Now Tiki wasn’t smiling. “Who took you there, Toots?”

“Dain brought him home.” Clara spoke up. She stood on one side of Toots, clutching Doggie to her chest and listening with an enraptured expression. She wore a little blue dress with shoulder straps over a white blouse. “An’ I got to see him too.”

At Tiki’s questioning look Mrs. Bosworth shook her head. “I didn’t see nothin’—not the horse nor the chap who brought ‘im home.” She stood at the counter, her large hips wrapped in her familiar white apron, kneading bread dough. “But I knew he’d come back sooner or later. Off on a lark, just like I said.”

“Tell her, Toots.” Clara fisted her little fingers and planted a hand on each hip. “I’m not making it up. Dain was here and I got to see the pretty horse too. Just like Toots said. She was all white and grand with red ribbons in her mane—just like the horse that Tam Lin rides in the story you tell us, Teek.” Her young voice had a stubborn ring to it.

“It’s fine, I believe you, Clara,” Tiki said. “The important thing is that Toots is home safe.” Her brows pulled down in a frown. “But who is Dain?”

“Why, he’s the boy who comes ‘round sometimes,” Clara replied innocently. “Haven’t you seen him, Teek? He’s tall with blond hair. He’s a friendly sort. Doggie likes him.”

Tiki returned her focus to Toots. “What about a blond girl? Did you see anyone like that? Her name’s Larkin?”

Toots’s freckled brow wrinkled with thought. “Nope, I didn’t see any girls, Teek.”

Clara lifted her head from petting Doggie, her little voice sweet and pure. “I can call Larkin if you want to talk to her.”

Tiki and Fiona swung their heads to look at the child. Tiki had never openly discussed the time Larkin had stolen the little girl for fear of upsetting Clara.

“What do you mean, you can call her?” Fiona asked.

Clara shrugged as she tightened two swatches of fabric around Doggie’s neck. “Larkin told me she would come if I ever needed her. Alls I ‘ave to do is call her.” The little four-year-old held her stuffed animal out as she ran around the table. “Look, Doggie can fly because I made her some wings.”

Tiki was suddenly alert. “Why would you ever need Larkin?” Her voice sounded shriller than she intended.

“Oh, you know—” Clara slowed to a stop, letting Doggie land on the corner of the table near Tiki. “She said to call if I was ever lonely or scared or—” the little girl’s lips quirked in a smile— “if I wanted to hear a faerie tale.” She shot a quick glance at Tiki out of the corner of her eyes to check her reaction.

“That’s very funny, Miss Clara Marie.” Tiki reached out to tweak the little girl’s nose.

Clara giggled. “I’m tellin’ the truth.”

“Clara,” Fiona said with a doubting snort, “how exactly, would you call Larkin here?”

The little girl twisted the wings she’d put around Doggie, the shiny fabric sparkling in the lamplight. “She told me all I ‘ad to do was whisper her name and ask ‘er to come to me.”

Fiona raised her eyebrows. “You think if you say ‘Larkin, come to me’, she’ll magically appear?”

Tiki smiled at the little girl. “Maybe
that
was one of her faerie tales.”

Clara giggled again and smoothed the worn fabric on the top of Doggie’s head. “That’s not ‘er name, silly.”

Tiki tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Clara said slowly, “that’s not ‘er
real
name.”

“Larkin told you her real name?” Fiona’s voice was hushed with disbelief. To know a faerie’s name was to possess the faerie. It wasn’t possible Larkin would have revealed her true name to a child.

For a moment Clara looked uncertain. “Yes. But she told me to never tell
anyone
.” Her blond curls swayed as a coy smile lit her face. “But I trust you.” She stretched her small arms wide and whispered softly in a sing-song voice, “A’ine Fiachna Eri—”

“STOP.” Tiki pressed her fingers against Clara’s lips. She leaned toward the little girl and said, “We don’t want Larkin here right now.” Tiki didn’t know whether to believe the little girl’s claims or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. “And I don’t want you to ever call her unless you talk to me first, all right?”

“All right, Teek,” Clara said, looking crestfallen as she sat down in a vacant chair. “I just thought since you were talking about ‘er an’ all…”

“Yes, thank you, that was very helpful of you. Now—” Tiki motioned toward the door, “let’s go read a story about—” she paused and her eyes fell on Fiona— “a handsome prince.
Anything
but a faerie tale,” she muttered under her breath.

IT WAS LATER, after supper, that Tiki questioned Toots further. They were ensconced in the parlor, the fire crackling cheerfully from the grate. Rieker still hadn’t returned. Tiki had lit all the lamps to chase the shadows from the corners of the room. Shamus was asleep in an armchair, his open mouth emitting soft snores.

“Toots, who was it that you went away with?” Tiki asked. No one had actually said the word “faerie” yet.

Toots shrugged. He was on his stomach on the floor playing checkers with Fiona. “Just one ’a the blokes I play stickball with. He asked if I wanted to ride a horse.”