Thorn Jack (26 page)

When the CD stopped, she heard creaking beneath the gentle patter of the rain.

The swing set.

She rose and pushed onto the terrace.

A slender figure stood on one of the swings, swaying back and forth, head bowed, dark hair brushing his throat. Old rings gleamed on fingers wrapped around the chains. As Jack looked up, starlight stroked one sloping cheekbone.

Finn still wore her jeans and T-shirt. She tugged on her sneakers and hurried down into the yard. As she walked toward him, she saw fresh scratches on his skin, as if he'd torn his way through briars to get to her. She halted, the light rain kissing her skin. “Jack.”

“I'm bleeding again. And soon she'll know my heart is growing back. Just the thought of you now does it.” He held out a hand to her. She wrapped her fingers around his and said, “It'll break.”

“My heart?” He pulled her up onto the swing with him, and she balanced her feet between his.

“I meant the swing.” The forest-smoke scent of him was dazzling. She gripped the chains above his hands and closed her eyes. “Jack . . . did Reiko kill Lily Rose?”

“No. Someone was feeding her information about our family.”

She whispered in his ear, “You know who the wolf-eyed man is.”

“The journal . . . may I see it?”

She drew back and gazed into his eyes. There was no silver taint to them now. One was blue. One was gray. “She was
eighteen
. His mouth left a
scar
on her wrist . . . What kind of monster did Reiko send after my sister?”

His body was cool and taut against hers as he lowered his eyelashes. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him until the world ended. She didn't want him to return to Reiko.

“That's not how she works.” He didn't look up. “Reiko poisons you with whispers and doubts until you don't know your own mind anymore . . . and, Finn, that's the
least
of what she does.”

She pressed her brow against his, and her voice broke as she said, “You aren't like her.”

“There were three girls before you.” His voice was dull. “I kissed them. I shouldn't have kissed you.”

A cold wind swept her hair across her face. She gasped, inhaled rain, clawed the hair away, and found herself alone on the swing. She couldn't believe he'd done it to her again. She shouted into the dark, “Jack! Come back to me or I'll come looking for you!”

PICTURING FINN'S TAWNY GAZE AND
sweet mouth as he stalked down a hall in Tirnagoth, Jack was able to ignore the flashes of decay around him. He shoved open a rusting door and found Reiko crouched in the center of her red room, a kimono of crimson satin pooling around her. He could see the curve of one breast beneath the long chains of jewels glittering around her neck. She held a pink music box in both hands, and her eyes shimmered as she looked at him.

“Jack.” Her voice sent a shiver down his spine. “Do you still love me?”

“Always,” he lied.

She opened the music box, and the tiny ballerina inside began to spin as a delicate melody tinkled through the air.

He was blindsided by the vision of a dark-haired girl whose blue eyes were lined with Egyptian kohl, a ballerina who dressed in T-shirts and jeans. Her name burned his throat like smoke.
Lily Rose
. Had he seen her
before
?

Reiko touched the tiny ballerina. “Look, there, on the table beside you.”

He saw a book, its cover depicting a mysterious face surrounded by thorns and flowers. The title was
Between
. He opened it to find paintings of grotesque, beautiful, whimsical creatures. And the author . . .

Jack looked up at Reiko as he said, “It's by Daisy Sullivan.
Finn's mother
.”

“It was never published. The oldest girl inherited the mother's ability to see us. They knew too much. Someone told the girl . . . things. Secrets.”

He recalled Finn talking about her sister's journal and the hollow place inside of him, still raw, began to ache. “You killed her mother and her sister.”

Reiko said calmly, “Their ugly world killed her mother. And the oldest girl made her own decision.”

His hands ached to twist those necklaces tight around Reiko's throat. “Did Seth Lot help Lily Rose Sullivan with that decision?”

“Jack”—she shut the music box—“ask me about Serafina Sullivan.”

“I am done with her.”

“You are not done with her. She has offended me. You will continue to court her, and you will bring her to us.”

“You say you love me.” He wondered why he had not grown weary of her beauty, why it still moved him as if she were the innocent yet worldly young woman she pretended to be. “But you don't. Not really.”

“Jack.” She rose and her eyes were wide and dark. In that moment, she
did
seem to be a mortal girl. “You are all that I want.”

She drew close to him, and he stood very still as she kissed him.

By the time he realized the shadowy venom from her mouth was entering him, it was too late.

CHRISTIE FOUND FINN HUDDLED ON
her terrace in the cold morning.

“Your mascara is running,” he said gently. “Has
he
been here?”

She only looked at him, unable to conceal her misery as he crouched beside her. He muttered, “If I put a stake through his black heart—”

“He doesn't have a heart.”

“I suppose asking you not to have anything to do with him is pointless?”

“You don't understand.” Her voice was raw. “I think they're going to kill Nathan.”

He sat on the steps. “
Why?
”

She breathed the apple-chill air. “The oak tree he showed me, the Teind they keep talking about—it means ‘sacrifice.' ”

Christie muttered under his breath and yanked off his hat.

“Don't swear. My da already thinks you're a shady influence.”

“
Me?
Has he met the dark prince?” He looked down at his bare hands. “I don't know what to do, Finn. I want to help you. And I will. But just think about what you're doing.”

They sat quietly together as the morning sun blazed, and Finn decided that, because the Fatas had taken Lily, she would take something from
them
—and keep an innocent boy from dying.

 

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

Why is the Night-crow in the next place? Not hard. This is the month when we refrain from carnal pleasures because of terror, which in Irish is uath, and the Night-crow brings terrible. Terrible is its color.

—
T
HE
W
HITE
G
ODDESS
,
R
OBERT
G
RAVES

A girl fell in love with a statue that stood in the garden of a house known to be one of Theirs. She passed the statue—a marble boy with an angel's face—every morning on her way to school. One day, she put a ring on its finger. She kissed its lips. It came to her that night and crushed her while seeking another kiss.

—
F
ROM THE JOURNAL OF
L
ILY
R
OSE

T
his is the last time you'll see me.

Finn curled up in her bed and didn't want to get up. Rain had descended like a curse on Fair Hollow—it made the thought of rising, dressing, eating, and pretending her life wasn't wrecked seem impossible. She opened her eyes and tracked her gaze around the room. She, Christie, and Sylvie had gone on a treasure hunt for protective charms the day before. Her walls were now scattered with ornate little mirrors, wreaths of rowan, Buddhist bells, and three Celtic crosses made of old stone. Sage and patchouli incense from Hecate's Attic perfumed the air.

She grudgingly got out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror crowded with old postcards and photos. Her face was white, her lips red, her eyes dark. She looked like one of
them
.

She thought about Halloween and the Teind no one would talk about.

RAIN CONTINUED TO SMASH AGAINST
the roof as Finn, hurrying down the stairs, heard her da speaking with someone on the porch. As a draft fragrant with green things and earth swirled through the house, she halted. Her father was speaking with Jane Emory. The botany professor had tucked a marigold into her yellow hair, and, beneath her jacket, she wore a T-shirt printed with the words
I HUG TREES
.

Finn stood still as her da ducked his head like a kid. When he turned and saw her, he looked defiant, as if she'd caught him at something. “Finn. D'you want to come out with Jane and me for coffee?”

Finn stared at Jane Emory, who looked innocently at her
. Jane?

“You left something on the field trip bus.” Jane Emory held out the iron bracelet Christie had made. “It looks valuable.”

Finn came forward and took it, murmuring, “Thanks.” She glanced at her father. “Sylvie's coming over, so, no thanks.”

She tried not to stomp back up the stairs.

“JANE EMORY.” SYLVIE LOOKED THOUGHTFUL.
“And your dad. Hey, at least it's not
Avaline
.”

Finn sipped at her chai, her new favorite drink. They had taken a cab to Winter Street, where cafés and antique shops cluttered two blocks, and the pavements rippled with the roots of maples. Blood-red leaves swirled, brightening the autumn gloom. Done with an afternoon of shopping, they sat in a tiny café with ravens painted on the walls.

“How do you feel about it?”

“He's been so unhappy.”

“You know, Finn, when I first saw you,
you
looked so unhappy—you reminded me of one of those silent movie actresses with the big eyes. I just wanted to hug you. Christie”—Sylvie's mouth curled—“wanted to kiss you, but then, that's his solution for brightening
any
girl's day.”

Finn smiled and pulled at a thread on her blue peasant blouse embroidered with yellow daisies. She'd put on her bracelets, the iron and the silver. Sylvie's defenses were Christie's iron ring and the silver hoops in her earlobes. Finn pointed to the iron ring. “Did you know Mr. Wyatt had his class make those?”

“Metalworking.” Sylvie caught the connection. “He's obviously one of Professor Avaline's.” As she stirred her crimson lemonade, she continued, “I think Christie's gone to see Phouka Fata.”

Finn felt a shiver of fear for Christie and looked around at the people in the café, envying them their ignorance of the Fatas' existence. “What can we say to stop him, Sylv? Especially me.”

“Must I take a shine to scary Caliban? Or that orange-haired boy with a girl's face?”

“Absalom Askew. And he's not a boy. He's older than Moses. Don't even
think
about Caliban.”

“Maybe Christie's under a spell.”

“No. Not Phouka. She's charm, not glamour.”

Sylvie reached out to grip Finn's hand, and the iron ring Christie had given her clinked against Finn's iron bracelet. “We can pretend, right, but it won't make things go back.
They
know
we
know.”

“Sylv, I've been here a
month
. I've gotten nothing but average marks in my classes. and I've read
one
book. I haven't even finished unpacking . . . and now I need to find out what horrible thing the Fatas are planning on Halloween. ‘Celebration,' Caliban said.”

“What exactly did Nathan tell you?”

“He showed me a gigantic oak and said the Fatas thought of it as a god to the land of the dead. It's dying. Then he started talking about sacrifice. I really don't like that word.”

“Why is he with the Fatas, if he's human and they're . . .”

“I don't know.”

“You know what they are, don't you?” She looked at Finn, eyes wide. “All of those things that ward us against them . . . silver. Iron. Salt.”

In the daylight, it was hard to imagine the Fatas as a tribe of rogue spirits that preyed on humans like the malign forces from a Grimms' fairy tale. Finn's voice shook a little. “I know what they are.”

“It scares me.”

“It terrifies me. And that damn oak gave me the crawls.”

“I've never heard of that oak, but there's a yew tree in Soldiers' Gate where Malcolm Tirnagoth called on the supernatural to bring back his dead family. Absalom and I were talking about Tirnagoth before you came. Finn . . . you could
summon
Jack. He'd have to follow the rules, then.”

The rules,
Absalom Askew had said,
keep us in shape.
Rules kept them
in
their shapes. “So, exactly, what was Absalom telling you, Sylvie?”

Sylvie fidgeted. “Stuff.”

“Stuff? Like how to summon people at yew trees?”

“He said it would make Jack less likely to go off the rails.”

“Why? Why would he tell you these things?”

Sylvie explained to her what Reiko had offered her in the conservatory of Mermaid House and Finn's breath hitched. “
Why didn't you tell me before?
”

“I walked away—deal with the devil and all that.”

Finn shuddered and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Have you always lived in Fair Hollow?”

“Always.”

“And you never noticed . . . them?”

“Well, there are lots of theater and film people from New York City. And every town has something spooky in its history. But the Fatas . . . they are are mad, bad, and perilous to know.”

Finn looked out at the rain. “I don't want to spend my life protecting myself with iron and sea salt, Sylvie.”

“Maybe it doesn't matter.” Sylvie's gaze was dark. “Maybe Jack and Nathan and Phouka once tried those things, too. And look where it got them.”

AT EIGHT IN THE EVENING,
the doorbell rang and Finn found Christie on her porch, his face grim. “I need you to come with me.”

He was acting dodgy. When she noticed the rings he wore, old and twisted, she drew back. “When did you begin decorating yourself with
those
?”

“With what?”

“The rings, Christie.”

“Are you coming with me or not? It's Phouka Fata. She wants to talk to you.”

“Why would she want to see
me
?”

“I think you should ask her yourself.”

THE FRAGRANCES OF WOOD SMOKE
and pine mingled with the gasoline smell of Christie's Mustang as Finn watched familiar streets become Route 95, with its strip malls, Morrisey's Auto, a McDonald's, and a billiards hall. Then they were driving up a tree-lined road into the mountains. She hadn't asked Christie how he'd ended up as Phouka's messenger boy because she didn't want her faith in him compromised.

He steered the Mustang into a parking lot in front of a building that resembled a Buddhist temple-turned-roadhouse. Red lanterns hung from the roof, and a bronze deity sat in a fountain near the door, a lotus lamp cupped in its hands. The sign above the door read
LOTUS AND LUNA
.

They entered a dim interior, where a pink neon lotus glowed behind a bar crowded with university students. The air smelled like aftershave, alcohol, and deep-fried appetizers as Christie led Finn to a corner booth, where Phouka sat, passing for normal in a black Beatles T-shirt and rock star jeans. Her auburn hair was threaded with tiny braids, and her hoop earrings were gold. There were two others at the table with her—Aubrey Drake and a sleek girl wearing a Dolce and Gabbana dress of green silk, her black hair cut short.

“Finn Sullivan.” Aubrey smiled and gestured to the girl, who also smiled, her gaze warm. “Hester Kierney.” He looked at Phouka. “Well?”

“Are they going to sit?” Phouka was lazily stirring a drink, which was probably there for show. As Finn and Christie sat, she said, “The road outside was where Ichabod Crane fled the Headless Horseman. But the Horseman had a head. And antlers. He's a hunter who transports souls to the land of the dead. You know who else takes souls on trips? Chauffeurs. Coachmen.”

“Phouka.” Hester Kierney looked concerned.

Phouka continued, “Jack became a coachman, like his dad. In some places, long ago, coachmen were shamans, medicine men. They had a second business, most of them—driving out evil spirits. They were exorcists.”

Finn softly said, “That's why you took him. Why am I here? Why are
they
here?” She pointed to Aubrey and Hester.

The girl chauffeur's eyes were absolute silver now. “An outlaw King and Queen of the Faeries have made their home in a little town in upstate New York and you've gotten their attention. These two are Blessed”—she indicated Aubrey and Hester—“which means their families have been rewarded for outstanding service, and you're here, Finn Sullivan, to be warned.”

Aubrey said, “Ignorance is bliss. Now that you know about this, you need allies. With us or against us.”

“So Malcolm Tirnagoth isn't the only one who made a deal with the devil,” Christie said contemptuously. “You lot did the same. No wonder you're all rich.”

“Christie,” Hester chided. “It's not like that.”

Aubrey leaned forward. “And since when have you found religion, Hart? Anyway, our
ancestors
made a deal with devils—hell, my parents don't even remember them. We're just getting the benefits. Good looks. Good health—”

“—and a future as one of the living dead?” Christie said helpfully.

“I won't,” Finn said in a low voice, “be
with
you. I might be
against
you.”

Christie whispered to her, “You probably shouldn't have said that last part out loud.”

“Serafina,” Hester Kierney gently said, “please think about it. They're not evil—”

“Is this what you wanted me here for?” Finn was mildly astonished.

“Finn,” Aubrey said, leaning toward her, “Hester's dad is the dean of Saint John's U. He got
your
dad the job there. The Fatas
brought
you here, in a roundabout sort of way.”

Finn felt her pulse jump as she met Phouka's silver gaze. Her sense of reality began to teeter dangerously. “No. I don't believe it.”

“Christie”—Phouka looked at him—“you've lived here all your life.
Convince
her.”

“I won't convince her of anything. Come on, Finn.”

Hester's voice, pleading, followed them as they walked away, “Then you're alone.”

As Finn stalked into the parking lot with Christie, who was clenching and unclenching his hands, he said, “Finn. I'm sorry—”

She spun to face him. “You
know
what Phouka is.”

“And you know what Jack is. She said she could help—”

Finn gestured to the rings Christie wore and her voice broke, “What did you do? Let her give you pretty things? You heard her—chauffeur? Transports
souls
?”

“I didn't give her my
soul,
Finn.” The bitterness in his voice and eyes had replaced the lightheartedness she missed. “But I
am
trying to save ours, while you risk all of us for someone who died a long time ago.”

She stepped back as if his words had been a slap. She whispered, “He's
eighteen
. And he's frozen, forever, until someone helps him.”

“Then you'd better make a choice.” Christie headed toward his Mustang. “Because you can't save everyone. And, for the record, all these goddamn thrift-store rings are silver or iron. I bought them.”

She closed her eyes and felt as if the starlight were bits of glass on her skin.

JACK WAS ON THE ROOF
of his theater, playing the violin with a savagery that was scarcely human, when he heard Finn's voice say, “Jack.”

The bow swerved from the strings. He rose to look down at the girl standing below, and was furious that she would come here after all he had done to frighten her away. “What are you doing here?”