The Treachery of Beautiful Things

by Ruth Long

  Jenny rolled her eyes. Break. Lovely. But now she was getting somewhere. At last. “And the piper?”

  Jack ducked his head; the smile slid off his face and Puck shifted his feet. Did they exchange a glance? She wasn’t sure.

  “The court is forever playing games of the queen’s invention,” Jack said, his words a mask over something.

  “She said the piper, Jack. Who’s the piper?”

  The need to know made her heart ache, and at the same time she dreaded finding out. It didn’t matter, though; Jack wasn’t going to give her a straight answer.

  “Her servant, Jenny Wren. That’s all. A servant in her castle. And it doesn’t do to get in the way of the Wild Hunt. Come, Jenny, please. I’ll take you to the Woodsman and his Goodwife. He knows the forest, serves as a guide too. He will take you home before the moon has even risen. They are our friends. You can trust them.”

  They reached another, much bigger clearing as the sun slid low. Jack glanced behind them with every other step and looked often at the fading light in the sky. His answers, those he would give anyway, were curt.

  Jenny stamped along behind him, struggling to keep her features expressionless. She’d have to bide her time. And then find Tom herself. Maybe she could persuade Jack’s friends to help her instead. Maybe they’d set her on her way to find Tom. No matter what, she’d be better off free of Jack and his constant insistence that she go home.

  The ground began to slope down to a narrow stream, and on the nearest bank there was a cottage and stables. Jenny frowned, the fleeting thought that it should be made of gingerbread brushing across her mind. The door opened and a plump woman wearing a shapeless brown dress and starched white apron came out.

  “Go on.” With a firm but gentle hand, Jack pushed Jenny clear of the last trees. The Woodsman’s wife laid a bowl of cream down at the doorstep and straightened up, smiling. Her sharp eyes snagged on Jenny at once, standing bedraggled and miserable at the tree line.

  The woman studied her for a second and then her gaze moved onward, behind her to where Jack still stood.

  “Jack? Who’ve you brought to us?”

  “A friend in need. Thought your good husband could guide her back to the Edge this evening.” He stepped back and the forest seemed to draw in around him, shielding him from her.

  “Come here, love,” said the Goodwife. “You don’t want to be among the trees come nightfall. And you look half starved.”

  “She’ll help you,” said Jack, glancing up at the sky’s fading light once more. “Keep you safe. Get you—” He broke off with a curse, a sharp-edged and violent word in a language she didn’t know. When he next looked at her, he was frowning. “Wait, I should have said. Don’t eat their food. They’re good people, generous, but you can’t accept a meal they prepare. Fruit, milk, anything grown naturally is fine, but food prepared by fae hands has a way of trapping you here.” He looked at her, mismatched eyes searching her face. “Do you understand?”

  This just got better and better. First he wanted to get rid of her, then palm her off on someone else, and now—

  “No food. Right.” She was already ravenous, couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, and now she wasn’t allowed to eat at all? Had he said fae hands? The woman looked human. But then again, she’d already discovered looks could be deceptive here.

  “No pies, no porridge, anything like that. They know it, so you’ll be safe with them. But, just in case you’re tempted. Faerie food stays with you, it changes you—”

  “Faerie food?” Jenny said, frowning back at him. This seemed to exasperate him more.

  “If you take some willingly,” Jack rushed on, “you’re tied to the Realm forever, even if you manage to leave. If it’s forced on you, then the spell doesn’t work. But if you accept what is offered— Just remember.”

  “What about you?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She didn’t care what he did, or what became of him.

  “Me?” Jack laughed, a brittle sound now, not the sweet music of earlier, when she’d first pointed out that he was dressed in leaves…and he had deceived her with a trick. “I’m Jack o’ the Forest, Jenny Wren. I’m the guardian. My place is here. Go on. The Goodwife’s husband can guide you back to the Edge, to the gateway, and home.” He glanced toward the sky. “And don’t delay. It’s late enough already.”

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  A smile tightened his lips, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I have other duties.”

  Jenny made no reply. Just looked at him and pursed her lips.

  She heard him sigh, and the sound almost made her smile. Almost.

  “Stubborn,” he said quietly, and smiled at her, nearly laughed again. Just for a moment. But then all kindness bled from his words. “And foolish. Go home, Jenny. You don’t understand the common dangers of our world. How can you expect to stand against the greatest danger of them all? Your Tom is gone, seven long years ago. Leave him be and go home.”

  And then Jack was gone too, as if he had never been there. She couldn’t say how she knew he’d left. It was just that the forest was suddenly still and she could tell. It took on another air now, in the deepening twilight. Cold, silent. She should be glad to be leaving it, but it clung to her, enticing her back. With a curious reluctance she didn’t understand, she started toward the house.

  chapter five

  “Head to the Edge tonight?” the Woodsman muttered as he dropped the logs beside the hearth.

  His wife looked up from the laundry she was folding. “That’s what he said. Seems foolish though, doesn’t it?” She smiled at Jenny, who sat in one of the armchairs, her feet curled under her. “It’s late. And there’s a storm rising.”

  “Well, there you go then.” The Woodsman gave a snort and sat down opposite Jenny. “You don’t want to be out there in a storm, do you?”

  She didn’t want to be out there at all, not heading back toward the Edge anyway. “Maybe…maybe we don’t need to go right away,” she said as if she was only conceding to logic. A flash of guilt rose in her. She’d been gone all day. What could they be thinking at home? Or maybe they hadn’t noticed she was missing. No, they’d notice. They’d have to. They might not believe it just yet. And when they did…

  Jenny pushed her parents from her mind before the guilt could rise so high it would tumble and crush her. She looked up at the Woodsman, hoping for some sort of validation. A way out.

  He smiled, a warm and pleasant expression. “Morning’s early enough, eh?”

  “You must be exhausted, dear,” his wife added. “Let’s get you something to eat and a bed for the night.”

  Jenny shifted uncomfortably. “Jack said not to eat anything.”

  The Goodwife laughed. “Of course he did. No, you’ll have to prepare it yourself of course, but there’s no harm in some warm milk, is there? Shame though. I’ve bread and scones in the oven.”

  The scent of her baking was everywhere, and Jenny’s stomach growled. Warm milk seemed like a sorry substitute, but it was better than nothing. The fire was working on her now, making her eyes heavy. She was tired, bone tired. She’d never understood what that meant before. A bed sounded like the finest luxury in the world.

  Outside, the wind was rising, buffeting against the house, making the trees roar. The Goodwife crossed to the window, pulled the curtains. “He really whistled up the wind this time.”

  “Every time the queen turns her back, that piper of hers is off causing mayhem,” the Woodsman replied.

  Jenny jerked herself awake, staring at the woman. “The piper?”

  “Yes, the queen’s piper. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you quite well?”

  Jenny pushed herself out of the chair. She couldn’t go back without him. Not now, not if there was a chance they thought— She couldn’t do that again. “He’s my brother. I think. I heard him playing. I came here looking for him. It has to be him.”

  They both stared at her, their eyes intently stu
dying her, their faces grim.

  “Are you certain?” the Woodsman asked. “There’s a resemblance, to be sure, but—”

  “It has to be him. No one could play like Tom. I heard him, in the trees. I followed him. That’s how I got here. But Jack just kept insisting I had to go back.”

  “Hush now,” the Goodwife murmured. “All’s well. We won’t send you back if you don’t want to go, my dear. If it’s your brother you’re seeking, he’ll be with the queen. Always goes back to her in the end.”

  Jenny’s legs wobbled beneath her. She sat down abruptly, the air rushing from her lungs. “Then he’s here. It’s Tom.”

  They glanced at each other, a brief exchange of looks that could have meant anything.

  The Goodwife stepped closer, reached out to stroke Jenny’s hair. “You need food and sleep, my dear. The rest can wait till morning.”

  Jenny pulled the patterned quilt up to her chin and tried to get to sleep once more. The nightgown they’d given her was unfamiliar, old-fashioned, and either tangled around her legs or crept up far too high. Outside the little cottage, the wind hurled itself at the diamond-patterned windows and rain splattered heavily against the glass. Had Tom really caused this? Whistling up the wind, they’d called it. If anyone could do it, she’d believe it of Tom.

  And they knew him. Or knew of him. They saw him in her, and that gave her a slim, tenuous hope. She and Tom had looked alike as kids—Jenny, Tom’s miniature. Everyone said so. Same eyes, same freckles, same bones beneath their skin. They’d laughed about it, threatened to switch places, as if that would have fooled anyone. Jenny smiled at the memory, and at last, with an ache in her chest, she dozed.

  The storm woke her some hours later to complete darkness, wind and rain warring with each other outside. She could hear something moving through the wild night. It slouched through the darkness, circling the house. She was sure it was her imagination at first, a combination of dreams and exhaustion. Twice, she got up and pulled back the curtains, which had been brightly colored in the candlelight but were black as pitch now. Sheets of gray rain obscured almost everything from view. She was about to turn away the second time when she caught a glimpse of something in the night. It slid between the trees on the edge of the forest, part storm, part animal, part natural world. A thin sweat broke over her skin, and trembling fingers clenched around the locket at her throat.

  The creature slid through the shadows, flowed like water down the windowpane. The impact of the raindrops on its outline was almost all that defined it against the black night. Abruptly, it was gone, but she stood transfixed, knowing that it circled the house and could reappear at any moment.

  Sure enough, it was back within a few minutes. This time she caught a sense of something ancient, powerful, covered in leaves and vines, and an aching panic ballooned in her lungs. But she stood, unable to move away, watching, as it circled closer. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

  Even with a brief glimpse, she knew it. Remembered it. Its berry-bright eyes. The way it had twisted around on itself quicker than a cat. The way it had vanished into the trees, and Tom with it.

  Your Tom is gone, seven long years ago. Leave him be and go home.

  Jenny’s heart knotted as she remembered Jack’s words. Seven years. And her breath caught. She tugged at her locket, winding it around on the chain until it tightened and she let it go again so it could unravel. Had she told him the amount of time? In fact, had she said anything at all about it?

  “Is she asleep?” The voice came as an insistent whisper outside the door. Jenny turned from the window. Her bedclothes were a tangled heap on the bed, almost as if someone still lay beneath them. She dropped the curtain and was about to go to the door when she heard the Woodsman speak.

  “She must be—has to be. She won’t be missed, not if she’s meant to have gone home already. They’re hungry. We have no choice, unless you would appease them yourself.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t, not anymore.” The Goodwife paused, and when she spoke again, doubt infected her voice. “She’s not much older than our Hannah was.”

  He choked at the mention of the name. “Hannah—Hannah’s gone. They won’t stay content with pig meat, and I can’t lose you. She’s here now and if she is the piper’s kin, maybe she’ll be as special as him. They like that. You heard how restless they are. They’ve scented her. They know she’s here. Her blood will stir them up to a frenzy if we don’t do something.”

  Jenny shrank back into the shadows around the window, crouching to make her body and breath as small and undetectable as possible.

  The door creaked open, light coming from the lamp the Goodwife held. She saw the Woodsman approach the bed, his mouth set in a grim line, while his partner fidgeted by the door. The Woodsman held a cloth and, with a hand too practiced, he threw back the sheet and brought the cloth down where Jenny’s mouth should have been.

  Unable to help herself, Jenny sucked in a breath. They both turned toward her hiding place in shadows.

  “Now, now,” said the Goodwife, “you shouldn’t be awake.” The lamp swung lazily from side to side as the woman stalked toward her. Her husband advanced too, his movements more furtive, more like a rat than the hulking man he was.

  Jenny’s heart thundered inside her. The ache in her chest expanded, slicing at her lungs. What were they doing? What on earth—

  “Stay still now, my darlin’ girl,” the Goodwife cooed. “It’ll be all right. The little fellas need to be fed, and on nights like this, milk alone won’t do. Now, I can’t help them all, but you can. I’d swear you’ll be sweet as honey to them.” She reached out, open-palmed, beckoning the girl to her, and Jenny saw the length of her arm exposed. The expanse of white skin was covered in puncture wounds, bite marks, some almost healed, others raw and fresh. The skin around them was mottled, hard and almost…almost like the chitin of an insect’s shell.

  Jenny’s fingers scrabbled behind her, trying to find the catch on the window, to prize it open before they could reach her. She felt her nails tear as she dug them into the wood, straining to lift the window. She wrenched it up and the storm enveloped her, invading the room like a vortex of wind, rain, and whirling leaves, like the forest itself enraged. The lamp gutted and went out. The Goodwife gave a cry. At the same moment, the Woodsman’s hand closed on Jenny’s arm. Her scream joined with the wind’s shriek and she wrenched herself free. Before she knew what she was doing, she had hurled herself out of the window.

  She landed heavily, the hard earth slamming the air from her body. The lamp was quickly relit inside. Its light through the window framed her on the ground, and the rain pelted against her skin. Mud slicked through her hair, oozed against her skin. She struggled to get up, and sharp pain lanced down her spine. Jenny cried out, sinking back.

  She heard the Goodwife snarl. “She was meant to last. If they take her now, out there, they’ll gorge!”

  “It’s too late,” said her husband. “Call them. It isn’t long till dawn.”

  The woman stuck her head out of the window, her eyes bright with malice, and opened her mouth to emit a high-pitched trill that was almost snatched away by the storm. Under other circumstances, she might have been calling her chickens. Jenny recoiled and tried to force her body to move, to get up, to run. A fierce chittering filled the air, drowning out the rain and wind. Jenny tried once more to get up. She gasped as her body spiked with pain. At the sound of her distress, something sprang into the light, a spider-like thing about the size of her hand. The black torso rose from splayed legs. The skin shone, as if covered in molten tar. Its eyes gleamed yellow and its crested head was a bright scarlet. Fangs glistened in its open mouth.

  A crooning sound came from deep inside its vibrating chest as it tilted its head to one side, examining her. Jenny stared back, the rain drenching her, running icy fingers over her skin beneath the sodden nightgown. She sucked in a breath and pain sliced through her until it turned into a sob. Shock, terror, pain all cons
pired to pin her there. She couldn’t move, transfixed by this tiny horror.

  It darted forward, straddling her outstretched arm. Jenny made to pull back, but the creature latched on to her, wrapping its legs around her limb. Involuntary spasms racked her body. She tried to roll away. But another leaped out of the night, latching on to her other arm. The lead creature snarled, bared its teeth, and bit into the exposed flesh of her arm.

  Jenny screamed and, as if summoned by the sound, more of the monsters swarmed over her, their teeth like hypodermic needles, piercing clothes and skin. A thousand points of white pain twisted her scream to a higher note. She could feel them drawing on her blood, draining it, drinking it down. Something else surged into her, numbing and terrible, a poison robbing her of senses and strength.

  Her voice fell to a moan as two large shadows fell over her. The Goodwife and the Woodsman lifted her between them, careful not to disturb the creatures’ feeding, and, without a word, carried her back inside.

  The door slammed shut, locking out the storm, and any hope Jenny had for escape.

  chapter six

  Jenny woke to brilliant sunlight and blinding pain. She was aware of it before she was fully aware of her own consciousness. Her skin burned everywhere, pinpricks of fire. Her back and shoulders were raw agony. Tentatively, she tried to move her arms and legs, but coarse ropes grated against the bite marks at her wrists and ankles. A gag cut against the corners of her mouth, filling it with the taste of dust and mildew. As she opened her eyes, she saw the bedroom from the night before. The window was roughly boarded up, the gaps between the wood no bigger than her hand, and the door was firmly closed. Dried blood flecked her skin and the surface of the nightdress, blood from so many tiny wounds that she couldn’t hope to count them all. It wasn’t like being elfshot. She’d thought that had been bad, but it was an itch and discomfort compared to this. This was pain, a thousand times over, everywhere.