“I know it.” She could hardly believe her own words. “I know the answer to Jak’s riddle.”
Chapter 30
Cricket made her way out of the back storage rooms, her pockets bulging suspiciously. Always the thief, even now. Cricket said nothing about her stolen treasure and simply said, “Well, don’t leave us wondering.”
Sinjin raised an arched eyebrow. “What’s this about a riddle?”
Anouk pointed to her drawing in the dust and said in an excited rush, “A face with no eyes. Hands with no arms.”
Luc and Beau stared at her blankly.
“A blind man?” Viggo attempted. “A blind man with no arms? A victim of some freak accident? Anouk, this is getting grisly.”
She groaned. They were all staring directly at the answer. It was right in their faces, ticking away, big ones and small ones and broken ones and repaired ones.
Luc started laughing. He grinned and picked up the oversize pocket watch. “I get it now. It’s a clock.”
Cricket perched on the edge of her sarcophagus, picking at her fingernails with a blade. A few scraps of dusty parchment stuck out of her back pocket, nothing nearly as valuable as the gold vases and statues all over the basement shelves. Anouk felt a ripple of curiosity. If Cricket wasn’t lifting valuables, what was she taking?
The papers crinkled in Cricket’s back pocket and she casually shoved them down deeper. “The Noirceur is trapped in a clock? Oh, great. There must be millions of clocks in London. How are we supposed to find and destroy the right one?”
Anouk set aside her curiosity about Cricket’s pilfering and paced across the basement to the stage set under construction. Her foot scuffed a brochure.
SPECIAL EXHIBITION.
Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker Ballet.
Original set and costumes.
She turned to Cricket abruptly. “Can you summon snow?”
Cricket’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s not safe outside. The plagues strike without warning. You really want to go out there?”
“I don’t mean outside.” She pointed to the painted backdrop of the forest and the frozen lake. “I want you to summon snow here.”
“Indoors?” Cricket grunted. “That’s harder. But yeah, I think I can.”
She took out a pouch of eucalyptus. The others drifted closer, watching. Both Viggo and Sinjin eyed the scene hungrily—as Pretties, they’d never cast a whisper. Cricket swallowed the eucalyptus and closed her eyes. Her lips moved slowly. The whisper was so quiet that Anouk felt it more than heard it. She was used to seeing the Goblins’ magic, insects and spat whispers, or the Royals’ spells, with their elegant flourishes. Cricket wielded magic differently. It seemed to come not from her fingertips or the end of her tongue, but from her core. She rooted her feet firmly on the floor. Flexed her fingers back so that she could cast with her palms.
A chill spread around Anouk’s ankles. Slowly, as though someone had slammed a door and loosened dust in the rafters, a light snow began to fall over the Nutcracker Ballet set. No snow fell anywhere else in the museum basement. The entire snowstorm was six feet across, as though suspended within a giant snow globe. Anouk stepped into the enchanted diorama, holding out her hands. Real snow landed on her palm and dusted her eyelashes and hair. The others looked nervous, like they were afraid that the costumes of Nutcracker soldiers might come to life.
Anouk turned in a slow circle. The snow was thickest near the Nutcracker throne. Slowly, piece by piece, a boy with icicle hair took shape amid the flakes, perched on the throne.
He grinned.
Quick as a flash, Hunter Black threw one of his knives, but it soared right through the snow, straight through the boy, and lodged in the wall on his other side.
“Hello, Jak,” Anouk said.
“Hello, lovely.” His black eyes glistened. “You’ve solved my riddle. Well done. You’ve earned yourself a story.”
“A story?” This wasn’t what she’d expected. “What story?”
“The only one that matters.”
* * *
Snow Children could exist only where snow fell, so Jak was restricted to the six-foot orb that made up the Nutcracker set. Cricket continued to hold the spell with her left hand and circle her right, whispering soundlessly, keeping the snow falling steadily. The others dragged over medieval ottomans and plywood crates as makeshift chairs.
Jak leaned forward in the Nutcracker throne, a theatrical crown perched on his head, his black eyes shining.
“My story begins ten thousand years ago, before the Age of Order, a time now lost to scholars. The Noirceur was loosed on the world like a spark in a dry forest. But its aim was not to destroy. Did you know there is a certain kind of pine tree that requires fire to reproduce? The cones are sealed with wax and will only open and spread their seeds when the wax is melted. The Noirceur was thus—to some it brought destruction, to others life. There was no logic to it. No rules or order. All that came much later. The Noirceur evolved as the world evolved. As early humans, Royals, and Goblins began to shape their world, the Noirceur changed too. It fractured into three forces: Magic, the controllable force that could be commanded by the Selentium Vox; the vitae echo, which keeps magic from being overused; and, last, technology. Less potent than magic and bound by rules of the Pretty World, technology still springs from the same force, which is why it and magic cannot be handled together.”
He sank back into the throne, tossing a costume ermine stole around his shoulders. Cricket continued to whisper and cast with her hands, and the snow continued to fall.
“If the Noirceur fractured into magic and technology and the vitae echo, how can it still be present in the world?” Luc said.
“Ah, yes. Consider the tree that produces three apples: The tree does not vanish once it has fruited. Neither did the Noirceur. It lingered in the form of chaos, like the roots of a tree. The legendary King Svatyr and Queen Mid Ruath of the Starfire Court came together, dressed in enviable cloaks of bearskin—so the rumor goes—and led a spell that uprooted the remaining Noirceur. They trapped it in a clock five thousand years ago.”
Viggo snorted. “There weren’t clocks that long ago.” He turned to the others. “Are we sure this kid is right in the head?”
Jak considered Viggo with an unimpressed air. “It is best to shut your mouth, lovely, if you do not know what you’re talking about.” He stood, threw off the ermine stole, picked up several of the Nutcracker dolls, and arranged them on the set. He cast a whisper and the dolls began to move on their own in a stiff dance.
He spoke faster, a thrill flashing in his eyes as he commanded the dolls. “As long as there have been people, there have been ways to track time. Even the earliest Pretties learned to thrust a stick in the ground and use it to follow the sun’s movements. The early Royals, of course, had more sophisticated means.” He twisted his hands and the dolls began to pick up the rectangular presents under the artificial Christmas tree and arrange them in a circle. Most of the presents stood upright, and a few pairs were joined together by a third present on top.
Cricket was still whispering to keep the snow falling, but her eyes were heavy-lidded. She was getting tired.
“That looks like Stonehenge,” Luc said.
“It is Stonehenge.” Jak leaned over his creation, cackling in delight. He cast another whisper, and the flashlight that Viggo had been using switched on by itself and levitated into the air. It created an effect like the sun rising over the model of Stonehenge. Shadows elongated and shrank as the flashlight-sun crossed the sky.
“Stonehenge already existed at the time of Queen Mid Ruath and King Svatyr, and it was already shrouded in mystery. They used tricks and whispers to trap the Noirceur within the circle of stones. Even today, Pretty tourists who wander into the ring say they can feel its odd energy.”
“But we felt the Noirceur at Anouk’s engagement party,” Luc pressed. “The witches used it to get in and possess King Kaspar. If it’s trapped in Stonehenge
, how is that possible?”
“Ah.” Jak wagged a finger at Luc. “For a gardener, you’re clever.” His finger drew a line in the air until it reached Viggo. “For a witch’s boy, you aren’t.”
“For a Snow Child,” Viggo said coolly, “you’re full of sh—”
“Viggo!” Anouk chastised him. Viggo grumbled and sat back down on his medieval ottoman.
Jak leaned on the arm of the throne, the crown dangling from the sharp locks of his hair, and asked Luc coyly, “Say, not to change the subject, but would you care for a kiss?”
Anouk saw the hungry look in Jak’s eyes and shoved herself between the two of them. “Don’t,” she ordered Jak, and she gave Luc a warning look over her shoulder. “You know what happens if he kisses you.”
Jak sank back in the throne with a downturned mouth. “You’re spoiling all my fun.” He crooked his head to flash a smile to Luc. “Some things are worth the risk.”
Luc took a step backward and bumped into the clock-repair table.
Jak sighed and continued, “That handsome gardener is correct. Stonehenge was only the original vessel—it is still a place of immense power, a place of transformation and blue flame, but it was time itself that those ancient Royals bound the Noirceur to, not the ancient stones. It can move, in a sense, from timepiece to timepiece. As the world evolved, there existed sundials, hourglasses, candle clocks, pendulums, pocket watches, digital clocks. The Noirceur resides in all of them. The Coven awakened the Noirceur in the timepieces that rest within the London city borders.”
“Isn’t the Noirceur in the black smoke too?”
“The smoke is a symptom. Poisonous, yes, but only a result of the Noirceur, not the Noirceur itself.”
Luc paced in front of the Nutcracker set with his hands tented in thought. “So we know that the Noirceur is trapped in time and that the Coven of Oxford has taken control of the Noirceur. It’s strengthening their power and letting them use technology but releasing chaos in the process.” Luc paced back the other way, tapping his fingers together. “If we don’t stop them, that chaos will spread from London to other cities. Black rainbows over Paris. Double or triple moons over Prague. For all we know, next the ocean will rise up and swallow us all whole. It stands to reason that to accomplish their grand aims, the witches would need an enormous vessel to contain the Noirceur. Something much larger than a single clock. Something the size of the original vessel. Stonehenge.”
“But in London,” Beau added.
Sitting over by the sarcophagi, Sinjin snorted. Anouk spun to face him; she had almost forgotten about the information broker. He was feeding his hare small pieces of pizza crust and wiping the grease on his white coat.
“Why do you laugh?” She didn’t like his tone.
“You don’t know London well, do you?”
Anouk leveled a cold look at him. “No. But then again, I’ve only been alive one year and I already seem to know more about the Haute than you do.” She tilted up her chin. “If you have information for sale, we can arrange a price.”
“Don’t pay him a cent,” Viggo said. “The answer is easy, if you know the city.” He jerked his chin toward a framed map of England among several other artworks being restored. “Look there, at London on the map . . . Big Ben.”
Anouk dragged the map away from the stack of paintings, coughing as a cloud of dust rose around her. She traced a finger over the antiquated writing until she found London and then a reference to Big Ben.
“It looks like a giant bell.”
“It is a giant bell,” said Viggo. “Big Ben is the nickname for the bell and for the clock tower that holds it.” He gave Sinjin a sharp look. “Tell them.”
Sinjin closed the pizza box. “The whole area around Big Ben has been roped off for days. It’s under construction. Closed for repairs.”
Luc was eyeing the broker curiously, as though he’d seen something odd in the tattoos that stretched across the back of his neck. “The witches must have set up Big Ben as their base of operations,” he said.
“So what do we do?” Beau said. “Blow it up?”
“Oooh.” Cricket’s eyes glittered.
“That wouldn’t work,” Luc said. “You can’t destroy something that cannot be destroyed. We can only hope to contain the Noirceur again in a new vessel. Something extremely unique. Something highly protected. But first we’d have to gather every clock in the city and consolidate them all in a single location. Then, maybe, we could trap it for good.” His eyes glistened. “That would take powerful magic.”
Cricket continued to whisper. Her voice was getting hoarse, and the snowfall came in jerky waves. She couldn’t maintain the spell forever.
Anouk turned to Jak. “How do we get the witches to consolidate their power? We’d need to threaten them with a whole army of magic handlers, Goblins and Royals and witches on our side, but none of them can enter London.”
Jak reached out and stroked her cheek. “That, lovely, is a riddle not even I can answer.”
Sinjin laughed. “I like you, beasties, but you’ll be lucky to make it through the night.” He popped a piece of pepperoni in his mouth and added, “Especially not this night. It’s cursed. Two moons. By tomorrow, there’ll probably be five.”
Luc stopped pacing. His hand fell away from his chin as a look of dawning realization crossed his face. “Five moons?” Then, to everyone’s surprise, he turned on Sinjin and said it again. “Five moons.”
The broker appeared confused. It wasn’t lost on Anouk, though, that he picked up his hare and was now very gradually moving toward the door.
Luc’s expression turned hard. “I knew there was something odd about your tattoos. No self-respecting hacker would get zeros and ones tattooed on his neck; that’s advertising you’re a criminal. Not unless you were trying to cover up other tattoos.”
Now Sinjin glanced at the steps that led to the door, but he was smiling oddly, trying to play it off. “I don’t follow.” His hand went to his ear, and he toyed with the ruby stud there.
Luc was moving to block the exit as stealthily as Sinjin was moving toward it. “London witches are known for tattooing their marks on their boys,” Luc continued. “Parisian witches think it’s crass—Viggo used to talk about it, didn’t you, Viggo? You wanted a tattoo but Mada Vittora would only ever let you get temporary ones. But it’s tradition here in London. Your tattoos aren’t zeros, are they? Before you covered them up to look like zeros, they were moons. A row of five moons. The symbol of the Worm Moon Witch. The leader of the Coven of Oxford. You’re her witch’s boy.”
“That’s a lie!” Sinjin’s fist was tight on his ruby earring now, his knuckles white. He turned to Cricket, who was sweating, struggling to keep up the snow spell. “Use a truth spell on me. I’ll prove it. Ask me if I’m a witch’s boy and I’ll be compelled to tell you the truth.”
Anouk stood straighter. At her engagement party, Luc had told her that the traitor was someone who shared a roof with witches. They’d been afraid it was Viggo or Rennar.
“Luc,” Hunter Black said quietly. “We researched all the Coven’s associates back in Paris. There were records of the witches’ boys in Castle Ides. They’re all accounted for. Five boys for five witches. None of them are Sinjin.”
Luc’s gaze was steady. “A count from the Court of the Woods once whispered in my ear that truth spells are nothing but a clever trick. Use a truth spell and then ask you? You would tell us honestly that you aren’t her boy. But you were. How long ago did she cast you out for a younger boy?”
Sinjin’s fingers toyed hard at the stud in his ear; he almost looked like he was twisting it off. Awareness of danger flashed in his eyes. He kept darting gazes toward the blocked doorway.
Luc folded his arms across his chest. “Your gloves aren’t a fashion statement, are they? They’re hiding scars on your inner elbow. Bloodletting scars from your time as her witch’s boy.”
Viggo’s hand drifted mechanically to his own inner elbow.
>
“In Paris, there were rumors of a traitor. No one thought to consider a Pretty.”
Anouk pressed a hand to her head. It was making sense now, but so fast that she couldn’t hold it all in her mind at once. “The party!” When they all stared at her, she explained in a rush, “The broken hourglass—that’s how the Coven got into my engagement party. How King Kaspar was possessed.”
Cricket shook her head. “The hourglass was a Parisian timepiece and the witches only awakened the Noirceur in London ones.”
Anouk turned on Sinjin. “You brought it from London with you, didn’t you? You knocked it over intentionally. Pretended to spill sand on King Kaspar and Mia. It was a trap. Anyone who physically touches the sand could be possessed. You were working for the Coven.”
The broker’s smile came quick and mean. In the next second, three things happened:
First, Cricket stopped whispering so she could pull her blades.
Second, Sinjin opened his palm to reveal his ruby earring stud.
Third, the golden hare leaped into his arms and ate the stud in one quick swallow.
It happened so fast and was so unexpected that at first Anouk wasn’t certain she had seen it correctly. But before she could wonder what such a strange thing meant, the hare leaped out of Sinjin’s arms onto the taxidermied lion’s back, then onto a vase, and then down to Cricket’s feet, where it started hopping in a circle around her.
Saint cawed and took flight, wings flapping wildly.
The vase teetered precariously before falling in a spectacular crash.
Cricket twisted in circles, trying to catch the hare. She said, “Stop Sinjin!” and threw one of her blades, but all the spinning threw off her aim. The blade flew an inch from Sinjin’s ear and lodged in a totem pole. The snow started to lessen and Cricket cursed and began the whisper again.
In the chaos, Sinjin pulled an amber stone from his jacket pocket and hurled it at the floor. It broke into clumps of resin, emitting a smell that was musky and rotten. Beau and Luc pulled their shirts up over their mouths against the smell.
Midnight Beauties Page 22