“Why isn’t it working?” Nell said, scrubbing a frustrated tear off her face before it fell. “My mom never slipped like this. She would be so embarrassed watching me—so ashamed—”
Ashamed. Pain crimped in my chest.
Flora’s head bowed as she drew Ribbit closer to the warmth of her chest. “Nell, you tried. . . . It’s . . . it’s . . .”
The changeling let out a series of whimpers. Flora’s eyes widened as she leaned down, bringing her ear close to the changeling’s beak. “No, no, it’s all right, just rest—save your strength.”
“What is she saying?” I asked.
“Ribbit is . . . She’s trying to explain that she overheard ogres discussing your sister . . . something about when Pyra will make her move.”
It felt like my whole body was dissolving in panic and desperation for whatever information Ribbit had. I bit my tongue—this moment wasn’t about me, or Prue. It was about Ribbit.
Nell took a step back, hugging her book to her chest. There was no expression on her face, as if she were so deep in her thoughts she’d become trapped there.
Lemons, Al said quietly. She tastes of lemons yet again. . . .
Lemons meant sadness. Devastation.
This is the thing about pain: it never stays exactly the same. Just when you think you’ve beat an old hurt, or that you’ve finally sent grief packing, it circles back wearing a new, more terrible face. Nell had suffered through losing her mom, believing she could have been saved, and believing that she could still return. Now it felt like she was trying to keep her alive in a different way: by walking in her mother’s exact footsteps.
“Nell,” I said, taking her shoulders and turning her toward me. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t. Time was beating out a too-quick rhythm, and Ribbit’s breathing had fallen out of sync with it. It slowed, labored and wheezing.
“Take it from someone who has been told every single day of his life that he wasn’t good enough, and that he would never live up to his family and their name,” I said. “All those voices in your head telling you that you’re worthless, that you’ll never be as powerful as your mother, that you won’t be forgiven for what you did—they’re lying to you.”
At that, Nell finally looked at me. Her eyes were red with unshed tears.
“Your mom sounds like an amazing person. You told me once that she encouraged you to be who you wanted to be. There will never be another person like her, just like there can only be one Nell. And that Nell is awesome.”
I took the book from her. “There’s no shame in making mistakes unless you never try to fix them. I think the only way you could ever disappoint your mom is if you gave up on yourself and tried to be someone else.”
Toad’s head bobbed in the air. He licked the side of Nell’s face, surprising her enough that she let out a startled laugh. His green eyes flashed in my direction as he lifted a paw and motioned for me to continue.
“Listen, I know we don’t have time,” I said. “And honestly, I don’t know all that much about anything Downstairs, or even upstairs in the human world. You could tell me witches eat their own warts for breakfast and I’d believe you at this point.”
“No,” Nell said, “but they do use them to tell fortunes.”
“Okay, see?” I said, not missing a beat. “Here’s what I do know, though: All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. You just have to believe in yourself.”
Nell’s face lost its hollow look. A deeply confused one replaced it. “That’s not what that Shakespeare quote means. He’s saying that we’re all pieces in Fate’s great plan and we don’t really have control over any of it.”
“Well, that’s the only Shakespeare quote I know, so pretend it’s encouraging you to remember that you’re a witch—the witch of the House of Seven Terrors—and just because the moon isn’t out, just because you’ve stumbled, it doesn’t mean that it’s not true, and that you’re not powerful.”
Aim for a swift conclusion, Maggot.
“So even though I know nothing about pretty much everything, I do know this: I saw you use magic in Salem. It worked every time, and I think it was because you weren’t afraid it wouldn’t. You never doubted what you could do,” I said. “So even if you doubt yourself now, I know that I believe in you. I will always believe in you.”
Nell stared at me, and slowly, some of the pain began to fade from her expression. She looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers apart. Her lips flattened into a determined line, and I recognized the way she set her shoulders back.
“I’m not going to fail,” she said, her voice sounding stronger. “I was born with this power. It’s mine to use.” She took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
None of us moved. I clasped my hands behind my back, squeezing my fingers together to work out the last of my fears. Ribbit was beginning to fade in front of our eyes, her feathers glittering as, bit by bit, they dissolved into glowing flecks of magic.
“I’m going to try it a different way,” Nell explained. “I learned about this other healing spell, and if I try combining the two . . .”
“Just try,” Flora whispered.
Nell placed her hands around where the elf cradled Ribbit and closed her eyes. Her voice was slow as she spoke, and as cool and soothing as the light of a full moon. “I call upon the seven sisters of the night, the ones who carry the moon’s healing light. . . . By the power that is my own, mend this wounded skin and bone—”
She hadn’t even finished the spell when magic started to radiate from between Nell’s and Flora’s hands. The luminescent haze became more compact, narrowing into threads. As if Nell had threaded it through the eye of a needle, the magic wove in and out of Ribbit’s small form. It skimmed the edges of her feathers, caressing her with its gentle power.
A thin strand of magic seeped out of my chest, worming its way through the air. It dissolved into the greater glow wrapped around Ribbit, intensifying its radiance.
Shock rippled through me. Alastor . . . ?
The healing spell lacked the raging heat of some of Nell’s more explosive ones. The magic surrounding Ribbit was opalescent, carrying in it a thousand tiny rainbows. It was as soothing as moonlight.
Nell never stopped chanting, not until the magic faded and its shimmering particles caught the wind and scattered.
For a moment, no one moved.
“Ribbit?” Flora whispered.
The changeling let out a soft sigh of contentment. I leaned forward over Flora’s shoulder, watching as the parrot lifted her formerly battered wing and pillowed her beak against it. A moment later Ribbit began to snore.
“That was—” I began, elation soaring through me.
“Absolutely amazingly awesome!” Flora said, jumping up and down. When she realized she was jostling Ribbit, she stopped. “Nurturing Nell! Mother Elf was wrong—witches are not a self-serving, neglectful malady upon the realms!”
The exhilaration faded from Nell’s face. “Say what now?”
Can we return to the matter of gutting Nightlock? Alastor asked, pleasantly enough. I would so hate for the kitten to eat him before we get the chance to show that maggot what his innards look like.
Maggot? I thought that was my special nickname.
A special name would require you to be special . . . Maggot.
I looked to Flora again, knowing it was selfish to ask, and that Ribbit needed rest, but the changeling was through the worst of it. Prue wasn’t. “Can Ribbit finish what she was trying to tell you about my sister and Pyra?”
The elf didn’t look particularly happy about it, but she woke the changeling just long enough for her to chirp a few words.
“The ogres said that Pyra has to enact her plan within the next two days,” Nell translated for me. “And that if she doesn’t find us before then, she’ll start hurting your sister.”
It felt like my skin had iced over. “Then we’ll have to move even faster.”
I stalked bac
k toward where the hob was caught beneath Eleanor. The tarantula loosened its hold on Nightlock, but kept her legs close together, effectively caging him against the ground. Toad leaned down onto his front paws, edging his claws between Eleanor’s legs. Toying with Nightlock.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” I said, crouching down to the hob’s level. “Being caught in someone’s trap?”
“R-release me at once!” Nightlock spluttered. “I am Her Majesty’s special adviser! You shall all be arrested for mistreatment—well, not you, witchling, you shall be killed, of course. As will you, human boy, to complete my mistress’s plan. And the elf, too, I suppose—well, it’s very dire for you all, actually.”
“Let him up, El,” Nell said, patting Eleanor on the leg. The changeling swung her head around, giving Nell an uncertain look, but did as she asked. The hob brushed off his rumpled suit, then dashed to the right. Toad extended a paw and caught him by the collar of his jacket, then dragged Nightlock back over.
Nell crouched beside me. “You have two options: You can take the easy way and tell us where the secret entrance is to the prison and we let you go, unharmed. Or you can choose the hard way.”
Nightlock’s mouth turned up, revealing yellow nubs of teeth. “You are in my realm, witchling. I do not have to tell you a thing, no, I do not.”
“Oh yeah?” Nell said, smiling sweetly down at him. A swirl of green magic gathered around her wrist and hand as she touched the tip of her finger against his neck. Toil and Trouble stayed on the ground, leaning against the backpack.
What is she doing?
A spell?
Alastor seemed to recognize the magic, because he inhaled sharply. No. Worse.
“Tell the truth and tell it well, for lies shall cause your throat to swell,” Nell chanted, grinning in a way that scared even me, just a little. “Tell the truth and tell it true, for lies shall no longer be spread by you. Tell the truth and tell it well, otherwise your throat shall swell. Tell the truth and tell it straight, except about those you hate.”
The hob spluttered again, clawing at his throat as it was ringed with Nell’s magic. “A curse! You cursed me! You”—the words choked off, only to be replaced with—“beauteous witchling—no! I mean, yes! This hob, he—”
His eyes began to bulge. He sealed his mouth shut, gurgling in dismay.
“Did you just . . . ?” I began. She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. She had. Nell had cursed the hob to do the one thing that came unnaturally to him: tell the truth.
Not only that, Alastor said, begrudgingly impressed. She specified that he cannot tell the truth about us, so that, even if he should escape, he cannot tell others he saw us or where to find us. It is . . . clever.
Dang, Nell.
“How long will it last?” I asked her.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe”—she leaned down, looking the quivering hob in the face—“for-ev-er. I can be convinced to reverse it, provided you become a team player.”
Nightlock sucked in a breath, quivering with the effort to hold it in.
“He thinks you’re beauteous,” I told Nell. “Looks like someone has a crush—”
She threw out her arm, catching me in the chest. “Focus.”
“Okay, right,” I said, then addressed the hob. “Do you know where the secret entrance is?”
The hob’s cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog’s throat with the effort not to say anything. I reached over and poked one cheek. Hard.
The breath and word exploded out of him. “Yesssss!”
He clamped both hands over his mouth, his eyes frantically tracking back and forth between us. “Though you will not find it, no, you will not! It cannot be found through words alone!”
Ah, I love this curse, the Show Not Tell.
What is it? I asked.
One of my ancestors was clever about protecting this entrance. The way in cannot be spoken, it must be shown to you.
“And that means what?” Nell asked.
“He has to show us the way in,” I explained. “The explanation is cursed. He can’t just describe where it is.”
Nightlock let out a noise like a hot kettle.
“Has that passage already been swallowed by the Void?” Flora pushed into that space between Nell and me.
I glanced down at her. “You’re coming? I thought you’d want to take the changelings back to the human realm.”
“The last mirror is inside the prison, yes? Besides, you have helped me, Prosperity Redding, and now I will help you,” Flora said. Turning back to the hob, she brandished her thorny ring again, waving her fist in front of his bulbous nose. “Answer me, horrid hob.”
“Easy,” I said with a nervous laugh. “We don’t want you to get angry again. . . .”
“Again? What do you speak of, Prosper?” Flora asked, confusion settling into her face once more. “I do not get angry. I go to the sparkling place.”
Now I am certain she is one bud short of a bloom.
“The voice and power thing at the house—” I shook my head. “Never mind. Just answer her, Nightlock.”
Nightlock’s face was glowing blue with the slobber and snot dribbling over his hands. “Itisnearbyitisstillopen—no, I meant—gah!” The hob bared his teeth in outrage. “I will not go down there. I—it is—so very dark.”
He fears the entrance. Inquire why.
“Why are you scared of the secret path into the prison?” I asked.
The hob flushed with the effort to repress his answer. “My father hob disappeared in it, as have many other hobs sent to clean it. There is no light to see.”
A distant rumble rolled across the sky.
We were running out of time.
“Show us where the entrance is and we’ll let you go,” I said quickly. “You won’t have to come with us.”
Fool! We need him to guide us inside of the prison as well!
I know that, I thought back at him. It’s called lying.
Alastor fell silent, and I took that as my cue to proceed.
The hob stared up at me, considering. Behind him, Nell looked like she had something to add to the conversation. I gave her a sharp shake of the head, but her confusion only deepened.
“You . . . will not make me attend you in its depths?” Nightlock pressed. “This hob shows you the entrance and then he is free?”
“Yup,” I said. “See how easy it is to do the right thing?”
“Yes, ’tis the right thing,” Nightlock said with a nod. “I will be delivering you directly to my mistress and queen, and she will be most pleased with me.”
“Okay, sure,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Lead the way to our doom.”
The hob straightened, brushing himself off again. The changelings and Flora fell into place behind me, and as nervous as I was about trying to break into a secure prison with a whole troop of creatures, the changelings were bound to be a lot more useful than I was in rescuing Prue. We’d all find the mirror and go back to the human realm together. No one left behind.
Nightlock walked a step in front of me, navigating the rubble of the destroyed towers with his snub nose in the air. He crossed the road and gestured to a storm drain cut into the street. Given that this was a realm where rainstorms didn’t exist, I suddenly had a very bad feeling about the entrance.
They’ve built sewers!
These didn’t exist before, the last time you were here?
No. The fiends who lived on the steps below the prison must have finally complained enough about the filth being flung off the sides of Skullcrush onto their homes and heads to merit one being built. This likely connects to the whole drainage system of the mountain.
“Here,” Nightlock said. “This is the entrance you seek. Good riddance to you all.”
“Is there anything down there that we should be concerned about?” I asked him.
The hob held in a breath, considering his words. “The darkness.”
Having learned the art of question loopholes and the need to be specific, I rephra
sed. “Is there anything dangerous down there that could kill us?”
The hob was quicker to answer this time. “The sludge. Do not fall into the sludge.”
Hmm.
“Are you sure about this?” Nell asked, grabbing my arm. “Maybe we should just be more direct—have Toad fly us to the tallest tower?”
I stepped away. “I’m sure. That place is crawling with fiends—they all evacuated the lower streets and came here, remember? The only way we’re going to find Prue is if we sneak in.”
She shook her head, still not convinced. “If you say so . . .”
Nightlock backed away from us, keeping a suspicious eye on Toad. I lunged forward, grabbing him under his armpits and dragging him back toward the narrow drain.
“W-what are you doing?” Nightlock spluttered, fighting me as I lowered him down through the gap. “You said you would free me! You said this hob would not have to go down into the darkness—please—please! I beg you, mortal!”
“Just because you can’t lie,” I told him, releasing my grip on his hands, “doesn’t mean that I can’t.”
The hob plunged down, landing with a squawk of pain and a hard thud. Good. That meant there was some kind of platform or walkway right beneath us.
“Prosper!” Nell stared at me in shock. Even Flora was shaking her head. Defensiveness prickled through me. We didn’t have time to argue about this.
“He’d run off and alert the other fiends about us coming,” I told them. “This is the only way.”
Precisely.
Why was Alastor the only one agreeing with me? I’d be a total idiot to let Nightlock go just because he was a little scared of the dark. I didn’t have to justify my decision, especially when Prue’s life was hanging in the balance. Maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing, but I was doing it for the right reason.
I slid down through the small opening next, not wanting to see the unhappy look on Nell’s face anymore.
The platform was slimy and uneven. I had to brace myself to keep from sliding off it as I looked around. There was just enough light filtering down from above to see a walkway along one side of the tunnel.
The sludge moving beside the walkway inched forward, all filth and dung. It smelled a thousand times worse than the rest of Downstairs, redefining the word rancid for me. Clumps of garbage and mold coated its surface, threatening to clog the tunnel as it curved behind the platform, heading deeper into the dark belly of the mountain.
The Last Life of Prince Alastor Page 18