“So,” she started, “this might sound silly, but a few months ago, I bought these. And—” She paused. “—and I want to give them to you.” She held out her palm with the small silver squares resting on it.
Jack took a step back. The smile never left his face, his posture never changed, but there was significant space between them now. Ella was sad about that. She held out the small links and smiled as big as she could.
“I just,” she said, “I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me. Here, let me put them on for you.”
Jack seemed to be breathing a little heavily. Ella wanted him to just take the cuff links. She wanted it so badly. Over Jack’s shoulder, she caught a flit of movement.
“Here,” she said.
Jack took a long, deep breath, and then smiled again. “No,” he said, gently, pressing her fingers closed around the silver, careful not to touch it himself. “I can’t. I have a terrible allergy.”
“To silver?” Ella asked, her voice pitched a tone too high. “Oh no. This is sterling silver. Your allergy is probably to nickel, which is sometimes combined with silver, but these cuffs are made of fine, pure silver.”
“No,” Jack said again, holding her hand firmly closed and looking her in the eyes, as the tiniest edge of the moon crept into view through the glass ceiling above them. “I could never,” he began—and on the last word, Ella thought she saw a strange glint in his mouth, the teeth so white, so long—“I could never take such a thing from a child.”
On the word ‘child,’ something in his face flickered and changed.
Ella might have excused it away—the darkened features, the stone gray eyes, the lengthening ears—were it not for the scent, a scent that lingered in the air even after his face had returned to normal. It was a scent she knew—putrid, troubled—the smell from the corn maze two months ago.
Ella looked down, masking her shock as hurt. “Oh. Okay then.”
Jack seemed to sigh in relief, his features softening and lightening, just as the lights dimmed, the curtains began to be drawn open, and the music stopped.
The room was now in perfect blackness, except for the stars and moon casting splashes of wraith-like shadow throughout the crowd. Then, slowly, one by one tiny, red candles began to flicker—lit along the edges of the room, then up the three staircases, ending in a circle of light around the balcony-hilltop.
Jack, Ella noticed, had stepped away from her, and she stood alone in the center of the ballroom. She began to walk forward, like a bride without a groom, a sati heading toward her burning pyre.
Around her, a room full of champagne glasses clinked, toasting the ceremony that was about to begin. As she walked, the chimes began. Twelve solid tones which matched her footfall. When the last tone struck, she heard the partygoers behind her as they sighed and sank into their seats or onto the floor. That was good. It meant that Sam had gotten Zinnie’s tonic into the champagne. Only those participating in the ceremony had not taken part in the toast; the rest had fallen into a deep slumber. But this was no hundred year’s sleep. They had one hour, no more.
At the base of the hillside, Ella paused. It was here she was to receive the stone. The moon stood nearly at its highest point—a cool blue disc in the night sky. Through the darkness, slow heavy footsteps came toward her—a tread unwilling, yet persistent.
When Ella looked up into her English teacher’s face, he tried to smile. “Do not place it,” he whispered almost soundlessly.
Ella stared forward as though she hadn’t heard.
“You have a gift in this,” he said softly. “You are unattached. There is no one for them to dangle over you—no mother or father, sister or brother.”
Ella looked him in the eyes—the moon lighting his features which had slowly, insistently, begun to change. She thought about Sam whom she had seen flitting through the crowd; she thought about Sarah drugged in a bed in Napper’s hospital.
“You’re wrong,” she said, taking the stone as Witten’s pale face fell into gray whiskers that climbed his cheeks and forehead like ashen flames.
Ella felt the steps through her soft, golden slippers. She had thought the trip up the staircase would be hard, but felt as though the moon above them was drawing her to it. Behind the stone tablet stood five tall figures, their candles on the floor, their faces in darkness. Ella took her place behind the tablet and heard each of them lift their candles. Even with the dim candles it was impossible to see the sleeping crowd—only dark figures positioned throughout the shadows. Behind her she heard one of the shifters lick its lips. And then it was silent. In a voice that began small and built into a gradual crescendo, Ella recited the words that had been running through her head for the last month.
White moon rising. Red sun blush.
Melt the old world to a hush.
To bring anew a refreshed land,
I place this stone with purity of hand.
The sun will rise, bright new star.
New definitions of who we are.
Ella held the stone above its final resting place. A group of birds rustled through the trees—several finches taking flight at once as though startled. And then Ella dropped the stone. Straight to the floor.
Ella had not really thought it would break, but she was still disappointed when it didn’t so much as chip. What surprised her most was that there hadn’t been a rush from the Changers behind her. No one scrambled forward to keep the stone from cracking or rolling over the hillside edge.
Instead, the stone gave a sad little flop toward Ella’s golden slippers and stopped. “So I’m the only one who can touch this thing,” Ella began, bending down to pick up the stone again. “Me and Mr. Witten?”
Ella did not turn to the group behind her. She did not yet want to see the terror their shifted forms had become. She bit her lip, picked up the stone and said, “What if I told you I know what it’s for.”
“Be quiet you foolish girl and place the stone,” Vivi said, her voice deeper, but familiar. It was a man’s voice almost, a jagged tenor.
“Why?” Ella asked, finally turning. “So you can kill me all the faster?” Ella saw the shifters lined up, standing on two legs, wearing thick cloaks of gold and red. She knew that the shifters would be huge and terrifying, but she had hoped that they would be merely vile, ugly.
And some of them were.
Jack was shockingly grotesque. She recognized his horrible scent more than his face, which was deathly black with yellow teeth and nails. Brandt was brown and huge and obviously drunk. Another, whom Ella believed was the veterinarian who had released the wolves to Napper’s property, was the tallest of the group. He had ruddy fur and eyes that matched his fur exactly—his hands meaty, sallow things that looked jaundiced and cruel.
Yet Vivi was still delicate and wiry, the fur of her face soft, almost inviting. When Ella’s eyes rested on Vivi’s fingers, she realized something she should have figured out before. Those were the hands that had held her tied with a Downy-scented gag in her mouth. Ella had been so certain that a creature of that strength would be a man that she hadn’t thought to consider anything else.
Now she did.
At the center of the line-up stood Napper. He was simply beautiful. Clearly the oldest of the shifters, his black fur was salted with dignified whites, his eyes a soft, clear gray—like they’d been crafted from the gems of the hill. His fingers were slender, long, and strong with white pearly nails that extended out into perfect points. He had no odor at all and his voice was seemingly unaltered from the shifting.
“My dear child,” Napper said, his voice gentle and calm. “It is not our wish to go around murdering people. And you, of all people, would not be killed. Placing that stone would grant you a position of honor among our kind. You would earn your seat among the gods.”
“Exactly,” Ella said. “I’m not quite sure I wish to join up with the gods just yet.”
Jack piped up, his voice a crash of raspy, dark tones. “What he means is that yo
u would be more respected; you would be revered.” Jack’s voice softened a bit and he stepped toward her. Ella could see his form sink and smooth as he shifted back into the slender man who had been her counselor. “By all of our kind and yours as well. You would pave the way for our kind and your kind to be together. Please, Ella. I know it’s hard to understand. But place the stone.”
As he said this, his voice sank into sweetness. She could tell that it took a great effort with the moon high above him. But she could still smell the werewolf on him, and with that, she could feel herself being dragged through the corn. “For you?” she asked gently.
“For us,” he replied, his tones honey.
“Then no,” Ella shouted, and with all her strength, she threw the stone. It arched over the sleeping crowd and struck the far window, a hairline fracture creeping up the glass like a thin, singular strand of a spider’s web.
Jack reached his arm back, transforming as he did so, and slapped her, his nails drawing three red marks across her cheek.
“Enough,” Napper shouted. “Do not lay another hand on her.”
Jack slunk back as Napper walked to the edge of the balcony and called down, “David, find the stone. And quickly.”
Napper looked out on the crowd, realizing for the first time that the mob he’d gathered was completely unconscious. He made a small clicking sound and turned to Ella, his mouth a firm, straight line. “I see that you have somehow managed to drug my crowd. I’m forced to respect that since drugging people is one of my specialties as well. Unfortunately,” he paused, “it will do you no good.” He smiled. “Now, my dear, if you will not consider your future, consider your present. There are people in this town you care about, are there not?”
Ella set her face and didn’t answer.
“Of course there are. The girl I have in my asylum, the boy who brought you to the old house—they are friends of yours. And there are more people in this building and town that you might not know, but wouldn’t want harmed.”
Again, Ella didn’t answer.
“There are parents in Napper, children, dogs, and cats. There are innocents.”
At last Ella nodded.
Napper smiled and patted her head as though she were a very small child. “Within these woods, hundreds of wolves have gathered—drawn to their ancient forefathers, the Gevudan. And to me.”
He got down on one knee in front of her and looked directly into her eyes. “If you place that stone, all will be well with those you care for and with those others who now slumber in innocent ignorance—here and in the towns beyond us. But if you do not—” He stood, looking toward the large windows of the atrium. “—I will release the wolves. They are hungry and strong and have not found enough to eat in the paltry woods of this preserve. They will tear through this building and then through the town, felling and consuming those who come into their path. And many others who do not.” Napper did not smile or frown, his face as smooth as his voice. “The hunger of the wolves, my dear, is deep.”
He turned away from the windows and looked at Ella again. “Listen.”
Napper paused, allowing Ella to hear the hundreds of mournful howls. They rose up outside the glass walls, from the top of the hill to the base of the atrium. The wolves had surrounded them.
Napper stepped back into his place among the council as Witten climbed the stairs, holding the stone that started to glow when he reached the top.
Witten faced Ella, across the ancient sundial—the light of the stone coming through his fingers, until gradually it seemed to seep into his skin; Witten began to glow.
Behind her, Ella heard gasps from the council. Napper cursed. “You were not to ascend the stairs, David.”
Ella, frightened, held out her hand to take the stone. But Witten did not give it. Looking down, he moved his hand as though to place the stone himself.
“David,” Napper said sharply, but Witten stood transfixed, unhearing.
As his hand came down with the stone, Napper jumped forward and Ella heard Vivi’s husky werewolf voice scream, “No.” Then the quick cock of a gun and the discharge of a bullet. The bullet struck Witten in the right shoulder, its force pushing him backwards so that he toppled down the hillside, crumpling at its base.
“Oncle,” a small voice screamed out, but Ella barely heard it. She was looking instead at Vivi, who was holding a small, ornate gun, and smiling. Where her four eye teeth should have been were empty black holes.
The council of Changers broke formation as Vivi loaded a small silver orb into her gun.
“Ella, Napper,” she said, walking from her place at the end of the line to face them. “I did want it to be more of a surprise, but someone had to stop him and he had that a long time coming. Now, how about we speed things up a bit.”
She held the gun toward Napper. “Do you know who I am?”
“You are many things,” Napper replied. “The Rogue of our race, the Silver Shooter to theirs. But mostly,” he said calmly, “you are a traitor.”
“That,” she replied, “is a very ugly word for a girl who had her most lovely teeth torn from her at a young age simply because she made one small mistake—to trust the one who now lies dead on your floor.” She smiled again. “When I took the teeth of the others, I simply took back what was taken from me all those years ago. With interest.”
She held the gun pointed to Napper’s chest. “Now the games are over. Diplomacy has gotten us nowhere. The girl will place the stone or she will be killed.” Vivi looked cruelly to Ella. “And I won’t kill you with a bullet either. If you do not place the stone, I will tear you to pieces—first your teeth, then eyes and ears, skin and hair, limbs and innards. They will be delicious—so young and tender.”
“I don’t have the stone,” Ella said. “It fell with Witten.”
Napper scowled at Vivi who replied bluntly, “The Silverlord was going to place that stone himself—taking the power of this world and ours into his hands.”
Napper pinched his lips shut before turning to Ella. “Go fetch the stone, child.”
Ella descended the stairs where the small French girl was sobbing over her uncle’s half-conscious body. Ella stopped in front of the body. Looking at him with his face in the shadow, she realized for the first time that he was the gray-masked creature who had saved her the night she’d been kidnapped from the basement.
The child looked defiantly at Ella and shouted, “Vous ne pouvez pas l’avoir. You can’t have it.” In her small hands was the stone, a faint glow still lingering at its edges.
“You can hold it?” Ella asked.
“Obviously,” she retorted.
“Good,” Ella said. “I don’t want it—not to keep, but I have to try something. Your uncle is dying.”
“I don’t trust you,” the girl said.
“I know,” Ella began. “It’s hard to know who to trust.” She sat back on her heels to think. As she did, Witten moved a white hand to the girl’s lap, and motioned weakly for Ella to take the stone.
The girl looked up at Ella with wide, brown eyes, but still she clung to the stone. Ella bit her lip and was about to say something when Jack bounded down from the balcony-hilltop, running for the young girl. Emmaline screamed. Ella jumped up and stood in front of the child.
“Jack, stop,” she yelled.
Jack smacked into Ella’s shoulder, throwing her to the side. Ella fell hard on her ribs as the girl shouted angrily in French and threw the rock. Ella struggled to push her bruised body up off the floor as something huge came crashing down beside her.
Jack lay just a few feet away from her, a tiny red spot on his forehead where the rock had struck him, barely drawing blood.
Ella did not immediately reach down to take the stone. Emmaline stood near it, looking at the enormous werewolf she had knocked to the ground. The small French girl bent over and picked up the stone. She held it in both hands, bringing them high over her head before swinging both arms down at the werewolf’s head, hitting him square
ly between the eyes. And then she sat down and started to cry.
Ella knew how she felt. She crawled over and wrapped her arms around the girl. “Here,” she said, handing Emmaline the silver cufflinks. “Place them on your uncle’s wounds—front and back. I think it will help.”
Emmaline wiped her face with her sleeve and handed the stone to Ella. “Take it,” she said. “I don’t want it.”
“I know,” Ella said, taking the small stone that had been her mother’s—light enough to wear on her neck, though right now it felt almost too heavy to hold.
Again Ella felt her way up the hillside staircase. The red candles that lined them had burned into puddled nubs. Outside the walls on all sides, Ella could see the yellow and brown eyes and dark forms of the wolves, staring at her.
When Ella got to the top, Vivi stood facing Napper, Brandt, and the veterinarian.
“Quickly,” Vivi said. She had her gun trained on Napper, and Ella noticed the smallest tremble in her hand. Vivi had one silver bullet in the gun and she would have had to keep it close to her the entire night. It was weakening her.
“Do I need to say the poem again?” Ella asked, launching into the recitation.
“No,” Vivi said, cutting her off. “Just place the stone.” Vivi looked up to the moon, which still seemed to hover above them, though soon it would begin its descent.
Ella took a deep breath, gripping the stone so hard it hurt. And then from the right staircase, something flew past her and struck Vivi so hard she fell. The gun slipped from her fingers, sliding to the front of the hilltop near the center stairs. In the moonlight, a figure in a white jumpsuit stepped up from the center staircase onto the balcony, and picked up the gun.
“Ella, you have no idea how much I hate heights,” Sarah said, stepping toward her and looking down the steep hillside.
“What are you doing here?” Ella asked, looking to the right for the person who had thrown the stone. Sarah was not the one she had expected to see.
Grey Lore Page 33