Newton made a sound like he was clearing his throat. “Okay, kid. A deal’s a deal. You got me out, I’ll get you your demon tear.”
“Good,” Navin said.
“Boo.”
Nav frowned. “What?”
“Hoo,” Newton said.
“That’s totally unfunny, man.” Navin didn’t like this thing. It was probably the most annoying … person he had ever spoken to, and he would far rather be hanging out with Donna, watching a movie, and eating the incredibly bad popcorn she always made.
“Okay, okay,” Newton said. “For real this time. Here it is … ”
Navin crossed his arms and waited.
“All you have to do is lend me your body.”
Navin let the silence stretch for almost a minute before he could trust himself to speak again. “Have you completely lost your mind? What kind of Kool-Aid has Simon been feeding you? There’s no way I’m lending you my body. Whatever that even means.”
The demon sniffed. “Suit yourself. Looks like you just got yourself a permanent roommate. Where will I be sleeping?”
Navin fixed his eyes on the wall and took a deep breath. Several of them.
“What’s the matter?” Newton asked. “Was it something I said?”
“I’m taking you back to Simon’s lab.”
“Now, wait a minute, let’s not be hasty—”
“I wonder what he’ll do to you when he finds out you forced me to help you escape.”
Newton made a spluttering sound. “I did nothing of the kind! You came to rescue me.”
Navin crossed his arms. “No, I remember exactly what happened. You used your demon mojo to control me. I’m sure Xan will back me up.”
For once, it seemed that Newton didn’t have anything to say.
“Don’t go anywhere for a minute,” Nav said. “I’ll just find the Frost Estate’s phone number and give the Magus a call … ”
“Oh, you have no sense of humor, boy.”
Navin sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the statue’s creepy eyes. “I have a great sense of humor. I am famous for my sense of humor. I’m Mr. Fucking Humor! But right now, comedy is the last thing on my mind. Understand?”
Newton muttered something that Nav didn’t quite catch. Not that he cared to.
“Do. You. Understand?” he repeated.
The statue actually rolled its eyes, with a creepy clicking sound. “Yes. There’s no need to get snippy.”
“Just so long as we’re clear.”
“But you still need to let me use your body.”
Navin sighed. “Not going to happen, Newton. Pick another option.”
“How do you expect me to provide you with a demon tear if I don’t have a body? I can’t cry you a goddamn river while stuck in a bronze reproduction of an ugly-ass alchemist. A dead one, at that.”
“You can move your eyes,” Navin ventured. “And you’re a demon. Can’t you do some kind of demon magic and produce tears?”
“Demon magic? Have you been eating Ironwood mushrooms? Demons don’t do magic. Demons curse. We tear apart reality and feed on the blood of innocents.”
Navin shivered. “Stop being so dramatic. You’re hardly in the position to tear apart reality. You’d have trouble tearing open a packet of potato chips right now.”
Newton made a horrific snorting sound that might have been laughter. “Ah, dear boy. And you said you weren’t interested in comedy. If only I could cry tears of laughter right now, we’d be peachy.”
“Shut up a minute. I’m trying to think.”
“I know. I can hear your two brain cells rubbing to-gether.”
Navin’s hand shot out on pure instinct. He grabbed the bronze statue by its base and hurled it across the room—where it landed on the clothes piled on his desk chair.
Newton began to splutter, but Navin was sick of it. He was suddenly sick of all this craziness, all the secrets and manipulation and deal-making. Maybe he wasn’t so used it after all. That must mean there was hope for him yet.
“No more games,” he said. “You’re going to help me or I’ll take you back to Simon’s lab myself and melt you down in that giant furnace.”
The statue lay on its side on top of a Star Wars T-shirt, blinking his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I don’t know,” Navin said, leaning back against his pillows and forcing his voice to sound casual. “It looked like it could use all the scrap metal it could get.”
“Even if you did manage to melt me, it wouldn’t actually harm me. This lump of useless metal is just a shell. My essence would survive.”
“But in what form? Like … as a ghost?” Navin took a guess. “I bet you can’t just leap into another body on your own, otherwise you’d have done it a long time ago. You could be stuck forever, in a sort of limbo. Right?”
“Put me upright on the desk and we’ll talk. I’ll help you.”
Navin raised an eyebrow. He didn’t believe the demon for a minute, but what choice did he have? This was what Donna needed to make the Philosopher’s Stone—and if she couldn’t do it, who the hell knew what would happen. Not just to her, but to the whole of Ironbridge. To Nisha and his dad.
He wondered where Donna was right now. He hoped she was okay.
“I said,” Newton repeated, “that I will help you.” The demon said it with a flourish, if that was even possible.
“How? I won’t let you hurt anyone.”
“There’s a ritual you might be able to do, with my guidance. It will give me a temporary body—”
“I said I’m not doing anything that hurts another person,” Navin declared. “Just because I’m not letting you use my body doesn’t mean we can just use someone else’s. Being human doesn’t work that way, Newton.”
Newton sighed. Loudly. “If you would actually hear me out rather than rudely interrupting me, you would realize that I don’t intend to harm a single living being.”
Navin frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, dear boy, we’ll try putting my consciousness into a dead body. Take me to the nearest cemetery—stat!”
Navin stared at the demon. “Will that even work?”
“Who knows? Let’s give it the old college try, eh?”
Could things get any weirder? Navin suspected that he was about to find out.
Sixteen
Isolde was smiling as she watched Donna chase off the faeries.
“Enough,” she said. “We have had our fun with our unwelcome guest. Now let us find out why she has invaded our lands in the first place.”
Taran shook his dark hair away from his pale face and drew his sword. “The court of Faerie demands to know why you are here.” His words were formal, as would be expected considering his role as the queen’s chief advisor.
Donna swallowed, fear warring with frustration. Frustration won. “Taran, you know very well why I’m here. You were at that so-called ‘negotiation’ in the Halfway realm.”
Isolde raised an eyebrow. “Insolent girl. You will answer the question.”
“Your Highness,” Donna said, ignoring the queen’s knight and representative, “I apologize for arriving unannounced. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could even do it. I tried, because I had to, and it worked. And yes, now I’m here and I wasn’t invited. But I need the Ouroboros Blade, and I’m not leaving without it.”
Cold silence filled the beautiful meadow. Every faery present was watching Donna as though she were a tasty meal served up especially for them. She felt the weight of their hunger and fear, their curiosity and their hatred. But she forced herself to stand tall and withstand the terrible weight of their regard.
“You did not come alone,” Isolde said. It was a statement rather than a question, so Donna didn’t bother to answer. She didn’t want to incriminate Cathal.
Taran took another step toward her. Bright white sunlight flashed from the blade of his sword. “Who aided you in this quest?”
Cathal stared straight ahead. His face was a golden mask.
Queen Isolde narrowed her eyes. They looked like chips of emerald. “Oh, we know who aided her, don’t we, Cathal?”
“Your Highness,” the golden knight said. He stepped before her and went down on one knee. “I wish to help my son survive in the human world.”
The queen tilted her head and stared at him as though she could see inside his soul. Perhaps she can, Donna thought.
Taran’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. “You have betrayed us, Cathal.”
“I only showed the Iron Witch a weak spot—a way that might be exploited for entry into our lands. Her power did the rest.” Xan’s father smiled, ever so slightly. “Donna Underwood is powerful enough without my aid.”
Queen Isolde waved them away. “This is of no importance. The Iron Witch is here now and we will hear her offer. We can deal with Cathal later.”
Taran sheathed his sword, looking somewhat relieved. But the threat hung in the air, making Donna’s stomach hurt. She pulled herself straight, refusing to show this icy woman a single drop of weakness.
“What would you give me in return for the Ouroboros Blade, Donna Underwood of the alchemists?”
Donna shivered as she felt the queen’s power move across her skin. “What do you want, Your Highness?”
Isolde laughed. The sound was both beautiful and terrible. “You mean to tell me, girl, that you have come to my realm and yet have nothing with which to bargain?”
Donna smiled sweetly. “What could I possibly bring for the woman who has everything? Tucked away in your safe little world, not caring who lives and who dies, as long as you continue on.”
Taran drew his sword again. “Watch your tongue, girl!”
Cathal’s hand twitched at the pommel of his own blade, but he didn’t draw the weapon. Donna wondered if that was because he wasn’t supposed to, or because he didn’t want to threaten his son’s potential girlfriend. Or maybe he would protect her from Taran …
Isolde waved Taran away. “Be at ease, Taran. I admire the human’s spirit.”
Her knight glared halfheartedly at her, but he stood down.
The queen rose to her feet, giving Donna her first glimpse of just how tall she was. Isolde stood at least six feet, slender as a reed. Her bare feet poked out from below the hem of her gown. There were golden rings on each of her narrow toes.
Donna bowed her head, unable to continue staring at the ethereal radiance of the faery queen. Her throat was tight with an unnamed emotion.
Isolde walked carefully down the steps and approached her.
“The blade is not to be used lightly,” she said.
Donna forced herself to meet the queen’s eyes. “I know that. But I have to try.”
“You are tired, child,” Isolde said, her voice impossibly kind. A trick, of course. “Why take on so much? You should be in school with others of your age.”
Donna wanted to fall against her, let the queen put those slender arms around her. Hold her and offer comfort. Take away all the pain and fear and responsibility. It was so tempting. She took a step forward. Isolde was so kind, so beautiful, so …
Donna shook her head, confused and then angry. The queen was using her magic. Her glamour.
The court of Faerie laughed at her confusion and embarrassment.
Isolde smiled indulgently. “Please forgive me. It is in our nature to play.”
Donna narrowed her eyes. Yeah, right. Like she believed that. “I’m not a toy, Your Highness.”
“No, of course not,” Isolde replied, in a tone that clearly said she believed otherwise.
“So, you really have nothing to offer?” Isolde asked, all business again. “Remember that in order for any of us to give up an artifact that might help make the Stone, we must barter for a fair exchange. That is woven into the terms of the magic that binds us all together.”
“Let me think,” Donna said. “Maybe if you ask me for something, I could give it to you. Or … I don’t know … find something for you. I’m pretty good at finding things.”
“Did you hear that?” the queen asked, smiling at the giggling crowd of onlookers. “She is good at finding things.”
Everybody fell about laughing. Donna wasn’t sure what was so funny, but she gritted her teeth and put up with being mocked. It could be worse, she figured. They could decide to chop off her hands, just like they’d threatened when they were “playing.” There were enough swords around here, after all.
The faery queen looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would you give anything in return for the blade?”
Donna swallowed. Be careful, she told herself. Be very careful. “I cannot promise something before I know what it is that I’m promising.”
“Of course not,” Isolde said. “Wise. Very wise.” She tapped a slender finger against her lips.
Donna wished the queen would get on with it, but time moved differently in Faerie—she knew that much from Xan. For all she knew, only moments had gone by in her own world. Or perhaps Demian’s deadline had already passed, and London and Ironbridge lay beneath bones and rubble.
Desperation made her bold. “Your Highness, I think we have both had enough of this game. Make me an offer, set me a task, and then we’ll see if it’s something I can actually do.”
“Very well,” Isolde said. Her eyes were cruel, all the glamour and compassion drained out of her in an instant. “I would like your hands as trophies on my wall. We could use the Ouroboros Blade to remove them, and I will then let you leave my realm with the blade. What do you say to my first offer, Donna Underwood?”
Donna didn’t know what to say—she could only hope that Navin was having more luck than her. At least nobody would be threatening to cut off any of his limbs. She hoped.
Swallowing her rising fear, Donna took a step back, still wondering if this was another of Queen Isolde’s “games.” But the faery’s perfect face looked deadly serious. Cruelty didn’t make her any less beautiful, though she did look a hell of a lot more terrifying. Especially considering the fact that she’d just suggested maiming her.
Reflexively, Donna squeezed her iron-clad hands into fists, wondering what she would do if anyone attacked her. Could she access her abilities quickly enough to get out of here? Open a doorway back to her own world? She doubted it. She still didn’t understand enough about this power that she possessed. Even as she felt the first matter begin to stir, she knew that she couldn’t reach those delicate threads in time. Moving between worlds felt more hit and miss than a precise science. And, if she were brutally honest with herself, it had mostly been “miss” so far. Apart from today, when she’d had Cathal to guide her.
The court’s wicked laughter rang in her ears as Isolde waited for a reply.
Donna decided not to play into whatever trap was being laid for her. She kept silent and crossed her arms across her chest.
Isolde pouted. “Ah, your silence shows wisdom beyond your years, mortal. If you will not give me your hands, I wonder what you would be willing give up?”
Donna felt her tattoos shift against her skin, and she hoped nothing was going to happen that she couldn’t control. She tried to ignore the familiar tingling at the edge of her mind.
“Your Highness, why must I give up something of my own? Maybe there’s something I can do for you. A … a quest of some kind?”
“You would accept a faery quest, alchemist?”
“If it means I get to keep my hands,” Donna muttered.
Isolde’s lips twitched in what looked like genuine amusement. “What about your friend, the boy you know as Alexander Grayson? Would you give up your claims to ownership and give him to me?”
Out the corner of her eye,
Donna saw Cathal take a step forward. She ignored the faery knight and focused on the queen. “Ownership? He is not mine to give, Highness. He lives in the human world and therefore lives by our rules. No human belongs to another—not truly.”
Isolde stretched out her hands. “That is not what I hear.” Her voice was playful again, almost as if she was sharing secrets with a girlfriend.
But Donna didn’t have girlfriends. She didn’t care about boyfriend gossip because it was something so alien to her experience of life. “Xan is half human,” she said. “What would you want with him?”
“Halflings are welcome in my court,” Isolde replied. “His fey half is of particularly good lineage. Perhaps he would like to train with the sword, beside his father. Perhaps we can … heal him.”
Here, her gaze flickered to Cathal. The knight had relaxed, Donna noticed. Maybe he liked the idea of having his son here, living and working alongside him. Just the thought of Xan being healed made Donna’s heart pound with a powerful cocktail of emotions; she knew what that would mean to him. And, she thought, it would get him away from the alchemists. She swallowed her fear at the idea of losing him. There was no time for that now.
“Even if he wanted to come here, it wouldn’t have anything to do with me,” she said. “I can’t tell another person what to do.”
“Not even to save your little world?” The queen raised those perfectly angled brows again. “Not even to save everyone in it?”
Donna shook her head. This was hopeless. She needed to offer something—something that would tempt a queen. But what?
“I’m afraid it looks as though you will have to leave my court empty-handed,” Isolde said, her voice heavy with fake regret. “I will have Taran escort you out in a less disruptive manner. I would not have you use your power in my realm again.” She turned her head to the faeries gathered beside her on the dais. “We will secure all our doors, at least until Demian has finished reaping the destruction he so desires. Taran, remove the girl—”
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