13 Secrets

by Michelle Harrison

  Wooden crates and bundles of old sacking were strewn about. A terrible smell filled the air down there, and objects littered the stone floor. It was dark, and weeds had sprouted between the stones, making it impossible to see what the objects were, but on the other side Rowan saw a set of tiny steps. She set off down the side of the shelter, squeezing between it and next-door’s fence, trampling weeds and sending a rat scurrying for shelter as she went.

  The smell worsened as she descended the steps. At the foot of them, the small body of a goblin lay dead. This must be Jack’s missing guardian, she realized. But she had not mistaken the whimpering, and now that she had reached the bottom, stepping over the goblin, she saw what she had missed from her viewpoint outside. A pale hand was visible from beneath a pile of sacking on a bed up against the wall. The objects she had seen from above crunched beneath her as she moved over them. She looked down, uneasy. Fragments of mirror; broken eggshells; strands of hair. She was uncomfortably familiar with the ingredients. Glamour had been worked here.

  Cautiously, Rowan darted forward and pulled the sacking away with her teeth. Jack’s mother lay beneath it, almost motionless, but certainly alive. Shaky little breaths were being emitted through her nostrils. Her mouth was tied with an oily-looking piece of rag. Her eyes widened at the sight of Rowan staring up at her. She shifted on the pile of cloth, maneuvering herself into a different position with one hand.

  Her other hand was encircled by a manacle.

  Rowan tensed, memories rushing back. She forced herself to try to clear her head, but the broken items beneath her paws, and now the manacle, were too much….

  Only then did it occur to her to wonder why the woman had not removed the gag from her mouth if just one of her hands was trapped. Rowan backed away, stumbling on something soft behind her: more sacking. And within it, something firm and just faintly warm.

  She whipped around, tearing away the sacking with her teeth. There, a mirror image of the woman on the bed lay unconscious and most definitely incapacitated. She was bound with spidertwine. This was Jack’s real mother.

  Rowan turned, snarling, back to the changeling. It reached up with its free hand and pulled the gag away, smiling.

  “I just came for the girl,” it said. “Only wanted the girl….”

  “You can’t have her!” Rowan spat, trying to shield the woman behind her. She fumbled with the catch on her coat, but fear made her clumsy. “She’s safe,” she continued, stalling. “You’ll never get near her again!”

  The changeling’s smile widened.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” it said, reaching up into its hair. It pulled something out and threw it to the ground. It was a lock of Jack’s mother’s brown hair.

  “Because she’s exactly where I want her to be.”

  The changeling’s hair grew thinner, dulling to ebony. Dark shadows below the eyes deepened, and the eyes themselves blackened. The features were changing, elongating, becoming masculine.

  The voice was deeper next time around.

  “She’s right in front of me.”

  “What?” Rowan whispered, rooted to the spot.

  The manacled hand rattled. Rowan screamed as the flesh and bone hand fell away, leaving a scarred stump to slip free of the iron casing.

  The figure lunged at her, recognizable now as the face from her nightmares. Her next scream was shaped into a word, the name on her lips:

  “Eldritch!”

  Rowan hit the ground, the crushing weight of Eldritch’s body forcing the air from her lungs. Pinned beneath him as he grappled to catch her, she was trapped inside the fox-skin coat with no time to take it off. The disadvantages far outweighed the advantages. Being fox-sized allowed for better chances of escape, it was true, but now she was in her enemy’s grasp, and at a fraction of his size, she had little chance of fighting him off.

  His weight shifted as he reached for something nearby. She sucked in a breath of air.

  “Eldritch,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. Please—”

  “Quiet!” Scratchy material was pulled over her head, and a rough hand wrenched at her by the scruff of her neck, pushing her within the confines of the sack. “You think I’ve got time for your whining? Please,” he mimicked, twisting the neck of the sack closed.

  Rowan tumbled to the bottom as he lifted it. Her claws scrabbled at the sides of the fabric, catching in it but too blunt to make a tear anywhere. A dizzying shake of the sack set her teeth rattling.

  “Stop thrashing about!” he commanded, his voice cold. “Any more of that and I’ll smash you against the wall and break a few bones…. It’s your choice.”

  She stopped struggling at once. “What are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with Jack’s mother?”

  “Don’t worry about her,” he hissed. His mouth was close to the sacking, so close she could smell his breath. “My interest was never with them. They were just convenient. As for what I’ve got planned for you, well… you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “How are you doing this?” she stuttered. “The glamour… when did you become so powerful?”

  “I didn’t become powerful,” he said, his voice full of scorn. “I always had a talent for glamour. I traded with the Hedgewitch, remember? But when you last saw me, little fox, you thought I was weak. And I was. Rendered powerless—in every sense—by the iron I was trapped in. But while I was there, day in, day out, listening to the things the Hedgewitch did, well, I learned too. And believe me, there was no one better to learn from when it comes to glamour.”

  He set the sack down again, one foot on its neck keeping it closed as he knotted it.

  Terror built inside her. She’d been in a sack like this before when she was captured by the Hedgewitch. Everything about it conjured memories—the rough weave of the fabric; the hard, cold stone floor below her; the lurching movements she couldn’t control. Last time she had been held captive alongside a weakened fox. This time, she was the fox.

  She sensed movement and pressed her head to the fabric. It was tough material but a thin weave, thin enough to see through. Eldritch was tugging off the stained clothes of Jack’s mother and pulling on fresh ones from a wooden crate.

  Precious seconds passed in which she tried to think. Would Sparrow still be nearby, or would he have taken Suki away from the alleyway by now? She pushed him from her thoughts. If she shouted for him there was no way she could guarantee he’d hear—and it would likely anger Eldritch into harming her more quickly than he intended to.

  She contemplated taking off the coat, but the sack was too small. If she adapted into her human form the lack of space would completely restrict her movements. She had to stay as a fox.

  She saw Eldritch struggling with the clothes, his speed in dressing thwarted by his stumpy wrist. The skin around it was red and tender-looking. She wondered what he had used to cut his hand off—and how long it had taken him to make the decision to do so after she had left him in the cellar.

  Eldritch was nearly dressed, and time ebbed away. She guessed now that he planned to leave and take her somewhere else. But where? And to do what?

  Her claws had made no impact on the sack. The only weapon she had was her teeth, sharp little rows of needles. With as small a movement as she could manage, she started to chew on the fabric. It tasted sour and earthy, the texture of it squeaking against her teeth and scratching the soft tissue of her mouth. She gagged, but forced herself to carry on.

  She had just succeeded in making a hole the size of a penny when the sack lifted up, jolting her out of position. Her tummy somersaulted with the sensation of the movement, reminding her of being on a fairground ride. She wriggled and strove to reach the hole again as the sack swung from side to side with Eldritch’s footsteps. Her backside knocked painfully against the steps of the shelter as he half-carried, half-dragged her up them, and she heard herself yelp.

  Abandoning the hole she began tearing anywhere she could lay her teeth. A small rip appeared in the loose
ly woven fabric. Through it she saw the overgrown garden as Eldritch carried her to the fence. The sack bumped against his legs as he walked, masking her own movements. Rowan worked at the tear, widening it as Eldritch clambered through the gap in the fence, pulling her through after him.

  She heard a sickening crack, then his cry, and the sack hit the ground, jarring her again. Loud grunts, thumps, and the scrape of more than one pair of feet over gravel rang in her ears: Eldritch was being attacked.

  Rowan tore savagely at the fabric, finally creating an opening large enough to squeeze her head through. Eldritch rolled on his back, dangerously near to her face, his assailant on top.

  “Sparrow!” she gasped. She could not get any further out of the sack. Desperate, she retreated back into it and continued to bite and pull at it. Another section of it weakened and gave, and finally she scrambled through the opening.

  Sparrow’s element of surprise had bought him time, but seconds only. There was no doubt he was strong, but he was still a boy against a man, and now Eldritch took back control, strength lent to him by his madness. He flipped Sparrow over onto his back, his good hand clamped around the boy’s throat, squeezing.

  Rowan seized Eldritch’s sleeve between her teeth, growling and tugging, but his grip was like iron. Sparrow’s eyes watered, his skin flooding purple. His hands flailed, trying to push Eldritch’s hand away from his throat. Eldritch’s other elbow pinned Sparrow by the collarbone.

  Suddenly Rowan knew what she had to do. Eldritch’s weakness was her only chance. She released his sleeve and leaped over the two bodies to the other side. Then, with animal instinct, she sprang at Eldritch’s stump of a wrist and sank her teeth into the puckered flesh where his hand had once been.

  His scream was instantaneous. He thrashed his arm, pulling away from Sparrow. Rowan held on as Sparrow coughed and spluttered, crawling to his hands and knees. Then the world spun, ending abruptly as she was slammed bodily into a nearby fence. The impact forced her to release Eldritch’s bloody stump, but rain had softened the wooden fence and she hit the ground, gasping for breath but able to move. Nothing felt broken.

  Sparrow had recovered sufficiently to square up to Eldritch once more, and now he had drawn his penknife. Eldritch clutched at his oozing wrist, biting down on his sleeve to prevent himself crying out. His skin was even waxier than Rowan remembered. His dark, red-rimmed eyes burned with hatred as he looked at her.

  His mouth came away from his sleeve, a string of thick saliva linking to it.

  “Run away, little fox,” he said wetly. “Run far away and find somewhere to hide, because I found you once. I will again….”

  He glanced at Sparrow’s drawn knife, staggered backward, then turned and loped off like an injured animal, vanishing into the labyrinth of alleys.

  Rowan was too terrified and stunned to move straight away, but then she jerked to life, tugging the catch of the coat apart. Retching, she spat on the ground and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Sorry,” she said to Sparrow. “I still had the taste of him in my mouth.”

  Finally she slipped free of the coat and stumbled toward Sparrow.

  “He’s gone,” Sparrow said hoarsely, rubbing at his throat.

  “How did you know?” she asked. “Where’s Suki?”

  “We were making our way back to the Spiral Staircase when I heard you shout his name,” said Sparrow. “That’s when I knew you were in trouble. I told Suki to keep going and doubled back. She should be there by now.”

  “He used magic on her,” said Rowan, her voice shaking. “She wasn’t protected. Let’s get out of here—we need to get Jack’s mother back to the Spiral Staircase somehow.”

  Sparrow’s eyes widened. “You found her? Is she… alive?”

  “Yes. She’s through here,” said Rowan, leading him back to the gap in the fence. They clambered through and she led the way to the bomb shelter. “This way. But she’s unconscious… some kind of enchantment, I think.”

  Sparrow wrinkled his nose at the smell and shook his head at the sight of the dead goblin as they went down the steps to the unconscious woman. “Valerian,” he said, kneeling to pick up a piece of shriveled root. “Probably used with something else to induce sleep. My bet is that he’s kept her comatose the entire time. It’ll wear off of its own accord but we need to get her back before it does.”

  Rowan closed her eyes in frustration. “How do we do that? How on earth are we going to get her back into the building without being seen?”

  “Simple,” said Sparrow. “We just need to make sure the building’s empty. We need to get everyone that’s in it out of the way.”

  Rowan threw up her hands. “Again, how?”

  “I’ve got an idea.” He knelt and lifted Jack’s mother into his arms. “Blimey,” he said in disgust. “Lucky we found her when we did—she’s a bag of bones. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Between them, they managed to maneuver Jack’s mother through the hole in the fence. They set off through the alleyways, heading back to the Spiral Staircase. Every so often Rowan glanced around, still dazed from the ordeal of seeing Eldritch again. The numbness of the shock she had felt was wearing off, and fear crept back into her.

  “What if he comes back?” she whispered. “He’s going to come after me again, I know it.”

  Sparrow stopped and faced her. They were surrounded by silence except for the trees lining the alley shush-shushing in the breeze.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I think that’s pretty much guaranteed. But when he does, I’ll be there.” His blue eyes dropped. “We all will be. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She nodded, a lump in her throat. “I… thanks.”

  Jack’s mother stirred in Sparrow’s arms, moaning softly.

  “Move!” Sparrow hissed, his eyes full of alarm. “She’s starting to wake up!”

  Rowan broke into a run, leading the way. She heard Sparrow’s breathing as he jogged behind her. Soon they were back at the rear garden of the pub, and loud voices came from within it.

  “I can’t risk being seen by Jack’s father,” Sparrow said, shaking his head. “You’ll have to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Find a fire alarm and set it off. It’s the only way to get everyone out. Once the place has emptied we’ll take her upstairs.”

  “All right.” She slipped into the trash area, concealed from the alley, and stowed the coat in her knapsack, which she left hidden. Trying to look confident, she strode into the pub through the back door. Through the bar she saw Jack’s father standing out front with a broom. He was red in the face and muttering to a customer.

  She spied a fire alarm next to the small storeroom close to the stairs. A swift jab of her elbow smashed the thin glass, and an ugly, deafening bell rang out in a continuous drone. Quick as a cricket, she darted into the open storeroom and hid behind the door, listening.

  “Out! Everyone out,” a deep voice boomed. “This is not a drill. Everyone into Wishbone Walk at the front. Now, please!”

  Through the hinges, Rowan saw Jack’s father stride past her hiding place. “Could anything else possibly go wrong today?” he muttered bad-temperedly to himself.

  “More than you could have imagined,” Rowan whispered, watching as he went into the garden and repeated the same orders there.

  Within thirty seconds the building and its garden were empty, and mounting voices from the street in front reached her ears. This was their only chance.

  She slid out of the storeroom and back into the garden, ducking her head into the alley.

  “Sparrow?”

  He emerged from behind a wild cluster of ivy, visibly straining to keep from dropping the woman in his arms.

  “It’s empty,” she whispered. “Go, now!”

  He vanished into the pub. Rowan dashed to the trash cans and grabbed the knapsack containing the coat, then waited in the alley. A minute passed with no sign of Sparrow. Sirens wailed in the dista
nce.

  “The fire brigade,” she murmured. “Hurry up, Sparrow!”

  He emerged, pulling his arm across his forehead in relief, and hurried to meet her. “I left her on her bed,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s going to be out of it for much longer—she was starting to mutter by the time I put her down. The alarm bell definitely wasn’t helping.”

  Together they exited the alley to the side of the pub, emerging in Wishbone Walk. The street was in chaos. A large crowd had gathered to watch the events unfold, and Jack’s father was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep them back, while at the same time scanning the faces.

  “Where’s my family?” he said. “They should have come out… has anyone seen—”

  He broke off. Jack was pushing toward him, Lucy in his arms. He pulled them to him, and anxious words were exchanged. Over his father’s shoulder, Jack spied Rowan, his small face questioning and full of worry. She smiled and nodded, suddenly exhausted and grateful that for Jack and his family, at least, things were going to be all right.

  Jack pointed suddenly. His father turned, then raced back toward the building where his dazed wife had appeared by the front entrance, rubbing her eyes. He tugged her away to their children, kissing her forehead as she hugged Jack and Lucy.

  The sirens grew louder and flashing lights were visible as a fire engine rumbled down the tiny street, forcing the crowd back. Sparrow ducked his head and took Rowan’s hand, pulling her toward Mrs. Beak’s tea shop, now almost deserted except for one or two tables. Tanya, Fabian, and Suki were still seated, silent and stone-faced in their anxiety. Suki hooked a handful of ice from Tanya’s empty glass, wrapped it in a napkin, and pressed it to her temple.

  Tanya jumped up when she saw them.

  “Time to go,” said Sparrow, jerking his head for them to follow.

  They scrambled out from under the awning and merged with the crowd of people on the street, heads down, until they reached the square. Sparrow led the way to the town hall, finally releasing Rowan’s hand to collapse on the steps.