13 Secrets

by Michelle Harrison

  Tanya bent over Morag’s body, tugging at her neckline. There was no movement. Tears of despair dripped from her face and fell onto the old woman’s. “We were too late,” she whispered, brushing the tears from Morag’s face. She was still warm. “I’m so sorry….”

  Fabian fell back against the caravan, his face a mask of shock. “Who did this?” he said. “Who would do this?”

  Oberon began to whine, a pitiful noise that rang through the clearing. He pawed at Tanya, bowed over Morag’s unresponsive form, but she could not bring herself to pull away.

  A loud rustle sounded a few meters away. Something had shifted in the woods. Tanya straightened, scanning their surroundings. The forest blurred green through her tears.

  “What was that?”

  The next thing she knew, Oberon jumped up at her, but his huge paws landed in the center of Morag’s chest, jolting the old woman’s body. Tanya pushed him away, horrified—but Morag’s eyes suddenly flew open. She drew in a huge gasp of air.

  “She’s alive!” Fabian yelled, springing forward.

  The distinctive snap of a piece of wood beneath a footfall sounded nearby. Tanya jerked around to meet it. Fabian clutched at her arm with one hand. His other hand rested on Morag’s shoulder. The old woman coughed and heaved, her eyes bloodshot.

  Tanya stood in front of Morag. “Who’s there?” she demanded, staring into the trees. At her side, Oberon stiffened, his hackles and his ears pricking up. A low, rumbling growl burst from his throat.

  “It’s them,” Tanya whispered. “Whoever did this is still here. Watching.”

  Fabian froze. “What if they come back? We don’t even know how many of them there are!”

  “One,” Morag wheezed. “Only… one.”

  Another crackle of branches set Oberon barking. Tanya felt her limbs start to shake with adrenaline. It was a weird sensation, for half of her was afraid, and the other half surged with anger. She stepped closer to the trees.

  “You see us?” she shouted. “There are two of us, plus a dog. There’s only one of you!”

  “What are you doing?” Fabian hissed. “Trying to get us all killed?”

  “I’m trying to save us,” she murmured. “If we show fear they’re more likely to attack.”

  An agonizing silence followed. Then a hooded figure shot out from a nearby cluster of trees and fled away from them, cutting through the woods.

  What Tanya hadn’t counted on was Oberon taking off after the figure.

  “Oberon!” she yelled—but in a few bounds he had vanished into the forest. “No, come back!”

  “Don’t even think about running after him!” Fabian said fiercely. “If you get lost you could end up like Mad Morag—and there’s no guarantee anyone will find you in time!”

  “Less of the ‘Mad,’ ” Morag said, still weak, but indignant.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Fabian held out his arm and helped the old woman out of the rocking chair. “Steady. Do you think you can walk?”

  “I don’t know.” She swayed on her feet, clutching at Fabian, then collapsed back into the chair. “No. I feel too dizzy.”

  “What are we going to do?” Tanya was pacing now. “How are we going to get Morag away from here? And what if Oberon catches up with whoever attacked her? If he gets hold of them… they could… they could…”

  Fabian shook his head, helpless. “I don’t know. We do need to get away from here. It’s not safe. But I don’t see how we’re going to move her.”

  “We need someone else…. What if your father’s in the woods? We could shout for him! He found us once before.”

  “But he doesn’t patrol the woods so much any more,” said Fabian. “There’s less of a threat since Morwenna Bloom… but we can try.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dad! DAD!”

  Tanya joined him. “Warwick! Are you here? We need help! Warwick! Anyone! HELP US!”

  There was no answer. They continued to shout, their voices weakening. Minutes passed.

  “No one’s coming,” said Fabian finally.

  Morag’s teeth were chattering. She huddled into herself.

  “She’s in shock,” Tanya said in sudden realization. “Go into the caravan and get a blanket off her bed. She needs to be kept warm. Bring some water too.”

  Fabian vanished inside, returning with a thick woolen blanket and a glass of water. They tucked the blanket around Morag’s shoulders and held the glass for her to drink from.

  “Now what?” said Fabian, raking a hand through his hair. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Maybe Oberon will get help,” Tanya whispered. “Maybe he’ll go back to the manor and—”

  “Oberon? Get help?” Fabian snorted.

  Tanya glared at him. “What I meant was that if he goes back to the manor without us, someone will come looking—”

  Something rustled in the undergrowth.

  Tanya’s heart leapt. “Oberon?”

  A small and ruddy face appeared among the foliage.

  “Brunswick!” she cried.

  The goblin pushed his way out from his hiding place and ran toward them, his eyes widening as he saw Morag. His face and fingers were stained with the dark juice of some kind of berry, and drips had spilled down onto his hodgepodge suit of cast-off human clothing.

  Fabian stood very still, staring at the goblin. Fey folk rarely showed themselves to those without the second sight, but Brunswick had appeared in front of Fabian last autumn and now knew and trusted him.

  “You asked for help, so here I am,” Brunswick said in his deep little voice. “I’ll help in any way I can.” He went to Tanya and slipped his sticky hand into hers. She knelt and threw her arms around him, grateful tears welling in her eyes.

  “Thank you for coming, Brunswick,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled back, releasing him. “Someone attacked Morag just now. We have to get her out of the woods, but she can’t walk by herself, and Fabian and I aren’t strong enough to carry her. Whoever did it could still be in the woods—if one of us goes alone for help they might attack us too. Will you go back to the manor and bring Warwick here? You can go unseen, and more quickly than we can.”

  Brunswick nodded, backing away to the bushes. “Go inside and lock the door.” He pointed to the caravan. “You’ll be safer there, I’m sure.”

  The bushes rippled as he vanished into them.

  “He’s right,” said Fabian. “Let’s go inside and wait. Come on.”

  Between them, they assisted Morag out of the chair and up the steps to the caravan, locking the door behind them. Once inside they helped the old woman to her chair by the window and rearranged the blanket over her.

  “At least she’s stopped shivering,” said Tanya. She took a seat at the table, tugging at a strand of her hair. “Poor Brunswick. He must have been frightened—he was talking in rhyme again. He only slips back into it when he’s scared, or nervous.” She got up, unable to relax, and stood by the window, looking out. “Whoever it was, they must have left after Oberon chased them off.”

  “Do you think he would have caught them?” Fabian asked.

  “I don’t know. I just… I just hope he comes back.”

  “Check the windows,” Morag said hoarsely. “Make sure they’re all locked and fastened.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tanya told her. “Help’s on its way. We won’t let anything happen to you.” She nodded to Fabian to check the windows. “Did you get a glimpse of who attacked you?”

  Morag’s hands wandered to her throat and hovered there, shaking. She shook her head. “No. They came from behind. I only heard something at the last moment. I tried to turn, but it was too late. They had me—wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t breathe… I couldn’t breathe. Everything went dark… and then you were there.” Her eyes darted about the caravan, over her belongings. “Nothing has been disturbed, and nothing taken, unless they planned to rob me after… after I was dead.”

  “I don’t think it was a
robbery,” said Fabian. “Most thieves will only attack when disturbed during a burglary. But this… it’s like they came straight for you.”

  “Do you have any idea of who would want to harm you?” Tanya asked. “Any enemies?”

  Morag managed a wry smile. “Plenty that would wish me ill. After all, superstition and fear go hand in hand. But none, I believe, would go to such lengths to make it happen.”

  For the first time since cutting Morag free, Tanya became aware of a sharp pain in her palm. She realized she was still clutching the tiny silver scissors. A small red dot bloomed on her skin where the point had pierced her. “If I hadn’t had these, things could have ended very differently,” she said quietly. She sheathed them and pushed them back into her pocket.

  Morag closed her eyes. “What I saw was true, then.”

  “You saw that this would happen?” Fabian was aghast. “You saw that someone would do this? You must have some idea who—”

  “No.” Morag shook her head. “I saw that with those scissors, you would one day save my life. But I did not see how.”

  “Is that the reason you gave them to me?” Tanya asked. “You knew that all along?”

  Morag opened her eyes. “I gave you the scissors because I saw you would need them, for you. But it was after I had given them to you that I had that vision. And I knew then, without any doubt, that my decision to give them to you was the right one.” She squinted suddenly, peering closer. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

  Tanya looked down, remembering the book of puzzles. “Oh.” She pushed it toward Morag. “I brought it for you. I hope it’s not one you’ve already got.”

  Morag’s eyes lit up. She settled back in the chair, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Read them out,” she said. “There’s a pencil on the dresser. It might help take our minds off things while we wait. And you, boy.” She looked at Fabian. “Make something for us all to drink—some cocoa, I think.”

  Tanya fetched the pencil while Fabian set some milk to boil in a pan over the little stove. She drifted through the next three-quarters of an hour in a dreamlike state. It seemed too surreal, drinking cocoa and filling in crossword puzzles in the home of a witch. If the circumstances had been different, she might have enjoyed it.

  The knock, when it came, frightened Morag so much that she spilled the dregs of her cup all over her blanket.

  “Fabian?” Warwick’s voice rang out on the other side of the door. “Tanya? Open the door!”

  Fabian rushed over—then hesitated, his hand on the key.

  “Fabian!” Warwick bashed on the door again, hard.

  Fabian gnawed at his thumbnail. “We’re here.”

  “Let him in then!” Tanya exclaimed.

  “How do we know it’s really you?” Fabian said through the door. “How do we know it’s not someone pretending to be you, like some sort of… glamour?”

  “Stop being obnoxious and open the blasted door!”

  Fabian turned the key. “It’s him, all right.”

  Warwick burst into the caravan, Brunswick at his heels. “Morag.” He knelt by her chair, examining her throat with thinly veiled fury. “If I find out who did this…” He lifted her gently into his arms and stood up again. “Get the door, Fabian,” he commanded. “Tanya, lock it behind us and bring the key.”

  Outside, they gathered in a circle.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Warwick instructed, his voice low. “Brunswick will lead the way back to the manor. Fabian and Tanya, you will walk behind Brunswick. I’ll walk behind with Morag, where I can see you. If anything happens on the way, you fall back immediately with Morag, and stay behind me. No one talks until we’re out of the woods. Got it?”

  A succession of nods answered him. They set off through the woods, flinching at every noise; every squawk, every rustle, every thud of fallen tree fruit. Tanya brought out the compass and held it until it was slippery with sweat. The needle stayed fixed on the tiny “H” as they followed Brunswick, offering a small reassurance that they were on the right path.

  The edge of the woods took forever to appear. When it did, finally, Tanya wept silent tears as they crossed first the border, and then the brook. She wept as a release of the pent-up fear she had felt while in the woods, and she wept knowing that Oberon could still be lost somewhere in the depths of them.

  Only when they reached the garden gate did her tears stop flowing. For there, on the back doorstep, sat Oberon. At the click of the gate he raced toward them, almost knocking her over, but Tanya did not care.

  “There’s something in his mouth,” said Fabian as they crowded through the back door into the kitchen. “Look.”

  Gently, Tanya pried the thing from Oberon’s jaws and held it up.

  “It’s a piece of material,” she said. “It’s quite thick—it feels fleecy. It’s torn.”

  Warwick showed Morag to a seat in front of the fireplace and held out his hand for the scrap of fabric.

  “I think it’s safe to say that Oberon caught up with whoever he was chasing,” he said grimly. “And this could hold a clue to who that was.” He folded it up and pushed it into his trouser pocket. “But for now, I think you’d better start explaining exactly what just happened in the woods—and why you were there in the first place.”

  Sparrow dropped the telephone receiver back on its hook, his head bowed. On the other side of the door, Rowan and Crooks watched through the glass as he used his cuff to wipe away fingerprints from both the receiver and the keypad. With his hand still covered, he pushed the door open and came out of the telephone booth, his eyes cast downward.

  “We better get away as quick as we can. That field, and everywhere around it, will be crawling with the police pretty soon.”

  “Should’ve called them when we were further away,” said Crooks. “Not when we’re still in the area.”

  Sparrow shook his head. “They’ll probably trace the call. Better to do it closer to the scene than near to where we’re settled.”

  “What did you tell them?” Rowan asked.

  Sparrow kept his head down and started to walk. “Told them I was a traveler, and that I’d found someone… that I’d found a body, while I was out walking my dog. Said I didn’t want to give my name.” He kicked out at a pebble. “Happens all the time.”

  “What are we going to do about Cobbler?” asked Crooks. “Should we go to his place and look for him?”

  “No point,” Sparrow said flatly. “We already know he’s dead. No sense in us putting ourselves at another crime scene. No, the best thing we can do now is get everyone together until we’ve figured out what to do. If we’re split up, we risk being picked off one by one.” He checked the lane both ways before crossing the road, heading for a little path that cut through a wooded area. “This way. We should hit the village in the next twenty minutes.”

  They spoke very little on the journey back. Rowan felt jittery the whole way, her eyes darting over each passenger once they got on the bus. She thought she saw Eldritch at every turn—in every pale face, every head of dark hair.

  Run away, little fox, his voice said in her mind. I found you once. I will again.

  “Where are you going?” Sparrow asked once they had climbed off the bus.

  Both he and Crooks had set off in the direction of Halfpenny Field, but Rowan remained standing in the road, a cloud of dust swirling around her from the departing bus.

  “I’m going home. I’m not going back there.”

  Sparrow came toward her. “Just come with us for a few minutes—we need to tell Tino about Dawn.”

  “You don’t need me there to do that.”

  “No, but I thought we’d decided to stick together.” He reached for her arm. “Even if you go back to the house, there’s no guarantee you’ll be safe.”

  “I know that.” She glanced at Crooks, then lowered her voice. “I’m going to leave, tonight.”

  “What? Why?”

  “All this is happening be
cause of me. It’s me Eldritch wants, and he’s going to cut down anyone in his path in order to get to me. If I’m at Elvesden Manor then that includes Tanya and Fabian and everyone else who’s there. If I’m not around… if he knows I’m gone, then he’ll stop coming after the rest of you. You’ll be safe.”

  Sparrow’s eyes searched her face. “You’re not seeing the whole picture, Red. If he wants you that badly, he’ll find you. He won’t stop looking. And you’ll be all on your own, with no one to help you.”

  “He won’t find me. I can vanish. I can stay missing.” She tilted her chin, defiant. “I know places where I can go. It’s what I do, remember?”

  Sparrow gazed at her. “All right. Then I’ll come with you.”

  “No! Sparrow—”

  He was no longer by her side, but striding toward Crooks.

  “What’s going on?” Crooks asked, suspicious.

  “Nothing.” Sparrow’s tone was clipped. “Let’s get back.” He turned back to Rowan. “Just ten minutes, all right? That’s all. Then we’ll go to the house.”

  Helpless, she turned and stared into the deserted lanes leading to the manor, then at Sparrow’s and Crooks’s retreating backs. “Ten minutes,” she muttered, setting off after them. “And that’s it.”

  A large white van blocked the entrance to the field when they reached it. The engine was still running, and the driver’s door was open. Rowan followed Crooks and Sparrow as they squeezed past the sides to find Samson at the rear in a heated conversation with the driver.

  “I can’t find Tino—haven’t seen him all morning.” Samson’s arms were folded. He towered over the driver. “But I’m telling you, nothing’s been ordered.”

  The driver pointed to his clipboard. “It has according to this. It doesn’t have to be this Tino who signs for it, but it was ordered yesterday—you can check the details yourself. There it is, see?” He tapped the top sheet. “That’s the reference: ‘Curiosity.’ ”

  “Something for the Cabinet?” Crooks asked, peering over the driver’s shoulder to look at the clipboard.

  “Apparently.” Samson remained stone-faced. “Only Tino never mentioned anything about a delivery, and he’s conveniently gone off somewhere.”