Staying at home also meant he might get to keep an eye on Declan. It was his job to keep an eye on things. That’s what Dad said before he left. He was only six back then, but he remembered. Dad put his hand on his shoulder and said, “You mind the family, Georgie. Keep an eye on your sister and brother for me.” He wasn’t a baby. He knew Dad didn’t really mean it, but he did it all the same because somebody had to do it.
He wasn’t sure about Declan. Rose said all bluebloods couldn’t be trusted. Rose was often right. When she said someone couldn’t be trusted, they usually turned out to be a scumbag. Georgie ducked his head and looked around. He knew he hadn’t said the cuss word out loud, but it never hurt to make sure nobody heard him.
So Declan was a bad guy. But Declan had saved Jack. And he didn’t seem mean. There were many kinds of mean: mean like Kenny Jo, who was always angry about something. Mostly, Kenny was angry about his dad leaving him. Georgie understood being angry about that, but still, his own dad left, and nobody saw him going around picking fights with people.
Then there was mean like Olie, who was too stupid to know when he was being mean. Olie killed a puppy once because it bit him, smashed her head with a rock. The puppy hadn’t known any better. She was just playing. Olie cried afterward, because he felt bad. Georgie heaved another sigh. It took him two days to put the puppy’s head back together with his magic, and when he’d raised her, she still didn’t look quite right. He’d concentrated on fixing her so hard, he got sick, and then Rose cried.
And then there was mean like Brad Dillon. Brad was cold and vicious. There was something wrong with him.
But Declan had no meanness. Jack thought his swords were awesome. Georgie agreed about the swords, but he’d watched Declan make a ghost of the beasts that had attacked Jack, and in his opinion, that was even better. Georgie held his hand out, closed his eyes, and pretended to call up the beast. Except if he could do it, he’d do it even cooler. Maybe have some dark smoke swirling about him. And his eyes would be shiny. And maybe he’d say some mysterious incantation. Or not. Maybe it would be cooler if he said nothing. And if he had a sword, it would be long and slender. Like Grandpa’s blades.
A drop of cold, slippery magic touched the back of his neck and slid down along his spine as if something rotten had splattered him with its nasty juice. Georgie gagged. His eyes snapped open.
A beast stood in front of the house on the path. The color of an old bruise, it stared at him with four slanted gray eyes.
Georgie froze. Jack taught him to never run from animals that could catch him. If he ran, the beast would chase. He didn’t know if it could get through the wards to catch him, but he didn’t want to find out.
The beast put one paw forward—it was a long ugly paw. Most animals had toes, but this one had fingers tipped with wicked red claws. The paw touched the ward, testing it. A stream of nasty magic slithered toward Georgie. He sensed its hunger: sticky, cold, starved, it wanted to wrap itself around him and suck out his magic. He swallowed. His heart beat so fast, it was trying to jump out of his chest. Don’t run. Don’t run.
Behind the beast, where the path curved, Declan stepped out of the bushes. Georgie glanced at his face. Declan nodded wordlessly, coming up behind the beast on soft feet, silent like a fox creeping through the Wood. Georgie stared at the beast. Don’t look at Declan. Don’t give him away.
The beast opened its mouth and showed Georgie his teeth: big, sharp, and red like blood. Its magic waited, hungry, ready to pounce on him and gobble him as soon as he moved.
Declan pulled a huge sword from the sheath on his back.
Georgie stared directly into the beast’s eyes. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Declan struck. The sword sliced though the air in a shiny metal arch and cut the body in two.
Wow.
“You okay?” A bolt of white flashed from his hand into the dead beast.
Georgie remembered to breathe and swallowed. Nausea tugged at his stomach. Desperately trying not to hurl, he dragged himself up, picked up a ward stone, letting Declan in, and once the blueblood stepped over the line, he dropped the stone back in place and went to slump back on the porch steps.
Declan came to sit next to him. “Lean forward,” he ordered. “Put your head down, between your knees. That’s it. The sickness will ease up in a minute.”
Georgie bent forward, his head low. Slowly the nausea receded.
“That was smart,” Declan said. “Staring the hound down.”
“I didn’t want it to know you were there.”
Declan nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
The beast’s magic shivered. Georgie sat up. Next to him Declan put his hand on his sword.
A foul gray liquid spilled from the hound’s carcass. The flesh and bone melted, turning into pale goo. The magic curved around it, twisting like cotton candy on a stick. Dark vapor streamed from the surface. The puddle shrank, and the vapor grew darker and solidified into a tall man. A long cloak with a hood hid him, pooling about his feet and turning into smoke at the edges.
Georgie sucked in a sharp breath. The man’s magic pressed on him, trapping him like a huge heavy slab of rock. Fear skittered down his arms, leaving goose pimples.
“He can’t hurt you in this form,” Declan’s quiet voice said next to him. “His magic might slither in, but it will be weak. Show no fear. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
The vapor man turned to them. “Ah. I wondered who shot off a military-grade flash wave in this forsaken place. Just had to see for myself. I had a glimmer of hope it was my dear brother, but I see it’s just you.” His voice was soft and gentle, but for some reason it chilled Georgie all the way to his bones.
“What’s with the cloak?” Declan said.
The man ignored him. “And who would you be?” The darkness of the hood swallowed the man’s face, but Georgie knew the man’s eyes fixed on him, pressing down on him like a great weight. Magic snaked from the man in long, translucent tendrils of dark smoke. They licked the ward and slithered through it.
Georgie stared with wide eyes as the magic crept closer. It was hungry . . . So very hungry.
Declan flashed. A screen of white shot from him, stinging the tendrils. The dark magic recoiled.
“Keep your claws off the kid,” the blueblood growled.
Georgie breathed a little.
“Mmmmmm.” A low deep sound rumbled in the phantom man’s throat. “As brash as ever, Declan.” The magic swirled around him, each translucent tentacle encircled by a thin vein of dark purple. The puddle rolled forward, and the man advanced.
Georgie sat frozen. Declan was right there, and he didn’t move. He just sat there, looking slightly bored.
The puddle touched the ward and stopped.
“Interesting,” the man murmured. He raised his arms, elbows close to his body, hands up. The sleeves of the robe fell back, revealing long, slender fingers stained with a mottled patina of purple and yellow. Just like the hounds’ hides, only pale. “Let us see,” he said softly, stretching “see” into a snakelike whisper.
The magic shot from him in an explosion of darkness and clamped on to the ward, biting at it, trying to pull it apart. The tentacles flailed and jerked, but the ward held. The man glanced down, and the magic tendrils struck at the closest ward stone. They clamped on to it and twisted, trying to jerk it up.
The man arched his back, straining. His dark magic pried the rock loose. The puddle at his feet shrank faster.
Georgie’s heart beat so fast inside his chest he thought it might explode.
The ward stone rose two inches. A pale network of translucent reddish magic stretched from it, burrowing down into the ground, as if the stone had roots.
The man’s rigid body shook with strain. The stone gained another inch of height, pulling more red roots out of the ground on both sides with a creaking sound. He clawed at the air. The ward stone shivered and crashed down into place.
Declan laughed, bu
t it was harsh and cold, and Georgie wasn’t sure what was more frightening, the dark man or the way Declan bared his teeth.
“They know how to root their wards,” Declan said.
The man flicked the sleeves of his robe back over his hands, first left, then right. “No matter,” he said. “I’ll still kill them all.”
“Not while I’m here, Casshorn.”
The man turned to Georgie, and once again, he felt as if the man’s gaze pierced him and clenched his heart in a cold fist.
“Boy . . .” Casshorn said. “I shall make you a deal. Remove the stones. Let me in. I’ll let you and your family leave. You can trade your lives for Declan’s. After all, he can’t be anything to you. You probably met him only a day or two ago.”
Georgie swallowed. His thoughts broke to pieces and ran in all directions, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch any of them.
“It seems like a hard choice,” the man said. A kind tone overlaid his words, but it was shallow, and beneath it Georgie sensed ruthless hunger. “But upon closer examination, it really isn’t. You have a mother. She loves you. She feeds you, and clothes you, and brushes your hair. And you love her, am I correct? There is nothing stronger than the bond between a mother and her child. Your mother would do anything to keep you safe. Now I give you a chance to do something for her. You can save her life. That’s a wonderful trade, boy. The life of your mother for the life of a stranger. That’s a good, honorable trade.” He motioned with his right arm. “Come to me.”
Georgie finally managed to pin down a thought. “No.”
“Will you really let your mother die?” The man rocked back.
“I have no mother,” Georgie said. “And you’re lying. You would kill everyone.”
“From the mouths of babes . . .” Declan said.
Casshorn sighed. “It is a shame. I was looking forward to watching you strike the boy down, Declan. Witnessing you do things you hate is highly entertaining. No matter. Soon, I’ll watch you fight my wolf, which should prove quite a spectacle.” Casshorn turned to Georgie. “Are you sure you don’t want to move the stones, boy? I promise, I would make it quick, if not painless, for you.”
“Leave him be,” Declan said.
“I can’t,” Casshorn said, his voice slightly puzzled. “You see, he is so very full of magic. It awakens a most peculiar sensation in me. A kind of longing. I think it’s hunger. They say that human meat has a peculiar taste. I’ve been developing a craving for it of late. It’s odd. I’ve never been guilty of gluttony, but once I kill you, Declan, I think I’ll gorge myself on your flesh.”
Georgie shuddered. Declan simply stared.
Rose’s voice floated through the kitchen window. “I found them! Honestly, Jack, is it too much trouble to take care of your shoes?”
“A girl,” Casshorn said. “Of course. Is she delicious like the child?”
Declan said nothing.
“I see. There is another child inside, isn’t there? You do understand you can’t protect them? I’ll pick them off one by one, when you’re not looking. And then I’ll feed. Especially on the girl. Such a lovely voice. I bet she’s succulent. Juicy.” Casshorn shivered. “It was a mistake to come here alone, Declan. You aren’t enough to stop me, and the locals are too weak to help you. They scurry to and fro like garbage rats atop their little garbage heap between the worlds, but in the end they will all die. I know why my brother sent you—he hopes to avoid the scandal. I know why you’ve agreed to come alone—you’re still hoping to save the wolf from the executioner’s axe. None of it will make an iota of difference. As usual, you’re too late . . .”
“You’re raving,” Declan told him.
“Am I? I must be.” Casshorn sighed again in resignation. “It’s time to go, I suppose. I leave you with this parting thought: you may think you can put yourself between the girl and my hounds in the Edge, but what will you do when she goes into the Broken, where my wolf prowls? He will slit her throat and paint himself red. You remember how much he enjoys murder . . .”
The puddle beneath Casshorn had dried up completely. He began to fade from the bottom up. “This is just lovely,” he said. “And here I was thinking I would get bored.” He dipped his fingers into his hood and held them out as if blowing a kiss. “Until later, children.”
He vanished. The last shreds of magic dissolved into the air. Nothing remained of the beast or the puddle.
Georgie swallowed. His whole body had gone numb, and now little needles pricked his fingers and feet. “Who was that?”
“A sick man overdue for his cure,” Declan said, looking at his sword. “For him, there is only one kind.”
“He’s evil,” Georgie said softly.
“Yes, he is.”
“Is he really going to eat me?”
Declan looked like he hurt himself. “He’ll try. He won’t succeed. I’ll stop him.”
Georgie hugged himself. “Why would he want to eat anybody?”
“He’s ill,” Declan said. “He wanted power, and now he has it, and it’s twisting him.”
“Is he going to kill Rose?”
“I promise you I’ll take care of Rose,” Declan said. “Nothing will happen to her or you, as long as I’m around. Rose doesn’t trust me, and she and I will have to settle this between ourselves. But you and your brother mustn’t fear me. If you’re in danger, find me and I’ll help. You don’t have to handle it on your own. I’ll protect you. Do you understand?”
Georgie nodded. He understood, and he felt deep down that Declan meant it. Still, Declan wasn’t to be trusted.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell your sister about this. No need to worry her.”
Georgie nodded to keep him happy. Declan got up and headed down the road, back in the direction from which he had come. In a few breaths he disappeared behind the bend. A moment later Rose burst out the door, Jack behind her.
Georgie jumped to his feet. “I have to tell you something.”
“Not right now!”
“But Rose!”
“Not right now, Georgie. It can wait until I get back. Come on.”
Rose and Jack took off down the road, and Georgie had no choice but to follow.
NINE
ROSE waited inside Burger King. It was twenty past eleven, and the lunch crowd had yet to gather. She’d made it just in time—two minutes after she’d walked through the door, the Clean-n-Bright van, carrying Latoya, Teresa, and a couple of other women, rolled into the parking lot. They sat down to eat, and she sat down to think.
Rose shifted, trying to get comfortable in the concrete-hard chair. She had no appetite. Visions of terrifying bruise purple creatures kept flittering across her mind. She’d left the boys with Grandma, and Éléonore was no lightweight. Still, the anxiety ate at Rose. She regretted coming to work, but Emerson left her without a choice. She couldn’t afford to have her check shredded.
Latoya swept by, carrying her tray. She was tall and looked taller, her body sharp and narrow-boned, all angles and long limbs. Her hair was thick and lustrous, falling down in curvy waves she’d bleached to platinum blond. The blond had worn off, and Latoya’s waves had gained a slightly greenish tint. People called her Mophead, although never to her face. You messed with Latoya at your own peril.
“You want some food?”
“No.” In a rush Rose had forgotten to make a lunch, and she had no money.
“Girl, you’ve got to eat!”
Rose shook her head. “I’m not hungry. Really.”
Latoya turned to the counter, where tiny Juniper Kozlowski manned the register in her manager’s uniform. “She won’t eat, June.”
Juniper bristled. “You come to my place, you have to eat, Rose.”
“Thanks, I’m not hungry.”
Latoya grimaced. “At least come sit with us.”
“If I sit with you, you’ll try to feed me.” Rose smiled.
“Well, you have to eat!” Latoya grunted. “Look, don’
t worry about Emerson. He’s an ass, but you’re one of his best cleaners.”
“I’m not worried,” Rose lied. “Thank you for picking me up.”
Latoya shook her head and sat at the bigger table to the left, with the rest of the Clean-n-Bright crew.
Rose looked out the window. She wasn’t in the habit of feeling sorry for herself, but she had to admit that lately life just kept kicking her. First, the blueblood, then the hounds, and now, once her shift ended and she went back, she would have to fight Emerson for the money she had earned.
Of all these concerns, the blueblood and the beasts were most dire. The creatures did resemble hounds, lean demonic dogs from some awful nightmare. And they wanted magic. Their power fed on it. Was there some sort of purpose to their attacks? If they assaulted people at random, drawn to magic, then the four of them, the boys, Grandma, and she, would be their prime targets. The Draytons were among the most magical of the Edge families. Nothing that a blueblood like Declan would be impressed with, she was sure, but by Edger standards, they stood out. How would she protect the boys?
Rose felt a spike of panic and squished it down. First things first. She’d take the carcass of the dead hound to Grandma once her shift was over. Then they would go from there.
And then there was Declan. She had no clue how she would challenge him. What couldn’t he do? What did the fairy-tale girls do in this situation? She strained, trying to remember. Most of the stories involved sorting rice from wheat and weaving gold cloth from straw. She wasn’t sure if he could weave gold from straw but she wouldn’t be surprised if he managed it somehow. No, it had to be something else. Something she knew for sure would work. Some challenge with a trick to it.
Declan’s face surfaced in her memory. What an arrogant ass. She glanced at her uniform. So what if it was an ugly sack of unnatural color?
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