Slowly the minutes passed, until at last the light clicked on and Beatrice McCormick padded into view. Out came the familiar china teacups, clinking onto their saucers; then the milk jug emerged, bowing three times before returning to the depths of the refrigerator. The last item in the ritual was the sugar bowl, and Knife pressed her face to the window, intent as a hunting mink. Two spoonfuls went into the first cup, one in the second, but the third cup remained untouched-Paul’s.
Once she had filled the teakettle and plugged it in, Beatrice left the kitchen, but Knife knew it would not be long before the woman returned. Clutching the phial Amaryllis had given her, she ducked through the window and dropped onto the countertop below.
Paul’s cup stood innocently before her. Willing herself not to think about what she was doing, Knife pulled out the stopper and tipped the bottle over it. A thread of purple snaked out, traced a dark spiral in the milk, and vanished.
I’ve done it, she thought in relief. It’s over. I can go.
And yet her legs refused to move, and the fingers that clutched the phial were slippery with sweat. She felt flushed, dizzy, and her rib cage ached from the hammering of her heart. I can’t do this- But it’s already done- It’s murder- No, it’s mercy- He’ll die if I do this- We’ll both die if I don’t Knife’s fingers uncurled, and the bottle slipped from her hand. Spinning, it tumbled through the air, struck the counter, and smashed to glittering dust.
For a moment Knife stood paralyzed, little explosions of shock firing all over her body. Then with sudden determination she lunged forward, put her shoulder against the poisoned teacup, and pushed. She waited only long enough to watch it teeter over the edge before she whirled and dove back through the window, pressing herself flat against the wall. Panting, she listened to the thud-thud-thud of the woman’s footsteps, her sharp exclamation at the wreckage littering her kitchen floor.
Do you love him? Wink had asked her only a few hours ago, and Knife had not been sure of the answer. How could she love a human, at her tiny size? It was like falling in love with a mountain, or a tree. Yet for some reason she could not harm Paul McCormick, even in the name of mercy; it would have been easier to carve out her own heart.
Knife clung to the rough brick, calling on all her reserves of strength and courage. It didn’t matter what had kept her from killing Paul: Whether it was love or only loyalty, the path before her was the same. She must return to the Oak, and surrender herself to whatever fate the Queen and the Great Gardener might decree. But first, she had to see Paul one last time, and warn him.
She had thought he would be surprised to see her again, especially after the way their last conversation had ended. But as he opened the window he only looked resigned. “You’ve come back for your book, I suppose,” he said as she climbed in.
“Book?” said Knife in confusion. Then blood scorched her cheeks as she remembered Heather’s second diary, but Paul had already gone on:
“Look, Knife, I should never have done what I did this morning. I didn’t realize-” He stopped, coloring in his turn. “Anyway, it was stupid of me. I know better now.”
“Paul? I’ve brought your tea.”
Hastily Knife sprang to her feet and ducked behind the curtain as the door swung wide and Beatrice came in. “It’s the oddest thing,” she said. “Vermeer’s asleep, and we haven’t had mice in months. But your cup fell off the counter while I was waiting for the kettle to boil.”
“Really,” said Paul, and though his voice was relaxed, the line of his shoulders was not.
“Smashed all to bits,” his mother mused, “and yet I could have sworn it wasn’t anywhere near the edge. It’s almost enough to make one believe in poltergeists.” When Paul did not reply, she set the saucer down by his elbow and stooped to kiss his cheek. “You’ve had a busy day, dear. Don’t you think you might like to turn in early?”
“I’ll go to bed soon. Thank-I mean, I appreciate the tea.”
Polite as Paul’s voice had been, Mrs. McCormick seemed to understand that she was being dismissed. She heaved a little sigh and plodded out, shutting the door behind her.
Knife stepped out from her hiding place. She opened her mouth, but Paul cut her off:
“The broken cup. Was that you?”
Knife winced. “Yes.”
“An accident?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Why were you in the kitchen?”
“I came to-” she began, and then her eyes welled up. It was a struggle to continue, and when she did, every word felt as though it were clawing its way out of her throat: “The milk, in your cup-it was poisoned. The Queen-my Queen-told me to kill you-but I couldn’t-”
“Knife.” He reached out and cupped his hand around her, thumb and forefinger warming her shoulders like an embrace. She leaned back against his palm, breathing the scent of his skin, and felt a strange quietness come over her.
“I couldn’t do it,” she said, when she could speak. “Amaryllis says that without me you’ll die of despair, like Alfred Wrenfield and Philip Waverley did. But maybe there’s still hope, if-”
“Wait,” said Paul. “Why would your Queen order you to kill me if she thinks I’m going to die anyway?”
Knife could not bear to look at him anymore. She pushed his hand until it dropped away, and walked over to the window. “Because she said that unless you died…I’d die, too.”
Paul was silent.
“I’ve ruined everything,” Knife burst out, burying her face in the curtain. “I’ve ruined your life, I’ve ruined mine-I wish I’d never been born!”
“No!” The word exploded out of him, startling her. “Listen to me, Knife. It wasn’t that long ago that I wanted to kill myself. Would have, if not for you. And though I won’t pretend I haven’t been tempted to try again, especially when I drive past the river and I see them out there, rowing-” He stopped and cleared his throat. “But anyway, I haven’t tried, and I don’t plan to. I’ve chosen to live, Knife…but I could never have made that choice, if not for you.”
“Paul-”
“And now you’ve saved my life a second time, when you had every reason to take it. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me, after the way I-what I did this morning. I was being stupid, telling myself it wouldn’t matter if I kissed you, that you were a faery and couldn’t have those kinds of feelings anyway. No wonder you were so upset, especially after what you’d just read about Heather and-”
“Don’t,” Knife said hastily. “It’s all right, you don’t have to explain.”
“I want to.” He shifted his chair closer to the window. “What I mean to say is, I understand why you’d be tempted to kill me, especially if you thought I was already doomed. So I don’t blame you for almost going through with it. In fact-Knife, look at me.”
Reluctantly she lifted her eyes to his, and he went on: “I want you to understand this as though I were one of your own people. Because that’s what it means to me.” He drew a deep breath. “ Thank you. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for my life.”
There could be no doubting the force of those words, or the conviction in his blue eyes as he spoke them. Knife let go of the curtain and sank to the windowsill, overwhelmed.
“Don’t go back to the Oak,” she heard Paul say, his voice strange and distant in her ears. “Stay here, where your Queen can’t touch you.”
Miserably she shook her head. “I can’t. My people-my friends-they need my help. And you-you have thanked me. How could I stay with you, now that-”
“I know,” said Paul, sounding resigned. “You think I expect you to feel about me the way that Heather did about Philip Waverley. But I don’t, Knife. I know that could never happen, even if-” He broke off, his gaze dropping to his crippled legs. “Well, never mind that. What I mean is, you don’t have to worry that I’ll make things awkward for you if you stay. I only meant to thank you as-as a friend.”
“Oh, Paul,” said Knife in a voice that was half wail, “don’t
you understand? I’m not afraid because I don’t love you. I’m afraid because-” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Because I do.”
For a moment Paul went absolutely still; then he shook his head. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t want your pity.”
Knife’s fist slammed down on the window frame. “And I’m not trying to give it to you! What kind of stubborn-” She broke off in frustration as Paul pivoted the chair and began pushing himself away. How could she make him believe her?
Then her eyes fell upon Heather’s second diary, sitting quietly on the bedside table, and she knew. With one word I have surrendered to Philip the greatest treasure I shall ever own, and yet my heart is content; for I know my secret shall always be safe in his keeping, and that it has comforted him as nothing else could do. And now, wherever he or I may go, part of me will always be with him.
Knife snapped out her wings and leaped into the air, gliding across to Paul’s shoulder. She sat down with one foot braced against his collarbone and slid her arm as far as it would go around his neck; then she whispered into his ear, “Paul McCormick. My name-my true name-is Perianth.”
Twenty-two
Paul did not reply, but Knife could feel his pulse quicken, see his throat move as he swallowed. She launched herself off his shoulder and lighted on his knee, looking up into his face.
“Now do you believe me?” she said.
Paul squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching on the arms of the chair. “I want to hold you,” he said. “But I can’t. You’re-”
“Too small. I know.” She curled her own fingers against her palm, resisting the urge to run to him, to be caught up in his hand and cradled to his heart. “And now that I’ve used up what little magic I had, I always will be. Which is why I have to leave you now…and why I can’t come back.”
“Then why did you give me your name? I could order you not to go. I could call you from anywhere, and you’d have to come, no matter what your Queen or anyone said-”
“But you won’t,” said Knife. She reached up and laid her small hand on his. “That’s why.”
Paul’s defiance melted, and he slumped in his chair. “There has to be another way,” he said. “It can’t just…end, not like this.”
Knife watched him with aching heart, unable to speak. What could she say to comfort him, when they both knew the situation was impossible?
“You made yourself human before,” Paul persisted.
“Yes, but only by accident. And you saw for yourself-it’s just a glamour, it doesn’t last.”
“I know.” He leaned forward urgently. “But if you could become really human, and stay that way…would you?”
Become human. The thought was both tempting and terrifying. To be with Paul always-it was what she longed for. And yet to do so, she would have to leave behind the only home she had ever known, and begin a new life in a world she barely understood; she would be vulnerable, dependent, uncertain-all the things she hated.
And worst of all, she would never fly again.
Knife shifted restlessly. “Yes. No. I don’t know… But why are you even asking me? What good is it talking about something that can never happen?”
“Because,” said Paul, “I’m thinking that maybe, if we could strike the right bargain…it could.”
“You mean-ask the Queen to change me?”
Paul nodded.
I transformed her into a human, said Amaryllis’s voice in her memory, and banished her from the Oak forever… He was right, Knife realized with a tingling chill. If the Queen had been able to cast such a spell once, she could do it again.
And yet, why should she? The advantage would all be on Knife’s side; she had nothing to offer in return. And though she still had the right to ask for one favor, the Queen had specifically said that the request must not put anyone else at risk. It was hard for Knife to see how the loss of their Hunter could do the Oakenfolk anything but harm, and she knew the Queen would see it the same way.
“I’m sorry,” she said heavily. “If I thought there was even the slightest chance, I’d ask…but it’s no use. She’d never agree.”
“So that’s it?” Paul demanded. “You go back to the Oak, I stay here-and we both die?”
She looked away, unable to bear the anguish in his gaze. “I don’t see that we have any other choice.” Unless the Queen is wrong. But that seemed too much to hope.
“And when you tell your Queen you didn’t obey her orders?”
Knife spread her wings and rose into the air. “I’ll be all right,” she lied, and darted forward to brush her lips against his cheek. “Good-bye, Paul-”
And before he could reach out to her, she was gone.
Never had the journey from the House to the Oak seemed so long. A crow circled overhead, its wings carving black slices from the moon. From the other side of the box hedge came a rustle and a shriek, as a stoat undulated through the grass with a struggling mouse in its jaws. Even the air currents felt treacherous, ready to toss Knife skyward or dash her to the ground the moment her concentration faltered. It took all her strength to make it across the lawn, and by the time she had struggled her way up into the topmost branches of the Oak she felt almost painfully alert, as though her nerves were crawling through her skin.
Even so, she was not prepared for the shadow that dropped down from above, seizing her about the waist and clamping a hand over her mouth. Wings whirred into motion, and before she could even find voice to shout she was yanked backward into the air, plummeting through thirty crow-lengths of leaves and branches to land winded at the foot of the Oak.
“I did it,” said a voice in tones of astonished pride, and then as an afterthought, “Ouch.”
Knife whirled around to see Thorn standing behind her, massaging her shoulder and wincing. “What do you think you’re-” she began hotly, but the other faery cut her off. “I’ve already spent half the night out here, waiting for you to stop squawking at that human of yours and get back to the Oak. You’re not going back to the Queen without hearing what I have to say first.”
“You followed me to the House?” asked Knife, incredulous.
“Well, I had to know if you were going to kill him or not, didn’t I?”
Knife put a hand to her forehead. “Wait. How do you know about all this-any of this? I haven’t seen you since I left Campion’s room.”
“You didn’t see me, no,” said Thorn with grim satisfaction. “But I was listening outside the Queen’s window the whole time the two of you were talking. I didn’t catch all of it, but I heard enough.” She eyed Knife’s faded wings disapprovingly. “So that’s what she was talking about, when she said she’d have to restore your wings. Did you really use up all your magic on that human? Of all the gnat-witted things to do-”
“I love you, too, Thorn,” said Knife, and as the other faery spluttered she went on more seriously: “But you have something to tell me, you said. What is it?”
“Campion’s getting better,” said Thorn, her voice still a little strangled. “Valerian and I weren’t sure at first, but when she sat up and asked for something to eat-we knew.”
Knife went still, feeling her heartbeat pound through her whole body. This was it: proof that despite all Jasmine’s efforts and the Queen’s fears, the Oakenfolk still needed knowledge of the human world to survive. Tragic though it was, Heather’s story had spoken to Campion, awakening her mind and reviving her spirits, in a way that all her knowledge of the faery lore had not.
And that meant…
“I have something to bargain with,” Knife whispered.
“To get your wings back? I hope so,” said Thorn. “Believe me, I’m in no hurry to be Queen’s Hunter again, but the way you’ve been floundering about is a disgrace: It’s a wonder Old Wormwood hasn’t eaten you already.”
Knife’s mind flashed back to the crow’s body, lying stiff and lifeless by the road. She had been so distracted with other things, she had forgotten to share the news. “Old Wor
mwood is dead. The humans-” Then she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat.
“What?” asked Thorn.
Knife seized her by the shoulders. “Thorn, I need you to do something for me right away, while I go and talk to the Queen. You won’t like it, but I swear to you, it’s important.”
“Enough,” said Thorn irritably. “Just tell me what you want.”
Knife told her.
Thorn’s face went so white that even her lips turned pale. But then she drew herself up and said stiffly, “All right.”
“Thorn, I can’t tell you how grateful-”
“Oh, none of that,” said Thorn, with a snort that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. “Now stop blathering and get up there. The Queen’s waiting.”
“I had almost lost hope of your return,” said Amaryllis. “What kept you so long?”
Knife folded herself through the window and dropped to the floor, dusting off her hands. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “It took longer than I had expected.”
“It is done, then,” said the Queen, and then to Knife’s surprise she sighed, and put a hand to her eyes. “I could almost wish that you had passed the test,” she continued, almost too softly for Knife to hear. “But it is better so.”
“Test?” said Knife. “If you mean killing Paul-”
“He will not die,” Amaryllis told her. “If he sleeps, it is only to awake refreshed tomorrow. But in your heart you will know that you meant to kill him, and the shame of that betrayal will taint every thought of him hereafter.” Knife stared at her aghast as she went on. “Did I not warn you that your friendship with this young human had no future? Now you have proven it for yourself.”
“Wait,” said Knife. “What if I didn’t try to kill him?”
“If the bond between you was true,” said Amaryllis impatiently, “no threat or persuasion could have made you do him harm. Yet when you took the potion from my hand, I knew that what I had long feared had come to pass, and my people were no longer capable of love.”
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