Had been hiding. I looked at the empty space behind the stink container, then waved my hands through it and called, “Where did you guys go?” But there was no answer.
Uneasiness started climbing the first peak of the roller coaster of panic and I tried to think before it got to the top and went over. The Wild Hunt had gone inside. They weren’t sneaky. None of them had come back out and taken my friends. Alastor was sneaky, but I’d been talking to him. The city was unfriendly but seemed to dislike the Wild Hunt a whole lot more than us.
Could Alastor have done something while I’d been talking to him? Had that been a distraction? I thought about how he’d been standing there, turned toward me with the door half-open behind him.
I’d been the distraction, I realized. Somehow, Yejun and Brynn had snuck in behind Alastor’s back.
Grinning, I went back to the red tower and put both my hands on the wall. The mortar between the slabs was a crusty dark brown that smelled faintly of insect carapaces. It was hard, but I scraped some away anyhow, because my nails were harder. Then I kicked off my shoes and started climbing.
Without having to haul anybody else around, with my intrinsic magic not invested in my dogs, it was a breeze. Halfway up, the texture of the wall changed subtly and I was reminded of my initial impression of the tower as a wound on the world. I’d never thought before about how similar scabs and stone felt.
When I pulled myself over the edge of the wall, I saw that the tower was actually a quadrangle, open to a courtyard in the center. The roof itself was bare of all the structures I was used to seeing on modern roofs: it was just a flat, open space behind some crenellations, with some deep scratches in the stone near a large slanted door.
Keeping low to the ground, I made my way over to the inner edge of the wall and peered down. Far below, on a stand exactly in the center of the courtyard, a large horn glittered with a slippery golden light. I knew right away that it was the real Horn, and that it hadn’t left the confines of the tower while the Hunt chased down Tia. I would have noticed it in a Huntsman’s hand, or hanging from the saddle. This slick golden instrument drew the eye like a warp in the world, and it stunk like shining corruption. It was what we’d come for, I could feel it with every fiber of my being.
But it wasn’t the only thing I’d come for, and I dragged my attention away from the Horn to look around the rest of the quadrangle. The horses of the Hunt had been stabled along one wall, and I assumed my dogs were in there as well, because I couldn’t see them. The Hunt milled around the Horn, all except Ion, who sat on a throne against one wall. He had one hand on his chin, as if he was considering something challenging.
There was no sign of either the Fiddler or my friends. That was, I told myself, a good thing.
I went over to the door. It was made of the same black wood as the front entrance, but this door had a dagger driven deep through a pair of leather jesses and into the wood. The dagger was plain metal and smelled of Ion, while the leather straps smelled of raptor. I stared at them for a minute, thinking of what Alastor had said earlier, and wondering which of them was really in charge. Then, just in case it was useful, I pulled the knife out of the wood and let the jesses fall to the floor.
The door opened easily and I cautiously descended a large staircase that went through several open floors, listening for any sound of my friends. The tower wasn’t built for people, that was clear. The spaces I passed through were huge and echoing and strange, far too cold and unfriendly to be anybody’s home. While the top floors were empty, the staircase ended on the ground floor in a room full of incomprehensible street signs from the city beyond. They’d been nailed onto the walls until there was no more room, and then leaned against the walls and piled in corners. Octagons, hexagons, circles on poles, triangles, glowing alien letters. It was the first clue I’d seen that any kind of personality inhabited the tower, and I wondered which of them collected the signs. The room itself smelled only of the city beyond, which was no help.
I stayed away from the quadrangle as I explored the rest of the ground floor, searching for the Fiddler and hoping I’d come across some trace of my friends. And the rooms I found were... odd. The structure underneath was straight-up fortress, built of wood and stone and designed to protect but not comfort an army. But the inhabitants were like hermit crabs, living in something that no longer fit them. The stolen street sign room was just the beginning. Another room had very carefully placed circles and spheres on the walls and floor. Streamers and ribbons drifted off of each night-scented sphere and I had the uncomfortable sense that I was walking through the model of somebody’s mind. A third room was splashed with dozens of horrible, garish colors that made me think blindness was better than sight and a nose was better than both.
A fourth room had heads all over the walls. It was there I found the Fiddler sitting on the floor, still bound. The black stone violin and its bow sat on the floor beside him. Brynn stared at the walls while Yejun knelt beside the Fiddler, inspecting his bindings. She turned when I scuffed a foot against the floor and stumbled over to me. The black marks, as vivid as fresh tattoos, stretched up under her sleeves and re-emerged on her neck: fillips and curlicues like the scrollwork on a frame. Her eyes looked wild and alien within an inky mask.
“You found us!” she said, and she sounded just like she always did. I relaxed, just a little. “I thought you would.”
“No, you thought she’d run away,” said Yejun distractedly. “I thought she would. She doesn’t like to be alone and we’re better than nothing.”
I frowned, then stuck my tongue out in Yejun’s general direction before looking around the room. “My father would approve,” I said neutrally.
“I think some of them are mannequin heads,” Brynn said nervously.
I thought I probably shouldn’t correct her little self-deception. Then I looked closer and realized she was right. There were bear heads and lion heads and unicorn heads and a griffin head and, yes, people’s heads (which don’t really preserve well, to be honest) and several plastic mannequin heads and—
“Is that a car fender?” I asked incredulously.
Yejun glanced up. “I think there’s a pair of tank guns down there.”
“Yes, but mannequin heads?” demanded Brynn. “At least cars and tanks are dangerous. What did a mannequin ever do to anybody?”
“In this city?” Yejun asked.
Brynn opened, then closed her mouth. “Okay, point.”
I ruffled her hair. “So what’s going on? The assholes outside are all standing around looking at the Horn like they’re expecting something to happen. But I thought we had a little more time than that?”
“My watch says we do,” said Yejun. “Of course, it’s telling the time in Toronto. Is the Wild Hunt on Eastern Standard Time?”
“That’s a horribly worrying thing to say,” I told him. “Don’t ask things like that. Work on freeing the Fiddler instead.”
“It’s ingenious, really,” remarked the Fiddler. “They can’t hurt me, but I didn’t make any kind of plan to deal with being restrained by a rope woven of their own essence. I can see next time, I’ll have to plan better for an outing here.” He shook his head.
Yejun tugged on the rope, which moved in his hands like an unfriendly snake. “I can just barely hold it, but I can’t get a grip on it to untie the knots.”
I moved around restlessly. “Maybe we should grab the Horn first? One of us can make a distraction, then somebody else snatches it, and we can...” I frowned. I’d been so focused on finding the thing that I hadn’t really thought about what happened after we tracked it down.
“We have to take it to Jen,” Yejun said. “And I don’t think we should leave this guy here with the Hunt while we do. They might be a bit frustrated.”
“I’m frustrated right now,” I grumbled.
“Look at it this way. If we do free him, they’ll probably know right away and come investigate. That’ll be your distraction right there.”
> “Yeah, but how are you going to free him? You just said you couldn’t get a grip on the rope,” I pointed out.
Yejun reached out a finger to touch the violin’s bow. The silvery hair flashed in the light. “I bet I can come up with something. There’s always brute force.”
“Excuse me,” said the Fiddler politely. “That’s a precisely crafted tool, not some sort of hacksaw. I made it from a tree I watered with the three songs of the last shadow-eater. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t manhandle it. Somebody might end up bleeding.”
None of us paid the Fiddler much attention. I looked around the room again, then peeked out the entrance, still not entirely resigned to this plan. “Have you seen any sign of Amber?”
“Nope,” said Yejun. “If we’re lucky, she won’t stick her head in and screw things up at the worst time.”
“She wants to help,” said Brynn. “Why are you so mean about her?”
“If she wants to help, why did she run off?” asked Yejun, prodding at the Fiddler’s rope-bound chest.
I coughed self-consciously. “I’ll let her know what’s up if I see her. If nothing happens soon—”
“Something will happen soon. One way or another.” Yejun glanced up at me and gave me a little smile I didn’t find reassuring at all. Thrilling, anxiety-inducing, nerve-wracking, in all the wrong ways. Ducking my head, I withdrew and went to go find a way to steal the Horn of the Wild Hunt.
-twenty two-
Finding a place from which to keep an eye on the gathered Hunt turned out to be harder than I expected. There were four large arches leading to the wings of the tower. One was behind Ion on his throne, and it might have been perfect except that I couldn’t stand the thought of being so close to him. Besides, I’d have to move past his throne to get to the Horn, and he had a stillness to him that made me think he’d be the last to respond to any distraction from Yejun and the Fiddler.
Two of the other archways offered a direct line of sight to the Horn, and to the Huntsmen standing around the Horn. All they had to do was lift their eyes to spot me. That was almost as bad as being caught by Ion. I was stealthy, but I didn’t trust my skills against their very natures. Maybe Yejun should have come instead of me, because he’d snuck himself and Brynn in right under their noses.
And then there was the final archway, which led into the stable. It was, as I approached it, the one I’d hoped I’d have to use. I could hear the horses moving and making snuffling noises, just like real living horses, and I wondered why the Hunt seemed to prefer them in the form of machines. I didn’t hear my dogs, but dogs were a lot quieter. And if they weren’t in there, then they weren’t anywhere in the fortress, because I’d looked on my way down.
As soon as I stepped into the dimness of the stable, I could smell them. Their scents hadn’t changed at all, and my eyes flooded with tears I blinked away before they could spill.
“Heart?” I whispered. “Boys? I’m here...”
The horse in the stall nearest me whickered quietly, but I didn’t even look at him. My eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and I looked around eagerly. I could feel their presence. I knew it. I didn’t know how. But I peeked around the edge of one stall and there they were, in an achingly familiar pile.
Nod turned his head toward me. His eyes glinted red and a white fang flashed as he pulled himself to his feet. I sank down on my haunches, whispering nonsense, the same nonsense I’d sung to him when he was feral and broken. Grim and Heart rose to their feet as well, spreading out in their stall. They smelled like my friends, but they didn’t move like them. I tried to see if there was any kind of collar I’d missed before, something I could just unlatch and they’d return to me. But there was nothing, nothing that wasn’t woven into their nature now.
The truth was that I’d collared them when I’d saved them, bound them to my shadow. I’d remade them out of my essence and our natures had mingled. And now that Ion had ripped them away from me, they were as much his as they’d ever been mine.
But there had to be a way to steal them back again. I couldn’t just give up on them. Being the slave of something like Ion was horrible and painful. Nobody growled like Nod was growling for fun. You growled because you were angry, because you were hurt and frightened and driven beyond reason, or because somebody was driving spikes of misery into your mind, trying to force you into being a monster despite the better nature somebody who loved you said you had.
I had to rescue them, or I had to put them out of their pain.
Slowly, I extended both my hands to them. It’d only take one lunge from them and a misjudgment on my part, and they’d slash my arms open from hand to elbow. That would be kind of an inconvenience, but I was confident I could avoid that. I was fast, and I’d learned to avoid my father, after all. And I had to catch at least one of them by the scruff.
It was Nod I expected to lunge, but he hesitated so long that I wondered if he did remember me despite the spikes Ion was surely filling his mind with. Then, without warning, he raised his head and started barking at me: the furious, frightened bark of a dog who has spotted an intruder and doesn’t quite know what to do about it. It was a bark to warn his master, to demand assistance against danger. Heart and Grim joined in, their voices blending almost musically with Nod’s.
An icy chill replaced my moment of hope, and once again I felt a loneliness that could devour worlds as they bayed against me. But the response from the courtyard galvanized me. “They’ve caught a pest,” said Ion laconically. “Fetch it out.”
Panic made me tumble backwards and leap to my feet. I couldn’t let them catch me again. I’d thought about it while making my way through the fortress, about giving myself up to them if everything else failed, just so I could be near my dogs again. But now that I could see it looming right ahead, the ship-sinking iceberg, I couldn’t bear it—the thought of Ion looking at me and only seeing a tool. Of becoming a means of production because I’d failed to be anything else. I had that waiting for me at home, after all, and at least my father was familiar in his rages and his quirks.
One of the Huntsmen said something I didn’t understand and the horses all started rearing and screaming as light blossomed near the roof. The figure that stood there was familiar: one of the ones who’d held me down before. The panic took over and I darted out of the stable, back into the tower main, as fast as I could run.
I left my dogs behind. I wasn’t willing to fight for them. I was, as my father was so fond of pointing out, weak. Even my mother had been stronger; at least she’d been willing to kill him when she’d thought he was merely mortal.
Run, her memory urged me. Don’t fight. He only comes back and hurts you more.
I stumbled through unlit rooms, always hearing the frantic barking of my dogs and the heavy footsteps behind me, until at last I found myself cowering in a corner, unable to run anymore. Panic is a bitch like that. It never leads you out of mazes.
I pressed myself against the wall and fought for control, fought for the will to fight, to escape sensibly. After a moment, I realized the thudding heavy footsteps were the sound of my own heart, and that if anybody was chasing me, they’d gotten lost in the maze of chambers.
Slowly I crept to the center of the room—just a room, wood-walled, unlit, barely more than a closet—and listened again.
Near me: only silence. So much silence that when Amber suddenly popped up behind me, I shrieked and leapt back to my corner again.
“Shh,” she hissed, putting her finger to her lips. Her hair was wild and her eyes glittered oddly. “They’re looking somewhere else right now. Thanks for distracting them.”
“Amber,” I gasped. “What have you done?”
“Oh, just stole the Horn.” She had a sack in one hand. I came forward and she opened it enough that I could see brassy glints within.
I went cold with dread. I was supposed to steal it. Amber was a loose cannon; I still didn’t know if she was on our side. “Now what will you do with it?”
<
br /> “Now what? Now what? How should I know? You never told me what was supposed to happen after you stole it.” She gave me an annoyed scowl. “Really, a little gratitude wouldn’t be out of place.”
Relief was overtaken by guilt, and both of them tripped over an enormous log of nervousness. “If I distracted them, how come you’re here? Where are they?”
“Oh, something else distracted them after you pulled them away. Wasn’t that your clever plan?” Her blue eyes regarded me artlessly.
That was when I realized the amount of power swirling above us. It cut through the walls of the tower like they didn’t exist, a vast turbulent cloud of strange energy. I could actually see tiny lavender lightning bolts arcing to crawl over the walls.
I realized we were trying to hide from the Wild Hunt in the very heart of their home. This was the energy of the Wild Hunt itself, the energy that sustained them and the horses and my dogs, the energy provided by the Horn that Amber held.
Where the lavender lightning touched the walls, ghostly faces appeared, moaning. Ion had been feeding the Horn a lot lately, every time he was temporarily freed from prison by the magic song. When Halloween ended, he’d be free to let it gorge on all souls, and I couldn’t even imagine where that ended.
“I don’t think stealing it means anything until we get it to where it needs to be,” I said. “We have to find the others and get out of here before they actually grab us.”
“Okay,” said Amber agreeably, pushing her hair from her face. “Do we meet the others now or later?”
Then, distantly, I heard violin music begin. It was even a song I recognized, although I didn’t know the name of it. It was triumphant and a challenge and it made me want to dance.
“They freed him!” I grabbed Amber’s arm and pulled her to the door. “The Fiddler!”
“That’s good, right?” she asked.
“Yes—” I began. Then the music met the Wild Hunt’s magic swirling above and pure chaos erupted around us.
Wolf Interval (Senyaza Series Book 3) Page 22