The Iron Thorn

40 The Enemy of Thorn

IN THE SILENCE, I heard the hiss of a nightjar from the garden.

Cal’s nostrils flared and Dean’s switchblade came out. “We got some uninvited guests,” he said.

“They’re everywhere,” Cal said. “All over the garden. Under the porch …” His eyes went round and milky in the twilight. “Bethina.”

Cal shifted into ghoul on the fly and took off at a four-legged run for the house. I thought that poor Bethina was about to get the shock of her life, if she hadn’t already.

“He had the right idea, doll,” Dean said. “About making tracks for inside, I mean.”

A nightjar crawled away through the apple orchard, and from the roof tiles, a springheel jack snarled at us before leaping from cupola to ground in one fluid motion.

“Definitely the right idea,” Dean said, and we ran.

The creatures were everywhere, crawling over the house itself. “Why are there so many of them?” I shouted to Dean, though I had an idea. Maybe there had always been this many horrors lurking in the shadows of Thorn.

“Figure it out later!” Dean shouted, and that also was a good point. We slammed and locked the kitchen door behind us as something ran into the other side, scrabbling and chittering and making the hinges bow from the impact and the assault of its claws.

I braced the door while Dean grabbed a kitchen chair and stuck it under the knob. When I let go, I nearly fell into the arms of a ghoul.

He didn’t look anything like Cal, Toby or their mother—this was one of the cemetery ghouls, wild matted hair, wilder eyes, and a stench that could fell a war Engine. He snarled at me.

“You murdered Tanner.”

I reeled away from him, until I realized I was backed into a corner. I heard soft whimpering behind me and turned slightly to find Bethina occupying the same space. “Are you all right?” I asked.

She shook her head, eyes wide and pupils vibrating with shock. Cal stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. Thankfully, he’d made himself look human again. We’d have a discussion about his deceiving Bethina, but this was most certainly not the time.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ve got it under control.”

“How,” Bethina gasped, “in hell can you have this under control, miss?”

More ghouls crept into the kitchen, and in the dim light they appeared all eyes and teeth.

I looked at Dean. He was watching each ghoul in turn, an expression I hoped to never see again on his face. Dean looked as hungry for a fight as they did, and his switchblade flicked open. “Who wants the first taste?” He grinned at the ghoul’s leader. “It’s silver-coated. I hear you puppy dogs don’t much care for that.”

Graystone whispered to me frantically, pleaded with me to rid it of its interlopers. The Weird wanted to open itself up, wanted it so badly it made my heart beat out of time.

The Weird had unleashed the ghouls in the first place, brought every awful thing to bear on the Iron Land.

I supposed it was time my Weird did something good. I touched Dean on the arm. “I think you’d be better served by giving us some light, please.”

He looked at me for a long moment and then nodded. “I dig you, princess.”

To Bethina, I murmured, “Cover your eyes.”

Dean gave the kitchen aether globes a nudge, just a shove, with the wicked bit of wild magic that always wrapped around him. A globe cracked, then another, and then in a brilliant flash the aether exploded, contacting the air and sending the scent of burning parchment running through the hallways of the house.

I reached out to every trap and trigger in Graystone with my Weird, brought them to bear on the ghouls as they howled and clawed at their faces, their night-blackened eyes dazzled by the blue fire of the aether.

The house responded to me, with a vengeance. I could hear the howls and cries resounding from top to bottom as the clockwork fed on its Folk intruders, and the ghouls broke for the kitchen doors and windows, fleeing before they became like Tanner.

It was dark again in two and a half seconds, the aether burned out as quickly as one blows out a candle. My dazzled eyes couldn’t see a thing, but Dean found me. “We got them,” he said. “Traps all sprung. Not a living thing in this house besides you and me and Bethina and, er, … the kid.”

Cal held up a sobbing Bethina. “She needs to sit down.”

“Take her to the library,” I said faintly. The Weird hadn’t overwhelmed me this time, hadn’t tried to swallow me alive. Cold comfort after what I’d done.

“Library’s a good idea for all of us,” Dean said. “It’s safe there.”

“At least from the Folk,” I muttered. I wasn’t sure, as I trailed after Dean, about myself.

The danger inside the house was dead, but as we hurried into the library and barred the doors, the howling outside did not cease.

“Something’s stirred my brothers,” Cal said softly so Bethina couldn’t hear. “Stirred everyone. There’s a Wild Hunt. First I’ve ever seen. Thought such things went the way of horse-drawn jitneys.”

Bethina and Cal huddled together while Dean lit the fire in the library grate. I wondered if Cal would ever tell her, or if, like me, he would carry a secret to the grave.

“The queens are awake,” I said. “And I think … I know I’m responsible for all of this.”

Dean blew out his lighter and put it back in his leather. “We’re safe for now. They can’t get past the clockwork.”

“Did you not hear me?” I demanded. “I did it, Dean. Magic is walking the world. The gates are down. I did that.”

“Aoife.” Dean came and wrapped my fingers with his. “Don’t think of that.”

“What am I supposed to think of?” I demanded. “How Draven wanted to ensnare me to ensnare my father? How Tremaine wanted to burn me to ash? If I think of anything besides what I did I really will go mad.”

I jerked away from him and paced to the window, looking down at the ghouls and springheel jacks roaming through the orchard and the garden.

“I’ve never seen ghouls like this,” Cal said again. “It’s like a war zone out there.”

“That’s what Tremaine said,” I murmured, pressing my forehead against the glass. “He said it was a war. He wanted this to happen.”

“Waking up the queens must’ve sent out some waves,” Dean said. “But wouldn’t they take the throne and have done? I would.”

“The queens have to be awake,” I said. “To keep Thorn alive. But they aren’t in charge. Tremaine is the Regent and he makes the rules. He made that very clear.” The nightjars in my view were turning on one another, having decimated every other living thing in the garden.

A mortal curse in the Folk’s lands. Cast by Draven, who either had been tricked into thinking his campaign against the Folk had just reached its greatest success or was in league with Tremaine.

I didn’t care. What mattered was that I was just as gullible. I’d done exactly as Tremaine had planned for me to do. Conrad and my father had held out, had refused to play into the Folk’s hands. Whereas pliant little Aoife had fallen in line with Tremaine because she felt sorry for him.

The memories unspooled like a needle under the skin. My first encounter with Tremaine. Draven’s smirk. The doctor who’d stared at me with his mossy eyes. The same eyes that looked back at me from the rippled glass now.

“You know who I am, Aoife.”

It was my father. My father had saved my life. I felt a flutter in my chest. He hadn’t left me in the end, hadn’t believed I shouldn’t have had anything to do with my birthright. He’d helped me as much as he could.

And I’d betrayed him. I’d betrayed every one of the Graysons, Conrad, even Nerissa. Draven had the witch’s alphabet. Tremaine had his queens, his open gateway, his place ruling the Thorn Land, which was no longer dying, but was awake and hungry after hibernation.

All I had left was my Weird, but I was not bowed. I had Dean, and Cal. I had my wits, and I still had my mind.

I could stay away from the cities. I could find a way to stave off the iron madness, and I could get the witch’s alphabet back.

I would find my father and the truth.

As the first sliver of hope in a very long time slid back into view, every light in Graystone went out.

Bethina screamed, and her tea mug shattered on the library hearth.

“Stay calm!” Dean shouted. “Find Aoife.”

“She’s there,” said Cal, his eyes like lanterns in the full dark. “By the window.”

Outside, a blue flash lit the garden for just a moment, a streak of heat lightning in the coldest part of the year.

My shoulder twinged and my Weird rubbed against new magic in the room. In the blue, witchly light I saw three figures: two short and one tall, two crook-backed and elfin-faced and one with shaggy black hair, a tattered tweed blazer and a face that mimicked my own.

My heart twitched, stopping my breath for just a moment before I flew to the tallest figure and threw my arms around him. “Conrad!”

“Hey, little sister,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

I pressed my face into him, memorizing his warmth and his scent, the bony rib cage I thought I’d never embrace again. “I thought you were dead. He told me you were dead.” Even after Tremaine had admitted he’d lied, I’d thought I’d never see Conrad again.

“I know,” Conrad said. “I know you did, and I’m sorry.”

“How did you … where have you …” My questions tumbled over one another, tangled and fell.

“All I can say at this moment is that we have to leave,” Conrad told me. “The Winter Folk are coming for all four of you—their scouts are in the garden.”

Another flash of lightning, another glimpse of the creatures skittering through the shadows. They were taller than nightjars now. Paler. With more teeth. Folk.

“Where can we possibly go?” I asked Conrad.

“There’s one place where they can never find us,” Conrad said. “The Land of Mists.”

“No,” Dean said instantly. “That’s bad business.”

“You don’t get a choice, Erlkin.” One of the two figures hunched behind Conrad spoke. It was little more than a shadow, its silver teeth the only solid thing. Bethina’s shadow-people who’d come for Conrad. “The Wytch King commands it. You and the daughter and the ghoul and the mortal. To the Mists, now.”

“Aoife, please,” Conrad said. “I know I don’t deserve your trust after what happened but I’ve changed. I’ve healed. The madness doesn’t follow us into the Mists, and once you’re away from the cities and the worst of the iron. We can stay sane if we stay out of the Iron Land.”

Cal lifted his head, flaring his nostrils. “I smell silver and hawthorn trees. Cold blue blood.”

“That’s Tremaine and his Winter men,” Conrad said. “We’re out of time.” He snapped his fingers at the Erlkin behind him. “We have to go back to the Mists. Now.”

In the reflection on the window glass, a black shape grew and gathered, until our reflected images became a bottomless door, a swirling vortex in the flat of the windowpane.

“Come with me,” Conrad said. “I promise, everything will be explained.”

“In Lovecraft,” I said. “In Ravenhouse. I saw our father.”

“Impossible,” Conrad said. “Archibald’s been missing for months.”

“I saw him,” I insisted. “He got me out of there.”

“Aoife,” Dean said as glass shattered and gears shrieked in the bowels of the house. The traps whirred to life against an overwhelming attack. “We should go with him, much as I hate to say it.”

I looked from Conrad to Dean, to Cal and Bethina, who clutched his sleeve.

“All right,” I told Conrad. “But only for now. You better believe you’re going to explain this to me when we’re safe.”

“Say it,” Conrad said. “Or the gate doesn’t work. Say that you trust me.” He held out his hand, but I grabbed Dean’s instead.

“I trust you, Conrad.” I still did, in spite of everything. My brother was still my brother, and when he’d asked for my help those weeks ago he hadn’t lied to me.

Conrad turned his eyes on Dean. “And how about you, halfkin?”

Dean’s lip pulled back to show his teeth. “Only because I don’t got a choice, friend.”

“Anywhere has to be better than here right now,” Cal agreed. “C’mon, Bethina.”

“You have nothing to fear,” Conrad said. “Not from me. Fear the events you’ve set in motion, and the ripples from this world to the worlds beyond.” He held out his hand to the doorway. “Aoife. You first.”

I shook my head, still holding on to Dean. “We go together.”

“Together,” Dean agreed. “Or not at all.”

“Fine!” Conrad snapped. “Whatever you like, just go.”

He sounded more like my brother then, and a little of my trepidation vanished.

Dean and I stepped into the Mists as one, and blackness gripped me. Not the sick vertigo of Tremaine’s hexenring, but a vast and windy emptiness that seemed to stretch on forever. I saw visions of Lovecraft, burning and forsaken. I saw the lily field, trampled, and the glass coffins, shattered. I saw the stars and the eyes of the Great Old Ones, burning up space as they flew onward, infinite.

I was falling toward a place made of smoke and shadow, a darkness I had only seen in nightmares, but Dean was with me and Cal, Bethina and Conrad were behind.

I fell into the Mists, passing worlds beyond number as I did, while above me, the stars turned out of time, in a vast and darkening sky.