13 Treasures (28 page)

She looked down at the silver bracelet in her palm. Several of the charms were coated in blood, but whether it was the blood of the drain-dweller or her own she was unable to tell. Slowly, she turned and headed back up the stairs, the bracelet slippery beneath her fingers. She paused outside her room when she heard a door open in the hallway below. Then followed a low whistle.

“Looks like Spitfire’s been earning his keep,” Warwick said. “Did you see what he caught?”

Tanya stiffened.

“I think it was a mouse,” she heard Fabian say in a dull voice.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Warwick remarked. “More likely a rat than a mouse. Didn’t think he still had it in him. I’ll get the mop.”

Tanya did not stay to hear any more. Choking back a sob, she locked her bedroom door and shut herself in the tiny bathroom. She stood in front of the washbasin and held the bracelet under the hot tap, watching through blurred eyes as the water changed from red to pink to clear, disappearing down the plughole that had been the creature’s home.

Silver glinted within its depths, and she was reminded of the lost cauldron charm. Something like regret stirred inside her at the thought of it being down there, alone, separated from the rest of the charms. Even if she was able to retrieve it and make the bracelet whole and complete once more, she knew she would never wear it again. Yet still she held it beneath the hot water, trying to wash the death from it. There she stayed, rinsing it until the water ran cold and her fingers were red and shriveled, crying until she had no tears left.

Tanya tossed and turned between the damp sheets of her bed. The humidity of the night ensured that sleep would not come. The bedroom window was ajar, allowing the scent of the fragrant summer flowers to waft through, something she usually welcomed. Tonight it seemed to be choking her. She could not get the death of the drain-dweller out of her mind.

Gradually the air turned cooler and drowsiness settled over her at last. Just as she started to doze off, a familiar noise called her back from the fuzzy depths of sleep: the unmistakable sound of wings in the air. Too late she became aware of the dull twitching in her eyelids, which, had she not been so preoccupied, she would no doubt have taken heed of several minutes ago.

Claws were scrabbling over the window ledge. The curtains twitched and parted, and then the familiar black bird was gliding slowly toward her. Three other tiny figures followed. The bird shape-shifted in midair and then drew closer, eventually alighting on Tanya’s pillow. There was an overpowering smell of woodland, then Raven was looking down at her. She seized a strand of Tanya’s hair and gave it a spiteful tug before joining her companions at the foot of the bed.

Tanya stared at three sets of accusing eyes, fighting all urges to look away. Only the Mizhog seemed to be behaving normally—or as normally as could be expected. The moonlight streaming in caught something wet and glistening that was partially hanging out of its mouth. A slug, Tanya realized, still half alive. The doomed creature wriggled feebly before the Mizhog sucked in the remainder and licked its chops. Repulsed, Tanya tore her eyes away and forced herself to concentrate on the others.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, unable to mask the fear in her voice.

“I think you know,” said Gredin. He reached out and flung a cushion across the room. It connected with the stool at the dressing table. The stool toppled over and hit the floor with a clatter.

Tanya grimaced at the noise. Feathercap fixed her with an icy stare.

“Your meddling brought about the death of one of our kind tonight,” he said.

“I didn’t meddle with anything. It stole something of mine and I chased it.”

“Yes, you chased it!” Feathercap snarled, in front of her nose within a split second, so close that Tanya could see crumbs in his moustache. “To its death!”

“If it hadn’t taken my things I wouldn’t have chased it!” Tanya whispered.

Feathercap scoffed.

“Drain-dwellers aren’t renowned for honesty or intelligence. The lure of the Thirteen Treasures would prove irresistible to such a dim-witted creature. You should have taken more care.”

“The Thirteen Treasures?” Tanya shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

“Say no more, Feathercap,” Raven warned.

Tanya glanced at her in astonishment, then looked to Gredin. Both were wearing twin expressions of anger mixed with anxiety.

Feathercap rounded on them. “It was only a matter of time before she worked it out for herself!” He turned back to Tanya. “You
taunted
it. You
tempted
it.”

“How?” Tanya cried, forgetting to keep quiet.

“You gave it one of the charms!”

“She was not aware,” said Raven.

“And then there was the girl,” Feathercap spat, working himself further into his rage. “Oh, yes, your little talks with her haven’t gone unnoticed.”

Tanya clenched her fists beneath the bedclothes.

“I was trying to help her return that child. The
fairy
child. I don’t see why you would object to that, unless you enjoy the chaos and disruption of the two worlds mixing. But maybe that’s exactly what you want. I
know
about the Unseelie Court. Red told me.”

“You know nothing about what we want,” said Gredin. “And nothing of who we are. As for the other girl, she may have told you what she knows, but I can assure you that what she
does
know is far from enough. Not even close.”

An interruption came as the Mizhog burst into a rapid succession of hiccups. Tanya watched with a sinking feeling. The Mizhog, being of a somewhat nervous disposition, had never reacted well to moments of tension such as these. It began retching violently. Moments later, as she feared, what was left of the slug reappeared on her bedspread. A final hiccup later the Mizhog recovered, picking at a flea on its belly.

Feathercap’s face darkened as he stared across the room. He was gazing at the old painting above the fireplace.

“Echo and Narcissus,” he murmured. “Interesting.” He snapped out of his daze and turned back to Tanya. “You are familiar with the story?”

Tanya nodded warily.

“Refresh my memory,” Feathercap said, but his tone was mocking.

“Echo was cursed by an enchantress,” said Tanya. “She could only speak the last words of other peoples’ sentences. Narcissus was a vain young man who fell in love with his own reflection in a pool and wasted away. Echo pined for him until all that was left of her was her voice.”

“Imagine,” said Feathercap. “To only be able to speak the last words of other peoples’ sentences.”

Tanya felt her insides give an awful lurch. “You’re threatening me.”

Feathercap smiled. Lifting his hand, he mimed a knocking action in the air. The sharp sound of knuckles on wood resonated from the wardrobe—even though Feathercap hadn’t touched it, was nowhere
near
it.

“Knock, knock,” he said softly. “Who’s there?”

In the quiet that followed a small sound caught her attention, almost like a whine. It was coming from the wardrobe.

“What’s that?” said Tanya, drawing the sheets up around herself. “What have you done?”

The whining continued and was joined by a scratching noise, soft but insistent, gradually building into a frenzy. The wardrobe door began to shake and rattle as whatever was inside threw itself about, howling. It sounded like a demon.

Tanya leapt out of bed, the sheets gathered around her. She was halfway across the room when the wardrobe door burst open and Oberon shot out with a yelp, confused and plainly terrified. In a flash she understood: Oberon was simply a catalyst. The real trouble would start once he had inevitably woken the household.

“Here, boy,” she said desperately, hands outstretched toward him. “Quiet now—it’s all right!”

The bewildered animal would not be coaxed. He chased madly about the room, knocking over the table and chair in the corner. A pile of books flew into the air before crashing to the floor. Moments later the dog seemed to gather his wits, and set about the fairies, growling and barking. Raven and Gredin evaded him easily, gliding up to the safety of the ceiling. The Mizhog let out a high-pitched squeak and followed.

Feathercap leapt onto the windowsill, narrowly escaping a gnash of Oberon’s jaws. He pointed a fat finger at Tanya. “This is for the drain-dweller.”

A shower of sparks erupted from his finger, and the lower half of Tanya’s face froze. She brought her hands up to her mouth. Her jaw was slack and open, her lips horribly numb.

Footsteps hurried across the landing.

“What’s going on?” her grandmother called out.

“…
Going on…
” said Tanya, her mouth moving through no control of her own.

The bedroom door flew open, and the room flooded with light. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the new brightness. Florence swept into the room, her face a grim mask of white. Warwick followed shortly after. Tanya noticed his hand resting on the hunting knife he carried in his belt—an observation she made at precisely the same moment as her grandmother. Florence and Warwick exchanged glances, and he quickly dropped his hand.

Florence glanced at the ceiling with a peculiar look on her face. Tanya’s head snapped up. It seemed her grandmother had been gazing straight at the fairies, but then she saw that the lightbulb was swaying frenziedly. One of them—most likely the Mizhog—must have knocked against it.

Above them, Amos stirred in his room. There were numerous shouted obscenities followed by a loud, constant banging, like a door being repeatedly opened and slammed. Florence’s mouth was pressed into a thin line as she took in the scene: the overturned chair and table, the books scattered about haphazardly, and Oberon jumping up at the windowsill, still barking frantically.

“STOP THAT CONFOUNDED RACKET!” Warwick bellowed at him.

Oberon fled and cowered behind Tanya with a whimper.

“…
Confounded racket…
” she repeated, looking over to the window. Feathercap gave a last, satisfied smirk and then the fairies were gone.

“What exactly,” Florence said coldly, “is that dog doing in here?”

“…
In here…
” Tanya echoed.

“What have you been up to?”

“…
Up to…
”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” said Warwick.

“…
A joke…
”

Tanya covered her mouth with her hands.

“Warwick,” Florence snapped. “Take the dog downstairs and shut him in the kitchen.”

“…
In the kitchen…
” Tanya mumbled from behind her hands.

Warwick pursed his lips and left, followed by a meek Oberon. Florence remained, standing stiffly, her slate-gray eyes hard.

“There will be no more of this nonsense. No more of this sneaking around in the night. If I find Oberon up here again I’ll have him sent back home before you can blink. Do you understand?”

Tanya nodded, but the words spilled from her mouth nonetheless. “…
Do you understand…
” She looked down, unable to meet her grandmother’s face any longer.

“Stop repeating everything I say!”

“…
Everything I say…
”

“I didn’t expect this kind of insolence from you. Obviously you’ve been spending too much time in Fabian’s company,” said Florence. “I’m not amused.”

“…
Not amused…
”

“Into bed—now.” Her grandmother’s lips were tight. “I don’t want to hear another peep out of you.” Without another word she left, closing the door abruptly.

“…
Out of you…
” Tanya whispered to the empty room. She stared at the painting hanging above the fireplace. A hot tear of anger and frustration slid down her cheek. The maiden’s expression seemed to be mocking her.

Slowly, quietly, she walked into the bathroom, where the charm bracelet lay on the edge of the washbasin in a puddle of cold water. She picked it up, shivering as a bead of water trickled all the way down to her elbow like an icy tear. In the darkness she ran her thumb over each charm in turn. Some of them she could not decipher, but she was not willing to turn the light on and risk angering her grandmother further. Among those she could make out there were a dagger, a goblet, and a key.

The Thirteen Treasures.

Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?

A family heirloom, passed down through generations by Elizabeth Elvesden, the first lady of the manor. A woman who had died in a mental institution, leaving her secrets stashed in diaries around the manor: secrets the family was desperate to keep hidden in order to preserve their good name. Secrets easy to label as madness.

Secrets that Tanya now had a very strong feeling about.

Elizabeth Elvesden may have seemed mad—but she hadn’t been. Elizabeth Elvesden had been a changeling.

Wednesday dawned crisp and clear, with just a hint of a chill in the air. As usual, Tanya was up early. That morning, Amos’s yells had served a useful purpose. When listening to him from her room below, Tanya had not repeated a word of it and was able to gauge that the fairies’ spell had worn off.