13 Secrets (36 page)

“It’s coming back,” said Warwick. “Samson, move! Come back to the house, quickly!” He climbed up the steps to the door, shepherding them all further back into the kitchen. “Tino, Victor—get in here!”

Tino stepped into the house, taking Crooks’s place at the window, but Victor remained outside, his eyes on his brother. Samson had started to run, but though he was only a short way from the house, his
heavy build meant that speed wasn’t on his side. It was clear he could not outrun the flying creature.

“Keep moving!” Victor yelled. He dropped into a crouch, the blade poised. “I’m covering you!”

Samson continued to run, hazarding quick looks over his shoulder at the approaching creature. It was almost upon him.

“Stop looking back!” Victor cried. “It’s slowing you down!”

By now everyone knew that Samson was not going to make it to the door unscathed. Less than three meters from his target, the creature caught up with him. He bellowed as it sank its talons into his shoulder.

At the same time, Victor unleashed his dagger. It spun unwaveringly through the air, missing Samson’s face by a handspan, and sliced the top corner of one leathery wing clean away. With a howl the creature released him and surged into the air, showering the garden with droplets of blood. The dagger continued on its way, finally ending its journey a short distance away in one of the wooden fence posts.

Victor pulled his brother into the kitchen. The shoulder of Samson’s tunic hung in shreds, already steeped in blood.

He craned his neck to view the damage. “It’s just scratches. Could have been a lot worse. Anyone know what those demons are?” He accepted a tea towel soaked in water from Victor and held it to his shoulder, wincing.

“Yes,” said Merchant unexpectedly. “They’re called garvern. I saw one once a few years back—Peg helped me to identify it through her books. They’re a rare fey breed—a mixture of gargoyles and wyvern—both vicious creatures in their own right. The hybrid of the two is even more deadly. They’re highly territorial and make excellent hunters—usually working in packs. More could be coming.”

“Great,” said Warwick. “And now we’ve got one on the roof that’s bound to be cranky. Just what we need. What were you thinking of, goading it like that?” he asked Tino.

“Testing it,” Tino replied calmly. “Now we know why they’re really here—to keep us where we are. For now, at least.”

“So if anyone attempts to leave the grounds of the house, they’ll be attacked?” said Warwick, glancing at Tanya. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“It’s what I’m guessing, after witnessing that.”

“What about if we’re protected—wearing red, or turning clothes inside out?”

“Then they can’t touch you,” said Merchant. “But they can still do other things—their size means they can cause accidents by attacking vehicles—even jumping in front of them to cause a distraction.”

Warwick rubbed his hands over his face. “Looks like you got what you wanted, after all,” he told Tanya. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She felt her insides flip. Warwick looked to Tino. “I thought we’d have more time.” He shut the back
door and locked it. “From now on we should remain inside the house until whatever’s coming comes. Those of you with jobs, continue with what you’re doing, and make it quick. Those who have finished, see Tino or me for what to do next. Be prepared to move fast now—they could strike at any time. When they do, head for the safe room on the second floor, or remain in position if you’re fighting.” He glanced at Tanya with a warning look in his eyes. “In case you’re in any doubt at all, you’ll be in the safe room. I’ll go and tell Florence.”

“Do you think Gredin and Raven will come?”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Warwick grimly. “I’m just concerned with them getting in, if we can’t even get out.”

The pantry held enough salt only to make safe the windows of the ground floor. Tanya’s hands were dry and stinging from it. Throughout the house, fewer words were spoken; the only conversation was relevant to the tasks at hand. In the kitchen, Brunswick deftly stitched together the red garments that had been gathered, and gradually, those windows free from salt barriers were swathed in red fabric.

Flames sprung up in every working grate, laid by the brownie of the tea caddy and lit by the hearthfay, to prevent the chimneys being breached. With the windows closed and at the height of summer, the heat in the individual rooms soared to unbearable heights.

The garvern could be heard scratching overhead
on the second floor. Frequently, a contorted gray face or tail appeared in a window that wasn’t yet protected, causing another flurry of panic. Merchant had been right—more had come.

Rowan moved around the house, a stick of chalk in her hand. She checked each room one by one, closing the door and marking it with a cross to show it was protected.

She passed Crooks, who was fixing the lock to the safe room. Fabian crouched in a door on the opposite side of the hallway.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“All the red cloth’s been used. For the rest of the rooms with no protection I’m rigging up trip wires. They could warn us if something enters, provided it’s not flying.”

“Good plan.” She left him, continuing to cross off the rest of the doors, then went downstairs to mark the doors there, and then finally, the ground floor.

When she reached the library, she lingered outside. She pressed her ear to the door, straining for any sound of Sparrow from behind the hidden partition, but she heard nothing. The sickened feeling she had been carrying with her ever since deepened. Thoughts of Sparrow, injured and defenseless if the house should be breached, played in her mind. If
anything happened to him, it would be her fault. She tried the door, but of course, no one had been in since Warwick had locked it, taking the key with him.

She continued through the house, her mind working furiously. She had to at least know that Sparrow was all right, that he hadn’t been seriously hurt when Tino had pushed him. She marked the doors, methodically and savagely, grimacing at the intense heat of the fires.

She pushed open the door to a disused parlor room. Inside, Morag was at the table. Papers were spread across it before her. Suki sat with her eyes closed at the center of a large circle crudely drawn with chalk on the tiled floor. She opened her eyes as Rowan entered.

“Sorry,” said Rowan. “I didn’t know you were still in here. I’ll come back—”

“We were just about to come out,” said Suki, getting up. “Morag’s done it—she’s lifted the hex on me.” She held her hands to her head, swaying a little. “I’m already sensing things—scenes are coming through again. I have to find Tino.” She left the room and staggered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Morag rose from the table, deep in thought. One of her hands fluttered at her neck, and with the other, she ran a bony finger over one of the pieces of paper and tapped at it. “I was sure…” she began, then tutted. “Never mind. I’m old and forgetful now.”

“Is something bothering you?” Rowan asked, moving to her side.

“This hex,” Morag said. “It’s a particularly nasty one—I’ve only seen it crop up once or twice in my lifetime. Both times I was able to lift it with a purifying spell.” She gestured to the chalk circle.

“Suki says it worked,” Rowan reminded her gently. “You did it.”

“Yes,” said Morag. “But in both cases before this, the reaction to the hex being lifted was quite different, if my memory serves.”

Rowan frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, the afflicted person would be very ill after having such a hex removed,” said Morag. “I didn’t tell the girl this beforehand—I needed her to be calm and relaxed for it to work. One of the side effects of the hex working its way out of the system is cramps, violent cramps. Even sickness, in some cases. And often, the healer lifting the hex experiences these symptoms too, to a milder extent.”

“But Suki isn’t ill,” said Rowan. “She just seemed a bit dizzy.”

“Yes,” said Morag. “And I’m feeling no different. Which means that either I haven’t lifted it properly, despite what she says, or that I wrongly identified the hex.”

Rowan stared at the piece of paper under Morag’s hand. A circular diagram had been sketched on to it, with odd little squiggles and symbols. “Did Suki draw this?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t look right.” Rowan picked up the
piece of paper and examined it more closely. “I saw what was underneath her caravan, and it wasn’t this.”

Morag’s eyes narrowed, and she looked toward the door. Rowan caught the hint. She went over and checked the hallway before closing it.

“Do you think you can remember what you saw?” Morag said gravely.

“A little.” Rowan grabbed a nearby pencil and a blank sheet of paper. “She’s got parts of it right, like the photograph of herself in the center, but the arrangement was different.” She drew out a circle and added the square at the center. “That’s the photograph. There was something covering her face—mud… no, candle wax.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember. “I can’t picture any more. But other people saw it too.” She laid the pencil down. “I don’t understand it—how could Suki have got it so wrong? Surely out of everyone, she’d have remembered it correctly. Unless…”

“Unless she deliberately misled me,” Morag finished. Her gnarled hand gripped the paper. “I need to find out what this is, but to identify it I must have more detail.”

Rowan held out her hand for the paper, folded it, and tucked it in her back pocket. “I’ll get it. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve just told me—we can’t have this getting back to Suki until we know what we’re dealing with.” Her thoughts were a jumble as she left the room. She passed the kitchen, noting that Tino,
Samson, Crooks, Victor, and Merchant were in there. Unfortunately, so was Suki. That left only one other person who had seen the carved circle—and he was shut in the stone tunnel below the library.

Two people had keys to the door: Warwick and Florence. Rowan’s only option was to steal one of them.

She bolted up the stairs. Tanya was now helping Fabian rig doors with trip wire. They were being solemnly overlooked by Oberon, who had been let out of whichever room he’d been shut in earlier.

“I need your help,” she told them. “I have to get a skeleton key. Can you create some kind of distraction?”

Fabian got up. “Whose key?”

“Whoever we find first—I need it quickly.”

Fabian jerked his head to the safe room. “I just saw Warwick go in there.”

Rowan set off. “That’ll do.”

They stopped outside the door.

“What do you want us to do to distract him?” Tanya asked.

Rowan put her hand on the doorknob. “Whatever comes to mind.” She pushed the door open and went into the room.

The first thing she saw was that Warwick was not alone in the room. Rose was with him. They stepped apart swiftly, but not before Rowan saw that they were holding hands. From Fabian’s gasp, it was clear he had seen it too.

“So it’s true then?” he demanded. “Something
is
going on between you two?”

Rowan closed her eyes. This was not what she had planned. Nevertheless, the look of horror on Warwick’s face showed her one thing—all his attention was on Fabian now.

Rose looked past them to Tanya, holding back in the doorway behind them.

“You told them? Why?”

Now it was Rowan’s turn to be shocked.

“I never said anything,” Tanya gasped.

“What?”
Fabian rounded on her. “You knew?
You knew about this?
”

“Believe me, I didn’t want to know,” Tanya protested.

“She found out by accident. We asked her not to say anything,” Warwick said hoarsely. “It’s not Tanya’s fault. We should have told you both—but it never seemed to be the right time.
Now’s
not the right time….”

“You got that right,” Fabian shot back.

“Do you really begrudge us being together?” Rose asked. Her face looked thinner, and it was pale against her masses of red hair.

“No,” Rowan managed at last. She wanted to scream with anger, and frustration, and confusion. “No… I don’t begrudge it. It doesn’t feel wrong, exactly. Just odd.” She stared at Rose. “Ever since you’ve been here, things have been complicated. Why did you have to complicate them more?”