Stolen Away (20 page)

I was considerably slower in moving. “Where are we going?”

“To see Mother Hazel, of course.”

“Of course,” I said drily.

She chuckled. “I like you.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “Um, I like you too.”

“Good. It’s dull as dishwater around here with all of us fretting and wailing. This change will do us good, I reckon.” She headed down the stone pathway, waiting for me to catch up. I looked at the mansion but didn’t see Lucas pressed against any of the windows in warning.

“Mother Hazel is the midwife,” Meg explained. “She’s a little dusty to be sure, but wise as crackernuts.” I was trying to decipher that last analogy when she elaborated, waiting for me to follow her under an oak bough with leaves crispy enough to rattle at our passing, like loose teeth. “Hazelnuts, you’d say. Eat those with red salmon and you’ll be wise beyond your ken.”

“I could use a little wisdom.”

“That’s why Ronan’s having me take you to her. She knows all sorts of delicious secrets and little trickeries. You’ll need both if you mean to win.”

“Oh, I mean to win.”

“Good.” She threw herself into the green shadows of the forest, landing as a deer, muscles bunching under sleek
fur. I didn’t hear the other deer, but all of a sudden, I was surrounded. The black eyes were clever, clear; the hooves fast as rain falling.

Meg nudged me with her nose, circled me, then nudged me again in my lower back this time. I stumbled a few steps at the push. The other deer began to run, and after a few more nudges, I joined them. I felt wild and free, running and jumping over logs until there was nothing but my breath, and the deer like a red glow between the white birches. The birch thickened, gave way to more gnarled oaks. The heat slicked my skin and I didn’t care, I just kept running until I was laughing out loud for no reason at all. I stopped in a clearing, and Meg bowed her head, her gaze bright. I felt better than I had in days.

“Thank you,” I murmured as they melted away deeper into the woods, leaving me standing in front of a whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and a red door. There was a stone chimney but no smoke; it was simply too sweltering out, even for an old woman. The doors and windows were wide open, the fenced garden a mess of herbs and flowers. Several cats prowled the top of the garden gate like sleek-eyed sentries. I went up the path, the grass growing yellow between the stepping-stones.

“Hello?” I knocked lightly on the open door. The inside was one large room, the hearth opposite, a spinning wheel under the window, and glass lanterns and bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters.

“Looking for me, are you, girl?”

I jumped, whirled. “Oh, sorry.” The midwife was behind me, wearing a red dress and a long apron over an ample figure. Her hair was white and fell nearly to her ankles.

“Bless me, a mortal girl,” she said. “It’s been an age, and make no mistake.” She ushered me farther inside. “How queer girls dress now. I’ll never get used to it.”

I sat down on a worn bench. There were birdcages everywhere but not a single bird. Instead they were filled with curiosities like painted clay eggs, a chunk of amber, a fossil. Strands of beads hung from nails in the wall, and there was a basket of yarn at her feet.

“I remember that look,” she murmured. “I wore it for months after I was first brought here as a wet nurse.”

“I thought you were a midwife?”

“I was both, which is why they took me from my village. The Richelieu boy needed me. That was nearly two hundred years ago.” I goggled. She chuckled. “Aye, you do well to stare. Not many mortals survive this place.”

“How did you?”

“I had talents that I could trade for protection and information. And I always had the Sight, even back home. I just found more ways to use it here.”

“I guess Ronan thought you could help me?” I said hesitantly. “He sent me.”

“Bless me, you’re
that
girl.” She nodded to herself, head bobbing like a bird pecking at seed. “Of course, of course.”
She stuffed her pipe full of dried herbs and lit it, the spicy smoke curling around her like a shawl.

“So you’ll help me?”

“If I can. What have you got to trade, then?”

“Trade?” I asked, confused.

Her eyes went hard. “Aye. Nothing’s without price, dearie, especially in this place.”

Fortunately my mother was a champion bargainer. I wasn’t afraid of a little haggling; it ran clearer in me than deer blood. “Well, as a favor to you,” I said, widening my eyes innocently, “I suppose I could give you a taste of home.”

“Could you, now?” She chewed on the end of her pipe.

I nodded confidently even as I frantically ran over the contents of my bag, figuring out what I could spare and what she might want. I’d already parted with some of my food rations, and I had no idea how long I might be here, even if it was only a day back at home. I didn’t think she’d much care for notebooks or chewing gum or toothpaste. She’d been a village midwife in the early eighteen hundreds. Ireland, by the sound of her accent. Tea. I’d stashed a box, along with some hot chocolate. That might work too, but I’d rather give away the tea so I’d start with that.

“I have some lovely Earl Grey tea,” I offered. “How long’s it been since you had real proper tea?”

She puffed away, eyes twinkling. “Oh, you’re a clever one, you are. Still. Tea’s a mean trade for what you’ll get from me.”

I sighed. “How about hot chocolate, which you can heat over your fire with cream?”

The pipe came out of her mouth. “I’ve not had a pot of chocolate for nearly a hundred years. How the fine ladies used to drink it every morning, and the smell was enough to drive me to distraction when I attended them.”

I nodded smugly. A love of chocolate I could understand. I could work with that. “A fair trade, then?”

“Aye, lass.”

I handed over the packets in my bag. She handled them reverently, putting them in a wooden box that she locked with the key she wore around her neck.

“I need to know about Strahan and Antonia,” I said, watching a spider spin a web in the corner of a window. There was no wind outside, just sun and unbearable heat. I wiped my forehead. “Anything you can remember, anything at all. I have to find a way to stop him.”

She nodded to the trees outside, leaves hanging limply. “He has a lot to answer for.” She puffed on her pipe. “His greed has changed him. He doesn’t seem to care that our wells are drying up, the crops smoldering in the fields. He still eats like a king in his stolen hall.”

“Do you know him? Can you help me?”

“Better, I can show you.” She added more herbs to her pipe and a generous handful to the brazier on the table. Smoke thickened the already thick air. I coughed.

“What is this stuff?” I fanned my face. It smelled sweet now, less spicy than before.

“Don’t fight it,” she said calmly as a coughing fit strangled my throat. “Just take deep, slow breaths and look into the candle.” She slid a beeswax taper, clearly hand dipped, in front of me.

The blue center of the flame widened, stretched, wavered.

“What’s happening?” I croaked, feeling odd, vague, and focused all at the same time. So much for learning from my mistakes—I’d fallen for Winifreda’s deceptions and now I’d done the same with Ronan and this woman, who was drugging me for her own nefarious purposes. I wondered if it was poison, like the elf darts. But when I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, instinct had me hauling more drugged smoke into my lungs. My eyelids went heavy, drooped. I cursed my naive stupidity.

I was so going to wake up dead.

1984

Twilight fell soft as blue silk, covering everything: the treetops, the peony bushes, the streetlights flickering dimly. The night smelled of earth and rain, and she waited impatiently for midnight to bloom.

It was perfect.

“Toni, you can’t be serious.” Jasmine scowled from where she stood in the shadows of the front porch. The house behind her was quiet and dark. She wore a pair of pajamas, spattered with paint. She and Antonia wore the same face—identical pert noses, wide mouths—except for their expressions, one impatient, one hurt.

“Don’t you dare tell Mom and Dad,” Antonia said,
shrugging into her jacket. Her long skirt foamed over pointy-toed boots; a lace bow held back her long brown hair. Jaz’s hair had been recently dyed black, the bangs teased.

She tapped her fingers, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Antonia, you barely know him.”

She shrugged crossly. “I love him, he loves me. It’s romantic.”

“You’re sixteen,” Jasmine said. “It’s illegal.”

“Don’t be such a wuss.” She scanned the deserted road, the dark shadows pooling under every tree. The wind moved slowly through the gardens. “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Because it’s exciting. Because he’s gorgeous and sophisticated and elegant.”

“And old.”

“Not
that
old.”

“Are you sure? I mean, really sure?” Worry softened her voice, her stance. “Is he worth it?”

“He’s better than this stupid little town. He’s seen things, Jaz, done things. You’d never believe me.”

Jasmine felt hurt, and just as annoyed as her twin sister. “I want my sister back, Toni. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Antonia forced herself to look away from the road. Her bag was heavy over her shoulder, filled with the last of her babysitting money, sweaters, and her Walkman. She just wanted
an adventure, to get away from this small town and small people. But sisters were sisters, and Jasmine was a part of her, even if right now she was linked to the boring part that Antonia wanted to forget. Jaz would understand eventually; she always came around.

Antonia hugged her briefly. “You know I hate it here,” she whispered.

Jasmine blinked back tears. “I know.”

“Look, it’ll be fun. I’ll call when I can.”

Jasmine hugged her tight. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

She snorted. “Are not.”

Antonia shrugged, grinning at the sound of a motorcycle approaching. “Whatever.” She whirled, excitement thrumming through her entire body. “He’s here.”

Jasmine took a step back, feeling as if she’d already lost her, as if she was growing hazier as the motorcycle drew closer. Jasmine already felt as if she was missing something vital, her arm, her eyes, part of her breath. The Antonia she knew as well as she knew herself faded a little more.

Antonia flung her a look over her shoulder, then paused.

She knew what Jasmine was feeling, wanted to relieve them both of the bitter weight. She lifted the pendant she wore on a long silver chain around her neck. Strahan had given it to her, teased her that it was a good luck charm when she wondered at the crowned swan with a little silver fish in its mouth.

“Here,” she said, pressing it into Jasmine’s hand before running down the porch steps without another word and flinging herself on the back of the bike. It was sleek, blue as the twilight, growling softly. She was already laughing when he took off, her hands digging into his hips. The wind pulled her hair, ruffled her twisted skirts, and blew away the last of her doubts and nerves.

When he went through the gates into the park, where motorbikes were forbidden, it only added to the sense of adventure and secrecy. The grass was like spilled ink, the trees as slender as writing quills. He brought her deep into the dark woods, to the edge of the pond where they first met, when she was walking off her temper after another fight with her parents. This was where he proposed. The swan was there that night too, glowing like the moon on the still water. Frogs sang at her arrival.

Strahan tossed his helmet off, gave her that slow, arrogant grin that warmed her belly. “Antonia.”

He tilted her head back for a deep kiss, his tongue touching hers. This part, at least she understood. It was simple enough, in a way that her mysterious, enigmatic boyfriend never was. She kissed him back until they were both loose and trembling.

“Not yet,” he murmured against her lips. “We have to do this right.”

She shivered, suddenly cold when he stepped away.

“Did you bring your vows?” he asked.

She nodded. They were folded in her jacket pocket, next to her breath mints. She didn’t want to wake up after her first night with a guy, her husband no less, with morning breath. She’d been dreaming about this for weeks now, down to every detail: the white silk slip she’d stolen from her mother for a nightgown, the strawberry perfume she dabbed behind her ears and knees, the silver ring she’d bought off a street vendor. She’d spent so much time writing Antonia Strahan on her binders, she was going to fail math and history. But she was sixteen now; she didn’t have to go back to school if she didn’t want to, didn’t have to go home and be grounded. She was almost an adult now and soon to be a wife too.

The idea made her giggle. It would be such a romantic story to tell her friends, the ones who weren’t too mundane to enjoy it, the way her sister was. Especially this part, the little ceremony in the park where they first met, with roses and starlight. It was a custom in his family, he said, to speak vows alone before the public ceremony. They’d go to city hall tomorrow instead of classes and get all the paperwork done there. She’d already forged her mom’s signature on a letter of consent.

He spread a scarf on the ground, then laid out a black glass bottle and a silver cup. He took her hand, his features stark in the shadows. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, her fingers tightening. “Of course.”

“Then follow me, beloved.”

He led her to the center of a small field, where the grass
grew taller in the middle, and greener, even under the pale moonlight.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” She couldn’t help but imagine herself in a white gown, with a beaded veil. The light was odd suddenly, like ice crystals melting, shining. Before she could question it, the ground tilted.

“Easy,” Strahan murmured, bracing her. She blinked until she stopped seeing spots.

“What’s going on?” She gripped his arm tightly enough to make her knuckles ache. The field had given way to a long hall, the ceiling made of woven tree roots, jeweled lamps burning in every corner. The fire crackled, scenting the air with smoke and warming cider.