Caitlin Kittredge - The Iron Thorn

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.”