13 Secrets (34 page)

Rowan ripped a bag from the roll and left, heading back to the library. Sparrow was prodding in various nooks of the bookcases’ intricate woodwork tracery.

“Here,” said Rowan. “I’ll show you.” She placed her fingers into three tiny indents and turned the circular panel until it clicked. Slowly, the partition opened and stale air wafted over them.

Sparrow peered into the stone passageway. “I don’t fancy the look of that.”

“It’s creepy,” Rowan agreed. “If you go in, don’t stay in there for more than a minute—the mechanism springs back and there’s no way in from the other side.”

“Think I’ll stay put,” Sparrow said. “How’s the clothes hunt going?”

“Not as well as I’d hoped.” She spied a bulky knapsack on the floor by the desk, next to a sleeping bag. “Is that yours?”

“Yeah. Don’t think I’ve got anything red, but feel free to dig through it.” He went over to the bag and unzipped the top, then upended it. A jumble of clothes fell out onto the floor. Sparrow stepped over the pile to return to the bookcase, craning his neck to view the musty stone staircase once more.

Rowan knelt and picked at the garments gingerly. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable about going through Sparrow’s clothing. It was limp and stale-smelling. Some pieces were worse than others. She wished that he would come away from the secret passage to save
her from the embarrassment of looking through his personal things.

She coughed lightly. “Sparrow, I don’t think there’s anything red in here, but I wondered if you’d like me to…” She hesitated, wary of offending him. “I mean, while you’re here, I could wash some of it for you. Florence wouldn’t mind.” She began stuffing it back in the bag. “We could get it dry in no time.”

“Did you say something?” Sparrow’s voice was muffled from the tunnel. She turned and saw that curiosity had gotten the better of him. He’d gone right into it after all.

“I said, we could wash your clothes.” She picked up another garment, sighing as her hand went straight through a scraggy hole in the back of it. “On second thought, half of it needs to be thrown away,” she mumbled, dropping it to the floor when, as predicted, the partition clicked back into place, sealing Sparrow into the tunnel.

“What did I just tell you?” she called as Sparrow banged on the wall from the other side. “You’re lucky I’m here to let you out.”

Her hand froze as she reached for the indents. An image had flashed in her mind, coming from somewhere deep, somewhere unexpected. Slowly, she turned away from the bookcase to face the knapsack again. Her legs trembled as she crossed the floor to the last thing she had touched. She bent down. Picked it up.

The black hooded top was bobbled and worn, and it smelled of Sparrow and the streets. With one hand she held it as the other felt down the back and found the waistband. Her fingers went straight through the jagged tear in the material that was about the size of her hand.

Sparrow thumped the wall again. “Don’t tell me it’s stuck!”

She took a step back, staring at the tear. She suddenly felt hot and queasy, trying to blink away the image swimming in her mind, but it wouldn’t leave her.

All she could see was the scrap of dark material Oberon had torn from the clothing of whomever he had chased in the woods. She had committed it to memory.

It was a perfect, horrible fit.

Another thud came from behind the bookcase.

“Red, are you still there? This isn’t funny—I’m getting claustrophobic in here!”

Rowan continued to stand, clutching at the hooded top.
It couldn’t be,
she reasoned. There had to be some kind of explanation. Sparrow couldn’t be the one Oberon had chased,
couldn’t
be the one who had tried to strangle Morag.

But the torn fabric in her hand suggested otherwise. Her fingers reached for the mechanism again, then withdrew once more. If Sparrow
was
guilty, and she released him from the tunnel, he could run. Yet if he stayed in the tunnel, he could still get away—she had spoken of the ball of string leading the way out in front of everyone. And not for the first time. She remembered how pleased she had been upon
finding the way into the tunnels, how she had bragged to the other Coven members even then. Now she wished she had kept her mouth shut.

Behind the wall, Sparrow started to thump at it repeatedly. He clearly thought she’d gone. Without another thought, Rowan left the library, holding the top.

Warwick and Tino were outside. They looked up as she hurried over to them, still talking as she interrupted.

“Warwick, can you come inside? I found this.” She held out the ripped top.

Warwick’s eyes widened. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the scrap of material. It flapped in the breeze like a desperate bird trying to get away.

“It’s a match.” His mouth was set in a grim line. “Whose is it?”

Her lips didn’t seem to want to form the right shapes. They were saved from doing so as Tino grabbed the top from her and held it to his nose.

“Sparrow,” he whispered. “Where is he?”

“The library,” she choked out. “But there must be an explanation.”

Tino was already striding into the house. She ran after him, with Warwick following. In the kitchen they rushed past Crooks.

“What’s happened?” he called.

None of them answered. Warwick overtook Tino, leading the way to the library.

“He’s gone.”

“No, he hasn’t.” Rowan pointed to the bookcase. “He’s behind there, in the tunnel. He doesn’t know I’ve found it.”

Tino clapped his hand on her shoulder approvingly. “Well done.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Is someone there?” Sparrow shouted from the other side. “I’m trapped in the tunnel! Get Red, she knows how to open it!”

Warwick stood in the doorway and nodded to Rowan. “Get him out of there. Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself.”

As the partition opened, Sparrow stumbled out, blinking and gasping. His eyes focused on Rowan, hurt. “That your idea of a practical joke?”

She bit her lip. Tino moved to stand in the way of the partition, blocking the only other exit from the room.

“Want to tell us about this?” he asked coolly. He held up the top.

Sparrow eyed it blankly. “It’s a top. Er, it’s black….” He shrugged. “And it’s mine. What you getting at?”

“It’s also got a rip in the back,” said Warwick. “And this is the missing part—the part Oberon came back with.”

“After chasing the person who tried to strangle the gypsy woman,” Rowan said.

“You can’t be serious!” Sparrow’s voice rose in disbelief. “I never tried to kill the old woman! I’ve never even been
near
her until today!”

“Then how do you explain it?” Tino growled.

“I don’t know,” Sparrow hissed. He held his hands up. “It’s been so warm that I haven’t even worn the thing in weeks—it’s been festering in the bottom of my bag. Anyone could have taken it and used it, but I’m telling you, I haven’t been near those woods! Why? Why would I do it?”

“Why would anyone want the gypsy woman dead?” Warwick said. “To cover their tracks. They would have known she was helping us and tried to silence her.”

“Then it was someone else,” Sparrow said angrily. “Someone must have gone through my stuff and taken it.”

“Why would anyone want to put that on?” Tino sneered. “It reeks.”

“Exactly.” Sparrow’s face flushed with humiliation but he held his ground. “If someone wanted to frame me, then using my clothes is an easy way to do it.”

“Oberon went berserk when you entered the house,” Rowan remembered.

“If I’d been the one to do it, do you really think I’d have brought that top anywhere near this house? That I’d even still have it? Whoever was wearing it knew the dog had taken a chunk out of it—they’d have got rid of it first chance they had!”

“He’s right,” said Rowan. Relief washed over her.
“He knew I was about to look through his things and he didn’t even react—he was more interested in investigating the tunnel. That’s how he ended up shut in there.”

Sparrow stared back at her. “And how convenient for you that I did,” he said. “Made it all the easier, didn’t it?”

His quiet defeat hurt Rowan more than anything.

“Sparrow,” she said weakly. “What would you have done?”

“Spoken to you. At least
asked
you, before running off and telling tales.”

“If it had been anyone else, I would have. But with you, I couldn’t think straight….”

“Maybe he’s just being clever,” Tino continued, shifting as the partition finally swung back into place. “After all, he’s been taught by the best.”

Sparrow shook his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you were the one who attacked Morag, you knew the dog would have gone for you even if the top had been destroyed,” Tino answered. “It was your scent he was reacting to. That alone could have raised suspicion. But keeping the top and claiming someone else used it is altogether more plausible.” His mismatched eyes swept over Sparrow from head to toe. “That’s what I’d do. And that’s why I don’t believe you.”

“Tino…” Sparrow began. “You can’t think that of me. How long have you known me…?”

“Are you sure about this?” Warwick asked, evidently uncomfortable. “I mean, you know him better than anyone—it’s your decision, but—”

“I’m not sure of anything at the moment. And until I am, I’m taking no chances.” Tino grabbed Sparrow roughly. “We’ll need to put him somewhere secure—he’s been taught the tricks of the trade in escaping….”

Sparrow tried to bat Tino away. “Get your hands off me!”

“You mean the holding cell?” Warwick asked. “It’s small—if we put him in it, there won’t be room for anyone else who’s captured later.”

“Good point.”

“Don’t do this.” Sparrow stopped struggling. “I’ll prove to you that it wasn’t me—I’ll find whoever framed me!”

“Let him try,” Rowan whispered, wide-eyed. Sparrow would not look at her. “Let him at least try….”

Tino shook his head. “I can’t take that chance.” He spun Sparrow round, pinning his arms behind his back, and jerked his head toward the bookcase. “The tunnels—you said it was a labyrinth down there. How dark is it?”

“Pitch black,” Rowan answered, confused. “Why?”

“Open it again.”

“But—”

“Do it!
Now!
”

Hating herself, Rowan quickly released the secret doorway.

“Help me search him,” Tino commanded, holding Sparrow bodily to the wall. Warwick frisked his pockets.

“What am I looking for?”

“Matches, or a flashlight. He can’t have any light. In fact, just remove everything he’s got.”

Sparrow began to fight again, crying out as Tino twisted his arm into a painful lock. “Don’t! Please don’t shut me in there!”

Warwick threw a slim book of matches on the floor. It was followed by some coins, string, and a penknife before he moved on to the next pocket.

Rowan watched, frozen. She helplessly watched as the surreal scene unfolded before her eyes.

“That’s everything,” Warwick said at last.

Tino bundled Sparrow into the stairwell, jostling to keep him under control.

“Stop struggling. I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t!” Sparrow yelled. “I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong person! I’d never hurt no one—least of all an old woman! What about Crooks? This is more his handiwork than mine—he was the one who used to rob the old folks’ homes when you found him, wasn’t he? If I remember right, I was the only one bothered by that, but you, all you saw was how you could use him….”

Tino didn’t react. “How long before the door closes, Red?”

“I don’t know, maybe thirty seconds.”

“Hope I can hold him for that long….”

Grunts and scuffles came from the stairwell as Tino and Sparrow wrestled for control. Rowan watched, stricken, but there was only ever going to be one winner. A sharp jolt to Sparrow’s arm put an end to every squirm.

The partition started to move.

“The door’s closing.” Warwick stepped forward. “You need to get out of there in the next few seconds.”