The Autumn Castle (35 page)

“I flew down as Crow. But I’m a bit sore for such a small shape so—”

“Sore? Here, follow me into the trees.” She indicated the overgrown parkland that tangled around the end of the street.

“Can you carry me?”

Christine was surprised, but picked Eisengrimm up without questioning him. She carried him several yards into the trees and
placed him carefully in the grass, sitting cross-legged next to him. He winced as he sat.

“You’re in pain.”

“I became a bear not two days past. It bruises every inch of me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Mayfridh sent me.”

“Even though you’re in pain?”

“She insisted. She’s worried about you.”

“More than she’s worried about you?”

Eisengrimm sighed and leaned his snout on his paws. “I don’t mind. She was very agitated.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No. Only time can help. I’ll be fine in a week or so.”

She stroked his nose gently. “I’m glad Mayfridh’s been worried about me. I’ve been worried about her.”

“She wanted me to let you know she’s well. She wanted to know if you were also well.”

“I’m fine. Why did she go so suddenly?”

“Urgent matters at home.”

“Really? None of us said or did anything to offend her or upset her? Or frighten her?” She was thinking about Mandy now; Mandy
with his strange habits and locked attic.

“No, no. She is the queen, and she has duties.”

“I get it. I’m glad she’s okay.”

“She wanted me to ask, too, about her other friends.”

“They’re all fine.”

“And Jude?”

“He’s okay, but he’s having some artistic dilemma. Keeps muttering about how nobody understands him.” She laughed. “He’s like
a teenager sometimes.”

“And her mother?”

“Diana’s frantic, but I can phone her and tell her that Mayfridh’s okay. Is she coming back?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “She hasn’t decided. Are you coming back to Ewigkreis?”

Christine glanced into the trees. She could hear a train speed past in the distance. “I don’t know either.”

“She would love to see you again. Before . . .”

“Before winter? Before she forgets about me forever?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to see her too.” She met Eisengrimm’s eyes again. “Will you forget me too?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Christine shrugged. “I won’t disappear, you know. Just because you don’t remember me doesn’t mean I won’t be here living my
life.” She knew that Eisengrimm already understood that, but some nameless fear made her say it anyway, as though saying it
made her more concrete, less likely to disappear into a crack.

Eisengrimm didn’t answer. He stood and gingerly shook himself. “I must return. I’ve grown very tired.”

“Tell her I miss her.”

“I will.”

“And I miss you too,” she said, rubbing his ears. She uncrossed her legs and stood.

Eisengrimm transformed to Crow, and fluttered up to perch on her shoulder. She made her way out of the park and back onto
the street.

“I hope you’re feeling better quickly,” she said, gently touching his feathered chest.

“Come and see us again, soon,” he said. “Mayfridh would love you to visit.”

“It’s safe?”

“Perfectly. For at least a few more weeks.”

“I’ll think about it, then.”

He spread his wings and took to the sky. She watched him wheel above her, then disappear from sight. When she turned her attention
back to the hotel, she saw Mandy standing on the front step staring at her.

“Hi, Mandy,” she said, trying to sound casual. Had he seen her talking to the crow?

“Good afternoon, Christine.” He hurried inside without another word, and Christine felt her ribs contract. He seemed agitated,
but then, he was often agitated. Usually more talkative, always wanting to chat with her about her day, about whether or not
“Miranda” was coming back.

She glanced up at the sky again, but Eisengrimm was long gone. Hopefully he was nearly back at the Tiergarten, nearly home
where he could rest his aching body. She locked the front door of the building behind her.

Upstairs, she heard Mandy’s hasty footsteps and the squeak-thump of his apartment door. Almost as though he were running away.

Hexebart will kill someone. Hexebart will kill them all.

At least her hands are free now. At least she’s warm again.

But, oh! the Real World still beckons Hexebart. She smooths the blue fabric between her fingers. A tiny, tiny scrap of Real
World from the bottom of Princess Putrid’s skirt. Hexebart found it hanging in the doorframe. Hexebart has sharp eyes and
never misses a clue.

Hexebart is supposed to be weaving the winter blessings, but takes a moment to enjoy the blue scrap. Pulls a thread, weaves
a spell. The ugly changeling bought this in a shop. Bright lights and warm air. Hexebart screws her eyes tight and thinks
tight. Hmm. The ugly changeling didn’t buy this at all, someone bought it for her. Somebody she loves in the Real World. Think
tighter, think tighter.

Her mother!

Hexebart is confused a moment, and tears prick her eyes. Hope swells and falls. But no, not Liesebet. Liesebet is gone. This
mother isn’t a faery mother, this is a stupid skinny sad human mother. Hexebart flings the spell into a corner of the dungeon.
Stupid skinny sad human mother. Liesebet is gone.

If Hexebart ever makes it to the Real World, Hexebart will find this human mother and feed her burning coals. Hexebart will
find every one of Mayfridh’s human friends and hurt them all.

Hexebart’s heart is clutched by sadness. The dungeon is locked up tight; she knows she will never leave.

She weaves more spells, her fingers splitting and bleeding. The changeling princess will come soon to hear the awful secret.
Hexebart knows this because she can smell that dog-chops is not at the Autumn Castle. Mayfridh is afraid of the dog’s opinion.
Ha! Some queen! Hexebart can’t understand why the ugly queen cares so much about those Real World people, but Hexebart shines
with warm happiness inside that the secret will hurt her. Even if she weren’t under magical oath, Hexebart would tell. Hexebart
relishes hurting her.

What’s that? What’s that?

Footsteps, footsteps. Here she comes.

My hands are almost shaking too much to write.
Did I really see what I think I saw? Hear what I think I heard?

Imagine if you will, dear reader, the pale sky of twilight, streaked with gray clouds. The outlines of the trees, their few
last sad sick leaves clinging in a November breeze. A pale, thin woman of indeterminate attractiveness in a coat and scarf,
with a black crow perched on her shoulder.

Then imagine that, made curious by this sight, you shuffle a few paces past your front door to ensure you’re really seeing
it. A crow? I’d seen Christine Starlight concerning herself with a crow once before, only that time she had been unnerved,
complaining of it following her home. Nothing had excited me on that occasion. She had seemed just a girl with a silly neurosis
about birds.

But today, as I shuffled a few paces past my front door to ensure I was really seeing it, voices came softly to me on the
breeze. One, Christine Starlight. Asking after his health. I had nearly laughed. Christine talking to a crow.

But
then.
Another voice. The crow’s voice. “Come and see us again . . . Mayfridh would love you to visit.” The rest of the conversation
was, for me, inaudible for the rushing of excited blood in my head.

First, crows don’t speak. Unless they’re animated by some magic. And the only magic I know truly exists is faery magic.

Second, his invitation to visit means one searing, indisputable truth. Christine has a passage. “Come and see us again.” Come
to faeryland again as you have in the past. It explains the odd faery smell that I thought I had mistakenly detected on her.
It also means that she knows precisely where Miranda—or Mayfridh as is her real name—has gone, and that’s why she hasn’t displayed
the slightest furrow of concern in all the long exchanges where I’ve questioned her.

A passage.
I apologize for all the emphasis, but I don’t believe I have ever been more excited in my life. Let me spell it out. Faeries
in unlimited supply. Faery
bones
in unlimited supply. All waiting for me, unsuspecting, on the other side of the passage.

And then, my heart trembles like the heart of a man who has seen there is only one place in the lifeboat and the rest of the
crowds on the
Titanic
block his way.
It might slip beyond my reach.
I need to find Christine’s method of passage, and if I can’t, then this brilliant imagining will remain forever an imagining.
There is no point in searching her apartment. She could be conjuring the passage with a button or a pin, or any number of
ordinary-looking objects. Instead, I will follow and watch her closely. Her exchange with the crow leads me to believe she
may attempt a passage soon.

Please let it be soon. This ship is sinking.

Mayfridh made her way down the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon. Only two or three lanterns burned between each gate, the
flames’ reflections sucked up by the black walls. Her heart was a frightened bird. Or an excited bird. Or both. She would
soon be alone with Hexebart, and the magical oath would be collected.

She fumbled with the gate; it squeaked open. In the distance, she could hear Hexebart laughing.

“What are you laughing about, hag?” Mayfridh called.

“I know something you don’t know,” Hexebart replied, her voice faint and far away.

Yes, but not for long. Not for long.

She advanced up through the other gates, watching her step on the sloping, uneven ground. She didn’t have much time. Eisengrimm
would return soon. He had been in so much pain when she sent him through that she’d almost cried with guilt; but his errand
was quick and simple, and when he returned she would be upstairs waiting with soothing balms to rub into his joints and magic
spells to ease his pain.

Mayfridh rounded the last bend and stood in front of Hexebart’s cell.

“Well, witch,” she said, “you are under an oath to tell me Jude’s secret.”

Hexebart moved close to the bars in the window of the door. “I’ll gladly tell,” she said, her eyes gleaming dimly in the dark.
“Gladly.”

Mayfridh’s pulse thudded in her ears. She steeled herself in case it was bad news. “Go on then.”

“Put your ear close to the bars, my Queen,” Hexebart whispered. “Such a secret should only be told in a hush.”

Mayfridh warily moved close to the door and leaned her ear against the window. She could feel Hexebart’s breath close to her
hair. The witch inhaled, and then shrieked loudly, directly into Mayfridh’s ear.

Mayfridh jumped back, clapping her hand to the side of her head. Hexebart was cackling and her ear was ringing, and she burned
with anger. Before she could protest or lash out, Hexebart said something utterly shocking and Mayfridh was stunned into silence.
The words were so astonishing that, for a moment, Mayfridh could barely make sense of them.

“What?” she gasped. “What did you say?”

Hexebart smiled her crooked smile. “You heard me,” she said. “Jude killed Christine’s parents.”

T
here’s someone out front to see you.”
Christine looked up. Natalie, the afternoon casual, stood in the door to the storeroom, indicating over her shoulder to the
front counter.

“It’s not that South African guy again, is it?” Christine asked, placing aside the pile of books on her lap. The one who had
first come in back in September and probed her about the car accident. He’d returned today to pick up a book, asking after
her. She’d avoided him so far, and now, ten minutes before knock-off time, she had no intention of answering to his ghoulish
curiosity. Not today; two bad nights of sleep in a row, a dull throbbing growing sharper by the hour, the growing cold easing
wicked fingers into her back. She predicted the blue tablets by the end of the week. Just getting through the day was an ordeal.
And the aching had no knock-off time; it would come home with her.

“No, it’s a girl. A woman. Really amazing hair.”

Christine rose gingerly and a second later spotted her friend browsing between two bookshelves. “Mayfridh!”

Mayfridh turned. Her smile didn’t make it all the way to her eyes. Still, she advanced and held out her arms, enclosed Christine
in a hug.

“I was worried about you,” Christine said against her hair.

“Me too. About you.” Mayfridh stood back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mayfridh said, and this time her smile worked.

“You can’t fool me,” Christine said. “You look tense.” She tilted her head to the side, examining Mayfridh’s face. “And kind
of pale. Are you sick?”

Mayfridh shook her head and sighed. “A few problems back home with Hexebart, with the villagers. It was hard to get away at
all.”