The Iron Witch (13 page)

“They were already rich when they adopted me, but they were pretty old—well, too old to easily adopt a baby even with all the money they had. Back then, the best they could do was a kid with scars and gaps in his memory. But I think they wanted to feel …
complete
as a family, you know? Like, having a child was the one thing they’d never done—never been
able
to do—so they wanted to be able to check that box.”

“Xan, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Hiding things from them became less important the older I got. They’re busy people and both spend a lot of time overseas; since they got divorced it’s been easier to just slip through the cracks. I’ve been emancipated from them since I was seventeen, anyway. My mother had won custody and she didn’t fight me on it when I filed the petition—she’s living back in England again. My father has let me live in the Ironbridge house ever since I dropped out of college.”

Donna tried to imagine what Xan’s life must have been like. She only knew a tiny part of his story, yet she felt her heart opening to him with each new revelation. There was something about Alexander Grayson that was both strong
and
vulnerable. Like he had the best reasons anyone could want if they were going to wallow in self-pity, but he refused to do that. He wore his sadness with dignity. It was refreshing, when you considered how the kids at Ironbridge High were so unbelievably emo with only the slightest provocation.

Silence rested between them, a delicate strand stretched shimmering tight. The sounds of other people around them drifted into background noise.

Donna was first to speak. “I think they close soon. The coffee shop, I mean.”

Xan glanced at the display on his cell phone. “We’ve got a bit longer; there’s still time for you tell me about your arms. What happened … when your father died?”

“I remember running through the woods, running from a pack of screeching elves. It’s all so jumbled; I’m not even sure why I was there in the first place. Aunt Paige says I was taken by the elves, but … ” She twisted her hands together and shrugged helplessly. “Honestly, Xan, I’m just not sure about any of it. I don’t really understand why or how they’d be able to kidnap me from a house warded by alchemical magic.”

“So what
do
you remember?”

“The sound,” she replied. “The sound they made was
terrifying
. Some of the elves were riding on the back of a creature out of your worst nightmares, or maybe a horror movie—a giant black dog with yellow eyes and thick gray smoke for breath.”

“A
Skriker
.”

“Yes!” Realizing she’d raised her voice, Donna took a deep breath and spoke quietly. “Yes, that’s it. I didn’t know that until much later, of course. I researched the lore.”

Xan nodded, a frown lining his brow. “The fey version of a hellhound. But isn’t that a British legend?”

“Where do you think the fey came from in the first place? They’re not natives of the United States, as far as I know.” Donna smiled at the thought.

“I guess not.” He shrugged. “So, is that how you were injured?”

Donna’s lips trembled, but she pushed onwards. Surely it was good, telling someone who understood that strange and terrible world. “The Skriker attacked me, so I put my hands up to protect myself. When it bit me, it didn’t feel like I thought teeth should, and I realized that its mouth was full of flames. But they were cold flames. So cold.” Donna felt as though she were freezing in the warm café, and she became vaguely aware of Xan’s arm around her. But she had to finish. She had to get through this.

With her voice lower than ever, she pushed on. “My hands and arms were frozen and burnt, all at the same time. The injuries were severe. Dad pulled me out of its jaws and made me run, despite the pain. There was no blood but it felt as though my arms were falling apart. He said the other alchemists were coming and that I could reach them if I just
kept running
. But I didn’t go far. How could I leave him?” Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed blindly at Xan. “He died saving me.”

Donna couldn’t remember seeing her father fall, but she’d seen him afterwards—she was almost certain of it. There was an image that appeared in some of her dreams; a picture of Patrick Underwood lying in the Ironwood, as still and cold as the moon’s reflection on the river. The frustrating thing, though, was that she only remembered snippets of that time, and many of the missing events had since been filled in by her aunt and other members of the Order. She was no longer quite sure what she genuinely recalled and which parts had been supplied for her by well-meaning adults.

“And that alchemist you talked about—Maker—he fixed your hands?” Xan asked quietly.

Donna took a shuddering breath. “Yes. He’s an incredible man, with so much knowledge and power. I always get the impression he’s been around for a lot longer than it seems.”

Xan’s green eyes shone brighter than ever. “Do you think he could do anything for me? I’ve always dreamed of finding a way to get my wings back.”

“I … I don’t know.” She looked at him, feeling the first stirrings of excitement for him. A sudden image of the mechanical birds in the old alchemist’s workshop filled her mind. “We could ask him, I guess.” Though how she would explain this new friend to Maker, she had no idea. First Navin, now Xan. She wondered how much trouble she could possibly get into with the alchemists, but the hope on Xan’s face was too much for her—she couldn’t close down the possibility. At least, not yet.

“Xan,” she said, pushing on before she could lose her nerve, “can you tell me … how you lost your wings?”

“‘Lost,’ now that’s an interesting choice of word.” He laughed, a sound as joyless and unforgiving as a hard winter frost. “My wings were torn out of my back before they could even grow properly. Taken by the dark elves.”

Donna felt the world around them stop. Some part of her had feared he might say this, and horror crept up her spine. “What happened?”

“After I was born, after my birth mother died, I was stolen from the hospital by fey beings and replaced with a changeling.”

She could hardly take it in. “Wait a minute. You lived in Faerie?”

“No, I lived in the Elflands. I honestly don’t remember much of my time there—and time moves differently in the sunless lands. I remember images, sounds … it feels more like a dream.” Xan seemed to be struggling under the weight of memory. “Or a nightmare.”

He turned away from her, looking out the window and far into the distance.

Donna reached out and laid her hand over his; green satin on golden flesh. Nightmares were something she understood.

Xan cleared his throat but didn’t move his hand away. “What I showed you last night—those scars on my back—that’s a permanent reminder of my time with the elves. A reminder of my true heritage, and how it was stolen from me and I don’t even know why.”

“But you escaped.”

He nodded. “And then I wandered into the arms of the authorities. Records were searched and national appeals went out, to try to track down any relatives of this strange boy who came out of the forest. There are press cuttings, you know … ” His voice trailed off.

They both became aware of a waitress standing by their table. “I’m sorry, we’re closing now.” She held a tray filled with cups and plates and shifted from one foot to another. Emotion crackled in the air between Donna and Xan—it was a wonder the waitress’s hair didn’t fly with static.

They buttoned their coats and headed for the door.

Everyone else in the coffee shop seemed to have already left, but Donna couldn’t remember any of it. She’d been so lost in her memories, and in Xan’s own terrible story, that it had felt like being in a glass bubble. Walking out into the freezing air should have been a cruel wake-up call, but despite her sadness there was still an ember of warmth in her chest that glowed each time she looked at her companion.

She smiled as Xan reached down and took her hand in his.

This time he walked her all the way home.

When Donna turned up the walk to her aunt’s house, she didn’t get very far. Xan was still holding on to her.

“What’s wrong?” She examined his face with concern.

His lips quirked and she had the feeling he might be teasing her. “Didn’t you forget something?” he asked.

Donna frowned. “Um, I don’t think so?” She hadn’t meant to make it a question, but the growing smile that played across his mouth had gotten her all hot and confused. It was a relief to see him smiling again, after what they’d shared at Mildred’s.

His fingers were still curled lightly around her wrist. She glanced down as he tugged her toward him, and she took a couple of stumbling steps forward. Her free hand came up to brace herself against his chest. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she could feel the echo all the way down to her toes. All she could see were Xan’s eyes—they looked otherworldly as they glittered under the streetlight.

He kissed her then, not giving her a chance to say anything or to pull away. His warm hands moved to cup her face as he guided her mouth right to where he wanted it.

She felt weak and sort of boneless, and all she could focus on was the feel of Xan’s lips on hers; the way they moved with a perfect combination of gentle warmth and insistent pressure. He tasted vaguely of pears, with a hint of tobacco. Donna wished she knew if she was doing it right, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you could just
ask
. She was lightheaded and dizzy, but in the best possible way—in a way that she never wanted to end.

But it did end. Eventually Xan pulled away, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her. The smile had returned to his face, but it was a
good
smile, a happy smile.

She didn’t know if she would be able to talk, not after that. Maybe not ever again.

“Wow.” Okay, so she could talk—but she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Xan’s laugh was shaky, stripped of all self-confidence. “Yeah. That sums it up pretty well.”

Donna wished he would kiss her again. Of course, she could kiss
him
, but the thought made her stomach flip over. Probably better to get inside while she could still walk straight.

She tried a smile. “Good night. Thanks for … you know … for talking.”

“You too,” he replied softly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Heading into the house as fast as she could, Donna wondered how on earth she was going to get through the rest of the night. Not just because of Xan, but because of what had happened at the Frost Estate with Simon Gaunt. Everything was strange and confusing, and she wasn’t sure
what
to think right now.

And then there was Navin. Her relationship with him was in a delicate place and, just because he
appeared
to be adjusting to this whole new level of crazy, that didn’t mean things would run smoothly from here on out.

When she finally managed to fall sleep, the shadows returned darker than ever to plague her dreams.

She was standing in a room full of grandfather clocks, all chiming midnight in a chorus of mournful sound—and over the ringing of the hollow chimes she could hear somebody calling her name, screaming for help. But the clocks were so noisy that she couldn’t make out who needed her, and every time she tried to leave the room, she was faced with yet another clock standing in her way. Every path was blocked.

The blue walls were lined with bookshelves—bookshelves on every wall—and they were overflowing with enough reading material to last several lifetimes. But she couldn’t move a single one of them. No matter how many books she attempted to open and how hard she tried, she couldn’t see inside because each one had been nailed shut.

Simon sat on a navy velvet couch watching her, and Maker had his back turned while he bent to examine the front of one of the clocks. When Donna touched him on the shoulder he turned slowly to look at her—only his eyes were blank spaces and his teeth were too sharp.

Donna checked her phone for what seemed like the hundredth time since she’d gotten up. Still nothing from Navin, and she hadn’t seen any sign of movement next door. Even when she’d woken from one of the dreams and looked out of her bedroom window in the early hours, something about the Sharmas’ place seemed … empty.

It was unusual for Navin not to reply to her text messages or return her calls. She’d tried to contact him before falling into bed last night. Several times.

Donna let herself out of the house and carefully locked the door behind her, trying not to let thoughts of Xan take over her brain for the day. Just remembering that kiss from last night made her toes curl. Seeing him again couldn’t come soon enough, yet she was still sort of nervous about it. She shook her head and made a valiant attempt to focus on other things.

Aunt Paige had left for work at seven-thirty as usual, leaving Donna to make her own way to the estate for her lessons. Today she was due to work on practical exercises with Quentin, one of those rare occasions when the archmaster of the Order personally shared his knowledge with a potential initiate. It was not something she was looking forward to—especially after what had happened yesterday. But maybe Simon hadn’t snitched.
Yeah, right
.

Cutting her eyes across to the Sharmas’ front door, she decided to give it one last try before heading off. She was already in danger of being late, but she couldn’t get Navin’s silence out of her mind. Of course, there was that time his cell phone was stolen and she’d tried to ring him for hours while he was stuck filling out reports with the police. But what were the chances it would’ve happened again?

When Nisha yanked open the door, seconds after she’d rung the bell, Donna almost jumped out of her skin.

“Nisha! You’re home!”

The girl flicked long hair over her shoulder with one hand, furiously brushing her teeth with the other. She nodded and removed the toothbrush from her mouth, speaking around bubbles of white foam. “Mmm. Grandfather was ill yesterday so we went to visit and ended up staying pretty late. He’s okay now, though.”

Donna barely registered the news that their grandfather was better, simply feeling her entire body sag with relief that there was an explanation for Navin’s disappearance. “So all of you went? Navin, too?”

“Uh-huh. You only just missed him. He left for school a minute ago. You might be able to catch him at the bus stop if you make a run for it.”

Donna immediately frowned. “Why is
Navin
taking the
bus
?”

Nisha rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Something’s wrong with his bike. He was really moody about it.” She glanced at the pink watch on her slim brown wrist and pulled a face around her mouthful of toothpaste. “I’m running late, Donna, better go.”

“Sure, sorry. I’ll let you go. Thanks, Nisha.”

Navin’s sister closed the door, returning to tooth-brushing and whatever else she had to do before a busy day of preening and posing at Ironbridge High.

Holding her messenger bag to keep it from banging against her hip, Donna ran back down the street, turning left at the corner and heading toward the bus stop at the end of the next road. Her black sequinned sneakers pounded the sidewalk. She tried to focus all her energy on reaching the next street in time to see Navin before they were separated by school for the day. Perhaps, she told herself, he’
d
lost his phone in all the worry over his grandfather; that would explain why he hadn’t responded to any of her messages.

Donna didn’t want to think about the possibility that Navin might have had second thoughts about their friendship. Maybe he wasn’t adjusting as well as she’d hoped.

She ran around the bend, almost knocking over a bag-laden mother pushing a stroller. She spotted the bus stop and the green city bus approaching it at the same moment. Desperately scanning the short line of people waiting by the shelter, she thought she saw Navin’s black and red jacket. Donna forced a last burst of speed from her pumping legs, gasping for breath and trying to ignore the heavy bag bashing against her back.

“Navin!” she yelled, still halfway down the road. “Nav, wait!”

It was definitely Navin; Donna watched as he stepped onto the bus and showed his pass to the driver. Still running, she felt panic welling up inside her like a cold spring. She had a sharp unpleasant taste in her mouth, and didn’t know if it was from the running or the thought of missing Navin.

She reached the bus stop just as the bus was pulling away. Jumping onto the scarred wooden bench of the bus shelter, she tried to catch a glimpse of Navin’s dark hair or eye-catching jacket. She was rewarded when the bus had to slow down for a foolish driver who’d swung out of a parking space into its path.

Practically flying off the bench and running down the sidewalk in pace with the crawling bus, Donna briefly hoped someone inside would tell the driver to stop, thinking she’d missed it. If she could just locate Navin, get his attention … just one glance, one moment of eye contact …

And then, through one of the dusty windows toward the middle of the bus, she saw him. Navin’s head was leaning against the glass; he had headphones on and was nodding in time to the music. She cast a desperate glance at the obstructing car, which was now doing a U-turn in the middle of the street, and felt grateful for a serendipitous moment of bad driving.

“Navin!” she shouted, knowing even as she did so that it was useless. Frustration gripped her as she stepped into the street, cutting between precariously parked cars to reach Navin’s window.
Please, Navin
, she thought. She considered trying his phone again, but then the bus roared its throaty engine, preparing to accelerate.

“Crap.”

At that moment, the pale morning sun hit the window at a particular angle, momentarily cutting through the dust and grime and giving her a gloriously clear view into the bus. She fixed her eyes on Navin, willing him to turn and look out the window. Couldn’t he sense her there? What was
wrong
with him?

Fingers of sunlight touched his cheek … blue highlights flashed in his ebony hair … and then Donna saw
right
through
him
. One moment he was just Navin, sitting real and solid against the window. The next moment he was like a hollow ghost, a physical shell around a black and twisted shadow, creeping vines and bony shoulders, gnarled fingers holding on to the seat in front as the bus leapt forwards.

Donna fell backwards as the bus moved away in a cloud of exhaust, holding her hand to her mouth in shock. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she repeated over and over, like a mantra. “Oh please, no. No, no, no.”

As she stood in the wake of the departing bus, frozen in shock and terror, she tried to convince herself that what she’d just witnessed had been a trick of the light. Perhaps she’d been blinded by the sunlight reflected on the windowpane.

But even as these thoughts piled on top of more and more desperate attempts at rationalization, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. The churning pain in her gut told her that she hadn’t made a mistake. She’d glimpsed the true form of the thing sitting on the bus—in Navin’s place.

With so much metal around to distract and distort the elf’s magic, its elfskin was precarious. It was difficult for it to uphold a convincing disguise. But this elf had made an almost foolproof stab at it, until that sliver of light had fallen
just so
, enabling Donna to make the leap required to really
see
. It must be an incredibly strong creature to be able to keep its glamour while sitting on a steel-encased bus.

How was it even possible?
And what was it doing? Was it actually going to go to
school
in Navin’s place?

Realizing she was still standing in the road, Donna stepped onto the sidewalk and slowly walked back to the bus stop. She still had to get her own bus to Quentin’s, but how was she supposed to concentrate on studying? Sitting down on the bench, gnawing at her bottom lip, Donna wondered whether she could get out of her lessons.

Navin was gone. She almost whimpered as she allowed the reality to sink in.
What was she going to do
? As soon as she gave that plaintive thought a voice, she knew it sounded pathetic, but she really couldn’t help it. And then that stronger part of her spoke up—the voice she liked to think of as her father’s:
You’ll find him, Donna. You will find out what happened to him and bring him home
.

And Maker, too.

Of course!
She wanted to smack herself over the head for being so dumb. Maybe Maker had seemed strange on Sunday because … well, because it hadn’t really been Maker at all. Everything was becoming clear, and a whole new bunch of questions were popping up in desperate need of answers.

Donna knew she needed to first deal with the immediate problem—Alma Kensington was waiting for her at the Frost Estate. She punched the familiar keys on her cell phone and waited to be connected directly to her tutor.

“Kensington,” came the clipped tones.

“Alma, it’s Donna.”

“Donna, is everything all right?”

“Actually, no. I’m afraid I don’t feel very well. I got as far as the bus stop—in fact, I’m still here—but I’ve got a terrible headache and I feel really dizzy.”

“Do you feel well enough to get back home again?” Genuine concern peeked through Alma’s usually businesslike voice, but Donna only allowed herself to feel a little guilty for lying.

“It’s not far, thanks. I can manage.”

“Well, it’s better to be careful, especially when you’re traveling. I’ll call your aunt at work and let her know.”

Great, now Aunt Paige would worry. Donna hoped her aunt wouldn’t get the urge to stop in at lunchtime to check on her. She turned and walked back toward the house, not intending to stick around there playing the invalid. She needed to make a plan. Mostly, she needed to figure out how on earth the wood elves had become strong enough to infiltrate the city.

And most important of all: why was one walking around Ironbridge masquerading as Navin Sharma?