The Treachery of Beautiful Things (7 page)

They glanced at each other, a brief exchange of looks that could have meant anything.

The Goodwife stepped closer, reached out to stroke Jenny’s hair. “You need food and sleep, my dear. The rest can wait till morning.”

Jenny pulled the patterned quilt up to her chin and tried to get to sleep once more. The nightgown they’d given her was unfamiliar, old-fashioned, and either tangled around her legs or crept up far too high. Outside the little cottage, the wind hurled itself at the diamond-patterned windows and rain splattered heavily against the glass. Had Tom really caused this? Whistling up the wind, they’d called it. If anyone could do it, she’d believe it of Tom.

And they knew him. Or knew of him. They saw him in her, and that gave her a slim, tenuous hope. She and Tom had looked alike as kids—Jenny, Tom’s miniature. Everyone said so. Same eyes, same freckles, same bones beneath their skin. They’d laughed about it, threatened to switch places, as if that would have fooled anyone. Jenny smiled at the memory, and at last, with an ache in her chest, she dozed.

The storm woke her some hours later to complete darkness, wind and rain warring with each other outside. She could hear something moving through the wild night. It slouched through the darkness, circling the house. She was sure it was her imagination at first, a combination of dreams and exhaustion. Twice, she got up and pulled back the curtains, which had been brightly colored in the candlelight but were black as pitch now. Sheets of gray rain obscured almost everything from view. She was about to turn away the second time when she caught a glimpse of something in the night. It slid between the trees on the edge of the
forest, part storm, part animal, part natural world. A thin sweat broke over her skin, and trembling fingers clenched around the locket at her throat.

The creature slid through the shadows, flowed like water down the windowpane. The impact of the raindrops on its outline was almost all that defined it against the black night. Abruptly, it was gone, but she stood transfixed, knowing that it circled the house and could reappear at any moment.

Sure enough, it was back within a few minutes. This time she caught a sense of something ancient, powerful, covered in leaves and vines, and an aching panic ballooned in her lungs. But she stood, unable to move away, watching, as it circled closer. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

Even with a brief glimpse, she knew it. Remembered it. Its berry-bright eyes. The way it had twisted around on itself quicker than a cat. The way it had vanished into the trees, and Tom with it.

Your Tom is gone, seven long years ago. Leave him be and go home.

Jenny’s heart knotted as she remembered Jack’s words.
Seven years.
And her breath caught. She tugged at her locket, winding it around on the chain until it tightened and she let it go again so it could unravel. Had she told him the amount of time? In fact, had she said anything at all about it?

“Is she asleep?” The voice came as an insistent whisper outside the door. Jenny turned from the window. Her bedclothes were a tangled heap on the bed, almost as if someone still lay beneath them. She dropped the curtain and was about to go to the door when she heard the Woodsman speak.

“She must be—has to be. She won’t be missed, not if she’s meant to have gone home already. They’re hungry. We have no choice, unless you would appease them yourself.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t, not anymore.” The Goodwife paused, and when she spoke again, doubt infected her voice. “She’s not much older than our Hannah was.”

He choked at the mention of the name. “Hannah—Hannah’s gone. They won’t stay content with pig meat, and I can’t lose you. She’s here now and if she
is
the piper’s kin, maybe she’ll be as special as him. They like that. You heard how restless they are. They’ve scented her. They know she’s here. Her blood will stir them up to a frenzy if we don’t do something.”

Jenny shrank back into the shadows around the window, crouching to make her body and breath as small and undetectable as possible.

The door creaked open, light coming from the lamp the Goodwife held. She saw the Woodsman approach the bed, his mouth set in a grim line, while his partner fidgeted by the door. The Woodsman held a cloth and, with a hand too
practiced, he threw back the sheet and brought the cloth down where Jenny’s mouth should have been.

Unable to help herself, Jenny sucked in a breath. They both turned toward her hiding place in shadows.

“Now, now,” said the Goodwife, “you shouldn’t be awake.” The lamp swung lazily from side to side as the woman stalked toward her. Her husband advanced too, his movements more furtive, more like a rat than the hulking man he was.

Jenny’s heart thundered inside her. The ache in her chest expanded, slicing at her lungs. What were they doing? What on earth—

“Stay still now, my darlin’ girl,” the Goodwife cooed. “It’ll be all right. The little fellas need to be fed, and on nights like this, milk alone won’t do. Now, I can’t help them all, but you can. I’d swear you’ll be sweet as honey to them.” She reached out, open-palmed, beckoning the girl to her, and Jenny saw the length of her arm exposed. The expanse of white skin was covered in puncture wounds, bite marks, some almost healed, others raw and fresh. The skin around them was mottled, hard and almost…almost like the chitin of an insect’s shell.

Jenny’s fingers scrabbled behind her, trying to find the catch on the window, to prize it open before they could reach her. She felt her nails tear as she dug them into the wood, straining to lift the window. She wrenched it up and
the storm enveloped her, invading the room like a vortex of wind, rain, and whirling leaves, like the forest itself enraged. The lamp gutted and went out. The Goodwife gave a cry. At the same moment, the Woodsman’s hand closed on Jenny’s arm. Her scream joined with the wind’s shriek and she wrenched herself free. Before she knew what she was doing, she had hurled herself out of the window.

She landed heavily, the hard earth slamming the air from her body. The lamp was quickly relit inside. Its light through the window framed her on the ground, and the rain pelted against her skin. Mud slicked through her hair, oozed against her skin. She struggled to get up, and sharp pain lanced down her spine. Jenny cried out, sinking back.

She heard the Goodwife snarl. “She was meant to last. If they take her now, out there, they’ll gorge!”

“It’s too late,” said her husband. “Call them. It isn’t long till dawn.”

The woman stuck her head out of the window, her eyes bright with malice, and opened her mouth to emit a high-pitched trill that was almost snatched away by the storm. Under other circumstances, she might have been calling her chickens. Jenny recoiled and tried to force her body to move, to get up, to run. A fierce chittering filled the air, drowning out the rain and wind. Jenny tried once more to get up. She gasped as her body spiked with pain. At the sound of her distress, something sprang into the light, a spider-like
thing about the size of her hand. The black torso rose from splayed legs. The skin shone, as if covered in molten tar. Its eyes gleamed yellow and its crested head was a bright scarlet. Fangs glistened in its open mouth.

A crooning sound came from deep inside its vibrating chest as it tilted its head to one side, examining her. Jenny stared back, the rain drenching her, running icy fingers over her skin beneath the sodden nightgown. She sucked in a breath and pain sliced through her until it turned into a sob. Shock, terror, pain all conspired to pin her there. She couldn’t move, transfixed by this tiny horror.

It darted forward, straddling her outstretched arm. Jenny made to pull back, but the creature latched on to her, wrapping its legs around her limb. Involuntary spasms racked her body. She tried to roll away. But another leaped out of the night, latching on to her other arm. The lead creature snarled, bared its teeth, and bit into the exposed flesh of her arm.

Jenny screamed and, as if summoned by the sound, more of the monsters swarmed over her, their teeth like hypodermic needles, piercing clothes and skin. A thousand points of white pain twisted her scream to a higher note. She could feel them drawing on her blood, draining it, drinking it down. Something else surged into her, numbing and terrible, a poison robbing her of senses and strength.

Her voice fell to a moan as two large shadows fell over
her. The Goodwife and the Woodsman lifted her between them, careful not to disturb the creatures’ feeding, and, without a word, carried her back inside.

The door slammed shut, locking out the storm, and any hope Jenny had for escape.

J
enny woke to brilliant sunlight and blinding pain. She was aware of it before she was fully aware of her own consciousness. Her skin burned everywhere, pinpricks of fire. Her back and shoulders were raw agony. Tentatively, she tried to move her arms and legs, but coarse ropes grated against the bite marks at her wrists and ankles. A gag cut against the corners of her mouth, filling it with the taste of dust and mildew. As she opened her eyes, she saw the bedroom from the night before. The window was roughly boarded up, the gaps between the wood no bigger than her hand, and the door was firmly closed. Dried blood flecked her skin and the surface of the nightdress, blood from so many tiny wounds that she couldn’t hope to count them all. It wasn’t like being elfshot. She’d thought that had been bad, but it was an itch and discomfort compared to this. This was pain, a thousand times over, everywhere.

She collapsed back into the damp sheets and closed her
eyes. The familiar weight of her locket rested against her chest, one single comfort, one last shred of normality. All she had left. The thought made tears sting her eyes.

Jack had brought her here, promised her safety and rest, sworn blind they’d take her home even if it was against her will.

He’d deceived her once. Had made her believe the worst of her fears was true. Why had she trusted him again? Should she be surprised to find herself here, tied up like a sacrifice?

She’d followed along behind him, bleating about finding Tom, about changing things, and all the time he’d been bringing her here. For this.

Had he known what would happen? Or was it possible he had he been deceived by his “friends” too? A small hope, less than a prayer, but all she had.

Jenny struggled once more against the ropes, gritting her teeth, trying to get free and failing.

He had to have known. These were people he trusted to do his will. She should have known better than to believe him. She screamed in frustration, her voice smothered by the gag in her mouth. He’d deceived her, tricked her, lied to her. Why had she been such an idiot?

Sunlight leaked through the gaps between the boards on the window, slanting across the room and falling across her face and the floor in uneven bands. Dust motes danced in
the columns of light and fled with the breeze when the door opened.

The Goodwife bustled in with a tray heavy with food. Thick slabs of bread were spread with creamy yellow butter, and a huge bowl of fragrant soup cast tendrils of steam up to surround the woman’s smiling face. There was a red apple and a jug of water beside the wooden mug. She might have been a kindly nurse bringing a wholesome meal to her patient. Jenny’s stomach churned.

The Goodwife set the tray down beside the bed and pulled over a chair. Then she unhooked the gag from the girl’s mouth, gingerly, as if Jenny might bite her.

“Time for food. We’ll soon get you fed, my lovely. I’ve a fine beef broth here. It’s good for building up the blood. Come now. You must have a fierce hunger.”

“Let…” Jenny’s voice was harsh in her throat. She coughed, swallowed and tried again, letting her anger boil over. “Let me
go
!” Her voice broke against the ceiling. “You can’t do this to me. What were those things?”

The Goodwife’s eyes shied away from her.

“Just Redcaps, little one. They’re helpful souls really, but they do have their hungers. They liked you. You’re blessed. They haven’t liked anyone so much since my little girl came to womanhood. They came, they nested, and before we knew it…well…They help really, around the house, on the land and in the forest. But we have to take care of
them too. If we don’t feed them…well…Now…”

Jenny stared at her like she was mad. “You’re farming them?”

The Goodwife gave a nervous and uncomfortable laugh. “No, lass. Not at all. They help us, you see. Protect us.”

“From what?”

The woman’s gaze slid away. “Many things stalk the forest hereabouts, love. Many things it doesn’t do to cross. The Redcaps keep us safe in the night. Just about all we can rely on for that.”

“And you feed them blood?” Jenny cringed inwardly, but kept her face like stone. “I’m wrong. They’re farming
you
.”

With an impatient tut, the Goodwife lifted Jenny’s upper torso, pushing a plump pillow behind her. She didn’t untie the ropes, so Jenny’s arms strained and she let out an involuntary gasp. The Goodwife hushed her like a fond nursemaid and lifted up a spoonful of the broth. In spite of all she knew, in spite of the reasons behind this apparent kindness, Jenny found the aroma working on her senses. Her mouth watered. But Jack had warned her not to eat. With some effort, she forced her lips tightly together and turned her face aside.