The Treachery of Beautiful Things (8 page)

The thought of Jack sent a thousand questions scattering through her mind. Would he have told her not to eat if it wasn’t important? Why bother? If he’d meant for her to
be a prisoner and food for the little monsters, why would he tell her how to avoid being trapped in the Realm by eating the wrong thing? That aside, they could be trying to drug her, to make her weak and unable to fight them. Not that she could, not really. Jenny turned her head the other way, trying again to avoid the spoon.

A shout came from outside the window.

“Anyone there?”

A burst of emotion lanced through her—anger and relief and something else.

It was Jack.

Jenny drew in a breath to cry out, but the Goodwife was too quick, her meaty hand closing over the girl’s mouth, pushing her down. Her skin smelled of onions and blood and Jenny gagged.

The Woodsman’s voice had a note of surprise, but no alarm.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

Jenny thrashed, desperately trying to make a noise, any noise that Jack could hear, but the Redcaps had left her too weak and the woman was much stronger. Her foot caught the corner of the tray, sending it clattering all over the floor. The Goodwife slapped her hard across the face.

“Lie still,” she hissed. “Be silent or I’ll call them to silence you. He won’t help you. He wouldn’t if he could. He isn’t like you. He’s of the forest, a servant of the Realm,
always has been and always will be. He brought you to us, didn’t he?”

Jenny fell back as if doused in freezing water.

“…just wanted to find out if it went all right.” Jack’s voice sounded apologetic. She could picture him, standing there, hands casually behind his back. He was a liar, and a consummate performer. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. Had it all been an act? Was that why he’d stopped the Folletti? Why he’d brought her here? To be food for the creatures of his precious Realm?

“Oh, I took her to the Edge last night and she went through no bother.”

“No bother?”

Jenny fixed on the words, on the tone of Jack’s voice. He sounded surprised.

“Aye, lad. Good as gold, she was, as meek as a lamb.” When Jack didn’t reply at once, the man went on. “Said her thanks, polite as any lady of the Sidhe, relieved to be going home.”

“Jenny?” Jack sounded amused. He gave a wry chuckle and her heart jerked inside her. He believed the Woodsman? He believed that lying sack of—

“Just as well, really,” Jack said. “She had no place here. She belongs back in her own world. Well, my thanks for all your help.”

No! She wanted to scream, but the Goodwife’s hand
remained firm over her mouth. He couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

She thought he had gone. But a moment later he spoke again, his tone speculative. “Had some bother last night, though?”

“The—ah—the storm took out the window is all.” The Woodsman sounded uncertain now.

Listen to him, Jack,
Jenny thought.
Listen to him and hear that he’s lying.

But after a brief pause, Jack’s voice was as calm and unaffected as ever. “Hannah’s room? That’s a loss. Do you want a hand mending it?”

“No, lad, but the Elders bless you for the thought. It’ll wait until later. I’ve a store of work lined up for the day. There’s a herd of pixies holed up by the river and I’ll have to move them on or the trees will riot. You know how they are.”

Another pause.

Don’t believe him
. She squirmed in the ropes holding her.
Even if you do want me out of your hair, don’t let it be like this. Don’t you dare believe him.

“Farewell then,” Jack said. Firm and certain, the tone so light Jenny’s heart twisted inside her, and her voice choked up in her throat. How could he believe that? How could he believe any of that? He wasn’t just a liar, he was an idiot as well. It should have made her fight, but despair leeched
what little remained of her strength, swelling up around her like a black wave and swallowing her whole.

Jack was gone. Jenny’s eyes met those of the Goodwife. The older woman pasted her smile back on her face and nodded.

“Well, you’ve wasted the food. Nothing for it now, though. Can’t wait any longer.” She took a box from her apron pocket and opened it. “We need to get started. Let’s take things slowly this time.” A small, spindly Redcap crawled onto her hand. Immediately, it made to bite into her palm, but the Goodwife chuckled and lifted it clear. “They swarmed last night, out of control. We’re just lucky they didn’t kill you. Just a baby, this one. She won’t take much. We’ll build you up over time, get you used to them and them to you until you can feed the lot.”

Jenny shrank back into the bed, but there was nowhere to go. “Get that thing away from me.”

“Look, my dearie, last night should never have happened. Too many, all at once like that, but you’re strong, thank the Elders. That makes you special to us. Aye, and to them.”

She laid the black creature reverently on Jenny’s flesh. It nuzzled into the hollow between neck and shoulder. The claws felt cold as they scratched her skin. Then it bit deeply.

Jenny whimpered in pain but strangled her scream. She wouldn’t give the woman the satisfaction. She closed her
eyes, wishing she could block out the sucking sound as easily as she could the Goodwife’s satisfied expression.

The day stretched to evening and as it did another storm rolled in across the forest. The Goodwife had closed the curtains, sealing off the room, though with the window boarded up, Jenny couldn’t see the point. The wind still came through the gaps, making the curtains billow out like ghosts. It seemed more like ritual or habit, tucking in the bedclothes around her, wiping the beads of sweat from Jenny’s forehead and puffing up the pillow for her. Like a mother who cared.

A candle burned at the bedside, though again Jenny was sure this was not for her benefit. She slipped in and out of consciousness, but not into anything resembling sleep. Tears chilled the sides of her face, wetting the pillows on either side of her. She shivered constantly. Blood loss and the poison secreted by the Redcaps left her weak and listless. She’d lost count of how many had been brought in, one after the other, a stream of hungry little monsters to feed on her. Her empty stomach churned.

Only when she’d passed out did they stop.

And when she woke it started again, until night fell.

The wind was rising again. Outside, she could hear the forest, and the same sensation swept over her of something unseen circling the house. She caught her breath. Could it be
the whole swarm of the Redcaps again? A sticky, metallic taste filled her mouth. Maybe they wouldn’t wait for the Goodwife’s agenda, but were coming en mass to feed from her again.

No. This was something else. As dark and insidious as those creatures were, this was bigger, darker—

A thundering pulse of panic rose in her now. A shivering sweat spread over her skin. She strained at the ropes. They slid across her slick wrists, biting deeper. Her breath clattered in her chest like a scrabbling animal.

She knew it. Remembered. It lived in her nightmares.

A scratching at the window jolted her. The boards rattled, as if a tree scraped its branches against them. But as Jenny could clearly recall, there was no tree in the yard outside. The sound continued, now with an ominous creaking. Jenny knew that sound. It came from the ancient oak in her grandmother’s garden when the wind had worried at it on dark nights like this. Rhythmic, strangely soothing and yet threatening, the sound of rocking, the sound of her gran cradling her when she woke from a nightmare, creaking, whispering, a low rumble.

This is just in my mind. They’re only trees. Only trees. Who’s afraid of lonely tr—

The candle flickered, guttered in a sudden draft. Then it went out, plunging Jenny into darkness. She cried out. Bound, straining, a sacrifice to whatever came in the dark.

With a crash that shook the world, something tore
through the roof and wall, scything to the left above her and collapsing the main part of the house. Timber shrieked and glass shattered all around. The cold night’s air engulfed her and something else, small and hairy, smelling of animal musk and wet fur, touched her face. A gnarled, leathery hand stilled her mouth and she saw the horned silhouette.

Puck!

He grinned in the broken moonlight, his teeth very white. He didn’t say a word, lifted a finger to his lips, and quickly set to work freeing her.

A tree lay across the debris beside her, the house and the stables beyond crushed beneath it. Outside, leaves, branches, flailing roots, whipping rain, and the wild wind—it tore through the rubble like a demon.

“There was no tree,” she whispered as Puck pulled her to her feet. She wobbled unsteadily, forcing herself to stand. “No trees nearby big enough to do that.” Despite the fact that one had crushed the house. But she thought of the yard, the outbuildings, the river. There had been no tree near enough.

“No,” he agreed. “But the forest looks after its own. And exacts terrible vengeance on those who betray it. Always has. Come on now, blossom. Let’s get back to the safety of the trees.”

Safety of the trees? There was no such thing. She of
all people knew that. The memory of her brother sliced through her then like a knife. She lunged for her clothes, scooping them up, the jeans and shirt still folded on a nearby chair, and hugged them to her like a protective charm, a single element of the reality that had been stolen from her.

“Wait. Where’s Jack?”

Puck eyed her warily, though he wasn’t rushed, wasn’t afraid. “He’ll follow with the sun. Come on, lass. Those cursed Redcaps may not be dead, and without their keepers they’ll run riot unless they’re taken care of.”

Jenny opened her mouth to argue, but Puck tugged at her arm, his strength surprising. In the night, the wind screamed and the forest gave a roar like a monstrous animal woken and enraged. The great tree heaved and Jenny saw something move within its broken branches.

A figure. A figure formed of bark and moss, of leaves and thorns, a figure made of the stuff of the forest itself.

Jenny staggered back, would have fallen if Puck had not been pulling at her. Panic exploded through her chest. Her lungs ached. She couldn’t let it see her, couldn’t give herself away. She scrambled back, away from the gaping hole in the house, back toward the bed.

The creature flowed from shadow to shadow, coiling like ivy, springing like holly, its lined and cracked face caught in a snarl or a smile. It reached the place where the Woodsman
struggled beneath the mess of branches and rubble, and crouched low, its head cocked to one side. When it reached out its hands, tendrils shot from the fingers, sprouting like new roots. They plunged through the man’s body as if he was nothing more than freshly turned earth. The Woodsman gave a terrible scream. Shoots exploded out of his mouth and nose. He convulsed, kicking out his useless legs as leaves unfurled against his skin. Jenny remembered the ancient carvings in the school chapel, the way she’d shuddered every time she lay eyes on one. Greenmen bedecked the pews of England’s oldest churches, and the walls of its stately homes, men who were only half man, and half some ancient god born of the forest itself. The thing she had seen, all those years ago. The thing no one else believed in. This was it.

The Woodsman would have looked like it too if not for the blood. And crouching over him, watching its work patiently, feeding on the agony of its victim, a greenman. The same thing that had taken Tom. Her own personal nightmare. As if aware of the girl’s wide eyes on it, the creature turned slowly, and moonlight showed her its face.

Leaf and tree it was, moss-encrusted bark and the gloss of a newly unfurled leaf. Berries tangled in the undergrowth of its hair. Even at this distance, it reeked of earth and bark. Its body twisted like age-old roots. Two eyes gazed at her,
bright fires like marsh-lights. They ran with sap, the substance glistening as it tumbled down the barked cheeks. There was no thought behind the eyes. None she could discern. The expression was alien to her, to anyone. Its mouth stretched—a grimace or a smile, bearing thorns instead of teeth.

Jenny closed her hand over the locket and pulled so tightly it dug into her palm, the chain dragging on the back of her neck. She sucked in a breath, then another.
Only trees
didn’t help right now.
This is just in my mind
wasn’t comforting at all. Her ribs tightened and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart stuttered.

Puck hauled her back, jumped onto the bed, and pushed her against the remaining wall.

“Jenny, we must go! Now! Before it finishes them and looks to us. It has no love of anything not directly of the earth—humans least of all. Run!”

“But the Redcaps—”

“It’ll take care of them.”

“What is it, Puck? What could—”

He kicked her shin hard enough to make her yelp. “Come now!”

Before Jenny could protest again, the hobgoblin’s surprising strength had overpowered her and he dragged her into the night and the safety of the forest. And it felt safe now. Anywhere would feel safe so long as she was
running away from that thing. Rain hammered into her face, drenched her to the skin, but she didn’t care. She stumbled after Puck until her legs gave out from exhaustion and she tumbled onto the wet ground and beneath the clinging undergrowth. Puck was at her side a moment later.