Page 31 of The Iron Raven

“Hang on.” Reaching back, I pulled the protection amulet from around my neck and held it up, the metal raven glittering at it spun in a slow circle between us. Instantly, I could feel what Nyx was feeling, the nausea flooding my insides, the acidic burn in the back of my throat. “Ugh, wow, that is unpleasant, isn’t it? Here, take this. At least until you have your own.”

I went to drape it around her neck, but she placed a hand on my arm, stopping me. “I’m fine, Puck,” she said. “One of us has to endure this. Better that I know what I’m walking into. I assume it will be worse in the Iron Realm itself.”

“Besides, your amulet would not work on her, Robin Goodfellow.”

The Tinkerer’s voice, calm and matter-of-fact, drifted across the room. I turned to see him behind a counter, reaching areallylong arm up to one of the shelves on the wall. And when I say a really long arm, it was twice the length of a normal arm and very thin, like a pool noodle with fingers. Also, now that I could see him clearly, he seemed to havefourof them. Four creepy long arms, with four creepy spiderlike fingers on each hand, for maximum creep effect.

Okay, it was official. I really didn’t like this place.

“That amulet will not shield her from the iron sickness,” the Iron faery went on, pulling a box off the top shelf and peering into it. “It was crafted specifically for you, Robin Goodfellow, and only you can receive its protection. No one else. Now...” He put the box on the counter while simultaneously reaching up with two more arms to feel around the shelves. “Let us see what we can do for your friend.”

Reluctantly, I returned the amulet to its place under my shirt, feeling both relieved and guilty when the sickness faded to almost nothing. Nyx still looked miserable, but she gave me a reassuring nod, and I had no choice but to follow her across the room to where the Tinkerer was still feeling around the top shelves with his creepy long arms. As he moved a box aside, there was sudden a buzz of wings, and a swarm of small, glittery things flew out from the row of boxes, zipping into the air.

“Confounded sparks!” exclaimed the Tinkerer, as the tiny creatures swarmed frantically around him. “I keep telling you not to sleep in the supply boxes.”

The creatures buzzed back and forth, sounding irritated, before they seemed to notice the two strangers by the door and immediately zipped over to investigate.

I tensed. Up close, they looked like piskies with copper skin, though they were half the size of regular piskies, which was to say, really tiny. This did nothing for my wariness. Piskies were what humans typically thought of when they heard the wordfaery. Cute little Tinker Bells with gossamer wings and magic dust. Trust me, there was nothing cute about them. Don’t let their size fool you; piskies had incredibly sharp teeth and the swarming instincts of a school of piranhas. If they were hungry, a horde of them could strip a horse down to the bone in minutes.

The piskie swarm surrounded me, blips of frantic movement and glittering skin. The air around them buzzed with electricity, and each time they moved, there was a faint popping sound, like a static shock. If my hair didn’t already have that tousled,I just rolled out of bed but I still look goodlook, it would be standing straight up.

“Um...hi?” I attempted a smile, despite being more than slightly creeped out by their spindly little arms and huge, multifaceted eyes, like those of enormous bees or hornets. Did I mention that I had a thing about bugs? Don’t get me wrong, I’d seen a lot of scary things: living dolls and clowns with sharp teeth and all sorts of monsters from your worst nightmares. But everyone has that one thing that makes their skin crawl, makes them get up and flee the room if that thing pops in and says hi. If you haven’t guessed by now, mine happens to be bugs.

And an Iron faery with arms like a freaking giant cricket living in a giant spider wagon with a swarm of killer wasp fey was ticking all of myoh hell noboxes.

“Enough, sparks,” the Tinkerer called, making the swarm draw back slightly. “You are making the customers uncomfortable again. Please shoo for now.”

The piskie swarm drew back, rising up to buzz around the ceiling, as Nyx and I crossed the floor to the counter.

The Tinkerer waited for us, tapping long fingers against the glass. It made his hand look like a spider in its death throes, and I repressed a shudder. “I have never crafted an amulet for a Forgotten before,” he mused. “How very interesting. This could be tricky.”

“Why is that?” Nyx wondered.

“Because to assemble the amulet, I must take a bit of the bearer’s own glamour to craft it,” the Tinkerer explained. “That is why Robin Goodfellow’s amulet will not work on anyone but him—it has a piece of his essence inside it, and the amulet will not recognize anyone else.”

I remembered when Meghan first mentioned the amulet to me; she had asked for a lock of hair or something similar, and had rolled her eyes when I gleefully asked why she wanted it. After explaining it was for an experiment to help traditional faeries survive the Iron Realm, I’d given her a jet-black feather, and a few days later was presented with the amulet I was wearing now.

“So?” I shrugged. “I don’t see the problem here. It’s not like she doesn’t have hair. She has very nice hair, in fact.”

“You are missing the point, Robin Goodfellow.” That pale eye glared at me. “If I needed only hair, or blood, or feathers to craft the amulet, I could do so for any monkey that knocks on my door. That is not the issue.”

“It’s because the Forgotten have no glamour of our own,” Nyx guessed. “We have to steal it from other fey, or the Nevernever itself.”

“That is correct.” The Tinkerer nodded. “A faery’s personal glamour must be woven into the amulet for it to work properly. It is why I cannot simply mass produce these items. Each one must be specifically crafted for the bearer alone. I do not even know the final form the amulet will take—it all depends on the essence of the faery I am making it for.” He eyed Nyx shrewdly. “But you, like all Forgotten, have lost your glamour along with your name. I do not know if I can make you an amulet without that magic to anchor it in place.”

“Is there no other way?” Nyx wondered. “No other source of magic that can be used to craft an amulet for someone?”

“I do not know,” the Tinkerer mused. Steepling long, spiderlike fingers under his chin, he regarded Nyx intently. The jewelry loupe on his right eye gleamed as he turned it on her. “I can sense the emptiness inside you, my dear,” he said softly. “The struggle simply to exist, to not fade away. Even now, you are subconsciously siphoning a bit of glamour from everything around you, including Master Goodfellow.”

Nyx winced at that, and I straightened. I’d known about the Forgotten’s glamour draining abilities, of course, but I hadn’t realized it was something they couldn’t control. I thought back to the battle with the monster, remembering the exhaustion and sluggishness I’d felt when it was over. Had Nyx been draining my magic while we were fighting, using it to power those cool abilities of hers?

I looked at her, and she met my gaze apologetically. “I am sorry, Goodfellow,” she said. “I overextended myself in the last battle, and when that thing attacked...I reached for whatever magic I could.” A brief look of frustration crossed her face, and one fist clenched at her side. “I’m not used to this, to having no glamour of my own, but that’s not an excuse. I should have told you before.”

“Hey.” I shrugged. “I’ll take being tired over being dead any day of the week. Or being squished into magic paste by ugly monsters. You need my glamour, for anything, it’s yours.”

“Be that as it may,” the Tinkerer interrupted, reminding us of the present problem, “you cannot depend on Goodfellow’s magic if you want to safely travel to Mag Tuiredh. The effect of the Iron Realm is powerful, and without proper protection, you will die even faster than the traditional fey. You are going to need a very strong, continuous source of glamour if you want to survive past the border.”

“What about a Token?” I asked.

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