Page 66 of Court of Shadows
The mist reached me, cold and paralyzing, wrapping around me as if to choke me while the roots took me into their annihilating embrace. Chijioke clawed at the ground, wheezing, finding no purchase and no strength against the fury of nature. Distantly I smelled smoke, and heard a soft, almost dance-like crackling. Father reared up, claws sparkling; they flashed red and purple and yellow in the fairy lights before they came for my face.
He managed only one swipe, a single talon grazing my cheek, hot blood pouring down my face. But then there came a crack, clear as lightning, and Father froze above us, then collapsed to the side in a heap.
A bronzed young man stood over the fallen body, chest heaving. He was dressed only in rags, heavily scarred, with strange tattoos covering his arms and shoulders. Was I going mad? It wasn’t possible....
There was no time to wonder or speak as a gout of red flower bloomed to our left. Then came the smoke. Then the fire.
The pavilion was going up in a blaze.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Smoke carpeted the pavilion as the lower edges of the canvas burned away, the flames leaping higher and higher, spreading to the ceiling. The roots went suddenly slack, and I glanced toward Father—he was still out cold. I climbed to my feet, helped up by the mysterious young man who had interceded on our behalf.
The shepherd limped toward us, holding up Sparrow. Finch and the shepherd’s dog were well enough to walk, and followed, then aided us in gaining our feet. Cursing, Mr. Morningside ran first toward the front of the pavilion and then changed his mind, joining us again in the middle.
“It’s... it’s too hot. We cannot go that way!”
“Out the back!” Chijioke yelled, gesturing for us to follow. “And if that fails, we take the portal.”
“Where does it lead?” I asked as we moved as one slow group past the tables, the stage, and around toward the very end of the pavilion.
“Leeds Castle,” Mr. Morningside shouted over the crackle of flames. “Which is only slightly better than burning to death.”
The tattooed man at my side grabbed my hand, pulling hard. He was shaking his head, trying to speak to us, but I did not understand the language. It was like nothing I had ever heard before, and I looked to Mr. Morningside helplessly.
“Can you understand him?” I cried.
We had reached the portal, which was little more than a curtained doorway. I heard its pulsing magic behind the fabric, and wondered what lay beyond. But the back of the tent had suffered fewer of the flames, and Finch sprang forward, using his weapon-like arm to slice through the fabric and give us a way out. The smoke was rising, choking us, my eyes and mouth burning from it, heat licking at us from every direction as the fire swept toward this last safe bastion.
“Something, something, something surrounded, I don’t know. My Egyptian is not what it used to be,” Mr. Morningside muttered, shoving us toward the cut in the tent. “Yes, my friend, the flamesaresurrounding us, good of you to notice. Come on, whatever it is can wait!”
But the stranger was intent on making us listen, drowned out by the fire and Mr. Morningside’s calls for us to leave while we still could. We stumbled out into the night, scattering, all of us gasping for clean air as we put distance between us and the blaze. Then I stopped, panicking, whirling back toward the tent.
“No!” I cried. “We have to get Father out!”
Chijioke grabbed me and held me fast as I attempted to rush past and into the fire. “It’s going to collapse, it’s madness to go back in there.”
“He has the book,” I said, extricating myself from his grasp. “And he knows where Mary is, he must! He used her hair orher blood to impersonate her. That’s how it works. We can’t let him burn!”
Perhaps that was what the stranger had been trying to communicate all along, for he took one long look at me and bit his lip before turning and charging back into the pavilion.
“Wait!” I screamed, trying to follow. Chijioke pulled me back again. “He helped us.” It was too smoky, too hot, but I knew we could not let Father perish. I had no idea what it would mean for all the creatures of his world, of his kingdom, and I so badly wanted to see Mary again.
“I’m only doing this to get Mary back, the bastard,” Chijioke muttered. He pushed me away roughly and was gone, joining the boy in the tent, disappearing into the swallowing flames.
“I won’t let them go alone; this matters to us, too,” Finch offered, sweeping past us. His body was human for only one more instant before he, too, pushed through the opening in the tent, a flash of gold blinding me before the smoke overcame him.
“Ah. So that’s what he meant by surrounded.”
Coughing, smoke still eating at my throat, I saw what Mr. Morningside had, that three men had emerged from the darkness, each of them holding a bayoneted rifle. Lee was right; they were more than squirrelly; they were avenging Amelia’s honor. I stared into their eyes one by one, and saw only the intent to kill. They were drawn to Coldthistle House, after all. I doubted we were the first to see the ends of those rifles.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Morningside said, spreading his hands wide. Somehow he still looked dapper and self-possessed, even while covered in soot, his hair wild and uncombed. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Where’s Amelia?” Mason took a few tiny steps forward, brandishing his weapon.
Behind us, I heard the men calling to one another in the tent. There was a terrible, heart-stoppingcrackas one of the interior beams gave, snapping in half. The moon shone brightly above us, not full but impressively mirrorlike, its light gleaming off the metal barrels of the guns and knives.
“Can you not read, Mr. Breen? She left this place. You may search my pockets; I assure you she is not hiding in there,” Mr. Morningside chuckled. “But in all seriousness, this can be resolved without the use of arson or murder.”
