Page 9 of Tomb of Ancients
Too late I felt Father’s presence surge in me. Perhaps it was my own fear, which I had not even attempted to tear from my heart, that allowed his coming. Or maybe I had longed for this moment since surviving Sparrow’s torment at ColdthistleHouse. Whether it was my own weakness or desire for revenge, I could not say, but I heard a sound like heavy cloth tearing inside me. The armor stung, for the boundaries of my body expanded rapidly, twisting and reshaping, until my legs were longer and stronger, dark leafy vines twining around my arms as my fingers elongated and sharpened into black claws.
Whatever I had become, it gave Sparrow pause, but her gasp of surprise soon turned to a growl of determination. She and her followers fell upon us, a dozen or more hands slashing at us from every direction. I reached for a dull knife dropped by one of the guests and willed it into a sword, swinging it blindly to keep the shepherd’s followers at bay. The sword did not stop them, and so I imagined the little knife becoming a massive shield, one large enough to push the humans away and create some space. Nothing seemed to frighten them. I only wanted them to stop, to retreat, but something in Sparrow’s command had driven them mad.
I heard the meatythunkof Khent knocking one of the guests away, his body tumbling end over end as if he were no more than a child’s doll. Some of those knives and ragged bottles managed to aimlessly wound, and the floor around us became slick with blood, some of it mine, some of it Khent’s, but most of it Sparrow’s.
I reached for her. My head filled with crimson smoke; my vision narrowed only to her gold, glowing form and the spear that punched toward me. Without even meaning to, my armstretched and stretched, unnatural and ugly, but useful in its strangeness. I grabbed her by the neck, saw the sudden terror in her eyes as I crushed against the bandages and then against more. Her spear slashed at my side, finding a gap in my armor, but I hardly felt the sting. More followers of the shepherd raced into the ballroom, but they were too late. Father’s control had gripped me utterly, and his will dominated me as if I were merely a costume he had put on. I saw with his cruel eyes and struck with his cruel hand, slamming Sparrow down onto the floor, shaking the entire house once more. The chairs and tables around the edge of the room tumbled over, the entire ballroom in ruin. Candelabras spilled their candles onto the floor, small gouts of flame threatening to spread. A guest, thrown by Khent, sailed over my head. Roots as thick as a man thrust up from beneath, just as they had in the pavilion when we had all banded together against Father. Now those grasping black tendrils were on my side. Our side.
“The ceiling!” Khent growled out through his pointed teeth.“Mahar!”
Look.
Khent leapt back, slashing his way through the throng of guests, and I had the good sense to follow. I glanced toward the ceiling, the great shuddering and shaking of the house cracking the ornate plaster. The chandelier swayed, creaking dangerously on loosening brackets. The final push it needed came as Mary and Justine threw open the ballroom doors. Their faces droppedin twin shock and horror, but Mary stepped forward, flinging her arms across Justine as the chandelier’s bolts gave, its gold and silver baubles plunging downward, candle wax splattering us as it fell. A faint ripple encased the two girls, Mary’s shielding magic emerging like a wave from her arms.
I wanted to look away, but Father would not allow it. Khent cringed at my side as the chandelier smashed into the mess of roots and wood splinters and Sparrow below. She gave a weak, startled cry, but then came a long, eerie silence. I watched a candle pool into the ruined floor and reached for my side. It had begun to ache badly, and my hand came away drenched in blood.
At last, I felt Father’s influence lessening, and I turned away, fully realizing then what I had done. Sparrow had attacked us, yes, but now she was grievously wounded. No, I thought with a shudder, dead. There were other bodies, too, and it turned my stomach to see them. My legs went weak, and I stumbled away, finding myself leaning against the buffet table, once beautiful and festive, now splashed with blood. Heaving, I chanced to see my reflection in a silver tray. What I saw there stole my breath away—smoking red eyes, charred skull face, a crown of twisting antlers...
A monster.A monster. My own face began to emerge, the beast I had become receding until the reflection showed nothing but a scared girl, her face smeared with blood, a dull supper knife clutched in one shaking hand.
Chapter Five
The crash of the chandelier and Sparrow’s demise seemed to shake the followers from their mania. Those who could run from us did, streaming out of the ballroom, the white trains of their gowns flowing behind them like flags of surrender.
My stomach remained in knots. Khent breathed hard beside me, his dark gray fur matted with all manner of gore. His clever canine eyes, a vibrant purple, followed as I walked slowly from the table toward Mary and Justine.
I could not bring myself to look at the chandelier. At Sparrow. She had been a miserable thorn in my side since the moment of our meeting, but I refused to believe that she deserved such an end.
“Goodness gracious, Louisa, what a disaster! Are you all right?” Mary breathed, closing the distance and throwing her arms around me. “We heard such awful noises....”
“We need to find somewhere safe to go,” I replied, disentangling quickly and marching for the door. Justine was frozen there, her hands covering her mouth. “Where is your guardian, Justine?”
“S-She must be in the house somewhere,” Justine managed to stammer. “I did not see her among the crowd, and surely she is not among the... the...”
“We must find her,” I said. Though I sounded clearheaded, I felt anything but. Muffled voices came from beyond the foyer and out the doors. Brushing past Justine, I motioned to Mary and Khent—now returned to his human form and wearing very tattered clothing—and then hurried toward the commotion.
We found Justine’s guardian, Mrs. Langford, fanning herself in a sweaty panic on the lawn of the house, joined by the guests who had fled immediately and those who had survived the battle with us. The survivors looked dazed, bloodied, their fight gone out of them now that their leader, Sparrow, lay dead under a chandelier. They all appeared to be looking at something on the far side of the lawn, and we moved through the crowd with no trouble—nobody who did notice me wanted to be near the girl with the bloodstained gown and knife. An older woman in an orange satin dress swooned and collapsed on the grass when I passed.
We found a lone man standing at the head of the crowd. He was young, hardly older than myself, and he had a ruddy complexion and bright ginger hair. His suit was very simple, patched in places, and a pale bandage was draped around his eyes, as if they were wounded. Even so, he appeared to see us plainly, and he shook his head at our approach.
The young man took the measure of the crowd as a strong little hand grabbed my elbow.
“Louisa! My God, Louisa, you were telling the truth!”
It was Justine, her hair a snarl, her pretty eyes wide withfright. I turned to her fully, not knowing what to say or how to explain what she had just witnessed. In her, I had hoped to find a friend, some semblance of normalcy, but now, seeing what the truth had done to her, I regretted ever coming to the ball. Her hands shook so badly that I felt moved to cover them with one of my own and press. Father roared inside me, still heated from the battle, and he no doubt wanted more. More, of course, being the consumption of this daughter, despite her lack of Fae power.
I had to remove myself from Justine and soon, before he could harm her through me. She wept, her chin tucked against her chest, and I sighed. The only difference between us was an accident of birth. Had things gone differently, she might be the one cursed with Father’s spirit, and I the privileged, happy-go-lucky lady about town. Mere chance had protected her from Father’s rampage, his path leading him to me before it ever reached Justine. And it cut at me, seeing her so undone. I decided perhaps it was better that I had been the one to shoulder the burden.
“It will take time for you to really understand,” I said to her gently. “And—”
But I could say no more, as the young man at the head of the crowd now addressed me.
“I suppose this is your bloody mess?” He heaved a full-bodied sigh and swept the fringe off his forehead. He had more freckles even than Mary. “Youarefriends of Henry’s, so it figures.”
“We are not his friends. We—” I began, but he pushed me aside, opening his arms wide to the assembled guests, who shivered in the fog under flimsy shawls. Justine continued crying into her gown.
“Dear friends, you are all so weary and confused, allow me to help.” He smiled a genuine smile and inhaled, and then a soft, yellow light emerged from his chest, growing out and out and then bathing the guests and followers as if a beam of sunlight had pierced the night and fallen gently on them all.
Their eyes glazed; their mouths dropped open a little. Even Justine appeared utterly entranced. Then, just as suddenly as the light had come, it disappeared. The young man removed his jacket and draped it over me, hiding the scratches and blood.
