Читать книгу: «The Iron Queen»

Buzz about The Iron Fey novels

“A full five-stars to Julie Kagawa’s The Iron Daughter. If you love action, romance and watching how characters mature through heart-wrenching trials, you will love this story as much as I do.”

—Mundie Moms blog

“Faery books are in high demand right now,

and this is one of the better ones. Expect it to be popular with teens

who liked Melissa Marr’s Wicked Lovely.”

—School Library Journal on The Iron King

“The Iron King has the … enchantment, imagination and adventure of. Alice in Wonderland, Narnia and Lord of the Rings, but with lots more romance.”

—Justine Magazine

“The Iron King surpasses the greater majority of dark fantasies, leaving a lot for readers to look forward to … The romance is well done and adds to the mood of fantasy.”

—teenreads.com

“Fan-fun-tastic! I’m telling you guys, The Iron King is a blast… this book had me riveted.”

—Teens Read and Write blog

“I can’t go home,” I whispered, feeling Ash’s gaze on me. “Not now. I can’t bring this madness home to my family.” I stared at the house for a moment more, then shut my eyes. “The false king won’t stop here. He’ll keep sending things after me, and my family will get caught in the middle. I can’t let that happen. I … I have to leave. Now.”

I opened my eyes and stared at the place where the Iron fey had fallen, at the slivers of metal glinting in the weeds. The thought of such monsters stealing into my room, turning their murderous eyes on Ethan or my mom, made me cold with rage. All right, I thought, clenching my fists in Ash’s shirt, the false king wants a war? I’ll give him one.

About the Author

JULIE KAGAWA

was born in Sacramento, California. But nothing exciting really happened to her there. So, at the age of nine she and her family moved to Hawaii, which she soon discovered was inhabited by large carnivorous insects, colonies of house geckos and frequent hurricanes. She spent much of her time in the ocean, when she wasn’t getting chased out of it by reef sharks, jellyfish and the odd eel.

When not swimming for her life, Julie immersed herself in books, often to the chagrin of her schoolteachers, who would find she hid novels behind her math textbooks during class. Her love of reading led her to pen some very dark and gruesome stories, complete with colored illustrations, to shock her hapless teachers. The gory tales faded with time, but the passion for writing remained, long after she graduated and was supposed to get a real job.

To pay the rent, Julie worked in different bookstores over the years, but discovered the managers frowned upon her reading the books she was supposed to be shelving. So she turned to her other passion: training animals. She worked as a professional dog trainer for several years, dodging Chihuahua bites and overly enthusiastic Labradors, until her first book sold and she stopped training to write full-time.

Julie now lives in Louisville, Kentucky, where the frequency of shark attacks are at an all-time low. She lives with her husband, two obnoxious cats, one Australian shepherd who is too smart for his own good, and the latest addition, a hyperactive Papillon.

Books by Julie Kagawa

The Iron Fey series

The Iron King The Iron Daughter The Iron Queen

Don’t miss the special Iron Fey ebook

Winter’s Passage

And coming soon The Iron Knight

Iron Queen

Julie Kagawa

To Erica and Gail, Ash’s biggest fans. And to Nick, always my inspiration.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It occurred to me, as I sat down to write this page, that I have come to the end of book three. Book three, and a few years back, I didn’t even know if I would publish a single novel. Of course, I couldn’t get here without the help of many awesome, wonderful people. Without them, I never could’ve written The End on the final page of the final chapter. I have so many people to be grateful for.

Thanks to my parents, who put up with a daughter who daydreamed her way through school, hid novels behind her math textbooks during class, wrote stories when she was supposed to be taking notes, and generally drove her poor teachers insane. Though you lamented my complete and utter disinterest in math and social studies, you still encouraged me to dream.

Thanks to the people on the inside: my awesome agent, Laurie McLean, who knows the business far better than I, for which I am very grateful. To my wonderful editor, Natashya Wilson, who is probably the strongest and most dedicated person I know. To the entire HQ staff, for awesome support, beautiful covers, and making this whole experience completely and utterly amazing.

A huge shout-out to the awesome YA book bloggers of the blogosphere, for taking the time to read, post your thoughts online, and spread the word. You are truly a dedicated, passionate group. To the awesome Tenners, whom I’m pleased to be a part of: thanks for being there to share triumphs and frustrations, to talk about things only other authors can sympathize with. It was nice to be able to vent without people edging away from the “crazy writer lady.”

Thanks to all my readers, for Team Ash and Team Puck, for those crazy fights on Twitter that amuse me far more than they should. Thank you for making it fun.

And, as always, my deepest gratitude goes to my husband, Nick, who continues to be my best support and inspiration. Still couldn’t have done it without him.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE
THE LONG ROAD HOME

Eleven years ago, on my sixth birthday, my father disappeared.

One year ago, on the very same day, my brother was taken from me, as well. But that time, I went into Faery to take him back.

It’s strange how a journey can change you, what you can learn from it. I learned that the man I thought was my father wasn’t my father at all. That my biological dad wasn’t even human. That I was the half-breed daughter of a legendary faery king, and his blood flowed in my veins. I learned that I had power, a power that scares me, even now. A power that even the fey dread, something that can destroy them—and I’m not sure I can control it.

I learned that love can transcend race and time, and that it can be beautiful and perfect and worth fighting for but also fragile and heartbreaking, and sometimes sacrifice is necessary. That sometimes it’s you against the world, and there are no easy answers. That you have to know when to hold on … and when to let go. And even if that love comes back, you could discover something in someone else who has been there all along.

I thought it was over. I thought my time with the fey, the impossible choices I had to make, the sacrifices for those I loved, was behind me. But a storm was approaching, one that would test those choices like never before. And this time, there would be no turning back.

MY NAME IS MEGHAN CHASE.

In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be seventeen.

Déjà vu, right? Shocking how quickly time can pass you by, like you’re standing still. I can’t believe it’s been a year since that day. The day I went into Faery. The day that changed my life forever.

Technically, I won’t actually be turning seventeen. I’ve been in the Nevernever too long. When you’re in Faery, you don’t age, or you age so slowly it’s not worth mentioning. So, while a year has passed in the real world, I’m probably only a few days older than when I went in.

In real life, I’ve changed so much I don’t even recognize myself.

Beneath me, the tatter-colt’s hooves clopped against the pavement, a quiet rhythm that matched my own heartbeat. On this lonely stretch of Louisiana highway, surrounded by tupelo trees and moss-covered cypress, few cars passed us, and the ones that did flew by without slowing down, tossing leaves in their wake. They couldn’t see the shaggy black horse with eyes like hot coals, walking along the road without reins or bit or saddle. They couldn’t see the figures on its back, the pale-haired girl and the dark, beautiful prince behind her, his arms around her waist. Mortals were blind to the world of Faery, a world I was a part of now, whether I’d asked for it or not.

“What are you afraid of?” a deep voice murmured in my ear, sending a shiver up my spine. Even in the humid swamps of Louisiana, the Winter prince radiated cold, and his breath was wonderfully cool against my skin.

I peered at him over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

Ash, prince of the Unseelie Court, met my gaze, silver eyes gleaming in the twilight. Officially, he was no longer a prince. Queen Mab had exiled him from the Nevernever after he refused to renounce his love for the half-human daughter of Oberon, the Summer King. My father. Summer and Winter were supposed to be enemies. We were not supposed to cooperate, we were not supposed to go on quests together and, most important, we were not supposed to fall in love.

But we had, and now Ash was here, with me. We were exiles, and the trods—the paths into Faery—were closed to us forever, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t planning to ever go back.

“You’re nervous.” Ash’s hand stroked the back of my head, brushing the hair from my neck, making me shiver. “I can feel it. You have this anxious, flickering aura all around you, and it’s driving me a little nuts, being this close. What’s wrong?”

I should’ve known. There was no hiding what I felt from Ash, or any faery for that matter. Their magic, their glamour, came from human dreams and emotions. So Ash could sense what I was feeling without even trying. “Sorry,” I told him. “I guess I am a little nervous.”

“Why?”

“Why? I’ve been gone almost a year. Mom will hit the roof when she sees me.” My stomach squirmed as I imagined the reunion: the tears, the angry relief, the inevitable questions. “They didn’t hear anything from me while I was in Faery.” I sighed, gazing up the road to where the stretch of pavement melted into the darkness. “What am I going to tell them? How will I even begin to explain?”

The tatter-colt snorted and pinned its ears at a truck that roared by, passing uncomfortably close. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Luke’s battered old Ford, rattling down the road and vanishing around a curve. If it was my stepdad, he definitely wouldn’t have seen us; he’d had a hard time remembering my name even when I’d lived in the same house.

“You tell them the truth,” Ash said, startling me. I wasn’t expecting him to answer. “From the beginning. Either they accept it, or they don’t, but you can’t hide who you are, especially from your family. Best to get it over with—we can deal with whatever happens after.”

His candor surprised me. I was still getting used to this new Ash, this faery who talked and smiled instead of hiding behind an icy wall of indifference. Ever since we were banished from the Nevernever, he’d been more open, less brooding and angst-ridden, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. True, he was still quiet and solemn by anyone’s standards, but for the first time, I felt I was finally getting a glimpse of the Ash I knew was there all along.

“But what if they can’t deal with it?” I muttered, voicing the concern that had been plaguing me all morning. “What if they see what I am and freak out? What if they don’t … want me anymore?”

I trailed off at the end, knowing I sounded like a sullen five-year-old. But Ash’s hold on me tightened, and he pulled me closer against him.

“Then you’ll be an orphan, just like me,” he said. “And we’ll find a way to get by.” His lips brushed against my ear, tying my stomach into about a dozen knots. “Together.”

My breath hitched, and I turned my head to kiss him, reaching back to run my hand through his silky dark hair.

The tatter-colt snorted and bucked midstep, not enough to throw me off, but enough to bounce me a few inches straight up. I snatched wildly for its mane as Ash grabbed my waist, keeping me from falling off. Heart pounding, I shot a glare between the tatter-colt’s ears, resisting the urge to kick it in the ribs and give it another excuse to buck me off. It raised its head and glared back at us, eyes glowing crimson, disgust written plainly on its equine face.

I wrinkled my nose at it. “Oh, excuse me, are we making you uncomfortable?” I asked sarcastically, and it snorted. “Fine. We’ll behave.”

Ash chuckled but didn’t attempt to pull me back. I sighed and gazed at the road over the colt’s bobbing head, looking for familiar landmarks. My heart leaped when I saw a rusty van sitting in the trees off the side of the road, so ancient and corroded a tree had grown through the roof. It had been there for as long as I could remember, and I saw it every day on the bus to and from school. It always told me when I was nearly home.

It seemed so long ago, now—a lifetime ago—that I’d sat on the bus with my friend Robbie, when all I had to worry about was grades and homework and getting my driver’s permit. So much had changed; it would feel strange returning to school and my old, mundane life like nothing had happened. “I’ll probably have to repeat a year,” I sighed, and felt Ash’s puzzled gaze on my neck. Of course, being an immortal faery, he didn’t have to worry about school and licenses and—

I stopped as reality seemed to descend on me all at once. My time in the Nevernever was like a dream, hazy and ethereal, but we were back in the real world now. Where I had to worry about homework and grades and getting into college. I’d wanted to get a summer job and save up for a car. I’d wanted to attend ITT Tech after high school, maybe move to the Baton Rouge or New Orleans campuses when I graduated. Could I still do that? Even after everything that happened? And where would a dark, exiled faery prince fit into all of this?

“What is it?” Ash’s breath tickled the back of my ear, making me shiver.

I took a deep breath. “How is this going to work, Ash?” I half turned to face him. “Where will we be a year from now, two years from now? I can’t stay here forever—sooner or later, I’m going to have to get on with my life. School, work, college someday …” I broke off and looked down at my hands. “I have to move on eventually, but I don’t want to do any of those things without you.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Ash replied. I glanced up at him, and he surprised me with a brief smile. “You have your whole life ahead of you. It makes sense that you should plan for the future. And I figure, Goodfellow pretended to be mortal for sixteen years. There’s no reason I can’t do the same.”

I blinked at him. “Really?”

He touched my cheek softly, his eyes intense as they gazed into mine. “You might have to teach me a little about the human world, but I’m willing to learn if it means being close to you.” He smiled again, a wry quirk of his lips. “I’m sure I can adapt to ‘being human,’ if I must. If you want me to attend classes as a student, I can do that. If you want to move to a large city to pursue your dreams, I will follow. And if, someday, you wish to be married in a white gown and make this official in human eyes, I’m willing to do that, too.” He leaned in, close enough for me to see my reflection in his silver gaze. “For better or worse, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

I felt breathless, not knowing what to say. I wanted to thank him, but those words didn’t mean the same in faery terms. I wanted to lean in the rest of the way and kiss him, but the tatter-colt would probably throw me into the ditch if I tried. “Ash,” I began, but was saved a response as the tatter-colt abruptly came to a full stop at the end of a long gravel driveway that stretched away over a short rise. A familiar green mailbox balanced precariously on its post at the end of the drive, faded with age and time, but I had no trouble reading it, even in the darkness. Chase. 14202

My heart stood still. I was home.

I slid off the tatter-colt’s back and stumbled as I hit the ground, my legs feeling weird and shaky after being on horseback for so long. Ash dismounted with ease, murmuring something to the tatter-colt, which snorted, threw up its head and bounded into the darkness. In seconds, it had disappeared.

I gazed up the long gravel road, my heart pounding in my chest. Home and family waited just beyond that rise: the old green farmhouse with paint peeling off the wood, the pig barns out back through the mud, Luke’s truck and Mom’s station wagon in the driveway.

Ash moved up beside me, making no noise on the rocks. “Are you ready?”

No, I wasn’t. I peered into the darkness where the tattercolt had vanished instead. “What happened to our ride?” I asked, to distract myself from what I had to do. “What did you say to it?”

“I told him the favor has been paid and that we’re even now.” For some reason, this seemed to amuse him; he gazed after the colt with a faint smile on his lips. “It appears I can’t order them around like I used to. I’ll have to rely on calling in favors from now on.”

“Is that bad?”

The smile twitched into a smirk. “A lot of people owe me.” When I still hesitated, he nodded toward the driveway. “Go on. Your family is waiting.”

“What about you?”

“It’s probably better if you go alone this time.” A flicker of regret passed through his eyes, and he gave me a pained smile. “I don’t think your brother would be happy to see me again.”

“But—”

“I’ll be close.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ears. “Promise.”

I sighed and gazed up the driveway once more. “All right,” I muttered, steeling myself for the inevitable. “Here goes nothing.”

I took three steps, feeling the gravel crunch under my feet, and glanced over my shoulder. The empty road mocked me, the breeze stirring up leaves in the spot Ash had been. Typical faery. I shook my head and continued my solitary trek up the driveway.

It wasn’t long before I reached the top of the rise, and there, in all its rustic glory, was the house I’d lived in for ten years. I could see lights on in the window, and my family moving about in the kitchen. There was Mom’s slender frame, bent over the sink, and Luke in his faded overalls, putting a stack of dirty plates on the counter. And if I squinted hard enough, I could just see the top of Ethan’s curly head, poking over the kitchen table.

Tears pricked my eyes. After a year of being away, fighting faeries, discovering who I was, cheating death more times than I cared to remember, I was finally home.

“Isn’t that precious,” a voice hissed.

I spun, looking around wildly.

“Up here, princess.”

I looked straight up, and my vision was filled with a thin, shimmering net an instant before it struck me and sent me tumbling back. Cursing, I thrashed and tore at the threads, trying to rip through the flimsy barrier. Stinging pain made me gasp. Blood streamed down my hands, and I squinted at the threads. The net was actually made of fine, flexible wire, and my struggles had sliced my fingers open.

Harsh laughter caught my attention, and I craned my neck up, searching for my assailants. On the lone set of power lines that stretched to the roof of the house perched three bulbous creatures with spindly legs that glinted under the moonlight. My heart gave a violent lurch when, as one, they unfurled and leaped from the lines, landing in the gravel with faint clicking sounds. Straightening, they scuttled toward me.

I recoiled, tangling myself even further in the wire net. Now that I saw them clearly, they reminded me of giant spiders, only somehow even more horrible. Their spindly legs were huge needles, shiny and pointed as they skittered over the ground. But their upper bodies were of gaunt, emaciated women with pale skin and bulging black eyes. Their arms were made of wire, and long, needlelike fingers uncurled like claws as they approached, their legs clicking over the gravel.

“Here she is,” hissed one as they surrounded me, grinning. “Just as the king said she would be.”

“Too easy,” rasped another, peering at me with a bulbous black eye. “I’m rather disappointed. I thought she would be a good catch, but she’s just a skinny little bug, trapped in a web. What is the king so afraid of?”

“The king,” I said, and all three blinked at me, surprised I was talking to them instead of cringing in fear, perhaps. “You mean the false king, don’t you? He’s still after me.”

The spider-hags hissed, baring pointed teeth. “Do not blaspheme him so, child!” one screeched, grabbing the net and pulling me forward. “He is not the false king! He is the Iron King, the true monarch of the Iron fey!”

“Not from what I heard,” I retorted, meeting the blazing black eyes full on. “I’ve met the Iron King, the real Iron King, Machina. Or have you forgotten him?”

“Of course we haven’t!” hissed the hag’s sister. “We will never forget Machina. He wanted to make you his queen, queen of all the Iron fey, and you killed him for his trouble.”

“He kidnapped my brother and was planning to destroy the Nevernever!” I snapped in return. “But you’re missing the point. The king you serve, the one who took over the throne, is an imposter. He isn’t the real heir. You’re supporting a false king.”

“Lies!” the hags screeched, crowding in, grabbing me with pointed needle claws, drawing blood. “Who told you this? Who dares blaspheme the name of the new king?”

“Ironhorse,” I said, wincing as one snatched my hair, shaking my head back and forth. “Ironhorse told me, Machina’s lieutenant himself.”

“The traitor fey! He and the rebels will be destroyed, right after the king takes care of you!”

The spider-hags were shrieking now, shouting curses and threats, tearing at me through the wire net. One of them tightened her grip in my hair and lifted me off my feet. I gasped, tears of pain flooding my eyes as the faery hissed in my face.

A flash of cold blue light erupted between us. The Iron faery gave a shriek and… disintegrated, becoming thousands of tiny slivers that rained down around me. They glimmered in the darkness, needles and pins catching the moonlight as the spider-hag departed the world in the manner of her kind. The other two wailed and drew back as something tore the net off me and stepped between us.

“Are you all right?” Ash growled as I staggered to my feet, his gaze never leaving the hags in front of him. My scalp burned, my fingers still bled, and a dozen tiny scratches covered my arms from the hag’s claws, but I wasn’t badly hurt.

“I’m fine,” I told him, a slow anger building in my chest. I felt my glamour rise like a tornado, swirling with emotion and energy. When I’d first met Mab, the Winter Queen had sealed my magic away, afraid of my power, but the seal had been broken and I could feel the pulse of glamour once more. It was everywhere around me, savage and wild, the magic of Oberon and the Summer fey.

“You killed our sister!” the hags screeched, tearing at their own hair. “We’ll slice you to pieces!” Hissing, they scuttled toward us with raised claws. I felt a ripple of glamour from Ash, colder than the fiery magic of Summer, and the Winter prince swept his arm forward.

A burst of blue light, and one of the hags skittered into a hail of ice-daggers, the pointed shards ripping through her like shrapnel. She wailed and fell apart, scattering into thousands of glittering pieces in the grass. Ash brandished his sword and charged the last one.

The remaining spider-hag screamed her fury and raised her arms. Ten shimmering lengths of wire seemed to grow from her needle-tip fingers. She sliced them toward Ash, who ducked, and the wires cut a nearby sapling into pieces. As he danced around her, I knelt and buried my hands in the dirt, calling up my glamour. I felt the pulse of living things deep in the earth and sent a request into the ground, asking for aid in defeating the iron monster on the surface.

The spider-hag was so busy trying to slice Ash to ribbons, she was taken completely by surprise when the ground erupted at her feet. Grass and weeds, vines and roots wrapped around her spindly legs and crawled up her torso. She shrieked and flailed with her deadly wires, slicing vegetation like an angry weed-whacker, but I poured more glamour into the ground, and the plants responded like they were growing in fast-forward. Panicked, the spider-hag tried to flee, ripping through vegetation as it twined around her legs, dragging her down.

A dark form blurred the air above her as Ash dropped from the sky, his blade pointed straight down. It struck the faery’s bulbous torso, pinning her to the earth for a split second, before she shivered into an enormous needle pile and scattered over the ground.

I sighed with relief and stood, but suddenly the ground tilted. The trees began to spin, all feeling left my legs and arms, and the next thing I knew the ground rushed up at me.

I woke lying on my back, feeling breathless and faint as if I’d just run a marathon. Ash was peering down at me, silver eyes bright with concern.

“Meghan, are you all right? What happened?” The dizziness was fading. I took several deep breaths to make sure my gut stayed where it was supposed to, and sat up to face him.

“I … don’t know. I used my glamour, and just … passed out.” Dammit, the ground was still spinning. I leaned into Ash, who held me cautiously, as if afraid I would break. “Is that normal?” I muttered against his chest.

“Not that I know of.” He sounded troubled, worried but trying not to show it. “Perhaps it’s a side effect from having your magic sealed for so long.”

Well, that was another thing I’d have to thank Mab for. Ash stood, carefully drawing me up with him. My arms stung, and my fingers were sticky from where I’d sliced myself on the wire net. Ash tore strips from his shirt and wrapped them around my hands, silent and efficient, though his touch was gentle.

“They were waiting for me,” I murmured, gazing at the thousands of needles scattered through the yard, glittering in the moonlight. More problems the fey had brought to my family. Mom and Luke would probably have a fit, and I desperately hoped Ethan wouldn’t accidentally step on one before they had a chance to disappear. “They know where I live,” I continued, watching the slivers wink at me in the grass. “The false king knew I’d be coming home, and he sent them …” My gaze rose to my house, and my family moving about through the windows, unaware of the chaos outside.

I felt cold. And sick. “I can’t go home,” I whispered, feeling Ash’s gaze on me. “Not now. I can’t bring this madness home to my family.” I stared at the house for a moment more, then shut my eyes. “The false king won’t stop here. He’ll keep sending things after me, and my family will get caught in the middle. I can’t let that happen. I … I have to leave. Now.”

“Where will you go?” Ash’s steady voice broke through my despair. “We can’t go back to Faery, and the Iron fey are everywhere in the mortal world.”

“I don’t know.” I covered my face with my hands. All I knew was that I couldn’t be with my family, I couldn’t go home, and I couldn’t have a normal life. Not until the false king gave up looking for me, or miraculously keeled over and died.

Or I keeled over and died. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” I groaned through my fingers. “No matter where I go, they’re going to follow me.”

Strong fingers wrapped around my wrists and gently tugged my hands down. I shivered and looked up into glittering silver eyes. “I will keep fighting for you,” Ash said in a low, intense voice. “Do what you must. I’ll be here, whatever you decide. If it takes one year or a thousand, I will keep you safe.”

My heart pounded. Ash released my wrists and slid his hands up my arms, pulling me close. I sank into his embrace and buried my face in his chest, using him as a shield against disappointment and grief, against the knowledge that my wandering wasn’t over yet. The choice loomed clear before me. If I ever wanted this endless running and fighting to stop, I would have to deal with the Iron King. Again.

I opened my eyes and stared at the place where the Iron fey had fallen, at the slivers of metal glinting in the weeds. The thought of such monsters stealing into my room, turning their murderous eyes on Ethan or my mom, made me cold with rage. All right, I thought, clenching my fists in Ash’s shirt, the false king wants a war? I’ll give him one.

I wasn’t ready. Not yet. I had to get stronger. I had to learn to control my magic, both Summer and Iron glamour, if it was actually possible to learn both. And for that, I needed time. I needed a place where the Iron fey couldn’t follow. And there was only one place I knew that was safe, where the false king’s servants would never find me.

Ash must’ve sensed the change. “Where are we going?” he murmured into my hair.

I took a deep breath and pulled back to face him. “Leanansidhe’s.”

Surprise and a flicker of alarm crossed his face. “The Exile Queen? Are you sure she’ll help us?”

No, I wasn’t. The Exile Queen, as she was called among other things, was capricious and unpredictable and, frankly, quite terrifying. But she had helped me before, and her home in the Between—the veil separating the mortal world from Faery—was the only potentially safe haven we had.

Besides, I had a score to settle with Leanansidhe, and more than a few questions I needed answered.

Ash was still watching me, his silver gaze concerned. “I don’t know,” I told him truthfully. “But she’s the only one I can think of who can help, and she hates the Iron fey with a fiery passion. Besides, she is Queen of the Exiles. That means we qualify, right?”

“You tell me.” Ash crossed his arms and leaned against a tree. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her. Though I have heard the stories. Terrifying as they are.” A tiny furrow creased his brow, and he sighed. “This is going to be very dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

A rueful smile quirked his lips. “Where to first?”

A cold resolve tightened my stomach. I looked back at my home, at my family, so very close, and swallowed the lump in my throat. Not yet, I promised them, but soon. Soon, I’ll be able to see you again. “New Orleans,” I replied, turning to Ash, who waited patiently, his eyes never leaving my face. “The Historic Voodoo Museum. There’s something there I have to take back.”

CHAPTER TWO
OF TOKENS AND CHURCH GRIMS

Any tour guide worth his badge in New Orleans will tell you not to go gallivanting around the city streets alone in the middle of the night. In the heart of the French Quarter, where street lamps and tourism had a firm hold, it was fairly safe, but just outside the district, the dark alleyways hid thugs and gangs and predators of the night.

I wasn’t worried about the human predators. They couldn’t see us, except for one white-haired homeless man who cringed against a wall and chanted “Not here, not here,” as we went by. But the darkness hid other things as well, like the goat-headed phouka who watched us from an alley across the street, grinning madly, and the redcap gang who trailed us through several neighborhoods until they got bored and went looking for easier prey. New Orleans was a faery city; mystery, imagination and old traditions blended perfectly here and drew scores of exiled fey to this spot.

Ash walked next to me, a silent, watchful shadow, one hand resting casually on his sword hilt. Everything, from his eyes, to the chill in the air as he passed, to the calm lethality on his face, was a warning: this wasn’t someone you wanted to mess around with. Even though he had been exiled and was no longer a prince of the Unseelie Court, he was an imposing warrior, still the son of Queen Mab, and few dared challenge him.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as we ventured deeper into the back alleys of the French Quarter, moving steadily toward our goal. But at the mouth of a narrow alley, the redcap gang I thought had given up appeared, blocking the exit. They were short and stout, evil dwarves with bloody red hats, their eyes and jagged fangs shining in the darkness.

Ash stopped and in one smooth motion eased me behind him and drew his sword, bathing the alley in flickering blue light. I clenched my fists, drawing glamour from the air, tasting fear and apprehension and a hint of violence. As I drew the glamour to me, I felt the nausea and dizziness and fought to remain steady on my feet.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Ash gave a dark, humorless chuckle and stepped forward. “We can stand around looking at each other all night,” he said, locking gazes with the biggest redcap, who had a stained red bandana on his head and was missing an eye. “Or would you like me to start the massacre?”

One-Eye bared his fangs. “Keep your pants on, prince,” he spat, his guttural voice like a dog’s snarl. “We got no quarrel with you.” He sniffed and brushed his crooked nose. “Just heard the rumor you was in town, see, and we’d like to have a few words with the lady before you go, that’s all.”

I was instantly suspicious. I had no love for redcaps; the ones I’d run into were trying to kidnap, torture, or eat me. They were the mercenaries and thugs of the Unseelie Court, and the exiled ones were even worse. I wanted nothing to do with them.

Ash kept his sword out, his eyes never leaving the redcaps, but his free hand reached back and gripped mine. “Fine. Say what you came to say and get out of here.”

One-Eye sneered at him, then turned to me. “Just wanted to let you know, princess—” he emphasized the word with a toothy leer “—that there’s a bunch of Iron faeries sniffing around the city looking for you. One of them is offering a reward for any information concerning your whereabouts. So I’d be really careful if I were you.” One-Eye pulled off his bandana and gave me a ridiculous, mocking bow. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

I tried to hide my shock. Not that the Iron fey were looking for me, that was a given, but that a redcap would take it upon himself to warn me about it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“And how can I be certain you won’t run to them with our location?” Ash chimed in, his voice flat and cold.

The redcap leader gave Ash a half disgusted, half fearful look. “You think I want these Iron bastards on my turf? You really think I’d want to bargain with them? I want every one of them dead, or at least out of my territory. I sure as hell ain’t going to give them exactly what they want. If there’s any way I can throw a wrench in their plans, I’ll take it, even if that means warning you to spite them. And if you manage to kill them all for me, hey—that’ll make my evening.”

He stared at me with a hopeful expression. I squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not going to promise anything,” I warned, “so you can stop threatening me.”

“Who said I was threatening you?” One-Eye held up his hands with a quick glance at Ash. “I’m just giving you a friendly warning. I thought, hey, she’s killed the Iron bastards before. She might want to do it again.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, please. It’s all over the streets. We know about you—you and your Unseelie boyfriend here.” He curled a lip at Ash, who stared back stoically. “We heard about the scepter, and how you killed the Iron bitch who stole it. We know you returned it to Mab to stop the war between Summer and Winter, and that they exiled you for your trouble.” One-Eye shook his head and gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. “Word travels fast on the streets, princess, especially when the Iron fey are running around like chickens with their heads ripped off, offering rewards for ‘the daughter of the Summer King.’ So, I’d watch my back, if I were you.”

He snorted, then turned and spat on one of his flunky’s shoes. The other redcap snarled and cursed, but One-Eye didn’t seem to notice. “Anyway, there it is. Last time I checked, the bastards were nosing around Bourbon Street. If you do manage to kill them, princess, tell them One-Eyed Jack says hello. Let’s go, boys.”

“Aw, boss.” The redcap who was spit on smiled at me and licked his fangs. “Can’t we chew on the princess, just a little?”

One-Eyed Jack slapped the offending faery upside the head without looking at him. “Idiot,” he snapped. “I have no desire to pick your frozen guts off the pavement. Now move, you stupid lot. Before I lose my temper.”

The redcap leader grinned at me, gave Ash one last sneer, and backed away. Snapping and arguing with each other, the redcap gang ambled into the darkness and vanished from sight.

I looked at Ash. “You know, there was a time I wished I could be so popular.”

He sheathed his sword. “Should we stop for the night?”

“No.” I rubbed my arms, dropping the glamour and the queasiness that came with it, and peered into the street. “I can’t run and hide just because the Iron fey are looking for me. I’d never get anywhere. Let’s keep moving.”

Ash nodded. “We’re almost there.”

We reached our destination without further incident. The New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum looked exactly how I remembered it, faded black doors sunk into the wall. The wooden sign creaked on its chains overhead.

“Ash,” I murmured as we walked quietly to the doors. “I’ve been thinking.” The encounter with the spider-hags and the redcaps had strengthened my convictions, and I was ready to voice my plans. “I want you to do something for me, if you would.”

“Whatever you need.” We reached the doors, and Ash peered in the window. The interior of the museum was dark. He scanned the area around us before turning to place a hand on one of the doors. “I’m still listening, Meghan,” he murmured. “What do you want me to do?”

I took a breath. “Teach me how to fight.”

He turned back, his eyebrows raised. I took advantage of the moment of silence and plunged on before he could protest. “I mean it, Ash. I’m tired of standing on the sidelines doing nothing, watching you fight for me. I want to learn to defend myself. Will you teach me?” He frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, I added, “And don’t give me any crap about defending my honor, or how a girl can’t use a weapon, or how it’s too dangerous for me to fight. How am I going to beat the false king if I can’t even swing a sword?”

“I was going to say,” Ash continued in what was almost a solemn voice, if it wasn’t for the faint smirk on his lips, “that I thought it was a good idea. In fact, I was going to suggest picking up a weapon for you after we’re done here.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. Ash sighed.

“We have a lot of enemies,” he continued. “And as much as I hate it, there might be times when I won’t be there to help you. Learning to fight and use glamour will be crucial now. I was trying to think of a way to suggest teaching you without having it blow up in my face.” He smiled then, a tiny twitch of his lips, and shook his head. “I suppose I was doomed either way.”

“Oh,” I said again, in an even smaller voice. “Well … good. As long as we understand each other.” I was glad the darkness hid my burning face, though knowing Ash, he could probably see it anyway.

Still smiling, Ash turned back to the door, placing a hand on the faded wood and speaking a quiet word under his breath. The door clicked and slowly swung open.

The interior of the museum was musty and warm. As we eased through the door, I tripped over the same bump in the carpet that had been there a year ago and stumbled into Ash. He steadied me with a sigh, just like a year ago. Only this time, he reached down and touched my hand, moving close to whisper in my ear.

“First lesson,” he said, and even in the darkness I heard the amusement in his voice. “Always be aware of where you put your feet.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “I’ll remember that.”

He turned away and tossed a ball of faery fire into existence. The glowing, blue-white sphere hovered overhead, illuminating the room and the macabre collection of voodoo items surrounding us. The skeleton in the top hat and the mannequin with the alligator head still grinned at us along the wall. But now, an ancient, mummylike figure had been added to the duo, a shriveled old woman with hollow pits for eyes and arms like brittle sticks.

Then the withered face turned and smiled at me, and I bit down a yelp.

“Hello, Meghan Chase,” the oracle whispered, gliding away from the wall and her two ghastly bodyguards. “I knew you would return.”

Ash didn’t go for his sword, but I sensed muscles coiling beneath his skin. I took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart and stepped forward. “Then you know why I’m here.”

The oracle’s eyeless gaze peered at my face. “You seek to take back what you gave away a year ago. That which did not seem so important then has become very dear to you now.

Such is always the case. You mortals do not know what you have until it is gone.”

“The memory of my father.” I moved away from Ash, closing the distance between me and the oracle. Her hollow gaze followed me, and the smell of dusty newspapers clogged my nose and mouth as I approached. “I want it back. I need it if … if I’m going to see him again at Leanansidhe’s. I have to know what he means to me. Please.”

The knowledge of that mistake was still painful. When I was first searching for my brother, we’d come to the oracle for help. She’d agreed to help us, but asked for a memory in return; it had sounded insignificant at the time. I had agreed to her price, and afterward had had no clue which memory she took.

Then, we’d met Leanansidhe, who kept several humans in her home in the Between. All her humans were artists of some sort, brilliant, talented, and slightly mad from living in the Between so long. One of them, a gifted pianist, had taken quite an interest in me, though I hadn’t known who he was. I found out only after we had left the manor and it was too late to go back.

My father. My human father, or at least the man who’d raised me until I was six, and he disappeared. That was the memory the oracle had taken: all recollections of my human dad. And now, I needed them back. If I was going to Leanansidhe’s, I wanted the memory of my father intact when I demanded to know why she had him in the first place.

“Your father is Oberon, the Summer King,” the oracle whispered, her thin mouth pulled into a smile. “This man you seek, this human, is no blood relation to you. He is a mere mortal. A stranger. Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” I said miserably. “I don’t know if I should care, and I want to be sure. Who was he? Why did he leave us? Why is he with Leanansidhe now?” I broke off and stared at the oracle, feeling Ash come up behind me as silent support. “I have to know,” I whispered. “I need that memory back.”

The oracle tapped glittering nails together, considering. “The bargain was fair,” she rasped. “One exchange for another, we both agreed to this. I cannot simply give you what you seek.” She sniffed, looking momentarily indignant. “I will have something in return.”

I figured. Can’t expect a faery to do you a favor without naming a price. Squashing down my annoyance, I stole a glance at Ash, and saw him nod. He’d expected it, too. I sighed and turned back to the oracle. “What do you want?”

She tapped a nail against her chin, dislodging a few flakes of dead skin or dust. I wrinkled my nose and eased back a step. “Hmm, let us see. What would the girl be willing to part with. Perhaps … your future chi—”

“No,” Ash and I said in unison. She snorted.

“Can’t blame me for trying. Very well.” She leaned forward, studying me with the empty holes in her face. I felt a presence brush lightly against my mind and recoiled, shutting her out.

The oracle hissed, filling the air with the smell of decay. “How … interesting,” she mused. I waited, but she didn’t elaborate, and after a moment she drew back with a strange smile on her withered face. “Very well, Meghan Chase, this is my request. You are loathe to give up anything you hold dear, and it would be a waste of breath to ask for those things. So, instead I will ask that you fetch me something someone else held dear.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

“I wish for you to bring me a Token. Surely that is not too much to ask.”

“Um.” I cast a helpless glance at Ash. “What’s a token?”

The oracle sighed. “Still so naive.” She gave Ash an almost motherly frown. “I trust you will teach her better than this in the future, young prince. Now, listen to me, Meghan Chase, and I will share a bit of faery lore. Most items,” she continued, plucking a skull from a table with her bony talons, “are just that. Mundane, ordinary, commonplace. Nothing special. However …” She replaced the skull with a thunk and carefully picked up a small leather bag, tied with a leather thong. I heard the rattle of pebbles or bones within as she held it up. “Certain items have been so loved and cherished by mortals that they become something else entirely—a symbol of that emotion, whether it be love, hate, pride, or fear. A favored doll, or an artist’s masterpiece. And sometimes, though rarely, the item becomes so important that it grows a life of its own. It’s as if a bit of the human’s soul was left behind, clinging to the once-ordinary article. We fey call these items Tokens, and they are highly sought after, for they radiate a special glamour that never fades away.” The oracle stepped back, seeming to fade into the paraphernalia lining the walls. “Find me a Token, Meghan Chase,” she whispered, “and I will give you back your memory.” And then she was gone.

I rubbed my arms and turned to Ash, who bore a thoughtful expression. He stared after the vanished oracle. “Great,” I muttered. “So, we need to find a Token thing. I suppose they’re not just lying around for the taking, huh? Any ideas?”

He roused himself and glanced down at me. “I might know where we can find one,” he mused, suddenly solemn again. “But it’s not a place humans like to visit, especially at night.”

I laughed. “What, you don’t think I can handle it?” He raised an eyebrow, and I frowned. “Ash, I’ve been through Arcadia, Tir Na Nog, the Briars, the Between, the Iron Realm, Machina’s tower, and the killing fields of the Nevernever. I don’t think there’s a place capable of freaking me out anymore.”

A trace of humor touched his eyes, a silent challenge. “All right, then,” he said, leading me out. “Follow me.”

THE CITY OF THE DEAD stretched away before me, stark and black under the swollen yellow moon, steaming in the humid air. Rows upon rows of crypts, tombs, and mausoleums lined the narrow streets, some lovingly decorated with flowers, candles, and plaques, others crumbling with age and neglect. Some of them looked like miniature houses, or even tiny cathedrals, spires and stone crosses raking the sky. Statues of angels and weeping women peered down from rooftops, looking stern or in the throes of grief. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow me down the tomb-lined alleyways.

I really have to learn to keep my mouth shut, I thought, trailing Ash through the narrow streets, my skin crawling with every noise and suspicious-looking shadow. A warm breeze whispered between crypts, kicking up dust and causing dead leaves to skitter along the ground. My overactive imagination kicked into high gear, seeing zombies shuffling between the rows, the tomb doors creaking open as skeletal hands reached out for us. I shuddered and pressed closer to Ash who, damn him, seemed quite unfazed about walking through a New Orleans cemetery in the dead of night. I sensed his secret amusement at my expense, and so help me, if he said anything along the lines of I told you so I was going to smack him.

There are no ghosts here, I told myself, my gaze flickering between the rows of crypts. No ghosts, no zombies, no men with hook-hands waiting to ambush stupid teenagers who come to the cemetery at night. Stop being paranoi—

I caught a shimmer of movement between the crypts, a flutter of something white and ghostly, a woman in a bloodstained hood and cowl, floating over the ground. My heart nearly stopped, and with a squeak, I grabbed Ash’s sleeve, tugging him to a halt. He turned, and I threw myself into his arms, burying my face in his chest. Pride be damned; I’d kill him later for bringing me here.

“Meghan?” His grip tightened in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“A ghost,” I whispered, frantically pointing in the direction of the specter. “I saw a ghost. Over there.”

He turned to look in that direction, and I felt him relax. “Bean sidhe,” he murmured, sounding like he was trying to stifle his amusement. “It’s not unusual to see them here. They often hang around graveyards after the dead have been buried.”

I peeked up, watching the bean sidhe float away into the darkness. Not a ghost, then. With an indignant huff I pulled back, but not enough to let go. “Aren’t bean sidhes supposed to be off wailing somewhere?” I muttered, scowling at the ghostly look-alike. “Why is she hanging around here?”

“Plenty of glamour to be found in old cemeteries. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Now that he mentioned it, I could. Grief, fear, and despair hung like a thin gray mist over everything, clinging to the stones and crawling along the ground. I took a breath, and the glamour flooded my nose and mouth. I tasted salt and tears and raw, festering grief, mixed with a black fear of death and the dread of the unknown.

“Awful,” I managed, gagging.

Ash nodded. “I don’t much care for it, but several of our kind prefer grief and fear over anything else. So graveyards tend to attract them, especially at night.”

“Like the bean sidhe?”

“Bean sidhe are portents of death and sometimes hang around the site of their last mark.” Ash still hadn’t released his grip. He seemed content to hold me, and I was content to stay there. “But there are others, like bogies and galley beggars, whose sole purpose in life is to frighten mortals. We could see a few of them here, but they won’t bother you if you’re not afraid.”

“Too late,” I muttered, and felt his silent chuckle. Turning, I glowered at him and he stared back innocently. “Just so you know,” I growled, poking his chest, “I am going to kill you later for bringing me here.”

“I look forward to it.”

“You wait. You’ll be sorry when something grabs me and I scream loud enough to wake the dead.”

Ash smiled and let me go. “They’ll have to get past me first,” he promised, a steely glint in his eye. “Besides, most things that would grab you are just nursery bogies—irritating but harmless. They only want to scare you.” He sobered, and his eyes narrowed, peering around the cemetery. “The real threat will be the Grim, assuming this cemetery has one.”

“What’s a Grim?” I immediately thought of Grimalkin, the smart-mouthed talking cat who always seemed to pop up when least expected, demanding favors in return for his help. I wondered where the cat was now, if he had returned to the wyldwood after our last adventure. Of course, being in a cemetery, a Grim might also be a grinning skeleton in a black cowl, gliding down the aisles with a scythe in hand. I shivered and cursed my overactive imagination. So help me, it didn’t matter if Ash was here or not, if I saw that coming, people on the other side of the city would hear me scream.

An eerie howl cut through the night, making me jump. Ash froze, lean muscles tightening beneath the fabric of his shirt. A lethal calmness entered his face: his killer’s mask. The cemetery went deathly still, as if even the ghosts and nursery bogies were afraid to move.

“Let me guess. That was a Grim.”

Ash’s voice was soft as he turned away. “Let’s go.”

We continued down several more aisles, stone mausoleums flanking us. I peered anxiously between the tombs, wary of bogies and galley beggars and anything else that might jump out at me. I searched for the mysterious Grim, my creeped-out brain imagining werewolves and zombie dogs and scythe-toting skeletons following us down the streets.

Finally, we came to a small stone mausoleum with an ancient cross perched on the roof and a simple wooden door, nothing fancy or extravagant. The tiny plaque on the wall was so faded it was impossible to read. I would’ve walked right past it, if Ash hadn’t stopped.

“Whose tomb is this?” I asked, hanging back from the door as if it would creak open to reveal its grisly contents. Ash walked up the crumbling granite steps and put a hand against the wood.

“An older couple, no one important,” he replied, running his fingers down the faded surface as if he could sense what was on the other side. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced back at me. “Meghan, get up here, now.”

I cringed. “We’re going inside?”

“Once I open the door, the Grim will know we’re here. Its duty is to guard the cemetery, and the remains of those in it, so it’s not going to be happy about us disturbing the dead. You don’t want to be out here alone when it comes, trust me.”

Heart pounding, I scurried up the steps and pressed close to his back, peering out over the graveyard. “What is this thing, anyway?” I asked. “Can’t you just slice your way past it, or turn us invisible for that matter?”

“It’s not that easy,” Ash explained patiently. “Church Grims are immune to magic and glamour—they see right through it. And even if you kill one, it doesn’t die. To destroy a Grim, you have to dig up and burn its real body, and we don’t have the time.” He turned back to the door, murmured a quiet word, and pushed it open.

A blast of hot air wafted out of the open crypt, along with the musty scent of dust and mold and decay. I gagged and pressed my face into Ash’s shoulder as we eased inside, shutting the door behind us. The tiny room was like an oven; I was almost instantly covered in sweat, and I pressed my sleeve to my mouth. Gasping into the fabric, I tried not to be sick at the scene in the middle of the floor.

On a raised stone table lay two skeletons, side by side. The room was so small that there was barely enough room to skirt the edges of the table, so the bodies were quite close. Too close, in my opinion. The bones were yellowed with age, and nothing clung to them—no skin, hair, or flesh—so they must’ve been here awhile.

I noticed that the skeletons were holding hands, long bony fingers wrapped around each other in a gruesome parody of affection. On one knobby, naked digit, a tarnished ring glinted in the shadows.

Curiosity battled revulsion, and I looked at Ash, who was staring at the couple with a grave expression on his face. “Who are they?” I whispered through my sleeve. Ash hesitated, then took a quiet breath.

“There is a story,” he began in a solemn tone, “about a talented saxophone player who went to Mardi Gras one night and caught the eye of a faery queen. And the queen bid him come to her, because he was young and handsome and charming, and his music could set one’s soul on fire. But the sax player refused, because he already had a wife, and his love for her was greater than even the beauty of the faery queen. And so, angry that he spurned her, the queen took him anyway, and held him in the Nevernever for many long days, forcing him to entertain her. But no matter what the young man saw in Faery, and no matter how much the queen tried to make him her own, even when he forgot his own name, he could not forget his wife back in the mortal world.”

Watching Ash’s face, the shadows in his eyes as he spoke, I got the feeling this wasn’t a story he’d heard somewhere. This was a tale he’d watched unfold before him. He knew of the Token and where to find it because he remembered the sax player from the queen’s court; another mortal caught up in the cruelty of the fey.

“Time passed,” Ash went on, “and the queen finally released him, because it amused her to do so. And when the young human, his head filled with memories both real and imagined, returned to his beloved wife, he found her aged sixty years, while he had not changed a day since he vanished from the mortal world. She still wore his ring, and had not taken another husband or suitor, for she always believed he would return.”

Ash paused, and I used my free hand to wipe my eyes. The skeletons didn’t seem so creepy now, lying motionless on the table. At least I could look at them without my stomach churning. “What happened after that?” I whispered, glancing at Ash hopefully, pleading for this faery tale to have a happy ending. Or at least a nonhorrible one. I should’ve known better by now. Ash shook his head and sighed.

“Neighbors found them days later lying in bed, a young man and a shrunken old woman, their fingers intertwined in an unbreakable grip and their faces turned toward one another. The blood from their wrists had already dried on the sheets.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at the skeletons again, fingers interlocked in death as they had been in life. And I wished that, for once, faery tales—real faery tales, not Disney fairy tales—would have a happy ending.

I wonder what my ending will be? The thought came out of nowhere, making me frown. I looked at Ash over the table; his silver gaze met mine, and I felt my heart swell in my chest. I was in a faery tale, wasn’t I? I was playing my part in the story, the human girl who had fallen in love with a faery prince. Stories like that rarely ended well. Even if I did finish this thing with the false king, even if I did go back to my family and live out a normal life, where would Ash fit in? I was human; he was an immortal, soulless faery. What kind of future did we have together? I would eventually grow old and die; Ash would live on forever, or at least until the mortal world became too much for him and he simply ceased to exist.

I closed my eyes, my heart aching with the bitter truth. He didn’t belong here, in the mortal world. He belonged back in Faery, with the other creatures of myth and nightmares and imagination. Ash was a beautiful, impossible dream: a faery tale. And I, despite my father’s blood, was still human.

“Meghan?” His voice was soft, questioning. “What is it?”

Suddenly angry, I cut off my bleak thoughts. No. I would not accept that. This was my story, our story. I would find a way for us both to live, to be happy. I owed Ash that much.

Something landed on the roof overhead with a hollow thud, and a shower of dust filtered over me. Coughing, I waved my hand in front of my face, squinting in the sudden rain of filth.

“What was that?”

Ash glanced at the roof, eyes narrowing. “Our signal to leave. Here.” He tossed something at me over the table. It glimmered briefly as I caught it—the tarnished gold ring from the skeleton’s finger. “There’s your Token,” Ash muttered, and I saw his hand dart into his coat pocket, almost too quick to be seen, before he stepped away from the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

He pulled the door open, motioning me out. As I ducked through the frame, something dripped onto my shoulder from above, something warm and wet and slimy. I put my hand to my neck, and it came away covered in frothy drool.

Heart in my throat, I looked back and up.

A monstrous shape crouched atop the mausoleum, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, something lean and muscular and decidedly unnatural. Trembling, I gazed up into the burning crimson eyes of an enormous black dog, big as a cow, lips pulled back to reveal fangs as long as dinner knives.