Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(80)

“The hobgoblin just entered Magic Square,” she said. “He changed his glamour again, and I think I’ve lost him.”

Crap. I exchanged glances with Falin. He looked grim as he said, “I want agents scouring that park. I’ll be there soon.”

He parked the car in a loading zone and jumped out. Magic Square, the park in the very heart of the Magic Quarter, wasn’t accessible by car. We’d have to walk. Or really, run.

I scrambled out of the car, and nearly tripped over my own legs in my haste. Falin frowned, his eyes cutting a quick assessment over me.

“Wait here,” he said.

“Hell, no. Out of the two of us, which can see through glamour?”

I had him there, we both knew it, so he didn’t argue. We took off at a run, but he had to slow several times for me to catch up as I wheezed and sucked down air. I almost told him to go on, that I’d catch up, but I hadn’t been lying—my ability to see through glamour would be an asset. He had agents swarming the park. We’d be there soon. I just hope it’s soon enough.

When we reached the gates, I cracked my shields. Wind whipped up around me, blowing across from the land of the dead, and people stopped, stared. Of course, it probably didn’t help that Falin and I were both still covered in rancid pond gunk.

I ignored the stares as I scanned the area. We raced through the park, passing several FIB agents. Each gave a quick report to Falin before he sent them back to their own searches.

My feet were all but dragging, my tired legs feeling as if they’d been pumped full of lead, and I was ready to admit defeat when I heard the first scream. It was a high-pitched screech, followed by wailing cries like a child would make. A second child added her voice to the first. Then a third.

I ground to a stop and turned toward the sound. I wasn’t the only one who could see through glamour. For bogeymen, at least, young children could always see the fae’s true form, as the toddlers at Tamara’s wedding had proven.

There was a playground on the far side of the park, and I dashed toward it. Falin was right beside me. He made a gesture over his head, motioning for all the FIB who saw it to descend on the play area as well.

Several children had run to their baffled mothers or were hiding behind playground equipment, and it didn’t take me long to spot why. Near the back exit of the park was Tommy Rawhead, glamoured to look like any other jogger out enjoying a run in the brisk autumn air. I pointed to him.

“Gray tracksuit with bloodred piping,” I gasped out.

Falin didn’t waste time asking questions. He sprang to action, sprinting across the green space, several of his agents on his heels. I tried to keep up.

I couldn’t.

I doubled over, gulping down lungfuls of air. Between fading and my near drowning, my chest ached, my breaths making a high-pitched sound with every wheezing inhalation.

By the time I straightened, still out of breath, Rawhead was already in cuffs, Falin dragging him across the park. I didn’t bother trying to run to catch up, but set a pace I thought I could manage.

Falin was waiting at the car when I reached it. The other agents were nowhere to be seen, but Rawhead was both cuffed and charmed immobile in the cramped backseat beside the amaranthine tree.

Well, it looked like I was going to Faerie after all.

? ? ?

“How dare you,” the queen yelled, stepping down from a throne so melted it barely resembled the majestic seat of power it had been the last time I’d visited the throne room.

I was seriously hoping the queen was talking to the bound hobgoblin Falin had just shoved down into a supplicating position. But she wasn’t looking at the bogeyman, her crazed gaze fixed on me, pinning me to the spot like a needle through a bug.

“Your majesty?” My voice came out thin, frightened. I cleared my throat before speaking again. “We’ve brought you the hobgoblin Tommy Rawhead. We believe he’s been distributing Glitter to the humans, and he is likely sworn to the alchemist.”

She didn’t even glance at the bogeyman. She raised a hand that trembled with rage and pointed at me. “You did this. You are doing this to my court.”

I gulped. There was certainly something wrong with the winter court: the ice-crusted walls glistened with dripping water, the floor was little more than a puddle, the seemingly ever-present snow that typically fell from the ceiling without ever hitting the ground had turned to sleet that pelted me, chilling me to the bone, and the distant music that always seemed to filter through Faerie had turned harsh, disharmonious.

“Unraveling a court’s magic is certainly possible for a planeweaver,” Maeve said offhandedly. Ryese made a sound of agreement from where he leaned against a melting pillar. Lyell only stared straight ahead. Not looking at anyone in particular.

I shot them a collective disgusted glance. Even if the planeweavers of legend could have done this, I most definitely didn’t know how to accomplish the task. Besides, while there was no doubt something was wrong with the winter court, if I’d have had to stake my life on the cause—and maybe I was gambling with those stakes—I’d have said Faerie was reflecting the state of the queen.

She was not well.

Her dark hair hung in damp, stringy strands that clung to her face and shoulders. Her soaked dress was tattered where she’d pulled at the seams, and lacked any of her normal ornamentation. She was usually as pale as freshly fallen snow, but now that pallor was sickly, like a corpse, and her flesh seemed to be pulled too tightly over her sharp features. And her eyes? Her eyes were fever bright with madness.