The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(39)

The twain had deposited us all, unharmed, in the garden just outside the office window. The little furry figure hopped onto the sill and regarded us from behind the glass.

“It is going to be different.” The twain’s voice was a soft hush, but I could hear him as easily as if he had whispered directly into my ears. “War changes things.” And then the window was empty and we were standing in the cold.

“Unfathomable cosmic potential,” Jackaby muttered, “and he used it to shunt us twenty feet away.”

“At least now we know what side he’s on,” I said. “They can sacrifice themselves to bring the dead back to life, and he said his other half gave herself to Hafgan. The same Hafgan whom Arawn killed. The twain must be the reason the Dire King has risen! They’re the reason this is all happening again!”

“Hate ta interrupt,” Hudson said. “But I don’t suppose one of you folks left yer cellar open like that?”

We looked across the garden.

Jackaby muttered to himself as we hastened toward the cellar steps. “We couldn’t have five minutes pass without things getting worse?”

We reached the doors and Jackaby inspected the lock. “It isn’t broken,” he said. “It’s unlocked. From the outside. Wait here.” He stalked down the steps and returned a minute later holding the sky iron chain. It had been sliced into pieces. “The bad news is, she’s gone,” he said. “And worse, she has the black blade.”

“Is there good news?” Miss Lee asked.

“Well,” Jackaby answered gamely, “karmically, I would say we’re due for an upswing on the pendulum of fortune. That’s almost good news.”

“That’s not good news,” Serif said, crossly. “That’s just a very wordy way of saying it’s all bad news.”

“It’s worse,” Jenny said. “She promised to take someone with her.”

“That’s true,” I confirmed. “She told us she would be free by morning, and she threatened to take . . .” My eyes shot to Charlie. “Where is Alina?”

We raced through the house, Charlie in the lead. A cloud of pixies scattered and the dwarves groused as Charlie bounded right over their heads. Hudson and Nudd took the first floor and Lydia and Jenny took the second. Jackaby and I caught up to Charlie on the third.

“She was here,” he panted. “I left her right here. She was watching the merpeople swimming in the lake.” His eyes were wet and frantic.

“Who was?” came a voice just behind us. We spun around, and Charlie leapt to lock his sister in an embrace. “What is going on?” Alina demanded.

“You are safe,” said Charlie, letting her go.

“Was there doubt?”

“Morwen,” I said. “We were worried she might have made good on her threats.”

“She may have taken someone else,” said Jackaby. “We’ll need to take stock of all of our visitors.”

“Hostage or not, she has the blade again,” I said. “Mr. Jackaby, there’s something else I need to tell you. Hatun had another vision. It was one of her—I don’t know—her prophesies. She mentioned the black blade. She called it the spear, but not the spear. Sir, she said the Seer would fall. Hatun said you would be lost.”

Jackaby stiffened. “Did she refer to me by name?”

I blinked. “What? No. She just said the Seer would fall under the blade. Why?”

“She might have been talking about the one seeing the prophetic vision in the first place. Where is Hatun now?”

“She’s been with us the whole—” I paused. “Does anybody remember seeing Hatun with us after we left the library?”

The eerie chill felt stronger than ever as we rounded the last bend to the Dangerous Documents section. Jackaby entered first, I followed, and Charlie and Alina crept behind us. The lamp-lit chamber stood empty and silent. The table was unoccupied, just as we had left it. Except . . .

“Is that blood?” I gulped.

Rough lines had been carved into the tabletop, and a pool of dark crimson spilled over the top of them, flowing into the cracks and giving the etching grim definition.

“It is.” Jackaby’s voice shook. “Hatun’s. Her aura is unmistakable.”

Silence reigned in the library.

“There’s something in that chair,” Alina whispered.

Jackaby’s hand trembled as he reached for the dark shape. He picked up the knitwork lump. “Stubborn woman. I told her not to.” In the flickering lamplight, his eyes looked somehow both full of tears and full of fire as he pulled the thing solemnly over his shaggy hair. It was a floppy heap, but with a little imagination, it was a hat. Hatun had knit him a new hat.

I turned away, my throat tight, and scrutinized the defaced tabletop. The gouges in the wood spelled out three bloody words: COME GET HER.





Chapter Sixteen

When Mr. Jackaby was in good spirits, he moved constantly, always fidgeting. I had learned to tell when he was secretly afraid, because he moved more quickly still, clipping along at a run and talking even more incessantly than usual. When he was baffled—really, thoroughly flummoxed—he was practically a blur.

Now Hatun had been stolen away on his watch. Her blood had been spilled in his house, under his protection.