The Raven King (The Raven Boys #4)(51)

The music in the background wailed in apology. “Yes, that was rude of me. The word is that someone may be selling something special in Henrietta,” Seondeok said.

The nerves drooled down Declan’s collar. “Not me.”

“I did not think so. Like I said: courtesy call. I thought you might want to know if wolves were coming to your door.”

“How many wolves?”

The music tripped; restarted. “There may possibly be packs and packs.”

Maybe they had found out about Ronan. Declan’s fingers tightened on the phone. “Do you know what they are howling for, seonsaengnim?”

“Mm,” Seondeok said. It was an evocative noise that conveyed both that she knew he was sucking up and that she accepted it nonetheless. “This secret is still very young. I called in hope that I could give you enough time to act.”

“And how do you think that I should act?”

“It is hardly my place to tell you. I am not your parent.”

Declan said, “You know I have no parents.”

The music whispered and sighed behind her. Finally, she repeated, “I am not your parent. I am just another wolf. Don’t forget that.”

He pushed off the window. “I’m sorry. Now I was being rude. I appreciate the call. ”

His mind was already digging through worst-case scenarios. He needed to get Ronan and Matthew out of Henrietta – that was all that mattered.

Seondeok said, “I miss your father’s finds; they are most beautiful. He was a very troubled man, but he had a most beautiful mind, I think.”

She was imagining Niall Lynch going through closets and collections and basements, carefully curating the objects he found. Declan imagined something closer to the truth: his father dreaming at the Barns, in hotel rooms, on couches, in the backseat of the BMW that was now Ronan’s.

“Yeah,” Declan said. “Yeah, I think so, too.”





Sleep, snatched. Breakfast, skipped. School, attended.

Gansey could not tell how close it had to be to the end of the world – his world – before he could justify taking school off to chase Glendower, and so he kept going. Adam went, because Adam would cling to his Ivy League dreams even if they were being borne skyward in Godzilla’s jaws. And, to Gansey’s amazement, Ronan went as well, nearly making them both late as he scrounged for a complete uniform in the mess of his room. He suspected that Ronan was only attending to make up for the fight in the urgent care the night before, but Gansey didn’t care. He just wanted Ronan to log some time in a classroom.

Henry caught up to Gansey in the hallway of Borden House as he left class (French, to replace his defunct Latin studies – Gansey preferred Latin, but he was not terrible at French, so n’y a pas de quoi fouetter un chat). Henry skipped until he was in step with Gansey. “Hey, Junior. Is everything joy in your world after last night?”

“Two steps down from joy. We had a very good time last night, at Litchfield. It was rude of us to run out when we did.”

“We only watched music videos on our phones after you left. The mood sagged. I tucked in the children and read them stories but they kept asking after you.”

This made Gansey laugh. “We were having adventures.”

“I thought so. That’s what I told them.”

Carefully, Gansey added, “An old friend wasn’t feeling well.” It was not a lie. Just not an entire truth. It was the edge of a truth.

Henry raised an eyebrow to demonstrate that he clearly spotted this edge, but he didn’t tug at it. “They’ll be all right?”

Noah’s face went to inky black. Noah’s sister stood on the auditorium stage. Bones yellowed beneath an Aglionby sweater.

Gansey said, “We remain optimistic.”

He did not think there was anything off about the tone of his voice when he said it, but Henry’s gaze darted over to him, quickly. That eyebrow quirked again. “Optimistic. Yes, you are an optimistic person, Gansey Boy. Would you like to see something interesting before lunch?”

A glance at his watch told Gansey that Adam, at least, would be looking for him at the dining hall soon.

Henry swiftly interpreted this look. “It’s right here. In Borden. It’s cool. It’s Ganseylike.”

This struck Gansey as patently absurd. No one knew what Ganseylike was, even Gansey. Teachers and family friends were always collecting articles and stories that they thought might capture his attention, things they thought were Ganseylike. The well-meaning items always addressed the most obvious parts of him. Welsh kings or old Camaros or other young people who had travelled the world for bizarre reasons no one else understood. No one dug down past that, and he supposed he didn’t much encourage it. There was a lot of night in those days behind him, and he preferred to turn his face into the sun. Ganseylike. What was Ganseylike?

“Does that smile mean yes? Yes, good, follow me,” Henry said. He immediately pitched left through a narrow door labelled STAFF USE ONLY. Borden House had originally been a house, not an academic building, and the door opened into a narrow staircase. One fussy sconce lit the way; the light was swallowed by hideously busy wallpaper. They started down the stairs. “This is a very old building, Dick Three. Seventeen fifty-one. Imagine the things it has seen. Or heard, since houses don’t have eyes.”