The Book Eaters(31)
“Departures board.” Hester pointed. “Find out what platform we’re on! We need the next train to Edinburgh.”
“Well, I’m twenty-five grown-ups, so I can say bad words twenty-five times more than you,” Cai said.
“You’re a grown-up when I bloody well say you are, not a moment sooner!” Devon said, fuming. Why did children always have to talk back at the worst times? “Hes, don’t bother with the board, it’s platform six.”
“Are you sure—”
“I’ve eaten the train schedule. Let’s go.”
The situation fractured into a series of moments.
Four men detached from the shadows of the station, all closing in a tight circle. Two were knights in suits, two were dragons—dark tendrils of ink marking their necks.
The taller of the knights pointed straight at Hester, calling out above the station noise, “A Ravenscar!”
Hester pulled a revolver from her purse and headshot all four men with stunning accuracy. Screams and gasps. The remaining passersby fled or ducked for cover.
Knightly bodies disintegrated as they fell, flesh growing brittle and pale, ink layers peeling away to sheaves of paper that fluttered through the station. Each hit the floor as a pile of paper-stuffed suits.
“Awesome!” Cai broke into a grin; Devon was speechless.
Ramsey Fairweather burst through the station entrance, accompanied by another knight and a lone dragon. He saw the crumbling forms of his colleagues and hesitated, caught off guard.
Hester whirled and shot him. He ducked smoothly behind the closest pillar, the other knight ducking with him. The dragon stood uncertainly out in the open, half crouched and scowling.
“Shit,” Hester snarled.
The gun was empty, Devon realized. A five-shooter only.
From the safety of his covered position, Ramsey called out, “Obedire, dracone!”
The lone dragon snarled, peeling away from cover, and sprinted forward.
Devon picked up her carry-all and flung it straight at him. It was a good throw, making a perfect arc through the air despite its awkward shape. The dragon didn’t dodge in time. He toppled from the weight of a hefty bag to his face. Clothes and books scattered on the concrete as the zipper burst.
“Hold tight,” Devon said, and slipped an arm around each of her companions’ waists.
She bounded through the station with six-foot strides, no longer caring about looking inhuman. Nothing was going to be more conspicuous than the other woman opening fire in a public place. Right now, they simply needed to get away.
“That knight is chasing us,” Hester shouted into her ear, while Cai said, “Dev, I think we’ll miss the train!”
“Shup up, both of you!”
Pedestrians were meant to go up the stairs and over the footbridge to reach the other platform. That would take too long. Companions held fast, Devon coiled her strength and leaped the gap between train platforms.
She landed cleanly on the gravel that lay between both sets of tracks, rebounding up and over to platform six—accompanied by the noise of Hester’s swearing and Cai’s laughter.
Devon pelted through the waiting room past a scattering of shocked travelers, out the other side, and then straight onto the last Christmas Eve train to Edinburgh. Right as the conductor blew his whistle.
10
THE PRINCESS RETURNS TO ELFLAND
SEVEN YEARS AGO
She rose at once, and now Earth had lost on her the grip that it only has on material things, and a thing of dreams and fancy and fable and phantasy, she drifted from the room.
—Lord Dunsany, The King of Elfland’s Daughter
Salem wanted shells for her third birthday. She had never been to the sea and wasn’t allowed to go, but had fallen in love with the idea of waves upon beaches. Devon sought an audience with Luton in the evening, knocking politely on his study door.
“Shells? Where did she get such ridiculous ideas from?” said Luton. “The girl is barely eating books.”
“She’s eaten ‘The Little Mermaid.’” Devon cringed at his expression. “Isn’t that okay? It’s a classic, I grew up eating it. And I saw it on your shelves, so I thought—”
“You should have checked with me first,” he said sourly. “Still, I suppose there’s no harm. I’ll see if I can get her some shells. Anything else she wants?” For all his grumbling, Luton remained indulgent of Salem, a fact that seemed to surprise him as much as it did Devon.
“No. You’ve given me a lot as it is. I’m grateful.”
She was lucky. Other mother-brides had to give up their children. But over the months Luton had listened to Devon’s arguments, had seen the strong bond between herself and Salem, and agreed to give special consideration, providing Devon lived with them and did not take the girl back to Fairweather Manor. Sometimes, the rules could be bent.
Behave, be good, toe the line, follow the rules, and the patriarchs would be good to you. In the end, that had proved true after all, to Devon’s chastisement. She should have trusted that wisdom sooner. After all, it was Family traditions that had gifted her Salem, a child she might not have otherwise had, and the girl was a truly wonderful thing.
“Grateful,” he echoed, and a funny expression crossed his face, as if he’d swallowed a bug by mistake.