Echo North(21)

And then a wall of flame came rushing down the corridor, twisting and writhing. Screaming.

“Hold on!” the wolf cried.

I screwed my eyes shut and ducked my head, clinging to the scarlet cords with all my might.

The fire reached me, enveloped me; I screamed at the clawing heat. But it didn’t devour me, and in another instant it had gone by. I opened my eyes to see it vanish into the darkness.

“Shut!” ordered the wolf, and a heavy oak door slammed against the door frame, smoke hissing out through the cracks. The wolf dropped onto all fours, panting a little, and came to stand beside me. “Now to keep it from breaking free again. House! Bring the binding kit.”

A blue leather pouch and matching braided belt appeared out of thin air and fell in a heap at my feet. I squawked in surprise, and dropped the scarlet cords.

“Open the pouch,” said the wolf.

I gave him a wary glance, but obeyed. Inside was a gold thimble and needle, a pair of gold scissors in the shape of a bear, and a spool of shining thread that looked for all the world like strands of coiled sunbeams.

“Thread the needle,” said the wolf. “I will teach you the binding stitch.”

“The binding stitch?”

“To keep the fire contained.”

“I don’t understand.”

He blew out a breath. “Old magic, my lady. It’s what keeps the house from falling apart, no thanks to her. She had the power to collect it in the first place, but not to keep it together.”

“Wolf.” I was running out of patience. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

He just nudged the pouch closer to me.

I sighed and picked up the needle. It was strangely heavy and warm, and it buzzed in my hand. The spool of thread was just as light as the scarlet cord, if not lighter. I unwound a bit—it seemed to have no substance at all—and it stretched out toward the needle all on its own, slipping through the eye. I put the thimble on and was startled to find it soft inside, like it was lined with velvet.

“Now for the binding stitch,” said the wolf. “Take the scarlet cords, and stack their ends on top of each other, then draw your needle up through both cords. Loop it around to the bottom and do it again, over and over until the binding is secure.”

I hesitated a moment, then did as he asked. The needle chimed like a tiny bell as I sewed, the golden thread whispered, the scarlet cords sighed. I could feel the moment the binding stitch was complete, the cords and thread fused tight together. I glanced at the wolf, and he nodded, so I used the bear-shaped scissors to snip the end of the thread. The girl from the book-mirror flashed into my mind, weaving a shimmering net to use against the queen’s thorny army. Old magic—it sent a thrill through me.

The wolf seemed satisfied. “That should hold. We will be vigilant about tending the bindings—the fire will not break loose again.” He tilted his head to one side. “The pouch and its contents are yours, my lady. I would be honored if you would wear them.”

For a moment, I just stared at him, then returned all the sewing items to the pouch and put on the belt, cinching it tight around my waist. I liked the weight of the pouch at my hip; it felt natural, somehow.

The wolf’s lips curled up in what I took for his version of a smile. “I have always hated this part of the house. Let’s walk somewhere more pleasant. Come.”

He trotted off down the dirt passageway. I had no desire to go anywhere else with the wolf—I couldn’t stop seeing my father, sobbing on Rodya’s shoulder—but I wasn’t sure how to slip away without him knowing. And old magic or not, I didn’t want anything more to do with the door I’d just bound. So I gritted my teeth and ran to catch up.

I walked next to him, glancing down to see that the cuts on my palms had healed where the scarlet threads had touched them. The same sensation of coolness that had poured through me when I stepped into the book-mirror tingled in my hands.

“Garden!” the wolf barked at the air.

The floor shimmied a little beneath our feet, and the dirt passage turned into a normal hallway, lanterns on the walls, green-and-blue patterned carpet stretching out before us. We went up a stair and around a corner, then down two more stairs to a small white door. It opened at our approach, and was so low I had to duck my head to pass through.

I stepped into full daylight, the almost unbearable brightness making my eyes stream. I stood still a moment to let them adjust, overwhelmed by the cacophony of birdsong and bumblebees after the heavy silence I had grown used to inside. The air was alive with the heady scent of roses; water burbled from some hidden fountain.

I blinked the tears from my eyes. The wolf had brought me into a terraced garden, wide grassy steps cut into the hill that were bordered with white stones. We had come out, somehow, at the very bottom of the hill, and the entire garden rose above us. A narrow walking trail wound up the steps, and on either side of the level ground stood an impenetrable iron fence. My eyes traced the length of it, but I saw no gate. I wondered if it was to keep the wood out, or the wolf in, or both.

The wolf watched me intently, as if it were important to him that I was impressed by the garden.

I was in no mood to be impressed. “Tell me what’s going on, and what exactly I did back there.”

He let out a breath. “We will talk as we go. Come.”