Part 16 (2/2)

Red Martin appeared amused. ”I am the only reason these ladies are alive today. They cannot survive longer than a few weeks without my supply of the root. They will keep their mouths shut. And besides, if they should decide to speak out against me, I can terminate the relations.h.i.+p and let them all wither away. It's quite true that they provide me with a minimal amount of crystals and gold, but I a.s.sure you, I do have other prospects for making up the lost income.”

Oona's hands clenched into fists, her knuckles turning a bloodless white. ”Other prospects?” she asked. ”You mean like destroying Pendulum House and building your hideous hula-hut hotel and casino?”

Red Martin's eyes sparkled. ”Just think of all those New York fools pouring through the gates to see the magical street. They'll need a luxurious place to stay, and of course a place to lose all of their money!”

”Horrible,” was all Oona could think to say.

Red Martin gave a little bow.

”But what if it doesn't work?” Oona asked. ”What if when you destroy Pendulum House, we no longer stay connected to New York, and Dark Street becomes isolated from New York completely? Or what if the Gla.s.s Gates should eventually fall? What then? The armies of Faerie could attack the World of Man as they please.”

Red Martin shrugged. ”A possibility, yes. But I really doubt that will happen.”

”And yet you are willing to gamble with the lives of everyone?” Oona asked, but she already knew what his answer to that would be.

”I'm a gambling sort of man ... and I believe the odds are in my favor. They are always in my favor, Miss Crate.”

Oona's eyes slitted to the size of paper cuts. ”Which one of the applicants did you persuade into attacking my uncle?” she demanded.

Red Martin smiled faintly. ”You will never know, will you? Good-bye, Miss Crate. So sorry I have to kill you now, but sometimes killing is necessary. I suppose you, of all people, should know that. Really, even I never stooped so low as to kill my own mother ... let alone a baby. Perhaps the world is better off without you.”

Oona's throat constricted, the harshness of the words like a noose around her neck. Red Martin raised the dagger above his head, clearly meaning to make a show of it, and fixed her with his gaze.

Several of the girls took in a collective gasp.

”Stop!” shouted Sanora.

Deacon cried, ”No!” as he leaped from Oona's shoulder and darted across the room. His great black wings fluttered in front of Red Martin's face, momentarily blocking Oona from view.

”Get away from me, bird!” he shouted, and then brought the blade swiftly down, meaning to cleave right into Deacon and knock him out of the way.

What happened next happened in the s.p.a.ce of half a heartbeat. First there was a memory: Samuligan standing near Oona's bedroom door with Deacon wriggling in the faerie servant's gangly grip. Samuligan had uttered a single word ... except that, in the memory, his voice seemed m.u.f.fled, like someone speaking through a mouth full of cloth. In the next instant Deacon was standing on the dressing table, looking bewildered, while Samuligan remained near the door with Oona's hairbrush in his hand. The bird and the brush had magically swapped places in the blink of an eye.

”I just made it up,” Samuligan had said, again his voice strangely m.u.f.fled, like this was a very old memory that had lost some of its sharpness. And yet it was not an old memory, Oona knew. It was quite recent. The real event had taken place only the day before, and in that half a heartbeat, as Oona saw the dagger in Red Martin's hand swing down to knock Deacon out of the way, and quite possibly cut him in half, Oona made a decision to do what she had promised herself she would never do again on purpose.

The magic rose to her lips like a drink of water from a deep spring. It felt not only exhilarating, it also felt right.

”Switch!” she shouted, and in the same instant stomped her foot against the floor just as the blade slammed into Deacon's fluttering wing. Except that it was no longer the dagger that Red Martin swung; instead, it was the candle that Oona had been holding only a moment before. Deacon swatted at the candle with his wing before soaring toward the cave ceiling, shrieking like mad.

”What is this?” asked Red Martin, looking both startled and confused. He gazed uncomprehendingly at the white candle in his hand. ”Where did it go?”

”Looking for this?” Oona asked. She held up the enchanted dagger. She could feel the fiery p.r.i.c.kle of it in her hand-the dagger's enchantment sensing her faerie blood-and the heat was already beginning to grow. But she held the dagger nonetheless, suffering the discomfort, refusing to let it fall from her hand.

Red Martin's eyes rounded like wagon wheels. He took in a sharp breath of air, and then threw the unlit candle at Oona. The candle went wide and hit the bookshelf containing the newspapers as Deacon returned to Oona's shoulder.

”Don't just stand there!” Red Martin shouted at the enormous twins. ”Kill her!”

Red Martin then turned and ran abruptly out of the room, disappearing down the tunnel.

The two enormous thugs came at her, clubs raised, the expressions on their broad faces cold, and distant, and eager to pummel. In that instant the pain in her hand was finally too much to bear. The heat had grown too intense, and Oona let the dagger drop to the floor.

The twins descended on Oona like two hulking monsters.

Deacon launched from Oona's shoulder, attacked the twin with the mustache, batting at his head and clawing at his face. The second twin came straight at Oona, clearly intent on smas.h.i.+ng her skull with his thick club. Oona dove out of the way and the club crashed against the floor, sending the dagger skittering across the ground.

The girls screamed as the first twin (the one Oona thought of as Mr. Mustache) began to swat at the open air, trying to whack Deacon with his club. But the bird was too fast. Deacon clamped hold of the man's mustache and soared upward. Mr. Mustache's scream was so high pitched, it might have belonged to one of the girls.

Oona jumped back as thug number two took another swipe at her. The swing missed her by mere inches, cras.h.i.+ng instead against the side of the chair where Sanora had been cowering, and sending her flying across the room. A quavery wail escaped her lips as she slammed against the floor and then fell silent.

”You brute!” Oona shouted, s.n.a.t.c.hing up a broken chair leg. ”You'd strike a helpless little girl?”

The giant man raised the club, and when Oona brought up the chair leg to protect herself, she stumbled over another bit of broken chair and toppled to the floor. She clamped her eyes shut, thinking that this was it, certain the club's blow would send the life rus.h.i.+ng out of her-but the blow never came.

There was a loud thunk, and the man staggered forward. His ma.s.sive body spun around and collapsed against a carved-stone bookcase. It took Oona a couple of seconds to realize what had just happened. The thug's twin, Mr. Mustache, had accidentally clobbered his brother with his own flailing club.

Then came a sharp shriek of pain as Mr. Mustache caught hold of Deacon in one enormous hand and shoved the raven against the wall. He raised the club, clearly meaning to flatten the bird, even if it meant crus.h.i.+ng his own hand in the process.

Oona knew instantly what she had to do. She sat up, aimed the chair leg at Mr. Mustache like a rifle, and the words escaped her mouth without her even having to remember them.

”Lux lucis admiratio!”

A blaze of sparkling lights erupted from the end of the broken chair leg, shooting across the room and knocking the club from Mr. Mustache's thick-fingered hand. His grip weakened, and Deacon fell to the floor with a thump. Mr. Mustache cried out in surprise as a second burst of lights picked him up and hurled him across the room. He slammed against a bookcase and collapsed to the floor, bringing an avalanche of books with him. The starry lights swirled around his head, lingering just long enough to singe the ends of his bushy mustache, and then they disappeared altogether. The man's eyelids fluttered briefly before sliding closed. He was out cold. Oona dropped the broken chair leg and hurriedly pushed herself to her feet.

”Deacon!” she called, and ran to him. ”Deacon, are you all right?” Her voice cracked, and her eyes glistened wetly. She knelt to pick him up. Once he was in her hands, she could just make out his faint breath and the beating of his heart against her palm. His body shuddered, followed by a short cough. One eye opened, peering up at her.

”I've been better,” he said, and winced as he moved his leg.

Oona felt all of the breath leave her body in a great sigh of relief. ”Oh, Deacon. You had me frightened there for a moment. Are you badly hurt?”

Ruffling his feathers, he said: ”I believe I may have injured my hip.”

”Can you move it?” she asked.

”Yes.”

”Then at least it's not broken.”

”Can't be sure about that,” he said.

”Oh, you'd know if your hip was broken,” said Katona. ”I broke mine once, almost a hundred years ago, and I can a.s.sure you, there's no worse-”

”That's quite enough!” Deacon shouted. He stretched out his wings before hopping to Oona's shoulder. She felt him wobble for a moment, but he managed to keep his balance. ”I believe we should be more concerned about Miss Crone than my hip,” he said.

Oona glanced across the room to where Sanora lay motionless. Filled with apprehension, Oona hurried to the girl's side, but even as she knelt, she could see that Sanora was beginning to stir. Oona placed her hand on the young witch's shoulder, helping her to sit up.

”Are you badly injured?” Oona asked.

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