The Stone Demon

Fourteen





Navin waited impatiently while Xan used the Magical Lockpick of Awesomeness that Maker had given them to open a back door into the Frost Estate’s kitchens. Grayson had told him this was the door that he and Donna had used when they were looking for the elixir last fall, on their way to saving Navin from the Wood Queen.

Maker was waiting for them at the small cluster of trees on the Estate. There was no way his legs would do anything but slow them down, and he could hardly bring his wheelchair on a stealth mission. The thought of that made Navin grin, although he wished he was sneaking around with Donna instead. He didn’t really want to hang out with Xan any more than the wingless wonder wanted to hang out with him. Their ambivalence was very definitely mutual.

But they had one very special lady in common.

And Donna needed Newton—the demon who was trapped inside a bronze statue of an alchemist’s head (for real)—so that she could find out how to get hold of a demon tear (for really real). This was all because she had to make the Philosopher’s Stone and save the world. It was impossible to make this shit up, it really was.

Yes, it was all ridiculous and very possibly illegal. But what The Underwood wanted—if it was in Navin’s power to get it for her—The Underwood would get. And if that meant he had to work with Xan as his wingman (no pun intended), then he figured it was a small price to pay.

Maybe Grayson would actually learn something from him. He tapped Xan on the shoulder.

“What?”

“How’s it going?”

“It would go much better if you’d quit tapping me on the shoulder and asking stupid questions,” Xan said. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Navin ignored him. “Thanks for helping me.”

“I’m not helping you, I’m helping Donna.”

“But I know, deep down, your love for me is deep and pure.”

Xan snorted. “Whatever, man.” The door sprung open. “Come on. And seriously, can you shut up until we’ve grabbed the statue? Maybe just … you know … shut up in general.”

Navin placed his hand on his chest, taking a step back. “I’m offended. You think I don’t know when to be quiet?”

Xan stared at him. “No. I don’t.”

“Let’s go kidnap ourselves a demon,” Navin said, rubbing his hands together.

His companion shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.

Navin smiled and walked through the door. He loved winding Xan up.



Donna’s eyes felt heavy.

She didn’t know why she’d come here, and right now she couldn’t quite find it in herself to care. It was all so pretty. Maybe she should stay here.

Wherever “here” was.

She half expected to see a field of poppies, but then she remembered that she was going to Faerie, not Oz. She tried to fight the soporific effect of the thick air, but there was nothing she could do as her head fell back against the ground. The grass smelled sweet and fresh, and was so soft that she couldn’t help but lay her cheek against it and take a deep breath of the fresh earth below. No sign of frost, which was strange. Ironbridge Common had been cold, just a few moments ago …

Sleep claimed her.

The last thing Donna remembered was cool hands touching her hair, and unfamiliar voices laughing as soft music chimed.



When she opened her eyes again, it took Donna a few moments to remember where she was. Her eyes felt crusted together with sleep and the base of her skull pounded a steady, sickening beat.

She sat up, aware of the warm earth beneath her and the overwhelming perfume of spring flowers.

“You’re awake,” a female voice said. “Good.”

Donna looked around, confused to see that she was no longer alone. A young woman was watching her—slender and pretty, with hair so red it was practically crimson. She was wearing a simple tunic the color of moss, and leggings that shone with a cool silvery light. Her golden feet were bare, the toes unnaturally long as they dug into the earth where she sat cross-legged across from Donna.

“Where did you come from?” Donna asked. Her voice came out husky.

The girl’s lips quirked. “I have been watching you sleep, Iron Witch.”

Donna’s head whipped up at the casual use of that name. “Don’t call me that.”

The faery raised her eyebrows. “Then what should I call you?”

“Donna.”

“Ah, you give your name too easily, alchemist. At least it is just one name. Don’t most humans have two?”

Something tightened in Donna’s chest. Had she made a mistake? But she’d only given her first name. She licked her lips, wondering what to say next. She didn’t know enough about faeries. Her fey knowledge extended to the wood elves—and to Xan.

The fey girl laughed, the sound running up and down Donna’s spine like someone was tickling her. “Don’t look so scared, Donna no-last-name.”

Donna pulled her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and trying to wake up. She still felt groggy. “What should I call you?”

“I am Etain.” The faery ducked her head, for a moment looking shy and not at all like a threat.

But Donna knew enough to know not to trust appearances when it came to the fey. Especially not here, in the heart of their home. She took a deep breath, trying to quell a sudden stab of adrenaline as she realized that she’d done it. She’d made it into Faerie—successfully used her powers to open a doorway between realms and walk through to the other side safely. Well, with more than a little help from Cathal. She wondered if he would get into trouble for what he’d done.

“My queen will see you now, Iron … Donna.”

“Okay,” Donna replied. “Take me to your leader.” She wished Nav was here, so that he could laugh at her lame joke. But of course she was glad he wasn’t here, really. He was safer back in Ironbridge, even if he was being forced to spend time with Newton. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t let her hear the last of that particular task—if they succeeded in making the Stone and getting Demian out of all their lives, that is.

Etain led her from the hollow and across a wide field of grass that glittered like emeralds. The beauty of the setting took Donna’s breath away. Ahead, a grand marquee stood like a giant glittering jewel, with smaller tents around it and canopies made of a gossamer material Donna had never seen before sweeping from trees. It seemed the royal court of Faerie was having some kind of gathering, and she was just lucky enough to walk into the middle of it.

Etain touched her arm, careful to do so as far away from Donna’s tattoos as possible. “Behold, mortal. Queen Isolde’s Court of Air.”

Donna couldn’t help being impressed, even while she knew she was here for a purpose. Not that she was guaranteed success … she was pretty sure that Isolde wouldn’t just hand over the blade without some kind of terrible price. In fact, Donna wondered whether or not she would even be able to get out of here in one piece. She tried not to think about the fact that her next stop would have to be the Elflands. Aliette was going to be even more of a challenge than Isolde—she and Aliette had a history, after all.

Even though the faeries seemed more “human” and socialized on the surface than either the wood elves or the demons did, Donna knew they were just as inhuman. Fey morals were notoriously flexible—which was putting it kindly.

Queen Isolde was sitting on a throne made of tree roots. It rose up out of the ground and curved to form a seat, covered with golden cushions, below a high back that reached up toward the powder-blue sky. The gathered crowd murmured with anticipation and edged closer to the central dais.

As Donna moved toward the throne, she began to feel the faery queen’s power pressing on the edge of her awareness, like cool fingers scooping inside her head and trying to pull out something important. The air around Isolde glowed and flickered with energy. She was far more powerful than Aliette, and that was enough to make Donna’s knees shake. What was she even doing here? She was crazy. That had to be the explanation; it was the only one possible, really, considering the things she had done in the past twenty-four hours. The things she still had to do.

Donna stood before the queen and forced her shoulders back. She noticed Taran and Cathal, standing on either side of the throne. Taran stared straight ahead, his gaze not even flickering her way, but Cathal nodded his head at her. Donna squeezed her hands into fists. She hoped she had one ally here. Perhaps Cathal’s wish to make amends with his son could help her get the blade. Okay, so he’d gotten her through the door, but surely there was something more he could do to help. Her mind raced as Isolde looked her over, slowly, from head to foot, her cool green gaze cataloguing and judging.

Etain curtsied and lowered her head, not looking directly at her queen. “Your Highness, I present Donna of the alchemists to you.”

“The Iron Witch,” Isolde said, her tone gently mocking. She raised her angular brows and smiled. “I would say that you are welcome in Faerie, but I am afraid that would be an untruth. As you probably know, faeries of pure blood cannot lie.”

Donna swallowed. “Your Highness,” she began, following Etain’s lead with the faery queen’s title. “I’m sorry for the way I just walked in here, but as you know I am trying to stop the demons from destroying my world.”

“And you would risk your own life, in such an endeavor?”

“Why not? It’s not like I have anything else to lose. If I don’t at least try I’ll be dead anyway.”

Isolde’s perfect lips tightened into a thin line. “You poison our home with cold iron, mortal. I can smell it on you.” She looked around at her court. “I wonder,” she said, tapping her chin with one long finger. “I wonder what sort of penalty should be given for such a liberty?”

As if on cue, some of the gathered faeries began to call out suggestions.

“Cut off all her hair and make her count each strand!”

“Tie her to the tallest tree and let the Joint-Eaters have her.”

“Put out her eyes and throw them in the Spider House!”

“Chop off her hands and melt them down!”

Shrieking and laughter surrounded her, getting louder as each suggestion grew worse and increasingly bloodthirsty. Donna bit her lip and dug her nails into her palms. She didn’t dare move, but the urge to run filled her like hot needles.

Bodies pressed against her on all sides as the crowd of faeries tried to grab a piece of her; her gloves, her scarf, and especially her hair. Donna lost count of how many times small hands tugged at it, and she yelped when a particularly small faery, about the size of her hand, flew on gossamer wings up onto her shoulder and perched there so she could tie painful knots. When one of them bit her, she started to get angry. That was enough!

“Stop it!” Donna shouted, trying to shake the little creature off.

“Stop it,” they mimicked. “Stop it !” The fey voices ech-oed her own voice back at her in mocking, high-pitched tones.

They weren’t really hurting her, beyond the hair-pulling and a few pinches that couldn’t do much through her winter clothes, but Donna was getting mad as each minute ticked by. She didn’t have long to act as it was, and this nonsense was nothing but a waste of her precious time. She figured that was the whole point, but her anxiety levels were almost through the roof already.

None of the more human-sized fey were doing anything to help her, and the queen was no doubt highly amused by it all, so it looked like Donna needed to get rid of the little pests on her own. Fine. She could do that. She’d faced down the Wood Queen, the Skriker, and the king of the demons. She could handle a few pint-sized faeries.

She shook a brown-skinned boy with dragonfly wings off her arm and quickly pulled off her emerald glove.

“Oooh!” the female faery on her shoulder cried, gazing at the brightly colored velvet with wide eyes. “That’s pretty.” At least she’d stopped twisting and tangling Donna’s hair for a moment.

The sun flashed against her swirling tattoos, and everyone suddenly realized that “pretty” could also be potentially deadly. Especially when you’re allergic to cold iron. Donna didn’t want to hurt anyone here, but she would if she had to. The fey who were bugging her seemed more of a nuisance than a genuine threat, but they still had very sharp teeth.

Carefully, making sure that they could all see what she was doing, she took off her other glove and waved her arms around.

The faeries scattered, shrieking.

Donna smiled to herself, then turned to face Queen Isolde.