Chimes at Midnight

“We owe you nothing,” said the Devin-haunt, releasing the Connor-haunt’s arm. “But there is something charmingly perverse about the idea of your being bound to do us a favor. We have not been owed a favor by the living in a very long time.” Connor’s haunt looked away, falling silent once more. He looked ashamed in that moment. My heart ached for him . . . but he was dead. I had to save my strength for the living.

“I won’t kill anyone for you.” My lips felt numb as they shaped the words. I meant that—there were some things I couldn’t even justify by saving Tybalt’s life—but I hated myself for saying it.

“Death is our job, not yours,” said the Devin-haunt. He gave Tybalt a disgusted look. “The cat is not dead, merely drained. The holder of these halls has tightened her wards since the last time the Shadow Roads were used to pierce them, and mortality weighs heavily in that darkness.”

“So he hurt himself because he had to carry me through something that wasn’t designed to let humans pass.” I took a deep breath, swallowing my guilt. “I will owe you a favor.”

“Yes, you will,” said the Devin-haunt. “And if you default on us, we will take you.”

The idea of being eaten by the night-haunts while I was still alive didn’t exactly appeal, but I didn’t see another way. Not if I wanted Tybalt to live. Reluctantly, I nodded. “I’ll do whatever you ask me, as long as I don’t have to kill anyone. I won’t kill anyone.”

“Agreed,” said the Devin-haunt. There was a strange weight to the word, like it was binding above and beyond the actual meaning.

Feeling vaguely as if I’d just made a huge mistake, I asked, “How do I fix this?”

“The cat is sore wounded. He used his strength until there was nothing more. He needs power.” The Devin-haunt fluttered his wings. “Were you your own self, I would say you could grant it to him, but as you are . . .”

“As I am, I’ve got nothing.”

He smiled. “And yet you could have everything you desire.”

I frowned at him before finally looking away from Tybalt and the night-haunts, and taking stock of my surroundings.

We were in the final hall leading to the Queen’s dungeons. That was why the wall had felt so much harder than the floor; the floor was just stone, and the walls were laced with iron, to dampen and poison the magic of anyone who tried to escape. That explained why only two of the strongest night-haunts had come: the weaker members of the flock would probably have dissolved as soon as they entered. Torches made of mixed rowan and yarrow burned in sconces set into the wall, sending plumes of smoke up into the air.

We were in the Queen’s knowe. We were near the hope chest.

I turned back to the night-haunts. “How much time do I have?”

“The guards at the door heard the sound of wings,” said Connor’s haunt. “They’re not going to come in here until they’re sure that we’ve come and gone. They’d rather not see us if they have a choice in the matter.”

A cruel smile twisted the mouth of Devin’s haunt. “Fear is a beautiful wall to place between yourself and your enemies.”

“Okay. So . . . okay.” That didn’t give me an exact time, but it was a start. I stood, trying to ignore the shaking in my legs. “Can you stay with him?”

“Until you return, or until he comes with us,” said the Devin-haunt.

I blanched. No matter how bad I felt, I was doing this on a time limit. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Connor’s wings rattled, and he looked at me, sea-dark eyes sad. “Hurry,” he said.

There was a warning in that word that I couldn’t deny, no matter how much I wanted to. I needed to hurry; I needed to run through the knowe until I found the treasury. But I was still smart enough to know that I wouldn’t make it very far if I tried to do this on my own. Slowly, I turned toward the darkened hall ahead of me. Somewhere down there in the dark was the only aid I was going to find here, in this place controlled by one of my worst enemies. All I had to do was find Dianda, free her, and hope that she was still capable of helping me after being locked in an iron-laced cell. And I had to do it before my boyfriend died.

“No pressure,” I muttered, and pulled a torch from its sconce before I limped onward into the dark.





TWENTY-FOUR