“I did not just ride in the belly of a great stinking ship for weeks to go chasing after Uncle Dragomir,” she said. “Are you so eager to leave me again?”
“No, no, it’s not that.” Charlie looked miserably conflicted. “We are in the middle of something very important. Look, if you are going to stay, then stay here at the house. The city is . . . not itself lately. I need to go out for a while, but this house is safest, for now. More or less.”
“Do mind the spriggans on the staircase,” I said. “And the Dangerous Documents section. And avoid the whole north wing of the second floor. In fact, maybe it’s best if you just stay with me. I would be happy to show you around.”
Alina looked at me as though she were deciding whether to swat at me with the heel of her boot or catch me under a drinking glass and shoo me outside. “I am not staying here with this woman,” she said.
“This woman is Abigail Rook,” Charlie said. “And she is my—my friend. I would trust her with my life. In fact, I have. Very recently. Miss Rook, may I formally introduce my sister, Alina.”
“A pleasure,” she mumbled, casting me a smile that could wither daisies.
“I’m sure we’ll get on splendidly,” I said, trying to sound cheery. “I’ll take you to see the duck pond; that might be nice.”
“I have seen duck ponds.”
“Ours is on the third floor,” I said through gritted teeth. “And there are centaurs. Have you seen that?”
“Ipotanes,” corrected Jackaby, bustling into the room. “The centaurs were relocated to the back garden.” He was stuffing his arms through the sleeves of his battered old coat.
“Oh! Mr. Jackaby, I would like you to meet—” Charlie began.
Jackaby glanced up. “A fellow Om Caini, yes, I see. Very close genetic line. Sister?”
“Er—yes. Alina, this is Mr. R. F. Jackaby, he—”
“—is off to ensure that the streets of our fair city are free of the wandering corpses of the undead,” Jackaby finished. “Sorry, Miss Lee is already waiting for me. I really have no time for all that How are you? I am fine, thanks. Here’s another inane question. Here’s an equally banal reply. Charmed. Delighted. nonsense.”
“They’re called niceties, sir,” I said. “People say them.”
“They’re stupid. And people are stupid.” He paused at the front door. “Come to think of it, the word nice used to mean stupid, so I suppose that’s apt.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Jackaby,” I said. “Do be careful.”
“Right.” He tossed open the door. “Don’t forget to feed the pixies and to interrogate the murderess in the cellar. Oh, and the azalea could use some watering.”
And then he was gone, the cheery red door banging shut behind him.
“We oughta be goin’, too, chum,” said Hudson. “I got the horses waitin’ out front.”
Charlie nodded. “If you will not return home with Uncle Dragomir, promise me you will wait here at the house until I get back?” he implored Alina.
“Where I am safe, you mean?” she said. “With the humans and the giants and the—what was that about a murderess in the cellar?”
Charlie cringed. “Yes, with those. I’ll be back this evening,” he said. “And then we will talk. Like we used to.” Charlie leaned in and put his forehead against Alina’s. “I promise.”
Alina sighed. “Go, then. I will wait for you. I have plenty of practice.”
Hudson pulled open the door. Charlie slid away from Alina and turned to me. “Miss Rook,” he said, his eyes looking agonized as he hunted for the words to fill the awkward pause.
“We’ll have our time,” I said, putting a hand to his chest and hoping I was telling the truth. “Be safe.”
Charlie stepped out into the daylight, and Hudson gave us all a quick wave as he closed the door behind them.
Chapter Twelve
By the time I finally found myself plodding across the back garden to interrogate Morwen Finstern, my patience for contrary company had been worn threadbare. In spite of my best efforts, the tour I had given Alina had quickly become a long, sullen march punctuated only by sighs and peevish observations. Jenny had caught up with us and suggested I give the girl a chance to be involved rather than simply kept out of the way, to which Alina had agreed without enthusiasm. Happy to take anything short of patent disgust as a glowing endorsement, I consented, and so we made our way toward the cellar together.
I drew the iron key out of my pocket as we approached the cellar door. The ipotanes paid us no mind, grazing casually on the ivy and the drooping azaleas. As I drew my key toward the heavy iron lock, I paused. There were voices coming from within. Morwen’s I recognized at once, but then there came, very softly, another voice. It was muffled, indistinct. Morwen’s followed it. “I will,” was all she said.
“Why are you waiting?” asked Alina, behind me. She was holding a plate with a bruised apple and a slice of leftover kunafah I had thrown together as today’s rations for the nixie. I would not typically have wasted such exquisite fare on our unwilling guest, but Shihab had not produced anything unpleasant enough to fit the bill, and with Alina in tow, I did not feel up to cooking an entire meal just for the sake of its being awful. On the other hand, that particular slice of pastry had fallen on the floor earlier, which made me feel a little better about feeding it to Jenny’s killer.
“Shh. There’s someone else in there,” I whispered. “Jenny, do you think you could peek inside before I open the door?”
“The cellar is safeguarded.” She shook her head. “The wards that Jackaby put up against evil spirits work just as well on me, I’m afraid.”
“The direct approach it is, then.” I jammed the key in the lock and pulled open the door.
Morwen sat alone in the pool of light, squinting as we climbed down into the clammy cellar. “Lunchtime already?” she said. “More overcooked onions, I assume?”
“No onions this time. Just a little dust and scruffy pony hair,” I said. “Who were you talking to?”
Morwen smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes, I would. Which is why I asked.”
Morwen ignored the question and glanced between the three of us. “It’s good you brought the whole entourage—there’s safety in numbers. Wouldn’t want an innocent little girl tied to a chair to hurt you, now would you?” As she said it, Morwen’s features fluidly shifted, making her look even younger than Alina, blinking up, doe-eyed and pouty-lipped. “I’m ever so frightful, aren’t I?”
“Nobody is impressed,” I said. I was, a little. After all, watching a shape-shifter transform before your very eyes is a mesmerizing spectacle, even if the woman behind the face is a monster—but I wasn’t about to admit that to Morwen.
Morwen shrugged, her features rapidly aging to settle back into her usual visage. “Not impressed, perhaps—but I have got you nervous, now, haven’t I? You should be. My father has already sent for me.” Morwen smiled wickedly.
“Really?” I said. “He seemed much more interested in picking up some new accessories than in rescuing his daughter. Did you hear he has a shiny new hat to go with his spear?”