CHAPTER 18   

Hazel had never slept in the same bed with a boy who wasn’t her brother. She figured it would highlight all the things about relationships that she wasn’t good at. She imagined she’d toss and turn, steal blankets, kick in her sleep, and then feel guilty about it. What she didn’t count on was how it would feel to pillow her head against Jack’s arm. Or how warm his skin would be or that it gave her a chance to drink in the smell of him—forests and glens and deep drowning pools—without his noticing. She hadn’t known how solid he’d feel. She couldn’t have guessed how he’d run his hand over her back, lazily, as if he didn’t know how to stop touching her, or how she’d shiver when he did.

For the first time since he’d said the words, Hazel allowed herself to luxuriate in them. I just want to say that I like you. I like you, he’d told her just before she’d informed him she’d been in the Alderking’s service. I like you, just before she admitted she had not told him a ton of stuff about herself. It had all happened so fast and it had been so hard to believe.

Which meant that she’d never told him she liked him back.

She could tell him now—wake him up and say something. Or maybe he was half awake, the way she felt half asleep. Maybe she could whisper in his ear. While she was puzzling that over, she heard footsteps on the stairs.

Her brother came into her bedroom without knocking, carrying three mugs of coffee. Behind him, lounging in the doorway, holding a mug of his own, was the horned boy. Severin, in Ben’s clothes, looking as comfortable there as he ever had in the woods. Severin, whom she was supposed to hunt. Severin, whom she’d freed. Severin, who gave her a wicked smile.

Hazel pushed down blankets, yawning. Sliding out of bed, she grabbed a hair chopstick off her dresser and pointed it at him, as though it were a blade, then used it to bind up her hair.

Severin saluted her with his cup of coffee. “I see you still haven’t found my sword.” He raised his brows, a small smile on his face, and took a sip from his cup. Despite everything, she blushed.

Ben walked across the room and held out a cup of coffee to his sister like a peace offering.

She took a deep sip, but her exhaustion was beyond the reach of caffeine. Still, the liquid was warm, clouded with soy milk, and it washed the taste of crying out of her mouth. She sat down hard on the chair beside her mirror. “What’s going on?”

“There’s some kind of town meeting at your house,” Ben told Jack. “About how Amanda and the stuff at school have something to do with not returning you to Faerieland. About how they want to give you back. We’ve got to get you out of here—we’ve got to get you someplace where they’re not going to find you.”

“What?” Jack’s eyes went wide. He ran a hand over his face, over his hair. “My mom thinks that?”

“He’s not a pet that you can just rehome,” Hazel said.

“I don’t think your parents have anything to do with this,” Ben said. “I think it’s a bunch of scared people being stupid.”

“That’s why she sent me away.” Jack said the words softly, as if he wanted them to be true but was afraid of being wrong. “It wasn’t because she didn’t want me in the house. It was because she knew everyone was coming. But she’s—but they’re going to blame my family if I’m not there.” He started shoving his feet into his shoes.

“Jack, everyone in town is going to be there,” Hazel said. “You know this isn’t your fault. This has nothing to do with you. Nothing.”

“That’s what I’m going to tell them,” he said, and started out of the room and down the stairs.

“I’m going, too.” Hazel grabbed her boots, not bothering to put them on. She turned to Ben. “You keep him here. You have to keep him here until we get back.”

She ran down the stairs, Severin’s voice following her. “I think I’d rather come. I tire of people talking about me as though I am still asleep.”

But by the time she got out to the lawn, she saw Jack starting her brother’s car. He must have known where Ben kept the spare key. She barely had time to get in on the passenger side before he pulled out onto the road.

The Gordon house—cream with white trim and no peeling paint anywhere—was a shingle-style colonial in perfect condition. It sat on a slight hill, overlooking smaller and shabbier houses. It was big, old, and lovingly restored—big enough to entertain half the town, which was good because, from the look of it, half the town was inside.

Cars parked along the side of the driveway had dug tire trenches in Mr. Gordon’s grass. She’d seen Jack’s dad out there all through the summer, mowing and watering and seeding, the skin of his brow shining with sweat. No one crossed his front lawn, not the mailman, not Carter’s or Jack’s friends, not even the dog, who knew to stay in the backyard if he wanted to run. Muddy grooves slashing up all of Mr. Gordon’s work unsettled Hazel. It was as though the rules had suddenly changed.

Jack’s hands curled into loose fists as he walked—faster and faster.

Yanking open the front door, he stepped into the hallway. Inside, all the woodwork was painted a crisp, shiny white. It gleamed in the sun-filled rooms where people stood around or sat on folding chairs, balancing Styrofoam cups of tea on their laps. Ottomans and chairs had clearly been brought from all over the house to accommodate the sheer number of people. No one seemed to have noticed their entrance.

Mrs. Pitts, who worked at the post office, was shaking her head at Jack’s mother. “Nia, it’s not as though anyone prefers things to be this way. We can’t help thinking that—well, what you did, it strained our relationship with the forest people. It’s not a coincidence that they got worse around the time you stole Jack from them.”

Was that true? Hazel had been a child herself then, barely born. When people said things used to be better, that the Folk had once been less bloodthirsty, she thought they’d been referring to decades back, not the short length of her life span.

When had things started to go bad?

“We need to put things right,” said the sheriff. “In the last month, something has been going on in the woods. Some of you might have heard about a few incidents that didn’t make it into the paper, and probably everyone heard about what happened at the school. Amanda Watkins wasn’t the first person we found in a coma. There was a drifter kid near the edge of town a month back. The place was overgrown, vines so big they practically covered his car. And Brian Kenning two weeks later, while he was playing in the woods behind his family’s place, found curled up in a pile of leaves. They’re moving against us, the faeries, and if anyone hoped that the horned boy waking up meant he was going to save us, I think it’s clear by now that he’s not.”

Hazel thought of the Alderking’s promise—if she brought him Severin, things in town would go back to normal, would be the way they once were. As if that were a generous offer. She’d believed she knew how bad things were in Fairfold; she’d believed that she knew all its secrets. But it turned out she’d been far from right.

What would I do if you gave me leave? the little faerie had said. What would I do if you gave me leave? What wouldn’t I do?

“We can’t trust the changeling,” said Mr. Schröder. “Even if they don’t want him back, I don’t want him here. It’s too dangerous.”

All through the summer she worked at Lucky’s, Hazel had liked Mr. Schröder. Now she hated him.

“Jack is friends with both of my kids,” Mom said. “I’ve known him all my life. Blaming him, just because he’s the only one of the Folk most of us have ever met, is wrong. He’s been raised here. He’s a citizen of Fairfold, just like the rest of us.”

Hazel felt a profound sense of relief that her mother had spoken, but she could tell the others weren’t convinced. They’d already decided.

“The Folk were good to us in Fairfold,” put in old Ms. Kirtling, standing underneath two Spanish-American War sabers, looking particularly indomitable. She’d been mayor many years ago and had, as much as anyone could recall, been decent at it. “We had an understanding. Something scuppered that.”

“They haven’t always been good to us,” Jack’s mother said in a quelling tone. “Don’t you try to rewrite history just to make what you’re asking easier. No, it’s no coincidence they got worse around when Jack came to us—if you’ll recall, they didn’t used to take our children the way they took Carter.”

“Well, maybe good’s too strong a word,” Ms. Kirtling said. “But you can’t deny that living in this town is different from other places. And you can’t deny that you like it here, because you dragged that man of yours back from that Ivy League school instead of going off with him. If normal was what you wanted, then you’d be living in Chicago. And there would never have been a Jack anyway.”

Beside Hazel, Jack tensed.

“Now, you got your son back from They Themselves and you even got to raise one of theirs for a good long while, despite having no claim on him except the poor judgment of his mother. But you can’t have thought you’d keep him forever.”

Hazel had seen the college brochures on the Gordon sideboard. His mother had absolutely been planning on forever. Looking around the room, Hazel identified teachers from school, shopkeepers, the parents of people she’d known her whole life, even a few kids. Most of them nodding, acting as if handing over Jack to the faeries was more than just the means of assuaging their fears.

After all, in Fairfold, the Folk hurt only tourists, so if you got hurt, you must be acting like a tourist, right? You must have done something wrong. Someone must have done something wrong. So long as there was someone else to blame, no one ever had to admit how powerless they were.

“It’s like when you find one of those adorable little buzzard babies,” said Lexie Carver, Franklin’s sister and one of the youngest women there. Her family was infamous in town for eating roadkill and—if rumor was to be believed—had a bit of troll in their distant bloodline. “You want to take it home and take care of it and feed it little bits of steak, but if you do, you’ll drive the hunting instinct right out. It won’t be able to survive on its own later, when it needs to. He doesn’t belong here, Nia. It’s not good for him. It’s not right.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s a little too late for that metaphor?” Carter said, unfolding himself from where he’d apparently been hiding on the stairs. “The damage is done. She already fed him the little bits of steak or whatever. What you’re really saying is that Jack won’t be able to survive if we send him back.”

“Carter,” Jack’s mother said, her tone indicating that he wasn’t supposed to have spoken.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, about to swing back to his spot on the stairs, but then he startled, noticing Jack and Hazel standing in the hallway opposite him.

“We’ll take all you’ve said under advisement, but I hope you understand that this is a decision for the family and—” Jack’s mom began, but when she followed Carter’s gaze, her whole body went rigid. All around the room, the buzz of conversation flared up and then went silent as townsfolk slowly realized that the person they’d been discussing was standing there, listening to every word.

“I’ll go,” Jack spoke into the silence.

There was only the squeak of fingers on Styrofoam cups and the nervous swallows of tea. No one seemed to know what to say.

“Yeah,” Hazel said, maybe a little bit too loudly, grabbing for his arm, pretending a misunderstanding. “You’re right. Let’s go. As in let’s get out of here. Now.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, I’ll go. I’ll go back to them. If that’s what you all want, I’ll go.”

His mother shook her head. “You’re staying.” Her voice was steely, challenging, but around the room Hazel could see people nodding to one another. They’d already accepted his offer. Those few words, in a town like this, made a compact that might not be able to be undone.

At least, if he didn’t say something right then.

“You can’t,” Hazel said, but Jack just shook his head.

“Tell them,” she pleaded. “Tell them about the Alderking and Sorrow. Tell them the truth. I can vouch for you.”

“They won’t believe me,” he told her. “And they’ll find some reason not to believe you, either.”

“Nia, be reasonable. Maybe he doesn’t want to stay with us. We’re not his people.” One of the women was speaking. Hazel didn’t notice which, because the rush of blood to her head made the beating of her heart seem to drum out all other thoughts. Her chest felt too tight, and all the colors of the room seemed to smear together.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Carter said. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Jack whirled toward his brother, clearly frustrated. “You don’t get to make my decisions for me.”

“How about I go? Maybe they’re mad I got stolen back from them? Did anyone ever think of that?” Carter looked around the room defiantly, as though daring them to tell him he wasn’t a prize. “Maybe they’d like to have me and not him at all.”

“That’s very noble,” Ms. Kirtling said. “But I don’t think—”

“Jack, listen to me.” His mother crossed the room toward him. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt when you could prevent it, even if that means putting yourself in danger. You’re a good boy, a boy who puts himself before other people, and so you have, volunteering where these cowards thought they’d have to force you or trick you.” She looked around the room, daring anyone to contradict her. “They believe your father and I will insist you not go at first, but in the end, we’d put the welfare of the town before your welfare. They think that when push comes to shove, we’d give you up. And I bet your other family thinks so, too.”

Around the room there were whispered comments.

Jack looked stunned. His face had gone blank in what might have been surprise but was also certainly fear of what she might say next.

His mother looked over at her husband. He was standing against one wall, arms folded across his chest. “Your mom and I had a long talk about this last night,” he said. “As far as we’re concerned, the whole town can burn; what we care about is you.”

At that, Jack laughed in clear surprise and maybe delight and maybe even a little embarrassment. It was an odd reaction, however, and Hazel could see that register on the faces of the townspeople. Faeries laughed at funerals and wept at weddings; they didn’t have human feelings for human things.

“This is turning into a real show,” Ms. Holt said, pursing coral-lipsticked lips and putting a hand to her eyes. Her fingers came away wet. She let out a soft sob and looked around in confusion.

Then the sheriff began to weep. Around the room it spread. Tears sprang to eyes. Hazel’s mother gave a broken wail and began to pull at her hair.

Hazel looked toward Jack. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He shook his head, as though what was happening could be denied. Sorrow was here. Hazel heard her in her head. It was like being caught in the current of a river. Like a diver who had lost any sense of direction, thrashing around, not sure which way is up…

Hazel blinked. Jack was finishing tying a knot in her hair. He whispered against her neck, “You will not weep until I give you leave.”

He’d enchanted her against Sorrow’s spell. She realized her cheeks were wet. She had no idea how long she’d been lost to it, but around the room people wept and wailed still.

The front door slammed open and Ben ran into the room.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Ben’s voice had the effect of a glass crashing to the floor and shattering. Everyone stared. “The monster at the heart in the forest. She’s coming.”

Standing behind him was Severin. For a moment Hazel saw him as everyone in the room must. Tall and inhumanly beautiful, horns rising from his brown curls, moss-green eyes watching them. It didn’t matter that he was wearing ordinary clothes; he wasn’t ordinary. He was their vision of what faeries ought to be; he was the dream that brought them to Fairfold, that caused them to want to stay, despite all the dangers.

And in that moment, Hazel knew what they must feel, the mingled hope and terror. She felt it, too. He was her prince. She was supposed to save him and he was supposed to save her right back.

“Find cover,” Severin said, walking to the wall where the two sabers rested and pulling them from their sheaths in one smooth move that set the metal ringing. For a moment he held a sword in each hand, moving them as if to test their balance. Then, looking across the room, he grinned at Hazel and tossed her a blade.

She caught it before she knew that she could. It felt right in her hand, like an extension of her arm, like a missing limb restored to her. The weight of the saber was decent; it was obviously an actual sword and not some pot-metal reproduction. She wondered if it was expensive, because she was pretty sure she was going to ruin it on that monster’s hide.

Her blood began to race, thrilling through her veins.

“Normal blades can’t cut her,” Hazel said, moving toward the horned boy.

“We just need to drive her back,” he said, heading for the door. “Tire her out. She doesn’t really want to hurt anyone.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Outside, wind shook the trees like rattles.

Across the room, a weeping Carter stood in front of their mother. Jack was stooped over his father, whispering in his ear, fingers fumbling in his gray hair.

Hazel braced herself. All her doubts rose at once. Her night self might have been trained by the Alderking, but her day self didn’t know how to fight any better than she had at twelve. And she didn’t have a magical sword anymore. She was going to make a hash of this.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

You’re a knight, she told herself. You’re a knight. A real knight.

When she opened her eyes, the monster was in the doorway. All around her, those not already weeping began to scream. Some ran for another room or the stairs, some blockaded themselves behind furniture, and a few more stood, as though turned to statues by their terror.

Hazel held her ground. When she’d seen Sorrow in the glass, she’d imagined her as hideous, something foul and twisted, but her appearance was that of a living tree, one covered in moss and dried, decaying vine. She had branches instead of bone, and roots spreading from her feet like the train of a dress. From her head rose a wild thicket of tiny branches, sticking up along one side, matted with thick clumps of dirt and leaves. Black eyes peered out of knotholes in the wood. Sticky reddish sap wetted her face, running from the knotholes of her eyes, mimicking the paths of tears. She was as beautiful as she was terrifying.

She towered over them, at least a foot higher than anyone in the room.

“Sorrel,” Severin said, taking a hesitant half step toward her. Even he seemed awed, as though whatever she was when he’d been shut away from the world had grown more terrible as he slept. “Sister, please.”

She didn’t even seem to see him. A voice, thick with tears, spoke from throats around the room, a chorus of her grief. “I loved him and he’s dead and gone and bones. I loved him and they took him away from me. Where is he? Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones. Where is he?”

More people fell prey to the weeping. Sobs racked bodies.

Sorrow took a step toward her brother, knocking a side table to the ground. When she spoke, she sounded more like the wind blowing through trees than any human voice. “I loved him and I loved him and he’s dead and gone and bones. I loved him and they took him away from me. Where is he? Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones. My father took him. My brother killed him. Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones.”

“You would not wish this,” Severin said. “You would not do this. Sister, please. Please. Do not make me try to stop you.”

Deeper into the room Sorrow went, Hazel and Severin moving to either side of her. People shrieked. Ms. Kirtling, in a panic, ran across the room, right into the monster’s path. A long arm with willow-twig fingers reached out and brushed Ms. Kirtling aside as one might brush a spiderweb away. But that small gesture sent Ms. Kirtling hurtling into the wall. Plaster cracked, and with a moan, she slid to the floor.

In the new-formed crack, moss and mold began to spill into the room, like water into the hull of a leaking boat.

On the other side of the room, a woman began to cough up dirt.

Without any idea of what else to do, Hazel slammed her saber into the monster’s side.

All her life, she’d heard about the monster in the heart of the forest. She’d imagined that if only the monster was slain, then faeries would go back to being only tricksy and magical. She’d imagined it enough times that even though she knew better, some part of her believed that when her blade hit the monster’s flank, it would cut deeply.

It left no mark at all, but it did make Sorrow turn toward her, long fingers reaching. Hazel ducked, feeling the brush of dry leaves and smelling fresh-turned earth. She wasn’t quite fast enough to keep Sorrow from catching a clump of her hair. A few strands ripped out and drifted through the air like sparks. The monster used the rest of it like a rope, to hurl Hazel, toppling her into a sofa, saber flying from Hazel’s hand to clang against the floor.

Bruised, she pushed herself up. Her head hurt and her bones felt jangly, as if they no longer fit together. She made herself cross to where her saber was, made herself lift it and turn toward the monster.

Severin had leaped onto her back, holding on to the branches and vines, but she shook him off, then thundered toward where he fell. He rolled and rose to his feet, moving with a swiftness and sureness she had never seen equaled. His blade whirled through the air. He was a magnificent swordsman. And still his blade glanced off her. And still she knocked him back.

It was just then that Jack’s dad came running down the stairs, a hunting rifle gripped in his hands. He set the butt against his shoulder pocket and gazed down the sight, aiming for Sorrow.

“Please, no,” Severin called from the floor, but Hazel wasn’t sure Mr. Gordon even heard him. He pulled the trigger.

The gun was loud in the room, like thunder, rocking Hazel back onto her heels. But the bullets struck the monster’s bark and slid off as though they were mere pebbles hurled by a child. Sorrow went for Mr. Gordon.

Carter intercepted, swinging a candlestick at her, but the creature wrapped its long fingers around him, pulling him to her. Hazel raced toward them, slamming her saber into Sorrow’s back. The monster didn’t even seem to notice.

“Hey!” Jack yelled, and then something spattered the monster. The stinging smell of alcohol filled the air. He’d thrown brandy at her, brandy from his parents’ now-open liquor cabinet.

“I’ll set you on fire,” he said, holding up a book of matches in trembling fingers. “Get away from them. Get out of here.”

The monster seemed to regard him for a long moment, letting Carter slump to the ground. He was unconscious, a green stain spreading across his lips.

It had happened so fast.

Hazel heard her mother scream from the other side of the room. She glanced to one side and saw that Ben was dragging her behind the old upright piano.

Jack struck a match.

The monster rushed at him, fast enough that the flame flickered out in his hand. Hazel threw herself between them, raising her saber, going for the creature’s eyes. The blow grazed Sorrow’s cheek, but no more sap ran.

Jack fumbled to light another match, but as he did, the room became full of rushing wind. Somewhere in the distance, crows called to one another.

With a howl, Severin launched himself onto her back again. Holding on to her branches, he pressed the saber to her throat, clearly hoping to still her, clearly hoping she might be afraid. But she shook herself, trying to throw him off. Hazel tried to slash at her, tried to cut her arms, her sides, even her impossibly long twig fingers. No blow made a single mark. Hazel was batted against a wall, thrown into a small knot of people who screamed as she fell against them.

She was sore all over. Standing took a great effort. Her head rang, and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She blinked blood and sweat out of her eyes. She was bleeding from a dozen cuts she didn’t recall getting. She had no idea how many more times she could do this.

Severin crashed against the floor, rolling into a stand. He was still moving, but Hazel could see that some part of him had given up.

Then she heard the sound of the piano.

She turned, and Sorrow knocked her off her feet again. Hazel hit the wood floor of the house hard, slamming down onto it, the breath knocked out of her. She turned on her side and saw her brother sitting on the bench, his broken fingers splayed across the keys. Playing music.

The notes swelled around them. It was as though Ben was playing the sound of weeping. Sorrow howled into the air.

Then he seemed to slip. The music faltered. He couldn’t do it. His broken fingers, the ones he’d never let set right, the ones he’d never let heal, weren’t nimble enough for the piano. She shouldn’t have been staring in astonishment; she should have been using that frozen moment he’d given her. Hazel pushed herself to her feet, hoping it wasn’t too late.

She ran for Sorrow, but the monster was ready for her. It snatched her up and threw her down onto the sofa so hard that the legs cracked. It rolled backward, taking Hazel with it. Dazed, she looked up at the creature leaning over her. Branches and moss and shining eyes.

“Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones,” Sorrow said softly. A long arm shot out toward Hazel.

Then Ben started to sing. Formless notes, like the ones he might have played had his fingers worked, rose from his throat. It sounded almost like weeping, like her wails. It was grief, terrible and immobilizing. Despite the knot in her hair and Jack’s spell, Hazel felt tears in the back of her throat, felt them burn the backs of her eyes.

A keening, terrible sound came from Sorrow. She thrashed back and forth, knocking down chairs. The sharp broken ends of branches ripped the upholstery of the couch. She howled with grief.

“Ben,” Hazel yelled. “You’re making it worse.”

But Ben didn’t stop. He sang on. People wailed in despair, in rage. Tears wet their clothes, soaked their hair. They collapsed in heaps. They slammed fists against the walls. Sorrow thundered toward the piano, knocking it to one side. It fell with a terrible crash. Her branching fingers covered her face. The monster’s shoulders shook with weeping.

And then Hazel understood. Ben was taking her through the storm of grief. He was singing her through the rage and despair. He was singing her through the terrible loneliness, because there was no way to shut off grief, no way to cast it aside or fight against it. The only way to end grief was to go through it.

As she realized that, his song began to change. It grew softer, sweeter, like the morning after a long cry, when your head still hurt but your heart was no longer broken. Like flowers blooming on a grave. One by one, around the room, the weeping stopped.

The monster grew still.

Ben ceased his singing. He slumped down onto the piano bench, exhausted. Reaching up, his mother twined her fingers with his. Mom was still crying.

For a moment there was only silence. Sorrow looked around her with her strange knothole black eyes, as though waking from a long dream. Severin pushed himself to his feet and walked to her.

She stared down at him, reached out with her long twig fingers. This time she seemed conscious, aware. Her expression was unreadable. Hazel had no idea whether she would strike at him or not.

He reached up a hand and touched her mossy cheek. For a moment the monster leaned into his touch, almost nuzzling. Then, pulling away, she clomped out through the doorway, past the smashed furniture and stunned townsfolk, and was gone.