23

Fi

fi took a deep breath to steady her nerves, walking purposefully through the castle toward the eastern tower—and beneath it, the little door in the outer wall. She was careful not to run or even walk too quickly through the silent halls lest she disturb the Wraith. The silver-eyed body snatcher mostly ignored Fi since she showed no signs of trying to escape, and Fi in turn had a little more freedom to move around without his puppets following her.

Still, she took a roundabout path, sticking to the back passages. The silence felt heavy as she ducked through lavish chambers upholstered with pearly satin curtains and rich carpets that sighed under her boots. She tried to avoid the rooms that she knew held the piled forms of collapsed people whose eyes would follow her as long as she was in sight.

Fi creaked open the last door and stepped into a stone hallway under a high arched ceiling, the little niches in the wall decorated with ancient porcelain vases. A line of royal-blue pennants led the way to a grand staircase, sweeping up three floors—and beyond that, the library. At least Shane should have a straight shot.

Unlike last time, the little gate room at the end wasn’t empty. A burly guard stood vacantly by the door, a long sword belted at his waist. Fi cursed inwardly, forcing her shoulders to relax.

You’re not trying to escape, she reminded herself. So the Wraith has no reason to stop you. She just needed to unlock the door. Fi bit her lip, walking past the puppet guard as casually as possible. His eyes sparked to life with silver, following her movement as she reached for the handle.

“Planning to take a little walk?” the Wraith asked. He leaned the guard’s shoulder against the door, holding it closed.

“Hardly,” Fi responded. It was too late to just casually turn the lock. She was going to have to do something else. Her hand slid into her pocket, crumpling the little page of notes she’d been scribbling about Camellia’s code. Aloud she said, “Just hoping for a little air away from the stench of Witch Hunters.”

She’d seen the way the silver-eyed Witch looked at the camps that littered the courtyards. Even inside his stolen bodies, his disgust was clear.

The guardsman crossed his arms. “A necessary inconvenience, I’m afraid,” the Wraith said. “But I’m sure that trash will be the first thing the Spindle Witch cleans up—once she’s done with your friends, of course.” He smiled cruelly, and Fi saw her chance.

“Don’t talk about them,” she snapped, at the same time as she unlocked the door, yanking it open and slamming the edge into the guard the Wraith was wearing. He stumbled back, not quite fast enough to dodge. Fi had learned that it took him just a few seconds to acclimate to the new bodies he jumped into.

The grass and the crumbling courtyard peeked out from the open door, and Fi grabbed onto the frame. Instantly, the guard was on her. Her seized Fi by her collar, dragging her back and tossing her toward the wall. With his other hand, he slammed the door shut, turning the lock harshly.

“Go get your air somewhere else,” he suggested. His silver eyes bored into Fi. “And don’t let me catch you down here again.”

Fi nodded, rubbing at her throat. She forced her expression to remain cool and blank as she quickly retraced her steps into the castle. When she was sure she was alone, she let out a heavy breath, sagging into the wall.

She’d done it. In the moment when the Wraith was distracted, grabbing for her, Fi had shoved her balled-up paper into the lock, jamming the strike plate. The silver-eyed Witch might have thought he locked the door, but it would push open easily with the slightest shove. And Shane would probably do much more than that.

Fi couldn’t help but grin as she thought of her partner slamming through that door the next morning. She had already set up everything else. She’d even called the crows, speaking to them in hushed tones about the Rose Witch’s riddle, a message she knew they’d take back to their master. Now all she had to do was wait.

Fi made her way back toward the high tower but paused halfway up a twisting staircase, her eyes drawn to a figure outside the window. Briar was sitting on the roof, in the same place Fi had found him before. His face was turned up toward the moonlight, his great black wings cascading across the roof behind him. He was almost the creature from Fi’s dreams at this point, more monster than human.

Fi changed directions, climbing up the tower and then over the side of the parapets. She had to slow down when she reached the slanted roof with the slippery tiles, inching her way to Briar’s side. He didn’t turn at all, didn’t even seem to realize she was there. Briar’s skin was cold, and the moonlight left deep pits of shadow in the sunken hollows of his cheeks and eye sockets. But he was still in there somewhere, she knew, because she had never stopped dreaming.

Fi sat down next to the bone creature, letting her feet stretch out in front of her. The stars were beautiful overhead, and Fi closed her eyes, remembering the night when Briar had promised her forever and she had given him her heart. He still had it, no matter what happened. Even if there was no forever anymore—even if there was just this night and he was a monster.

“I love you, Briar,” Fi whispered, leaning back on her hands. “And I promise nothing will ever change that.” The bone creature remained still, unmoving as a gargoyle, but he didn’t leave. Fi stayed with him late into the night, sitting on the roof and imagining.

That night, she dreamt of dancing with Briar in a hall of mirrors. The song in her ears was the melody from her childhood music box. This time, she was in the Red Baron costume, with the crimson mantle sweeping from her shoulders and the white porcelain mask, and Briar was the skeleton in the tailcoat. The tricornered hat with its red plume covered her hair, while Briar wore no mask at all, his face just a skull. They spun round and round, their reflections twisting one way and then the other. Briar’s eye sockets were almost completely dark now, only the errant sparks of red flashing as they danced.

The bone horns gleamed. His claws slithered over her back as Fi spun gently in his arms, circling him once and then letting him pull her close. She slipped her porcelain mask off, throwing it aside. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces that slid away from them and toward them and back again in the whirl of mirrors, a sea of broken glass seething at their feet. Briar dipped her, and her red cape trailed across the floor like a pool of blood as Fi leaned her head back as far as it would go. For a moment, Briar held her there, and then very slowly pulled her up until they were face-to-face.

The red had returned to his eyes. He reached up to tug at the thread in his chest. Fi laid her hands over the cold claws, stopping him.

“I know where it leads,” she promised. Then she stood up on her tiptoes and closed her eyes, pressing a kiss to the side of the skull.