to Finn, she counted a dozen riders.
Removing his helmet and handing it to her, Sionnach Ri smiled. “Nick of time?”
She grinned and put the helmet on. “You do that on purpose, don’t you?”
CHAPTER 18
This maiden had scarcely these words spoken,
Till in at her window the elf knight has leaped . . .
“Seven kings’ daughters have I slain.
And you shall be the eighth of them.”
—“LADY ISABEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT”
Sylph Dragonfly and her sisters vanished into the night as Finn, on the back of Sionnach’s speeding bike, glanced over one shoulder and saw a pack of silver-eyed Fatas in fur coats emerging from the forest darkness behind them.
The wolves had lost their prey.
As the fox knights sped onto a highway with Finn and her companions, Finn yelled into Sionnach’s ear. “Where are you taking us?”
“To Thomas the Rhymer.”
The name belonged to a character in a ballad about fairies. Finn sighed. “You’re not going to betray us again, are you?”
“Sylph Dragonfly threatened to turn me into a fur coat for her next lover if I did. So, no—also, I’m scared of your boyfriend. The Rhymer is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know.” Finn looked over at Jack, who rode with a leggy fox knight. When his eyes flashed silver, Finn’s heart ached; now that they had left the Wolf’s house, Jack’s mortality had fallen away and the Dragonfly’s spell was taking root again and becoming a reality.
AS DUSK CRIMSONED THE SKY, the fox knights’ motorcycles curved onto a street of deserted-looking mansions untouched by age or neglect—a Ghostlands suburbs, as silent and perfect as a painting. They halted in front of a large oak door set in one of the ten-foot-high hedges lining the avenue, and Sionnach said, “You’ve got a key, Finn Sullivan. Don’t you? I saw it.”
She lifted the dragonfly key on its chain around her neck and gazed at it doubtfully. “Will it work here?”
“I’m sure it will. It has the Dubh Deamhais’s scent all over it.”
“My friend died,” Finn told him, her voice tight. “The one who gave this to me.”
“I know.” Sionnach Ri was somber. “I scented the death on it as well.”
Jack glanced at the fox knight. “Don’t think this makes up for you and your tribe handing Finn over to the Mockingbirds.”
Sionnach nervously tugged at a gold hoop in his ear.
Finn climbed from the motorcycle, stepped forward, and jammed the dragonfly key into the lock of the door in the hedge. When the door swung open, she breathed out and felt like crying.
Beyond was a Mediterranean garden of fig and olive trees, with a townhouse of pale stone rising in the center, its large windows depicting stained-glass scenes of fairy-tale menace: a knight in thorns; a girl in a red coat, with a beast’s shadow; two lovers, heads bowed, holding a bleeding apple between them.
“Go on in.” Sionnach nodded to Finn. “The house door’s open.”
With a little shiver of apprehension and relief, she handed him the helmet he’d let her borrow. “Thanks.”
Sionnach glanced at Moth, who was frowning, his face shadowed by the hood of his jacket. Then Sionnach smiled at Finn. “Any girl who can make Jack Daw grow a heart deserves my undying loyalty.”
“That so? And how is your heart doing?”
“Fine.” He put the helmet on. “Now that you’ve got time to breathe, maybe you and your man can go madly for the zippers, eh?”
“Good-bye, Sionnach.” She waited until he and his knights had sped away, before turning and entering the garden with her companions. She said to Jack, “Thomas the Rhymer?”
“You know him as the dean of HallowHeart.” Jack opened the townhouse door.
They stepped into a modern parlor illuminated by a chandelier of orange crystal. A wall of shelves held books with true-world titles. Antique furniture circled a fireplace carved with the image of an oak tree. Another wall was hung with green man masks spouting leaves and ivy.
“Welcome. At last.” Rowan Cruithnear entered the parlor and he looked as aristocratic as ever in a Brooks Brothers suit, his hair seeming more silver than before. “Miss Sullivan, Christopher Hart and Sylvia Whitethorn have returned safely to the true world. Hopefully, you’ll not be more than an hour later.”
“But we can’t go all the way back to that station—”
“You won’t. I’ve arranged another way. It’ll be a bit tricky.”
Of course. Finn straightened when what she really wanted to do was fall onto the sofa. “Who are you, really?”
Jack answered, “This is Thomas the Rhymer, Thomas Learmont, whom I’m sure you’ve read about,