past her terror. “And what happens when I do find your house?”
“Then I give you a fair, fighting chance to win Lily back.”
Jack’s vagabonds, in their tatterdemalion finery, now surrounded the wolves on the ice. The Fata called Atheno, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Iggy Pop, grinned and stretched out his arms. “Why does the Madadh aillaid come to a gathering of mortal children, to threaten a braveheart who only defended herself from one who did her wrong?”
The scarlet-haired fiddler, Farouche, stepped to Atheno’s side, his face remote with caution. “Careful, Atheno. It isn’t like the old days.”
“No, it isn’t.” Seth Lot continued, almost lovingly. “In the old days, we would have torn all of you apart and bitten the bones.”
The blessed, and the other students—aware now of the standoff—stood like deer in headlights, fascinated and confused. As Seth Lot and his pack faced Atheno and the vagabonds, Phouka, fierce in her punk fairy-tale glamour, moved toward the Wolf. More Fatas were arriving from the hedge maze, striding across the snow—Phouka had called in reinforcements. Finn hoped things weren’t about to get ugly as Lot’s words jumbled around in her brain.
“This is my court, Madadh aillaid.” Phouka spoke in a voice that could have cut steel. “And you are not welcome here.”
Seth Lot’s gaze scathed the small army behind Phouka. He said something low and vicious. Finn stepped back and felt Christie grip her elbow as Sylvie flung an arm around her. Then Seth Lot continued, “By the Law of Tooth and Claw, I am entitled to the lives of the queen killers.”
Phouka replied, “We don’t follow La Bestia’s rules here. This isn’t the French court or the wolf tribe. You’ve no right in this land to claim anything.”
Seth Lot’s attention returned to Finn, and his blue eyes seemed to glow. Fear almost shattered Finn’s composure.
Then a voice carried through the vagabonds, “I’m here, Wolf.”
“Jack,” Finn whispered, turning her head.
Jack, in a navy greatcoat, moved carefully through the Fatas to place himself between Seth Lot and Finn.
“Jack.” Seth Lot smiled. The two of them seemed like young men, not antique spirits. “My favorite and best sluagh. Regardless of what your false monarch says”—he nodded to Phouka—“I expect you and your muirneach to come find me. If you do not, I’ll rip through every one of these pretty children”—he gracefully indicated the blessed and the students, who were, fortunately, too far away to hear his threat—except for Aubrey, who swore breathlessly—“until you do. Do you understand me, Jack Fata?”
The tension in the air crackled like gunpowder. Finn whispered, “His name is Jack Hawthorn.”
Seth Lot’s gaze fell upon her and she continued faintly, “He is mine and I am his. Until the end of the world.”
“Is that so, Serafina Sullivan?” Seth Lot spoke intimately, as if it were only the two of them. “Then I look forward to ending your world.”
He turned and, followed by his pack, strode past Phouka and the other Fatas, toward the hedge maze.
When the wolves had gone, Finn felt all the strength leave her. Jack’s body shored hers up and one of his arms braced her. He said hoarsely, “What were you thinking? Challenging him like that?”
She wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his scent, pressing her face against his chest and the drum of his heart. “He knows we’re coming after Lily. It’s what he wants.”
FINN AND JACK ENTERED HER ROOM through the terrace doors. Christie and Sylvie had driven home with a Fata escort from Phouka. Moth had remained with the Fatas.
As Finn switched on the lights, the malicious resonance of Seth Lot’s voice echoed in her head. She said to Jack, “Are you going to tell me why you’re all bruised and banged up?”
“Caliban came to visit.” Jack lowered himself onto the pink sofa, wincing a little. “He killed my cat.”
“BlackJack Slade?” She sat beside him. “Jack, I’m so sorry . . .”
Then she asked, “Do you wish—”
His mouth curved at one corner and he rested his arms on the back of the sofa, legs apart. “If you’re asking if I wish I’d never been made human, shame on you.”
She settled beside him, into the curve of his arm. “Ouch.” She slipped a hand into an inside pocket of his coat and drew out the dagger that had poked her shoulder blade. “How many of these do you have?”
“As many as I need.” He smiled rakishly as she drew her legs beneath her and frowned at him. She was much more afraid