didn’t register the siren’s voice because of those. Interesting.”
Christie stared down at the siren’s skull and began to turn a greenish color. “What would have happened if I’d heard her, too?”
“Well.” Jack sauntered to Ivan Vodyanoi’s remains. “She would have wrapped us up nice and tight. She would have drained us of our bodily fluids. Within a few days, we would have been two mummified corpses.”
“I wish I hadn’t asked—what are you doing?”
Jack was crouched beside Vodyanoi’s bits and was picking out the human teeth. “Human teeth are valuable in the Ghostlands.”
“That’s so horribly wrong.” Christie was staring nervously at the siren’s skull, as if expecting it to jump at him.
“Why don’t you smash the teeth out of that?” Jack gestured to the skull.
Christie’s voice was faint. “I’m not touching it.”
Jack tossed the Indonesian kris to him and said, “Keep that. Try not to fall on it. Get the teeth from that skull, Christopher. We may need to bribe some people to save Finn and Sylvie.”
Christie glanced down at the skull, muttered, “You really are a psychopath. I think I’m going to be sick again. That guy was going to eat me.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for other people’s tastes.”
CHRISTIE WAS IN HELL.
They were following a metal bug, which, when he stared at it long enough, seemed to become a tiny winged woman of brass and glass. He kept picturing Sylvie caught by something worse than Ivan Vodyanoi and thought of Finn stalked by that terrifying Fata man with the wolf-blue eyes. He regretted the loss of his backpack, which had had clothes, food, the useless phone, and a switchblade in it. They hadn’t been able take Ivan Vodyanoi’s truck because Jack said only Fatas could work vehicles here. More damn fairy magic.
“Is Tinkerbell leading us in a helpful direction?”
“Yes. What did the Black Scissors tell you?”
“The Black Scissors told Sylvie how that bastard Lot can be killed, since you can’t shove him into a sacrificial green fire. He said you need to do three things: poison him, stab him, and cut off his head. Is that dragonfly a fairy?”
“You’ll need to cease using that word if you appreciate breathing. It’s stopped.” Jack indicated the dragonfly, which had darted up into a tree and appeared to be sulking. “There now—you’ve insulted it with the ‘f’ word.”
Christie wished he could stop shivering. “How can you be so calm?”
Jack turned, his eyes shadowy. “I believe this Dragonfly witch is allied with the Black Scissors. The dragonfly seems to be a popular motif with our coconspirators.”
“The dragonfly key . . . the Black Scissors said it would lead us to a witch who would help us . . .” Christie went quiet, imagining Sylvie alone in this place of horrors. She’d always been a beacon of common sense to him, and she’d talked him down from some crazy things—like running away with Victoria Tudor when he was twelve years old. What if Sylvie was dead? When his mind ventured in that direction, he felt breathless and dizzy, as if the ground was moving. He groaned and sank to a crouch.
He heard Jack walking back to him, leaves crackling beneath his boots, then Jack’s calm voice. “Breathe deep, head between your knees. Don’t pass out. I won’t be carrying you.”
“Okay. Okay, I’m good. Sylvie isn’t dead. And Finn is safe. How did you lose Finn?”
“Caliban took her.”
“Oh God . . .”
Jack looked up at the dragonfly and snapped his fingers. “Get down here and do your job. The crom cu won’t hurt her—the Wolf isn’t done playing.”
As the steampunk dragonfly swept onward, Christie stood. Jack said, “What else did you have to tell me?”
Christie breathed out. “Sylv has the sword the Black Scissors gave us to kill the Wolf. It’s special iron sheathed in elder wood. Phouka never told you about how to kill Lot?”
Jack was grim. “No. What else?”
Christie hunched his shoulders and whispered, “The Black Scissors said Lily Rose can leave the Wolf’s house, but not the Ghostlands. Something bad will happen.”
“If Lily Rose is here, we’re not leaving her.” Jack turned away and they followed the dragonfly to a stairway of mossy, root-tangled wood that sloped up into a darker forest.
Christie tentatively asked, “So who suggested visiting this witch?”
“Leander Cyrus.”
“The guy who tricked Finn’s sister?”
“Cyrus was a pawn.”
“And what if Caliban’s delivered Finn to the Wolf? What are we going to do—”
“The Wolf doesn’t have Finn. Finn is clever. She’s resourceful.” Jack glanced back at Christie. “And I believe in her.”
JACK HALTED