Briar Queen_ A Night and Nothing Novel - Katherine Harbour Page 0,80
was provocative. He set the apple’s core on the table. “So what did he call himself?”
“He called himself Alexander Nightshade. It wasn’t his true name.”
“The Black Scissors.” Jack studied the witch. “You know him. What did he promise you for helping us with the Wolf?”
“What do you think, Jack Daw?”
“He promised you Moth. I need to find someone, and I believe your Moth is with her. So, you see, we can help each other.”
She held out a hand. “Give me the amulet.”
Jack handed the dragonfly amulet to her. She frowned at it, then tenderly set it in a tiny golden cage that she locked with a key she tucked into her bodice. “That’s what Alexander Nightshade—Moth, you call him—stole from me.”
“Miss Dragonfly.” Jack began with dangerous patience.
She suddenly stabbed him in the hand with a large pin. He flinched.
She grabbed his bleeding hand and gazed down at it. “That’s how the Wolf and his crom cu are tracking you. That blood is not like any in this land.”
“I need to be changed,” Jack said calmly. “Temporarily.”
Not liking the sound of that, Christie slid to his feet. “Can’t you take a potion like I did?”
“None would work.” The witch was watching Jack. “Do you know what needs to be done?”
“It needs to be convincing, the full stitchery.”
“What is stitch—” Christie broke off, his stomach churning. “Jack, is she going to shapechange you?”
“You must believe it, Jack Daw.” Sylph Dragonfly’s serious expression made Christie wonder exactly what it was Jack wanted. “For it to be real to them, you must believe you are a Jack again.”
HUDDLED ON A BENCH IN THE WITCH’S GARDEN, Christie waited while Sylph Dragonfly worked her dark magic on Jack inside the cottage. The tension in the air was as murky as a threatening thunderstorm.
He cautiously studied the statues, which the Dragonfly had reassured him were only statues and served as scarecrows to keep unwanted visitors out of her garden. His dry clothes were from the witch—a gray T-shirt and jeans, a fur-lined coat with a hood. His boots had dried by the fire.
He put his hands over his face, shivering when he heard Jack yell from within the cottage. He closed his eyes and pretended he was home, that Finn was safe, that Sylvie did not have a terrifying double, that no one was lost in this sinister Wonderland.
When he opened his eyes, Sylph Dragonfly stood before him. Her eyes seemed shadowy, not silvered, as she said, “It is done.”
“I don’t want to know what you did.” He actually felt sorry for Jack. “What’s so important about the amulet Moth stole from you?”
She sat beside him. Her skin was luminous. He felt a horrifying twist of desire and wrestled with it as she said, “It was my heart. Then Leander Cyrus stole it from the Wolf. You and Jack returned it.”
He frowned at the primitive skin drum she held out to him. Symbols were inked across its surface. She set a small box on the bench between them, opened it. “To find your friends, I need you to strike this drum three times for each girl lost.”
“Shouldn’t Jack—”
“He can’t, at the moment.” She set a jeweled talisman—a dragonfly—on the drum and handed him an ivory stick. “Three times. For each.”
He reluctantly struck the drum. The dragonfly pointer slid over a symbol. He hit the drum again. Another symbol. And four more times, the talisman jumping to four more symbols, which, he began to realize, formed a map. He looked at Sylph Dragonfly. “Do you know where they are, just from this?”
“I cannot give you that information. Not without receiving something in return.”
He wanted to break the drum. Instead, he gave her his sexiest smile, one that had resulted in phone numbers and naughty texts in the sane world. “What do you want in exchange—and I’m not giving you my soul or my firstborn.”
“Whatever would I do with those?” She traced the ink-scrawled poetry on his hands. When she touched the words on his throat, he realized how very unlike Sylvie she was. She whispered, “Someone placed a protective heka on you.”
“Hek—”
“A spell. Magic. Usually spoken with words. Only the words are written on you. How curious.”
“Even more curious—they’re my own words. Miss Dragonfly, where are Sylvie and Finn?”
“Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”
Every instinct within him screamed Don’t kiss her.