yet but close. The medallion against his chest was heavier than it should be, warming by too-slow degrees. “Hide! Unwinter!”
Puck fell into step behind him, running lightly on glove-shod feet. “You have made a merry mess of many plans, Armormaster. Come, this way.”
It was useless to speculate whether Goodfellow intended mischief or not. Any mischief that could be done to his pursuers was welcome, and the free sidhe seemed to have an interest in this affair. If Jeremiah could guess what it was, that was all to the better.
For right now, any aid in escaping what pursued him was to be grasped with both hands.
He followed as the boy nipped through a gate and clambered up the side of an imitation-Tudor house. Across the roof in a flash, and there was an oak tree in its backyard, a fine spreading set of branches just barely tipped with new green. Up into those branches the boy clambered, with Jeremiah right behind him.
This won’t shield us. “Goodfellow—”
“Hush.” The free sidhe tilted his sleek dark head. “You shall not be Unseelie meat tonight.”
Awful nice of you. Can’t say I want you to change your mind. But why are you doing this? “I ask the price for this aid.”
Puck’s sharp white teeth flashed as he laughed, a small whistling sound. “It is not for your sake I bestir myself. Be quiet.”
For whose sake, then? Robin’s? He swallowed dryly. Maybe the Fatherless simply wanted to pull Unwinter’s tail.
It would be just like him. A dangerous game some other sidhe would pay the price for, and mischief merry enough to make any sidhe laugh if they were not the target.
Jeremiah balanced among the branches, finding that the lightfoot had not deserted him, either. His heart thundered until he could spare the concentration to calm its pounding, gapping his mouth so he could breathe softly. Night air, full of subtle flavor—warming earth, ice and rotting things, the tang of exhaust and the blue ghost of evening rain. Tiny cold kisses on his face and hands, and he heard the huntwhistles in the distance.
Puck’s eyes glowed greenyellow, his pupils dark hourglass holes. The free sidhe hooked a knee over a branch and brought his hands to his mouth, a swift graceful movement. He inhaled, Jeremiah tensed…
… and the pipes, usually at Puck Goodfellow’s belt, gave a long breathy moan like a woman in love’s final throes.
It wasn’t precisely music, simply a rill like a running stream, sliding at the very edge of hearing. Jeremiah’s skin roughened with gooseflesh; he’d heard enough tales of what could happen if those pipes shrieked. The soft skimming unsound tautened into silvery loops, complex and doubling back on themselves as air pressure changed.
The temperature dropped at least five degrees, Jeremiah’s breath suddenly a plume of white vapor. Rushing and sliding in the shadows, all around the overgrown garden’s crumbling brick wall—had the whole of Unseelie come out to play in this one city tonight?
A high trilling from Puck’s pipes. It buzzed and blurred between the clamor and clatter of Unwinter’s riding. The Fatherless narrowed his burning eyes, moving with loosely fluid grace as a chill breeze mouthed the tree.
Jeremiah moved as well, riding the swaying. Just like what surfing must be like, he supposed. He and Daisy had talked idly about moving to California one day. Golden sunshine and oranges all year-round, and maybe no sidhe hiding in the shadows… but the Dreaming Sea touched all shores.
There was never any escape.
The cold eased, a little at a time. In the distance, more huntwhistles. On the other side of downtown—was that where Robin was leading them?
Puck’s music died, and the pipes dangled loosely in one brown hand. He cocked his head, yellowgreen gleams winking out as he shut his eyes and listened, the sharp points of his ears dewed with condensation, poking up through the droplet-gemmed mat of his hair. He was sweating, too.
So there was something Goodfellow feared. Or the effort had cost him much.
“On the green hill,” the Fatherless finally breathed. “Behind the sculpted gate.”
Jeremiah blinked. Other side of downtown—Amberline Park. Of course, that’s Seelie, and Summer’s touch will make it difficult for Unwinter to set foot there without invitation. I don’t think Robin will invite him.
She might be alive.
It was just possible, he supposed.
Puck beckoned, the entire tree rustled, and they both dropped from the oak, landing lightly. Jeremiah waited as Puck tucked his pipes away, taking deep, cautious sniffs.
Yes, the Unseelie had definitely passed them by. They were drawing away