The Faerie Ring Page 6

  Tiki glanced at the bookseller in surprise, then darted after the girl, craning her neck this way and that, searching the crowd. But the girl with blond ringlets was nowhere to be seen. Uneasy, Tiki stepped back to the bookstall, where the vendor watched her with curious eyes.

  “S’cuse me, did that blond girl buy anything?”

  The bookseller crooked an eyebrow at her. “What blond girl are you talking about? I ain’t seen no blond girl.” His bemused expression turned into a frown. “Is this some trick so you can snitch something? Get out of here.” He waved his hand at her. “Ye’re not going to pull a fast one on ol’ Dickie Betts.”

  Tired from her long day and suddenly wary, Tiki hurried from King’s Cross and headed home. More than once she looked over her shoulder.

  The lamplighter had already lit the streetlamps by the time Tiki returned to Charing Cross. As she drew closer to the station, hail started pounding down from the skies in a sheet of white, bouncing off the cobblestones as if thrown by some angry deity. She looked up in surprise at the unexpected onslaught and was immediately rewarded with the painful sting of the small ice chunks pelting her face. She yanked her jacket over her head and raced toward the entrance.

  Several bobbies stood under a protective overhang, swinging their sticks and talking. Tiki decided not to chance catching their eye and veered over to the far side of the building to follow the alley to the entrance through the maintenance tunnels.

  As suddenly as the hail started, the deluge stopped. Long shadows stretched between the tall buildings. Sometimes people slept in the darkness of the alleyway, when they had nowhere else to go or were too drunk to get there. Tiki could see an occasional silhouette of a body stretched along the cobblestones, sleeping or passed out. She counted her blessings again that Fiona and Shamus had taken her in and let her share the old clockmaker’s shop two years ago. At least they didn’t have to sleep outside in the elements, like these poor souls.

  She was almost to the door that led into the maintenance tunnels when a hand clamped around her arm and yanked her backward. Only a sliver of light cut through the darkness of the alley, but it was enough for Tiki to see her assailant’s face, twisted with emotions she didn’t understand, staring down at her. He was beautiful in a dangerous way, with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and black hair pulled back tight against his head.

  She let out a scream, but her attacker clapped his free hand down hard over her mouth and pushed her against a brick wall with enough force to knock the breath from her body. He grabbed her hands and wrenched them over her head, pinning her thin wrists together with one hand.

  “Aren’t you a pretty pigeon. Larkin was right.” His breath was hot on her face as he spoke, his lips too close to hers. His voice reminded her of the skin of a snake, dry and scaly. He chuckled under his breath, an evil, mirthless sound. “What is it you know, little girl? What’s your secret?”

  Tiki squirmed and kicked, fighting to breathe, to break free. She was drowning in shadows, as if she were being pulled into an unfamiliar darkness.

  “Let go of me!” Tiki thought she saw other faces in the dim shadows: frighteningly feral, vicious faces that laughed and jeered.

  “Help!” She gasped. But then his lips descended on hers, cutting off her cries.

  Tiki wrenched her face away and tried to kick him, but he lifted her off her feet. The toe of her boot caught her attacker’s shin, and Tiki managed to free one hand. She clawed at his eyes but missed. Her grasping fingers grazed something folded along his shoulder blade.

  She blinked.

  Was that a wing?

  “Marcus!” A deep voice cut through the shadows.

  Before she could fully focus in the dim light, her attacker was yanked backward and after a moment seemed to dissolve before her eyes. Around her the air fluttered, the shadows still shifting where he had stood. Tiki gasped for breath, huddled against the rough brick wall, looking up at her rescuer.

  “R-Rieker?”

  “Tiki, are you all right?” His voice was low, urgent.

  “Y-yes,” Tiki stuttered, her teeth chattering with a delayed reaction. “Wh-who was that?” She grabbed Rieker’s arm, her fingers clutching at his sleeve, and tried to catch her breath. “Where did he go?”

  “His name is Marcus.” Rieker moved close to her, as if to protect her. “Don’t worry, he’s gone now.”

  “Who is he?”

  Rieker’s lips twisted as though to hold his words in. “Someone who wanted to get my attention.”

  She peered at Rieker’s face. His eyes were guarded, his emotions veiled. “Why?”

  He reached forward and gently rubbed his thumb along the edge of her bruised lip. “You’re bleeding,” he said softly.

  Tiki reached up to stop him, but her shaking fingers clung to the warmth of his skin instead. “You didn’t answer my question,” she whispered.

  “They think I have something they want.”

  Tiki was uncomfortably aware of how close Rieker was standing to her, yet at the same time she felt pulled toward him, as though in the grip of a magnet. He leaned even closer and whispered in her ear.

  “They think I have the ring, Tiki.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, it was with a sickening tug.

  “The ring?” Her words were faint.

  “The ring you stole.” He raised his eyebrows. “The royals aren’t the only ones looking for it.”

  With him this close, she could see a long, narrow scar under one eyebrow and another along his jaw, giving him an air of danger. “What do you mean? Who else is looking?”

  “The ring is old.” Rieker’s body was angled so she was shielded from any curious eyes in the alley. His voice was hushed as he spoke, and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people in the world. “But the secrets and alliances that it holds are ancient.” His fingers tightened on hers. “The ring is a well, Tiki. A reservoir that holds things. Important things.”

  Tiki tried to back away, but the rough stones of the brick wall behind held her in place, trapping her.

  “Did you notice how the heart of the stone burns with a fire?” Rieker’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s an eternal flame that binds the parties to an agreement that was reached and preserved there. If the flame extinguishes, then the agreement is void.”

  “How can a fire burn inside a ring?” But Tiki knew what he was talking about. She could still see the strange flames flickering in the depths of the bloodred stone.

  Rieker’s answer fell heavy on her ears.

  “Magic.” He leaned close, his breath warm on her cheek, and whispered, “Faerie magic.”

  Tiki’s breath caught in her throat as a million thoughts crashed through her head at once. Her mother had believed in faeries. They’re around us, Tara Kathleen, she had whispered to her when she was a child. Watch closely and you’ll see their shadows move.

  A cold hand clutched at her heart. Could Rieker be speaking the truth? Other memories flickered to the surface. Times when she’d seen strange faces one second that were gone the next.

  “We’ll both be safer if you just give it to me. If you do have the ring, they’ll find you.” Rieker’s voice held a warning.

  Tiki pressed her lips into a tight line. She would not give him the ring. That ring was her answer to saving Clara. To starting a new life for all of them.

  “What if I don’t have the ring?”

  Rieker scowled at her. “For your sake, and the sake of those orphans you care for, you’re going to listen to what I have to tell you.” He tightened his fingers around her wrist until she winced. Seeing her pained expression, he let her go and his voice softened. “Tiki, come with me. I’ll buy you a cup of tea inside the station. You need to listen.”

  Tiki followed without resisting, her nerves in a jumble at the idea that he might be speaking the truth.

  Rieker led her inside Charing Cross and steered her to a tea shop that had small tables outsi
de the storefront. He sat her down, then went inside to purchase a drink. Tiki pulled her coat tighter and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She caught a few questioning glances from the other patrons, as though someone dressed in threadbare clothes didn’t have the right to sit there. She was relieved when Rieker returned with tea and biscuits, dragging his own chair close to hers.

  “I didn’t believe it either, Tiki,” he said, “at first.” He shifted on his seat, his gaze never leaving her face. “What did you see when Marcus touched you?”

  She froze, remembering the frightening shadows, the sense of another place, of darkness swallowing her.

  “What did you feel?” Rieker’s voice was a whisper.

  Wings. She had felt a wing, springing from his back like that of an archangel, but without feathers. A wing as hard as stained glass, yet as fragile as a dragonfly’s wing, reflecting the light in a thousand different directions. Even now she could remember how it fluttered, making the air vibrate around her, seeming to suck the breath from her chest. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Did you see that flash of light, Tiki? It was a faerie crossing over. Their wings reflect the light.

  Tiki lifted wide eyes to him. “He was a faerie?”

  Rieker nodded. “Faeries exist, though their numbers are getting fewer and fewer. Their world is dying, which is why the ring is so important.”

  “Faeries are after the ring?” she whispered.

  “The ring holds a truce between the British and faerie courts. As long as the flame burns inside the ring, then there will be peace between our worlds. Without the truce, it’s war.”

  Rieker’s eyes were locked on her, and Tiki found it hard to look away.

  “But why do they want to fight us?”

  “Because we’re taking over their world. The fey fill a different space, in between where you and I can see,” Rieker said. “But we share the same world. When our cities grow bigger, there is less space for them. Our mechanical inventions are replacing their magic.” He gestured toward a steam engine waiting to pull out of the station, a gust of smoke bellowing from its sides like some mechanical fire-breathing beast. “As there are more of us who don’t believe, their capacity for magic diminishes. Some in the Otherworld think that their only chance for survival is to eliminate us. To take back what was once theirs.”

  Rieker shifted in his chair, his voice low and hushed. “But to do that, they must destroy the ring first. To end the truce.”

  Could it be true? Was that why the royals wanted the ring back so desperately that they were willing to offer up a fortune?

  “You’re in danger, Tiki.” Rieker’s expression was deadly serious. “Some of them, Donegal and those of the UnSeelie court, will stop at nothing to get the ring.” He reached forward and took her hand, wrapping his long fingers around hers. “The fey have a weakness to iron. You should get a knife with a blade made of iron and carry it with you, no matter what.” His voice dropped. “And you’ve got to be prepared to use it.”

  “Tiki!” A shout interrupted their conversation, and Tiki jerked around to see Toots running full speed toward them. She sat up in alarm.

  “Teek,” Toots gasped as he slid to a stop in front of her. His skin was pale under his orange freckles, and his green eyes were bright with panic. “Fiona sent me to find you. She needs you to come quick. Clara’s taken a turn for the worse.”

  Chapter Eight

  RIEKER stood as Tiki jumped to her feet. “Can I help?”

  “No.” Tiki answered more abruptly than she meant. “I’ve got to go.” Her eyes found Rieker’s for just a second. She was surprised by the compassion she glimpsed there. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Hurry, Teek.” Toots tugged at Tiki’s arm.

  She grabbed Toots’s hand and they raced for home. She glanced over her shoulder once to make sure Rieker wasn’t following them. She didn’t trust him enough to let him know where they lived.

  “Please let her be okay, please let her get well,” Tiki whispered as they ran back to the abandoned clockmaker’s shop. She gasped for air as they slid into the little room. It was as though a clamp had tightened on her heart.

  Tiki hurried to Fiona’s side where she sat cradling Clara in her lap.

  “She’s hot, Teek. I think she’s got a fever.”

  Tiki leaned down and put her hand on Clara’s forehead. A deep foreboding filled her when she felt how dry and hot the little girl’s skin was. Mr. Lloyd’s warning reverberated in her ears.

  Toots hovered near Fiona, looking over her shoulder at Clara, his face knotted up with worry. “Last year, before my mum told me I was old enough to live on my own, one of my little brothers had the coughing sickness.”

  “And what did she do for him?” Fiona asked.

  There was a long silence before Toots answered. “She buried him.”

  Clara’s breath came out in a slow, raspy gasp and gurgled into a cough.

  “Tiki?”

  Her voice was so weak and low, Tiki could hardly hear her. The little girl opened her eyes just enough to make sure Tiki was there. A small smile flitted across her face, and she reached up. “Who’s that pretty lady with long blond hair?” Tiki leaned down so Clara could wrap her scrawny arm around her neck. Even the skin on her arm felt hot.

  “What blond lady, Clara?” Tiki asked.

  Clara spoke slowly, every word an effort. “She’s in the corner. Can’t you see her?”

  Fiona looked up at Tiki, fear in her eyes. “There’s no one in the corner. Is she dreaming?”

  Tiki shook her head. “She must be. It’s from the fever.”

  “What do we do? Shamus has gone over to Cheapside. No telling when he’ll be back.”

  Tiki’s stomach churned. What could they do? An image of her mother and father flashed before her eyes, dying in their bed of consumption, wasting away to nothing. She hated doctors. They’d been no help when her parents were sick. Memories surfaced of the sharp features of Mrs. Thorndike, her strict governess, who had moved in with their family during her parents’ illness. The woman had been cold and heartless, not allowing Tiki to see her mother and father even to say good-bye, telling her their bodies were contagious.

  Tiki swallowed the lump in her throat. Her life before was like a distant dream now. Everything had been so easy when she’d lived with her parents. Hot food every day and clean clothes; servants to help with the cooking and cleaning. It was inconceivable that she would one day steal bread and pick pockets to survive. But lately her memories of her life before were beginning to fade. Images of those she cared about in the past were being replaced by Clara’s face and the others. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  “There’s a place up in Bloomsbury.” Tiki smoothed Clara’s hair back from her face. “A hospital for children. Mr. Lloyd told me. They’ll help her.” Clara’s thin frame was racked with another coughing spasm. The blue veins in her eyelids that showed through her thin skin and the dark circles under her eyes made her look half-alive.

  “How will we pay?” Toots asked. His eyes were wide and worried as he peered up at Tiki, his freckles stark against his pale skin.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Tiki said. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach like a snake coiled and waiting to strike. “We’ll find a way.” Even if they had to pawn the ring.

  She began gathering the scraps of blankets they had collected and tucked them in around the little girl in Fiona’s arms. “We’ll have to wrap her up and try to keep her warm. It’s bitter cold out there tonight. I’m going to put my dress on, too. Maybe that will help when we ask the hospital to take her.”

  Once she was changed, Tiki donned her cloak and took Clara from Fiona. The little girl stirred but didn’t come fully awake as Tiki easily lifted her slight weight.

  “Toots, why don’t you wait here for Shamus to return so you can tell him what’s happened?”

  “You’re not leaving me behind,” Toots replied in a belligerent tone. “Clara might need
me.”

  Tiki smiled at the young boy. “Of course, you’re right, Toots. Grab your hat.”

  As they emerged into the alley, rain fell in a light mist. The wild weather from earlier in the day had dissipated, but now the night air was so cold that the drops froze when they hit the ground, making the cobblestones extremely slippery.

  Tiki readjusted her grip and picked up the pace, Toots and Fiona close on her heels. Clara’s frail body began to shiver in her arms, and Tiki tried to move faster. They cut across the front of the station and headed for the Strand, ducking their heads against the freezing rain. In her haste, Tiki slipped on the icy ground. She clutched Clara tighter in her arms, landing with a cracking thump on her hip. Her breath exploded from her chest in a sharp gasp.

  “Teek,” Fiona cried, reaching down to help her up, “are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Tiki muttered. She clenched her teeth against the burning pain as Fiona and Toots helped her up. She took a few limping steps, Clara unconscious in her arms. “Let’s keep going.” Already she could feel her arms beginning to shake with the cold and the strain.

  A shout came from behind, but Tiki didn’t slow.

  “It’s Shamus,” Toots said.

  “Teek…” Shamus’s breath came out in small puffs of white air lit by the glow of the streetlamp. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Shamus, thank goodness,” she breathed.

  “Rieker told me to get home.” Shamus’s worried eyes went from Tiki’s face to the bundle she carried and back again. “Where are you going with Clara?”

  “She’s got a fever.” Tiki’s voice was rushed. “We’re taking her up to Great Ormond Street. There’s a hospital there for sick children.”

  “Is she that bad?”

  “Yes, Shamus,” Fiona said sharply. “An’ she’s getting worse.”

  Shamus glanced at Fiona but directed his comment to Tiki. “We run the risk of losing her if we take her there, you know. Hospitals won’t give up orphans to other orphans.” His voice was thick with warning. “They might even want to know about us—where we live, who cares for us.”