The Wood Queen

by Karen Mahoney

  Under the bright hallway lighting, she saw that he couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. He was tall and skinny, with shoulder-length black hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb—or a haircut—in way too long, though the heavy layering of blue highlights more than made up for that. He was sort of nice looking, despite rather thin lips, and his dark eyes had an angular, Asian look to them. He also had ridiculously long lashes; it looked like he might as well be wearing mascara. Actually, Donna could now see that he was wearing makeup—black eyeliner was smudged into his lower lashes, and, combined with his black clothing and silver lip ring, it made him look like he was doing a bad impression of a skinny rock singer.

  This guy was an alchemist? She couldn’t help wondering how he got away with dressing like this; there was no way they’d let him do it if he were part of the Order of the Dragon.

  And he was still standing there, completely and utterly silent. What a freak.

  Suddenly angry, she glared at him. “Are you trying to give me the creeps? Standing there like a big, dumb jerk and staring at me like you’ve never seen a girl before?”

  For a moment she wondered if he might be laughing at her, but the quirk at the corner of his mouth was gone so fast Donna thought she must have imagined it.

  He gestured with his head, clearly indicating that she should follow him, and turned away before she had a chance to say anything else.

  Donna was beginning to feel increasingly nervous about the next stage of her trial—things were moving too fast. Still, she followed him because, right now, she didn’t have much of a choice, and she needed time to figure out what she was going to do about Mom. And the Wood Queen.

  “It’ll be over soon. I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said, surprising her. He had a pleasant voice, sort of quiet with a British accent.

  Donna raised her eyebrows and glanced around the hallway. They were waiting for the ancient elevator to arrive, but for some reason the dial was stuck on “one” and didn’t look like it would be moving anytime soon.

  She forced a laugh. “So you can speak. I thought you might have taken a vow of silence, just to increase the dramatic tension.” She knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t help it—not when her heart was suddenly pounding hard enough to make her chest hurt.

  Her companion barely looked at her. “This is taking too long. Let’s take the stairs,” was all he said.

  He headed back toward the staircase and increased his pace, forcing her to run to catch up. Long-legged bastard.

  Despite her growing annoyance, Donna decided to try a more friendly approach. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” he replied calmly. But at least he slowed down again. “My name’s Robert Lee. I’m an adept with the Order of the Crow.”

  “Are you based in London, with Miranda?” She tried not to sound too interested. But Miranda had seemed cool, for an alchemist—totally different from the female alchemists she was used to. “What do you do there?”

  Robert regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before looking away again. “You ask a lot of questions, Miss Underwood.”

  Miss Underwood? She almost laughed at that. “Call me Donna.”

  “It’s probably for the best if I don’t … Miss Underwood.”

  She rolled her eyes. Was this just him being polite, or had someone told him to keep her at arm’s length? “Come on, Mr. Lee; you look like you’ve broken a few rules in your time.”

  His thin mouth curved into a real smile. “Maybe. But maybe I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

  Donna fixed a mock-serious expression on her face. “Really?” She dragged the word out. “I think you’re the one who started the whole talking thing, reassuring me that things are going to be okay. Remember?”

  His cheeks flushed, but he refused to look at her.

  “Oh, please,” she said, genuinely exasperated. “What are you afraid of—that I’ll use my so-called magical powers to brainwash you into letting me escape?”

  Robert led her into a short passageway, waiting for her to draw level with him before glancing at her. His expression was completely serious. “I sincerely doubt your magic could outclass mine, Miss Underwood.”

  This time she really did laugh. “You think?” He was definitely messing with her, but there was no way he’d admit it. She kind of liked that about him; that in his own strange way, Robert Lee was trying to take her mind off the hearing.

  At least, she thought that was what he was doing. “So, you’re really not supposed to talk to me? They told you that, huh?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just following orders.”

  Of course you are, she thought tiredly, but what she said was, “Fine. But it’s not like I can get out of a mansion filled with alchemists, is it? There’s no harm in talking to me until we get there; I’m not planning anything. Nothing, you know, dodgy.” She grinned as she said the last word.

  For a moment he looked like he was going to laugh. “Did you just say ‘dodgy’ to me? Where did you get that from?”

  “Isn’t that the sort of thing you guys say?”

  An expression she couldn’t read crossed his face. “What guys?”

  Donna frowned, genuinely confused. “Um … British people. You know? It’s not like I’ve never heard an English person speak before.”

  His gaze slid toward her and their eyes met for a moment. “Oh. Right.”

  “So?” she said, unable to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Are you going to answer any of my totally harmless and not-at-all-dodgy questions?”

  He nodded slowly, as though uncertain of how much he should be telling her. “Yes, I’m based in London, although I won’t be working with Miranda now. They’ll assign me to an adept’s duties when we get home. I only recently passed the final tests, so I shouldn’t really be out here, but Miranda wanted me to meet Quentin.”

  If Robert was a newly qualified adept, having completed the initiate’s standard magical tests and grueling exams, that meant he must be about twenty-one. He looked younger than that, though, with his scruffy hair and long skinny legs. Donna wondered what “duties” they would assign him once he returned to London. The Order of the Dragon might be the most magically active of the alchemists, but the Order of the Crow was supposed to be run by alchemists dedicated to finding—or remaking—the Philosopher’s Stone, given that they were based in England, one of the historical homes of alchemy.

  The stairwell narrowed and they had to descend in single file; Donna felt the walls pressing in on her and was glad when the winding stairs came to an end. Robert held open the door at the bottom and gestured for her to follow. She glanced at his long fingers on the smeared brass handle, noticing that his short nails were painted emo-black.

  “Nice paint job.” Donna smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way. “They let you get away with that in the Order of the Crow?”

  “It’s not school, Donna,” he replied. “There’s not exactly a dress code.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I just meant—”

  “Forget it,” he said. His tone had turned unfriendly, and she wondered what she’d said to upset him. Sensitive, much? Thank God she hadn’t mentioned the guyliner.

  He led her into one of the many color-coded sitting rooms in the Frost Estate. This room was very … brown. The Brown Room. She couldn’t hold back a sneer—it was just so appropriate. There was something deeply symbolic about walking into a room entirely decorated in shades of excrement; maybe Simon had developed a sense of humor?

  “Sit down; they’re not quite ready for us,” Robert said, gesturing at the crap-colored couch.

  Sighing, Donna perched on the edge of the scratchy material covering the seat. She wondered what was causing the delay. Aunt Paige had been in a crazy rush to get back here, almost begrudging the short recess needed for that snack, and now everyone seemed to have disappeared.

  Robert watched her like she was a particularly
fascinating alien species, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. At least, not in a physical sense.

  He cleared his throat as their eyes met. “You’re not what I expected.”

  She scowled. “Why, what did you expect? A criminal mastermind?”

  “Hardly. Although the Magus did tell me that you’d try to talk me into letting you leave.”

  “The Magus? Who the hell are you talking about?”

  He closed his eyes briefly, dramatically, as though something had genuinely caused him pain. “Please don’t invoke the name of the demon realm. Even behind the mansion’s wards, who knows what could be listening …”

  “Are you for real?”

  “What do you mean?” His tone had shifted from pained to defensive. “Miss Underwood you, of all people, should know the rules.”

  Donna felt like she was trapped in one of those nightmares—the ones where you know you’re dreaming but you still can’t wake yourself up no matter how hard you try.

  “I already told you once: please call me Donna. And then please explain what you mean by ‘the Magus.’”

  “Miss—” Robert stopped and smiled. He really did have a nice smile, and the laughter lines around his eyes made it clear he did it a lot more than his moody exterior currently let on. “Donna, you must know who I’m talking about.”

  She had a Very Bad Feeling, but the stubborn part of her didn’t want to have it officially confirmed. “You mean Quentin, right? Our Archmaster.”

  “If I’d meant the Archmaster, that’s what I would have said.” The young alchemist gave her a look that clearly communicated his fears for her sanity. “I’m talking about Simon Gaunt—the guy who looks like a ferret.”

  Any other time, Donna would have enjoyed Robert’s description of the man she’d grown to hate—but now was not that time. Her suspicions were correct: ever since she and Xan had found Simon’s lab, hidden behind an old clock in the Blue Room, she’d been pretty certain that the Order’s so-called “secretary” was in fact more than that. A lot more. The term “magus” had first snuck into her mind while they’d been stealing the elixir and trying to avoid capture, and she’d been finding it nearly impossible to shake those misgivings.

  Perhaps it was the screaming bronze statue in Simon’s lab that had been the final straw, for who else but a magus could animate lifeless matter with the consciousness of a spirit? She didn’t really know what had been going on with that creepy statue, but it hadn’t just raised the alarm; she’d heard it talking to Simon while she and Xan were hiding. It had been alive … in some way. Or, at the very least, there was something alive inside it.

  She shuddered, and Robert reached out as though to steady her. Donna realized that she had stood up without being fully aware of it. Her hands were clenched and her breath was coming out in short bursts. It was as though everything she thought she knew about her life was slowly unravelling. She wanted so badly to go back to simpler times—even if that meant returning to the misery of Ironbridge High and Melanie Swan’s vindictive attentions.

  “Donna, please sit down.” Robert held her elbow and guided her back to the seat with surprising gentleness. “Come on, you’re not looking well.”

  Donna allowed him to press her onto the dull brown couch. If Simon truly was a magus, did that mean he was the only one? Were there more? How had he kept something as huge as that hidden from her all these years? She’d heard talk of there being an actual magus in London, and possibly one in Prague, but the identities of those men (because they were always men) were kept a closely guarded secret.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to calm herself, not caring that Robert was probably freaking out. Her head was pounding and the pain in her arms, beneath the tattoos, felt like it could crush the breath from her lungs. Her chest ached and a strange sensation began to fill her, reminding her of what had happened out on the grounds after meeting Ivy. Something was wrong, something new and scary—and it only seemed to be getting worse.

  And then other thoughts pushed aside the worry about her rebuilt arms and hands. Why hadn’t her aunt ever told her about Simon? In Donna’s presence, the alchemists had only ever referred to him as the Order’s secretary—or as Quentin’s partner and lover—never as a potentially more powerful alchemist than the Archmaster.

  Shouldn’t Simon himself hold the title of Archmaster, if he really was a magus? Quentin had been a talented alchemist in his youth, but he was certainly no magus; she knew that because of a story he’d once told her about how he flunked some kind of important alchemical trial. It had been one of the many stories he’d told her while sitting at her bedside during her long recovery as a traumatized child.

  None of this made any sense.

  But there wasn’t any time left to unravel things as the inner door opened and Aunt Paige walked into the room, closely followed by “the Magus” himself.

  Donna tried to stand, but her legs still felt strange. Instead, she shifted to the edge of the seat and looked up into her aunt’s eyes. She was searching for some kind of signal; something she could hold on to during whatever was to come next.

  But making eye contact with Paige Underwood caused any last drops of hope to slip through her fingers. Her aunt seemed as hard and unrelenting as the trees of Ironwood Forest.

  “Donna, are you ready?” Aunt Paige asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. What else could she say? “I suppose I am.”

  Simon Gaunt was rubbing his hands together in the familiar gesture that grated on her nerves. The dry scraping of his skin made her feel sick all over again.

  “It’s time,” he said, in his typically pompous voice.

  Donna felt her heart speed up, and wished that she wouldn’t always feel so afraid of the alchemists lately.

  But she was made of tougher stuff than that. She was Patrick and Rachel Underwood’s daughter. She had magically forged iron embedded in her flesh and wrapped around her bones. She had almost died in the Wood Monster’s fiery jaws—twice. No way was Donna Underwood going to let an outdated secret society get the better of her.

  Screw them, she thought to herself, unable to stop the slight smile that twisted her lips as she rose to follow her aunt through the doors to the meeting room.

  She didn’t even care when she figured that Robert had caught the unpleasant expression on her face.

  Screw them all.

  Maker stood with the help of his cane, leaning heavily on it so that Donna could see the whites of his knuckles pressing against papery skin.

  “There is a new witness I would like to introduce, Archmaster,” he said.

  The inner chamber was once again filled with alchemists, all sitting around the room in a semi-circle. This time, Donna had been ushered to a sturdy table on one side. There were two chairs behind the table, one of which was for her. The occupant of the other chair caused her to forget herself for a moment—Maker. Donna had been so relieved to see the old alchemist that she’d embarrassed them both by pushing the table effortlessly aside and hugging him. At least her “defense” was putting in an appearance for the second session of the day.

  At the sound of Maker’s proclamation, Quentin raised his head and met the alchemist’s eyes. A look passed between them—a look that Donna immediately knew she was not meant to have seen. Something was going on, and it seemed that both Maker and Quentin were in on it. From the expression of outrage on Simon’s face, it was clear that one of the old guard in the room wasn’t aware of what was going on.

  “And who might that be, Maker?” Quentin asked.

  “Let me introduce you to—”

  “This is highly irregular,” Simon huffed, pushing thinning strands of hair back from his sweating forehead and cutting Maker off before he could go any further. “We have heard the case presented at this hearing. The Council is only expected to be here for a few days. I really think we should move on to—”

  “Simon,” Quentin said, “you know quite well that all our representativ
es will stay for as long as needed. Even beyond the weekend, if that becomes appropriate.”

  Simon blustered for a few moments, but soon ran out of steam.

  Quentin’s tone remained mild. “We will hear from this witness.”

  Donna swivelled in her seat so she could see her aunt, trying to figure out what the hell was going on—whether, in fact, everyone knew what was happening. But Aunt Paige looked as confused as Donna herself felt.

  Maker nodded at Robert, who moved silently across the room and opened one of the panelled doors.

  A slender figure of medium height stepped into the makeshift courtroom. His black hair shone in the flickering ceremonial candlelight, and his normally smooth brown face looked pale and drawn. His cheekbones protruded a little more than Donna remembered, giving him an older look that suited him.

  Navin Sharma stood under the scrutiny of the representatives from four alchemical Orders, his red and black biker jacket completely out of place and marking him as other.

  A commoner.

  The expression on his face—the determination in his dark brown eyes—let Donna know that her best friend wasn’t going to allow himself to be treated as anything other than an equal. In that moment she felt so unbearably proud, her heart swelling in her chest as she squashed the urge to run to him. If she could somehow let him know how glad she was to see him, how relieved, maybe she wouldn’t lose him after all. And this wasn’t just for her sake, but for his. She’d been so worried about him when the wood elves took him, and now she had to make sure he was okay.

  The truth was, she blamed herself every single day for what had happened to Nav. There wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t think about the queen’s blade at his throat. His life had been under threat because of Donna—because of their friendship. She could only hope that he didn’t feel the same way. He possessed so many amazing qualities, and she felt lucky to call him her friend.