They’d be back in Vora. Back home.
GIVING UP ON SLEEP, ROOK tossed back her blankets and got out of bed, tiptoeing around Fox to get to the kitchen. She ran a glass of water from the tap and drank it down in large gulps. It soothed her a little, but she still felt restless, tapping her bare foot against the cold stone floor.
If she was going to be awake all night, she might as well put the time to good use.
Rook crept into the living room and found her chalk on the bedside table along with her journal. She collected both and went back through the kitchen, stopping to light a candle and slip it into a brass holder. When she had everything she needed, she made her way down a short hallway to a tiny closet at the very back of the house. In a normal home, this was the area where there would have been a back door.
Rook stepped inside and shut the closet door behind her. Turning to the back wall, she put the candle and the journal on the floor and knelt beside them. The flickering flame cast her shadow in a large, gloomy swipe across the wall.
She held the chalk in her hands and considered how big to make the door. She was not letting anything dangerous into this house. She would rather die than put their only sanctuary in jeopardy. But today had been a harsh reminder that she had to keep practicing her magic, no matter what. She, Drift, Fox, and the other exiles didn’t belong in this world. Magic was dangerous now, a poison to Talhaven. It had created the Frenzy sickness, the Wasteland, and who knew what else. They needed a door home to Vora.
And Rook was determined to make it.
Rook had never told Drift about these late-night practice sessions. She wouldn’t have understood. Drift was happy enough in Talhaven, ever since they’d found this house. She said the place felt familiar, like coming home, so she wasn’t longing for a way back to Vora. And she trusted Rook’s power, never accepting what dangerous, uncertain things her doors could be.
Rook had tried to explain it to her, that a door meant risk—abandoning safe, familiar places for something new. Piling your hopes at the threshold and waiting to see if the world beyond would stomp all over them.
It very often did.
“But a door is also the place where you welcome people to your home,” Drift was always saying. “Throw it open wide, say ‘Come in!’ and maybe you make a new friend.”
Drift was right, of course. All of those things were true.
But this was also true: open doors can let precious things slip out.
Or terrifying things come in.
Rook cracked open her journal and flipped to an empty page. Practicing like this made her feel more in control, and it had also given her brief glimpses of every corner of the world of Talhaven. She made notes on the things she found and collected samples. She had a tiger stone snatched from the banks of the Amber River in the kingdom of Moravel. She’d touched the warm golden sand on the Island Nation of Contis and brought a handful of it back with her. She’d even caught a glimpse of the lost colonies of Skyborn, situated high in the Kinpick Mountains. The settlements, once vibrant trade centers built thousands of feet above sea level, were now ghost towns wrapped in mountain mists, abandoned when the skyships could no longer reach them.
And, of course, she’d opened more than one door to that dark, snow-covered forest where Fox came from. She still couldn’t understand why her magic kept returning to that spot.
In the end, it didn’t matter. She’d seen beautiful places and mysterious places, but none of them had the telltale red sky of the world of Vora. None of them was home.
And so, by the light of her small candle, Rook drew yet another rectangle on the back wall of the closet, determined to try again, to ask her magic to grant the wish of her heart.
It was a larger rectangle than the one she’d drawn to hear the lullaby, but much smaller than the one that had lured Fox. The lines snapped into place and formed an unstained wooden door like the ones in the treehouses built for the children in Rill Park. A gold latch the size of a hoop earring appeared opposite intricate hinges worked in the shape of roses. The whole thing was small, delicate, and lovely.
Yet Rook froze up when she put her finger on the latch. Her stomach was tied in knots again, one for every door she’d ever made and every risk she’d ever taken.
The consequence of opening a door is that you have to deal with what’s on the other side, she reminded herself.
She was just about to tug on the latch when she heard a sound. A soft, gentle tapping coming from somewhere in the closet. At first, Rook thought it might be a mouse scurrying along the baseboards outside the circle of candlelight. Just a harmless creature searching for food. But then the sound came again.
And that’s when Rook realized it wasn’t a tap.
It was a knock.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Coming from the other side of the door.
Rook dropped the latch, but the sound persisted, getting louder.
Knock. Knock. KNOCK.
No one had ever knocked on one of her doors before. Rook’s heartbeat sped up. No one had ever been waiting on the other side.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Now the sound was urgent, angry.
Let me in, the knock demanded.
LET. ME. IN.
Rook slapped her open palm against the door, calling up her magic in a rush. Go away! Go away! she commanded, and her magic responded. The door vanished, leaving behind only the ghost of itself in faded chalk lines.
Snatching her candle and journal, Rook backed out of the closet and hurried down the hall through the kitchen. The flame guttered and died as she ran, and she tossed the candleholder into the sink, wincing at the clatter.
When she got back into the living room, Drift and Fox were both still asleep in the same positions Rook had left them in. Relief flooded her that she hadn’t woken them. She moved quietly to her bed and dove under the covers, yanking them up over her head. She crammed her fingers in her ears to block out every sound and curled into a tight ball.
Just let me sleep, she begged. Sleep and pretend this whole night never happened.
As she lay there, her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, her breathing steadied, and eventually, far into the night, Rook slept.
When she woke again, she was still buried in her nest of blankets. She was also covered in sweat, her hair plastered to her cheeks and neck. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. It might have been a minute or an hour. Cautiously, she peeled back the covers and peeked out.
Watery sunlight filtered through the window above her bed. It painted the far wall in strokes of gold and illuminated one of Drift’s drawings, a sketch of navy ships lined up in Regara’s harbor. Rook rolled onto her side toward the fireplace, hoping to catch another hour of sleep before the rest of the house woke up.
A hint of red and white fur just below the level of her bed caught Rook’s eye. She leaned over and discovered Fox curled up on the floor, his bushy red tail tucked around his body like a blanket. On either side of him was a shadow arranged in the same shape, so that together they formed a ring of sleeping foxes around her bed.
Protecting her.
Somehow, Fox had known she was scared and appointed himself and his shadows to be her guards all through the night.
Rook stared down at the strange scene until tears blurred her vision. She reached up, dabbing them away with a corner of her blanket, and then she lay back down and closed her eyes.
ROOK AWOKE NEXT A FEW hours later, this time to an empty living room and the sounds of breakfast being prepared. Her stomach immediately started growling at the thought of scrambled eggs. She climbed out of bed and made her way to the kitchen to see Drift already at the stove, cracking eggs on the side of a cast-iron skillet. Fox sat right next to her in his animal form, watching every move she made with rapt attention.
“Good morning, Rook,
” Drift said brightly. “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmm,” Rook said, still only half awake. She stumbled into a chair at the kitchen table, leaning forward with her chin on the tabletop, her eyelids drooping.
“What’s wrong?” Drift asked, taking half a step toward her. “You look like you haven’t slept at all. Did you have a nightmare?”
Rook shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine,” she said. “Just a headache, that’s all.”
It was a lie, and not a very good one, but the last thing Rook wanted to do was talk about her strange door and the person knocking on it in the middle of the night.
Drift frowned, as if she saw right through Rook, but she was distracted when Fox pressed his wet nose against her hip, staring at the cooking eggs. She elbowed him aside and added three strips of bacon to the pan. Grease sizzled and popped, and Fox’s body went rigid as a hunting dog. His tail thumped the ground.
“If you want breakfast, sit with Rook at the table,” Drift said breezily, flipping the eggs with her spatula. She gave Fox the side-eye. “As a boy. Not a fox.”
In response, Fox tilted his head and whined.
Watching the two of them, Rook put her hands over her mouth to smother a giggle. But Drift heard it. She glanced over her shoulder at Rook, eyebrow raised, but Rook just stared innocently at the table, as if she found the patterns in the wood fascinating.
When Drift turned back to the stove, she gave a yelp of surprise. Rook glanced over and saw the source of her distress.
There was no longer any bacon in the skillet.
“You! How did you—” Drift waved her spatula like a sword, driving Fox back from the stove. “It wasn’t even cooked yet!”
Fox just stared at her grease-spattered spatula and panted.
This time Rook couldn’t contain her laughter.
Using a hot pad, Drift pulled the skillet off the stove and brought the eggs to the table. “Rook!” she bellowed. “Stop enjoying yourself, go change out of your pajamas, and then set the table.” She tried to sound strict, but her lips twitched the whole time, as if she was fighting a smile.
After breakfast—Fox had eaten in his animal form, despite Drift’s best efforts—Rook settled on the rug in front of the living room fire, and the others joined her.
“All right,” Drift said. “Fox, last night you said you didn’t want to go back to your sanctuary. Is that still how you feel?”
Rook watched Fox’s expression, searching for some clue as to what he might be thinking, but his furry face and amber eyes gave nothing away. Then, quick as a blink, he transformed, and there was the red-haired, gap-toothed boy sitting between them on the rug.
“I want to stay here,” Fox said as soon as he was able to speak.
“Are you sure?” Rook asked. “You’d be leaving your home and—”
“Not home,” Fox interrupted her, sounding annoyed. “Sank chewy.”
Rook held up her hands. “All right,” she said. “You’re welcome to stay, but if you ever change your mind and want to go back, just tell me.”
“Everything will be fine,” Drift said. “We just need to make a quick trip to see Mr. Baroman and make some arrangements.” She sounded confident, as if they didn’t have a worry in the world.
Rook knew better. Their food supplies were dwindling, and the way he ate, taking on Fox was like adding two people. The money the Kelmins paid them would help so much, but they might not be able to keep it. They had to go see Mr. Baroman, who would know whether the Kelmins still wanted their help.
She went over to her bed and started putting her boots on. Drift moved to do the same, and Fox performed another blindingly fast shift back to his animal form. He sat up straight on the rug, ears flat, a soft whine lodged in his throat.
“It’s okay,” Drift said. She walked over to Fox and scratched him behind the ears. “Rook and I will be back soon.”
“Before you can finish a nap,” Rook said, nodding toward the fireplace and the soft braided rug.
Fox swung around to look at the inviting nook, but then he pushed himself up and moved to sit in front of Rook, blocking her path to the wall. He obviously didn’t want to be left behind.
Rook put her hands on her hips. “All right, the truth is we need to see this friend of ours quietly, and if we take you with us, there’s a bigger chance we’ll attract attention.”
She watched Fox mull this over. Finally, he let out a sharp yip that made Rook jump. Then, tail dragging, he ambled over to the rug and flopped down dramatically, laying his head on his paws. Rook bit her lip to keep from grinning. She was sure they had just witnessed the fox version of a tantrum.
“Good then,” she said, turning to the wall. For just a second, as she pressed the tip of her chalk against the wood, she remembered the door she’d made last night, and the ominous, insistent knocking.
Her hand wavered.
“Rook?” Drift asked, concern in her voice. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Rook swallowed her fear and nodded, not turning from the wall. “Fine,” she said. “Everything’s fine.” Quickly, she sketched a door to the star tunnel. She didn’t want to risk any more questions from Drift or give Fox the chance to change his mind and try to follow them.
When she and Drift passed through the plain wooden circle she’d conjured, she turned and waved to him, but he was still sulking by the fire. Sighing, she closed the door and banished it.
At the end of the star tunnel, Rook sketched a second door, and this time she and Drift emerged in the dim attic of Baroman’s Lively Clocks and Cherished Curiosities. The only light in the room came from a small round window off to their right. A thick film of dust caked the glass, partially obscuring the view of the waterfront, the docks, and the foamy mouth of the White Sea. Wind hissed through cracks in the old wood-beamed ceiling, carrying the reek of silver trout and salt water. They were in the merchant district now, but everyone who lived anywhere else called it Fish Side because of the smell.
Mr. Baroman had a reputation as the best pendulum clockmaker in the city. Rook didn’t know exactly how they worked, but she knew that hidden somewhere among the cogs and gears, the ceramic figures and wooden box frames, was a tiny crystal of animus to make the scenes depicted in each clock feel real. They didn’t require much, so the animus might last for another few years.
Rook went over to the attic door and pressed her ear against the wood. Voices drifted up from the shop, but that wasn’t unusual for this time of day.
“Are you coming downstairs with me?” Drift asked, sounding surprised. “You usually don’t.”
“I need to explain to Mr. Baroman what happened,” Rook said. It had been her magic that failed. She couldn’t hide up here in the dark while Drift spoke for her.
They made their way quietly down a narrow, creaky staircase overrun by cobwebs. At the bottom, an old wooden door with a loose knob led into the main store. Drift put her hand out but stopped short of opening the door. Rook bumped against her back, and the two of them spent a minute jostling in the tight space.
“Sorry! I didn’t expect you to stop,” Rook whispered when she’d regained her balance. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just I can’t remember if Mr. Baroman ever shuts this door,” Drift said. “Usually when I come down, it’s cracked. That way I can peek into the shop and make sure no one’s around before I go in. Maybe it’s because he’s not expecting us but…I don’t know.”
“Uh-oh.” Suddenly, Rook wasn’t feeling so good about this visit. She squeezed past Drift and pressed her ear against the door to listen.
There were several voices in the shop, though Rook couldn’t make out what they were saying. “Open the door an inch,” she whispered to Drift. “Do it very slowly.”
Drift nodded and eased the door open so Rook could get a look into the shop.
What she saw made her stomach plummet to her boots.
Mr. Baroman stood near the front door, his back to Rook. He was making large swinging gestures with his hands, as if he were demonstrating how to cast a fishing line. His audience was a group of three: two men and one woman. All of them had a blue, shield-shaped patch over their left breast pockets, indicating that they were members of the city merchants’ guild.
But they also wore thick red armbands above their right elbows.
Mr. Baroman was talking to the Red Watchers.
Panic seized Rook. What were they doing here? Had Mr. Baroman told them about her and Drift? But that didn’t make sense. It was foolish to betray them when he had just as much to lose if people found out he was working with exiles.
Or were the three Watchers searching for the girls after what had happened yesterday in Gray Town?
“Red Watchers,” Rook hissed. She pulled the door shut, trying to be quiet, but it still closed with a click. Rook froze. Even standing across the room, there was a good chance the Watchers had heard the sound.
Sure enough, the voices paused, then grew louder. They were approaching the door.
“We have to get out of here,” Drift said. “Up the stairs, quiet as you can!”
Rook didn’t need to be told twice. She backed up, willing her body to be light as a feather so her weight wouldn’t make the stairs creak. Drift was right behind her.
They came through the attic door and closed it behind them just as the downstairs door was opening. Now they heard Mr. Baroman’s voice clearly.
“This drafty old attic isn’t fit for company,” he was saying. “Mice nests everywhere. You really shouldn’t bother with it.”
It didn’t sound like he was trying to turn them in, Rook realized. From his words and his tone, it seemed like Mr. Baroman wanted the Watchers to leave. She didn’t have time to be relieved. She yanked out her chalk, but her hands were shaking so much she dropped it as soon as it was out of her pocket. It rolled across the floor and disappeared between boxes of spare clock parts. Frantically, Rook dove for it, but Drift grabbed her shoulder.
The Door to the Lost Page 7
