The Stone Demon

by Karen Mahoney

  She watched the little girl with her father, surrounded by swaying trees and blowing leaves with the huge dark sky overhead. The memory caught in her chest, like her heart had snagged on something sharp and was slowly unraveling.

  The night closed in as the images sharpened. Donna—grown-up Donna—pressed herself against a tree and watched from a short distance. She didn’t think anyone could see her. She didn’t think she was really here. And yet she still felt the urge to hide, to duck back against the shelter of the solid trunk. Even if this was some kind of dark Otherworld magic, she knew it could all just be more demon lies. A ruse to make her vulnerable and steal the fight from her.

  Or maybe it was real. The truth of the life she’d spent so many years repressing. After all, she’d chosen memories when she’d chosen the river. The Bridge of Lies had seemed far too easy.

  Just as the scene from her past in the heart of the Ironwood became sharper, it also became far more painful. Donna watched her younger self and squeezed her fingers against the rough bark, wishing that the scrape of splinters would somehow bring her back to herself and take her out of this, even if the only escape was into the Otherworld. Into death.

  The little girl was pale but composed. “Where’s Mommy?”

  “I’m going to get her, darling, then we’ll all leave to-gether.”

  “I don’t want you to leave me!”

  “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

  “But Daddy,” Little Donna said, taking a step after her father, the desire to follow, to not be abandoned, written all over her young face. “What about our bags?”

  She gestured at the small pile of luggage that Donna, watching from her hiding place, had only just noticed. Of course … she’d forgotten this part. The part where the Underwoods—Patrick, Rachel, and Donna—had packed a few belongings and left in the middle of the night, attempting to flee the Order of the Dragon; Simon had planned to take Donna away and use her developing powers to enter the Elflands, so that the alchemists could exterminate their sworn enemies, the wood elves. She might even have been their ticket to conquering Faerie itself, eventually, if a way through Faerie’s many wards and protections could be found. With her ability to open doors, Donna was like a walking, talking key.

  And, beyond that, there was something else sleeping inside of her that none of the alchemists but Maker had glimpsed. Something more powerful, which the Underwoods couldn’t afford to reveal.

  “Stay with the bags,” Patrick said. “Just stay here. Don’t move.”

  He ran back along the path, disappearing between trees that were just beginning to shed their leaves. It was a chilly fall night. A night that Donna remembered in her bones, in her dreams, if not in her waking memory. He was gone, for good this time. The little girl waited for him to come back for her, wondering whether he’d made a mistake and actually meant to take her with him on the path after all. But it remained silent, apart from the wind through the branches.

  She watched herself scuff a foot along the earth and eye the baggage. “Move the bags,” she whispered to her younger self.

  Little Donna seemed to make a decision, and began dragging each bag to the edge of the pathway, hiding it as best she could behind the trunk of a tree even bigger than the one her future self currently hid behind. Donna smiled, despite her fear and confusion. She remembered this—she really did.

  She remembered the feel of the bag strap against her small hand. Recalled how heavy her father’s backpack had been and how difficult it was to pull it safely behind the tree. But eventually she managed. She had all the bags safely tucked away, not really visible from the path unless you were looking for them. Especially not in the darkness, with only a sliver of moon overhead.

  Donna watched as the little girl sat on the largest bag and peeked around the tree trunk, watching and waiting. She remembered the beating of her heart and the pain in her throat. She remembered how thirsty she was, and how she wondered whether she dared open Mommy’s bag and look for some water.

  And then a howling, alien call shrieked through the entire forest, and Donna remembered what it was like, the first time she heard the cry of the Wood Monster. The terror, without even know what she was afraid of.

  “Daddy?” she whispered, knowing that she wasn’t supposed to make a sound.

  The monster screamed again. It was getting closer.

  Donna fell into the memory, and everything else slipped away.

  Twenty-three

  She waits for her father to return. She knows he’ll come back for her. She knows he would never leave her behind—not forever. He was going back for Mommy and then he would come for her.

  What had happened to Mommy? She tries to remember, pressing her small hands against her face and wishing she was home in bed where it is warm and safe. (Only it isn’t safe any more. That’s what Mommy had told her. That was why they were leaving.)

  Mommy had stayed behind at the edge of the last clearing to do some of her magic. Donna remembered her words, spoken to her father, not to her: “My wards are stronger. I’ll set them here and here.” A pause. “And one over there.”

  Daddy had argued. He said they should stay together, but she had insisted that “keeping Donna safe” was the most important thing.

  “Go on,” she’d said to her father. “I’ll be right behind you. Keep my little girl safe.”

  He always listened to Mommy.

  And now, Donna is alone, sitting on an overstuffed backpack and waiting for someone to come back for her. There had been a scream, and it sounded like Mommy. Her father had told her not to worry, that it was probably nothing—just a bird—except Donna knew there weren’t birds in the Ironwood at night. The only things in the Ironwood at night were the wood elves, and they didn’t sound like a woman’s sharp scream cut off too quickly.

  Tears threaten as she waits, and she has a horrible urge to go to the bathroom. She even considers relieving herself behind the next tree, so she can still see the bags and the path, but she’s afraid to move. Especially after she heard that terrible sound. The trumpeting howl of some kind of beast—a monster, the kind of thing you only read about in fairy tales. And, even then, the monster is always defeated by the princess. That’s the way her daddy tells the stories.

  Donna jiggles her legs and fiddles with her jacket. Her hands are cold.

  And then the noise comes again. Not the one Daddy had tried to say was a bird. But the long howl that makes her bones shake.

  Donna stands up and creeps to the path. The fear is bad enough that she feels all numb with it, all across the top of her head, and her ears make a funny noise. But she has to see what is making the noise.

  She has to see that her parents are safe.

  The air shimmers between the trees and there is her father, running toward her, his face white and stricken in a way she’s never seen it before, not even when they set out from the house and she knew he was worried about being seen. He had been tense but in control.

  The expression on her father’s face is so much more terrifying. Not that he looks afraid, though perhaps he is, but it is as though he is trying to keep some sort of terrible emotion from escaping.

  He grabs her from the path, scooping her into his arms and turning around and around. Searching for something …

  “The bags!” He looks into her face. “Where are they?”

  “I hid them,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, did I make a mistake?”

  “No darling, you did great,” he says. He squeezes her so tightly against him that she can’t breathe properly. “Show me.”

  They reach the bags and he places his daughter on the ground. He opens the heavy backpack, the one Donna had so much trouble moving, and pulls out a small axe. The blade flashes with magic.

  Her eyes widen as he hefts it in one hand and grabs her shoulder with the other.

  “Donna, if I tel
l you to run, you’ll run. You will listen to me. You—”

  “Where’s Mommy?” she wails, unable to keep the tears from filling her eyes.

  Her father closes his eyes for a moment. A bleak expression crosses his face as he opens them again. “She’ll be here in a moment. She’s right behind me.” His voice breaks. “Just listen to me, okay?”

  “No she isn’t,” Donna says, knowing that he’s lying to her. Something he has never done before. “Did the monster eat her?”

  He removes his spectacles and tucks them inside his coat. “Not the monster you’re talking about,” he says grimly.

  “I don’t—”

  “Get behind me, Donna,” he shouts as the Wood Monster bursts onto the path. Blue flames surround its dark muzzle and its eyes glow like two fiery embers.

  Donna bites back a scream, hanging onto her father’s hand, trying not to let him push her back. She wants to hold onto him, and if he insists on her staying behind she won’t be able to feel his hand in hers. “Daddy, don’t leave me!” she wants to say, but the words won’t come. Her throat hurts and she grabs his leg.

  But he shoves her back with ease and she has no choice but to watch as her father, Patrick Underwood—the man she idolized all the seven short years of her life—brandishes the shining axe and stares down the Wood Monster.

  Donna broke from the water, choking as the blackness threatened to drag her down again. There was blood beneath the surface—she didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to see. All that blood from her memories, as wet as the river that surrounded her, and the look of agony on her father’s face. She gasped, fighting the watery arms that threatened to drown her. It felt as though something in the water was alive, as if, even now, it was feeding on her memories. On her pain and terror.

  She thrashed about with her arms and legs, wondering if she would sink to the bottom from all the iron in her body, testing her theory that she’d never been cut out for swimming. She’d hated it as a small child, anyway. Strange how she could remember so much about what life had been like before the age of seven.

  Or maybe, not so strange at all.

  The River of Memory and Forgetting flowed by and she managed to float on her back, letting it carry her along as she recovered from reliving such a memory. Dad, she thought, fighting tears. Oh, Dad …

  She kicked her legs and tried to direct herself to the shore. The water was painfully cold; so icy that the shock of it was enough to bring her to full consciousness before she could sink. Is it even possible to drown? Donna wondered. If I’m already dead, that must be pretty impossible.

  A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind.

  She thrashed in the freezing water, not even knowing who or what had grabbed her. Not caring. “Get off me!”

  “Stop struggling,” a familiar voice said. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help, Newton. I’ve got this. Get your hands off !”

  Navin’s face was inches from hers. “It’s me, Donna. It’s Nav. I’m back!”

  She almost swallowed a mouthful of water when she forgot to kick her legs for a moment. “I’m not that easy to fool a second time,” she gasped. “Any excuse to cop a feel.”

  He looked genuinely shocked. If it really was still Newton, he was doing a good job of acting more like the real Nav. “What are you talking about? I wouldn’t do that.”

  Donna put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Is it really you?”

  “Yeah, but can you stop leaning on me like that? You’re going to sink us both. Have you put on weight since you went to England?”

  It was Navin. He was here, with her! Donna threw her arms around him, letting him do the work of keeping them afloat for a little longer. She pressed her cheek against his and almost cried with relief.

  “I was so worried about you.”

  “About me? I was worried about you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said. “Don’t forget, I’m a powerful Iron Witch.”

  He laughed and almost sank them both, but managed to keep his head above the water. “Do you think we can talk once we’re not in danger of drowning? Also,” he added seriously, “if we stay in here for too long, you might start to rust.”

  When they were finally sitting on the banks of the River of Memory and Forgetting, with their clothes already drying under the brittle remains of the iron sun, Donna grabbed Navin’s hand and held on as tightly as she dared. They swapped tired smiles.

  She said, “I thought I’d never get you back.”

  “Hey, now,” he replied, looking embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

  She looked beyond him, examining the Grove of Thorns. This was where she would find the fruit that she needed to make the Philosopher’s Stone. Navin followed her gaze. It seemed impossible that anything could grow in a place like this, but there they were: black roses spilling out and flowing across the ground. There were so many of them, it looked as though the ground was covered in a carpet of black satin.

  “Oh, hey,” Navin said, super casual. “I got something for you.”

  And he took a tiny crystal out of his still damp jeans pocket and pressed it into the palm of her hand.

  “What is this?” Just for a second, Donna almost forgot their current situation. Almost.

  “A parting gift from Newton. He said it’s thanks to me that he’s free again.”

  The demon tear was beautiful. Faultless. Like a shard of ice with all the colors of the rainbow inside it—and some colors she didn’t even recognize. She gazed at it in wonder, holding her breath.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Nav, you did it! Thank you.”

  He smiled. “I’m the best, right? Tell me I’m the best. You know you want to.”

  “You’re the best,” she said. “I can’t argue this time.”

  He grinned.

  Donna looked at the perfectly formed teardrop in the palm of her hand. “I can’t believe Newton kept his word.”

  “I’m pretty sure he thinks we’re buddies.”

  “That’s … weird.”

  Navin nodded. “I know. Totally weird. But, then again, now that I have a demon for a BFF, who knows where that could get me? It’s sort of cool.”

  Donna stared at him for a moment. “No, it’s really not.”

  “You’re just jealous,” he said, playfully punching her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Don. You’re still my Number One.”

  She fought back a smile, shaking her head.

  “Either way,” he said, “that’s another ingredient down, right? How many does that make?”

  This time Donna let the smile rip, as much in disbelief as anything else. “Four. Four out of five. One more to go.”

  “And then we can go home?” Navin’s eyes shone.

  “After the Gallows Tree.” She swallowed. “I have to go in there, and I can’t let you come with me. Demian said I have to go in alone or I’ll never find the right tree. Some kind of twisted demon magic. Curse. Whatever.”

  “Maybe he was lying. I don’t want to leave you alone—not when I just found you again.”

  “I don’t think he was lying about this, Nav. We can’t take the risk. Just wait for me, all right?”

  He nodded, his jaw tight.

  She thought of the silver pear at the center of the grove. It was the final ingredient she needed to make the Stone, but in the world above, preparations for war were already moving forward. Not to mention the tiny matter of her untimely death. She had the horrible suspicion that her resurrection would not be such an easy trick to pull off.

  Donna forced herself to focus and plunged into the thicket.

  Twenty-four

  Navin waited by the exit from the Otherworld. He’d concluded that this was the way out because, quite helpfully, there was a huge sign marked Exi
t, which had appeared—along with an escalator—right after Donna had disappeared into the grove. Seriously, a freaking escalator.

  He ran a tired hand through his damp hair and examined the moving stairway that supposedly led all the way up and out. It was long and smooth, shining with silver and chrome. It looked like something that belonged in a science fiction movie. Leaning against its shining metal sides, he slid down and sat on the dusty ground to wait.

  He was always waiting for Donna. Not that he minded—she was his best friend, after all. That’s what you did for the most important people in your life. She always came for him when he was in trouble, and he would do the same for her. They had literally walked through Hell together (even if he’d been taken over by a demon at the time).

  Newton. He thought of the moment when Demian had ripped the demon from his body and set him free. Navin had seen Newton’s true form, and it wasn’t something he’d forget any time soon. He swallowed and tried not to think about it too hard. Newton had been grateful, requesting a private “chat” with him before Demian had dragged him off to reprimand him about … whatever it was that Newton was in trouble for. Probably getting himself summoned and captured by Simon Gaunt in the first place.

  But Navin’s heart was heavy. He had a suspicion—one that had been planted in his mind by Newton and growing with every moment that passed—that something was going to get in the way of a Happily Ever After.

  Then Donna came bursting out of the grove, her hair wildly dishevelled and several scratches marking her face. The iron tattoos on her arms were whirling with desperate activity. She was breathless and wide-eyed, but the good news was that there was something clutched in one of her hands. Something that looked a lot like a silver pear.

  Navin pulled himself out of his funk, forced a smile, and waved her over.

  As she emerged from the thicket, Donna tried to get her bearings. Where was Navin? She could see the path that led down to the river, and the little town in the distance with its houses filled with watchful eyes, and then the magnificent Sunless City spread out beyond that. And yet now, at the end of the path, was a circular chamber and a high-tech escalator.