The boy hesitates. “Are you certain?”
“Always.”
The snake has made the decision before the boy moves. It slides back along the boy’s arm, over his hand, and then across to Roan’s outstretched hand in turn. Its cool body and surprising weight are curious.
“Fascinating,” Roan whispers, peering closer. The adder moves, and she allows it to glide over her hands, one and then the next. Silken, scaly, and solid. “Hello, friend.”
The boy watches her for a long while before she hands it back. “She is weary of me, I think.”
He takes the snake, kisses the top of its head, whispers something brief, and then lets it slither away. They watch together until the serpent is indistinguishable from the landscape.
“I think she was weary, yes. Of both of us.”
“How did you do that?” Roan asks.
The boy shrugs. “She knows I mean her no harm.”
He takes up a little sketchbook from beside him in the seat and begins to draw the snake.
“It would have been easier for you to draw her from life,” Roan points out.
He grins. “I’ve got a brain for remembering things.” He tilts his head, his big, bright curls dancing, and pushes his too-large spectacles up again.
“How did you get her?”
“Oh.” The boy shrugs once more. “I’ve always been good with creatures of that kind. The ones that slither and crawl, skitter and slide. They find me, but I’ve never been found by a mountain adder.”
Roan grins. “They find me too. But they never come so freely.”
“They didn’t at first. Not until I let them know I welcomed them.” He pauses in his drawing. “I think they know most people fear them.”
She stares at him, this strange, flame-haired boy who seems to know so much.
“Are you here for Dr. Maudley as well?” the boy asks, tilting his head to the side in that way again.
“Yes.”
The boy nods. “He’s a great, great man, Dr. Maudley. Pushing the scientific boundaries further and further. The College of London shunned his work, but one day he’ll show them just how brilliant he is. His theories on the human brain are truly fascinating—for instance, how when you get scared, that’s just a part of your brain releasing humors!” He shakes his head, grinning, then glances up suddenly. “Another storm might come in today.”
Roan smiles at his energy and quick distraction. She likes how his face lights up at every small thing. He reminds her of another boy she knew, long ago. Of herself, before the spark was quashed.
The sky rumbles. “You might be right about the rain.”
He nods. “The snakes can tell.” He points up the mountain. “See?”
Dozens of smaller serpents of all breeds wind their way between rocks and crannies, away from the air and away from her. The mountain looks as if it were squirming.
“They don’t like the rain,” the boy says, his smile quick and easy.
“Many creatures seem not to,” Roan muses. “Human creatures most of all.”
“And I am one of them,” he admits. “I get stuck in the rain.” He nods at his chair.
“Who the blazes are you?”
The girl, whom Roan can now see bears a striking resemblance to the boy, stares down at her with brilliant green eyes. All about her face, escaping her simple scarf covering, vibrant curls the same shade of fire.
Roan gets to her feet.
“Emma, this is…” The boy trails off.
“Roan.” She gives a polite, if small, curtsy.
The girl—Emma—doesn’t return the gesture. “And who d’you think y’are sneaking up on a boy in a wheelchair?”
“Emma,” the boy whines. “I was talking to her of snakes.”
“You could’ve gone rolling down the hill and flattened yourself against a rock! And what would your bleeding snakes do for ye then?”
“Sorry, Em.”
“Don’t you ‘sorry, Em’ me. What would Mam say? Well? And with all her sacrifices. Shame on you!” She turns to Roan. “And what are you looking at?”
Roan raises her chin. “It seems to me that you require assistance.”
Emma folds her arms. “I’ll thank you not to—”
The boy reaches out for her arm. “Em, please. I’m cold, and the rains are coming.”
Emma works her jaw, but finally nods.
The two of them manage to maneuver the boy out from between the rocks and then—slowly, perilously slowly—to push, haul, and carry the chair to the stone courtyard. Once there, Emma sits down on the ground, then lies back.
“Lord almighty.” She exhales, panting.
Roan sits down too, crossing her legs. “I think the chair is heavier than you are,” she manages, winking at the boy. “What is your name, anyway?”
“Seamus O’Brien. And this here’s my sister. Emma.”
Roan glances at the girl lying prostrate on the flagstones, then looks back at Seamus. “We should get you inside. I feel the rain already starting.”
Emma gets to her feet and shoves past Roan as she begins to push Seamus toward the great doors. “I’ll do it.”
Roan steps back, allowing the rabid fox to take her brother inside.
Just before they enter, Roan calls, “Take the Blue Room!”
Emma looks at her with flared nostrils and narrowed eyes, then wheels Seamus in without another word.
Children, Rapley thinks. They are children. He had known that people were coming to the mill, had dreaded it like he dreaded the coming of winter, but he had never expected children. The boy, Seamus, can’t be but fourteen, and the fierce girl with hair the color of crystal amber looks no more than fifteen or sixteen at the most. Siblings, he is certain.
And then there’s the other. Roan. The fey girl on the mountain. When he’d looked at her, everything had rushed at him—words, images, feelings, impressions, emotions—it had been an avalanche. The walls that normally kept people’s thoughts away from him weren’t there. When he looked into her eyes… he had seen the deepest moments, the most tightly guarded feelings…
He must not allow it. Himself to look at her. To see and feel her deepest thoughts and most guarded feelings. It is intrusive, a violation. He cannot stomach it. He must avoid her at all costs.
Yet… there is something that intrigues and disturbs him about her. Something uncontrollable. It is something… familiar. His skin moves to think of her, though if it is crawling or shivering, he doesn’t know. The only certainty is that she causes sensation. And sensation is dangerous. It has taken ten years of fervent construction to build his own walls, and with one unguarded glance on the mountain, the fey girl had shown an ability to take that all away. By seeing her, he saw himself again. He resents her for it. Hates her, even.
He wishes for, but dreads, the absence of Maudley’s guests. He wants, yet fears that they should leave him to the dark and the walls and the nothing of the mountain.
ZOEY
NOW
Chapter 4
LITTLE RABBIT
October 14, 3:56 a.m.
Mum’s like a freaking bloodhound. I suppose years with Dad made her sensitive to it. It was three in the morning or something when she burst in, her lips all thin and her eyes bugging out—her quiet fury.
“What’s that smell?” she asked right away.
“What smell?
“That smoky smell. Zoey, I swear to God, if you’re Working again—”
I said I wasn’t. Lie.
She went on about how she won’t tolerate it, that this isn’t Dad’s house anymore, that she won’t have it, la-la-la, and I said I wasn’t again. Second lie.
She gave me one of her looks and I almost begged her not to make me lie again because I couldn’t handle three this early.
She took my sage wand, my dried flowers—even my twine. Which I wasn’t even using. Now I’m grounded and I’m not allowed matches or a lighter or candles of any sort.
It hardly matters. I had
already finished the spell.
She opened my window even though it’s freezing. I can almost smell the leaves turning to mulch on the streets. Eight months until summer break. Eight. Months. I told Pole I’d prepare for everything, but what else is there to prepare?
Backpack—check.
Food—easy to get.
Train ticket—I can book it anytime.
I have everything I need. The floor plans, Dad’s notes, everything. And more than anything, I have my questions.
October 14, 8:50 a.m.
At 8:30, Dex jumped on my bed, kneed me in the boobs, and farted in my face and Mum did literally nothing to stop him. She didn’t even yell at him for being completely disgusting. She isn’t talking to me, which always means my little brother can do whatever he wants in my company. Little shit. He ran off shouting, “Smell you later!”
Luckily Mum spotted something by the window. She basically said, “Poulton Longmore, get your arse in here,” and I knew I was saved. Thank God for best friends.
His ruffled head was poking above the windowsill.
“We’re all up late today,” he said, hauling his long, skinny frame over.
“Blame this one,” Mum said, throwing a thumb in my direction.
“Tests today,” Poulton said, covering for me. “We were studying late online.” His lies are harmless. My lies cost blood.
“Were you,” Mum said in that way of hers, like she’s incapable of believing anything we say. “Get a move on if you want a ride to school. I’m leaving in ten.”
Mum hurried from the room and I noticed her hair was copper in the back and three inches shorter. Another one of her moments of inspiration.
“Nice hair!” I yelled after her, and she waved a hand.
“Cheers, love. Now get up!”
Poulton closed my bedroom door. “You did it again.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Yeah.”
He came over and climbed into bed next to me. “How many lies?”
“Two.”
“You know I hate it when you do that.”
I cuddled close to him, snuffling at his arm when he didn’t lift it. He eyed me and I whined like a puppy.
“You’re insufferable,” he said, but lifted his arm so I could snuggle into his armpit. My spot.
“They were little lies,” I said.
“Please don’t.”
I didn’t say anything, but he knew as well as I did that I don’t have a choice.
Dad helped me the first time I Worked. That’s what he called casting the spells. He taught me how to do it safely, told me about the price for getting the things we desire. Give and take. The balance of things.
Being next to Poulton always makes me forget that I’m not quite like other girls. But if I live in the fantasy too long, I forget and then I get hurt. It’s the price I pay for what I want more than anything in the whole world.
“Small lies,” Poulton reminded me.
I nodded and smiled, but I knew that if I didn’t hurt myself enough, it would be worse later.
He looked up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, and I wandered into my bathroom. I removed a blade from my hidden box of razors and, before I could think too much about it, I cut myself twice on my upper arms. Deep enough.
“Payment for lies, protect my Working,” I whispered. I let the blood run down my arm and into the sink for a few moments and then cleaned up the mess and put on two Band-Aids.
I ran my fingers over the little white scars that crisscross my arms and then put on a long-sleeve shirt.
“All done,” I said, smiling when I entered my room again.
But the bed was empty.
October 15
I am standing in a box that no one can see. It’s made of such perfect glass that I look free. You might look at me and see a small girl with brown hair, a cute little curly bob with too-short bangs, and big brown pixie eyes looking at the world with wonder.
My big brown pixie eyes stare through the pane with pain and with fear. I want to fly, but my wings never grew. I am standing in a box no one can see.
I clutch the little rabbit tightly in my hands; I’m so nervous I might break him. I spent hours sculpting the polymer clay, baking and re-sculpting until his fur was just so, each little hair a perfectly thin line, his nose so detailed I’m sure he can smell, and his little eyes so bright and clear that I’m certain he can see everything.
“Hello?” you say. It is a question, as if you’re not quite sure if you’re greeting me or not. “Hello,” I say, and I smile. I am wearing the perfume you gave me when I was ten. Scent, they say, holds more memories than memories themselves. “I found this little guy on your lawn,” I say, holding out my rabbit in both hands. It is an offering. It is a plea.
You step forward, one foot on the lawn, the other hesitant on the stair. Please, I think. Please come forward today. “He’s alone,” I say.
You take him from my hand, your skin brushing mine, and my heart races. I brush away a tear because you smell the same and I want to throw myself into your arms. The glass box stops me.
“Lost,” you say quietly, like you understand how that feels. “Poor little rabbit,” you say, and I almost lose control because I am here. I am here, your little rabbit. Do you know it?
“What is your name?” you ask me.
“Zoey.”
“My name is Henry.”
I swallow. “Hello, Henry.”
“Poor little rabbit,” you say again, and you reach for my hand, then stop. You look confused and then you’re gone again, your jaw hanging slack, your eyes glassy and empty.
I take your hand. “I miss you, Daddy.”
I leave before you get confused again. I leave before you even know I was here.
Chapter 5
THE ESCAPE
October 17
I’m
A million fragments of what used to be Zoey.
Where’ve you been? Mum asked when I walked in the door.
Nowhere.
Don’t lie. Mrs. Beagle called from the care home.
There’s nothing to say.
You were with that man again.
“That man” is my dad, Mum.
He’s not your dad anymore, okay? Are you listening to me, Zoey? He doesn’t know who you are or who I am or who he is anymore!
It doesn’t mean I can’t go see him.
Yes, it does. I’m your mother and I have sole custody for a reason, young lady, and I’m telling you that you are NOT going to see that man again!
I can’t just divorce him like you did.
You can’t stop me from seeing my own father!
I can and I will. He is dangerous, Zoey. You might not remember that he almost beat you to death after he came back because he thought you were a replacement of yourself, but I haven’t! I’ll move this family to Timbuktu before I let him touch you again! No arguing! It’s done!
He’s my father!
I love him!
I belong with him!
Maybe you do! You’re just as bloody crazy as he is!
I’m shattered.
A million fragments of what used to be Zoey.
Facebook (Mobile) Status Update
Zoey Root Feeling triumphant
Well folks, I’m on my way! Meddwyn Water Mill here I come. Bring on the ghosties! No idea about reception up there, so if you don’t hear from me, don’t panic. I probs don’t want to talk to you anyway Unless it’s, like, a week. Then I’ve most likely been eaten by crazy mountain people and pooped out in pieces.
Love you guys xxx
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You, Millie Hull, Jack Renshaw, and 16 others like this.
Shane Rogers:
hoax. total hoax u loser
Jennifer Wellens:
Seriously??? You went to MWM? WHY?!
Lauren Smith:
Don’t even, Zoey! You are so going to be in Zumba tomorrow.
Emily Murdock:
You’re obsessed it’s hilar
ious! Lol! Stay safe then, chick.
D. “RAY” Ralph:
thats shite take me wif u
Roger Cronin:
told u Sam!
Sam Marillier:
omg be careful.
Poulton Longmore:
Zoey Root TEXT ME.
Sanjeet Root:
Zoey THIS BETTER BE A JOKE.
Shane Rogers:
haha now mum’s mad u in trouble zoey hahaha!
Sanjeet Root:
Shut it Shane Rogers or I’ll be calling your mum next. Poulton Longmore, call me RIGHT NOW!
Lucy Root:
Zoey’s done it now. And no it’s not a hoax. She left this morning. Sorry Auntie Sanjie!
Jeff Hurley:
idiot.
Greg Masterson:
Nice knowing you Zo…
Poulton
11:00
Where are you?
Zo-Zo
11:05
Not in school
Poulton
11:06
Needlessly vapid.
What’s going on?
Mr. Fields was asking about your coursework
Zo-Zo
11:10
Had a fight with Mum.
She called me crazy.
Like Dad.
Poulton
11:11
Shit, Zo. Are you okay?
Zo-Zo
11:20
You know me.
Right as rain.
Poulton
11:21
Zoey where are you?
Teeth in the Mist Page 3
