by Amy Wilson
‘I s’pose so,’ I say again, blowing on to the hot tea, instantly cooling it.
‘So . . . about Jack,’ she says after a moment, her voice hesitant. ‘Have you thought any more about trying to find him?’
The tea freezes in the mug.
‘Um. No. I mean, I’ve been a bit distracted, what with Mallory’s parents, and then Alberic . . .’
‘The boy,’ she says, taking bowls from the cupboard. ‘You like him?’
‘No!’
She smiles broadly, coming to the table.
‘How wonderful!’ she exclaims. She doesn’t notice the frozen tea and I concentrate very hard on making sure the porridge doesn’t go the same way. She watches me while I eat, as if she’s trying to work out what’s going on in my head. I hope she can’t. I’m losing track of all the lies I’ve told her. What if I were to tell her everything now? I play out the conversation in my mind, ending with how Jack’s been exiled and I’m going to be doing his work. I’m honestly not sure what she’d make of it all; she can be quite surprising sometimes, but she’d definitely be hurt by all the lying and it’s not like she can help, so I keep my mouth shut while she watches, and try to think of other things. Mostly, for some annoying reason, my mind goes to Alberic. I try to keep my feelings about it all at arm’s length, so that I don’t start freezing the kitchen, but I can’t help remembering his face when they voted to banish Jack; the way for an instant he tried to fight for me. He looked so ill at ease there and, in spite of myself, I wonder what his life has been like, growing up in the Fay Court, away from humanity, with a father who despises that human part of him.
I shake my head. Why should I care?
‘Owl, where are you going?’ Mum asks later, after I’ve spent the day slumping around school with Mallory, trying to avoid Alberic and Conor.
‘Am I still grounded?’ It’s been a week now. I look at her hopefully. I’ve dressed all in black for my Jack Frosting and I probably should have waited until she’d gone to bed but, honestly, I’m so tired I’d probably fall asleep and that wouldn’t help anyone.
‘Tell me where you’re going and I’ll let you know,’ she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. She’s been working hard on her commission and there are circles under her eyes. Is she worried about me? Is that what the circles are for?
‘You don’t need to worry,’ I say, picking up my scarf. ‘I’m not doing anything stupid.’
‘Shall I be the judge of that?’ she asks, looking me up and down. ‘I’m trying to trust you, Owl. You’re not making it very easy.’
‘I was going to see Alberic,’ I say, the lie coming smoothly. He’ll be there anyway, after all, in his role as spy. ‘Just to get some fresh air for a bit . . .’
‘What’s he like?’ she asks, leaning up against the door jamb.
‘Uh. He’s got brown eyes and hair. And he’s really tall. He’s . . . unusual . . .’ My voice trails off. I must be the colour of a plum. Were those good things to say?
‘And kind?’
Kind?
‘Well, he’s all right,’ I tell her. ‘So . . . can I go?’
‘We’ll call it an experiment,’ she says. ‘I’ll let you go out, and I’ll give you a curfew of ten, and if it all goes to plan, then we’ll know.’
‘Know what?’
‘That you can be trusted.’
She leans in and gives me a great big hug and for just a moment I let myself be a kid again, comforted by her familiar smells and the rough-smooth wool of her cardigan.
The next few days pass in a brittle whirl of ice and snow and school and Mallory’s questioning, worried eyes. Alberic doesn’t say much when I encounter him on my night-time missions, just watches me from a distance. I don’t stop to talk to him, the work calls harder than anything else; it’s about the only thing keeping me sane at the moment. Somehow it makes sense of everything – Jack may never accept me, but there’s no question whose daughter I am, when I’m out doing his work. And I need it. The harder I go at it, the more ground I cover, the better I feel – alive in a way I’ve never felt alive before. Every movement carries traces of magic, sending cold thrills up my spine. I go out later now. I’ve decided I can do without Mum’s inquisitions so I’ve taken to leaving by the window in the early hours of the morning, and so far she hasn’t noticed. I guess I’m getting better at it.
By the time I fall into bed I’m so tired I can barely breathe, and yet I’m wired, high on frost and a yearning to do more, do better. The church, the bridge, every major monument and a lot of the smaller ones, are glittering beneath the stars, because of me. They’ve never looked so beautiful. It gets hard to leave them, hard to just come home and get into my normal bed like a normal girl. I’m not normal. The thought makes me grin now, where it used to frighten me.
Who wants normal, anyway?
The lack of sleep is a bit of a problem, though. Everything revolves around my mind for hours, so that by the time I’m ready for sleep I can hardly see straight, and that’s when the room starts to bustle with the noise of the owls. I think of taking down all the artwork but they’re so intent on telling me that ‘he does not know the truth’ that I don’t think it’d work. They’d just rustle at me from under the bed and that would be even more creepy.
‘What do you want me to do about it?’ I cry eventually. ‘Am I supposed to march into the court and demand answers? I don’t see that working very well! I don’t know what you mean, anyway. Jack knows the truth about me; he just doesn’t want to face it!’
‘You must find him, before ’tis too late! ’Tis not his doing. ’Tis not for him to be punished for another’s manipulations! You’ll be lost to it, lost toooo-it, tu-whit . . .’
I put the pillow over my face and will myself to sleep.
‘Owl, wait!’
I stumble over the cobblestones in the old part of town. They’re slippery with ice and my toes are numb. I realize with a shock that my feet are bare, and blue with cold.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
‘What are you doing?’ Alberic hisses, falling in beside me.
‘My work,’ I say, reaching out and drawing icicles from a window ledge. Alberic waits beside me while I finish, feeling satisfied when I draw my hand away to reveal a perfect row of gleaming frozen daggers.
‘You don’t look well,’ he says, frowning as he stares down at me. I wish I were taller, it’s demeaning to be constantly looked down upon.
‘Why are you so tall?’ I demand.
‘Why are you so cold?’ he rallies. ‘It’s not relevant, Owl. You’re doing too much. You’re not looking after yourself.’
‘What do you care?’ I ask, considering him. His copper eyes blaze in the near-dawn murk, even the freckles on his skin seem to glow. ‘How do you make your Mohican stand up like that? Is it gel?’
‘Gel!’ He grabs my arm. ‘You’re sick. You need to get home.’
‘I haven’t finished,’ I murmur, stretching up to touch his hair. It looks so thick and warm. ‘I was going to do the lake . . .’
‘You should stop,’ he says, his voice strained as he jerks his head out of my reach, still holding me by the arm. ‘Owl, you look like a walking corpse!’
‘Oh, who cares?’
‘Won’t your mum care?’ he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.
‘She’ll be fine.’
I turn my back, determined to carry on with my work. He follows me around every corner and I focus harder on making ice as a distraction, pulling deeper within myself until it’s rolling out of me, easy as breathing – making whole gardens white with a touch, sending streams of crystals up lamp posts where they glitter, amber-bright and magical. I forget that Alberic is there, forget everything, running faster, faster, sending shards of ice into every dark corner.
The greenhouses in the allotments are fragile, and their roofs treacherous. I climb up carefully, balancing on the topmost ridge while frost spills down around me. One false move and I’d fall through the
glass. But I won’t make a false move. I move from one to another, tracing patterns on the glass, making thick, spiky ridges of ice over the metal. I can feel Alberic’s presence down below me and I ignore it, leaping from one greenhouse to the next until I’ve run out and there are only level vegetable plots before me. I jump down and move between the neat rows, all carefully sealed off. It’s frustrating. Things hiding from me beneath the plastic. I prowl along, keen-eyed, looking for a mistake, for a break in the pattern. And there. There it is. A split in the smooth whiteness, fragile green fronds just visible and beneath, the soft round globes of out-of-season tomatoes. Why are they even here? Why do gardeners plant them in the winter, when they would by nature die? I reach down, my stomach sour with sudden hunger, and pluck one from the thick green stem.
A bloom of condensation, a sweep of frost over the smooth red skin. It puckers and shrivels as I hold it, useless against my power. I look at it for a long time, wondering whether I feel remorse. And I realize I don’t. This is nature. I am nature’s work.
‘What are you doing?’ That infernal voice. His presence always there, reminding me of my frailties. Reminding me of his betrayal.
I turn with a glare, feathers of ice spilling out around me. He reels back with shock and I stalk from the allotments, aware that he’s still behind me. I head for home, my head light as storm clouds gather overhead, and as I pass the old common I spot the Great Oak. That looks like it could use a bit of frost. I run towards the tree.
‘Owl, no!’
Alberic is fast, but I’m faster, spurred on by some kind of mad determination to wind him up. I reach the oak and start to climb, leaving rimes of frost everywhere I touch. It feels amazing; the higher I get the more delicate the branches, the more beautiful the ice I lay upon it. I take my time, caressing the rough bark, feeling the power that rests within the tree. It’s immense, far older than anything I’ve touched with frost before.
‘Child, you’re taking on too much . . .’ It’s a rumble of a voice that resounds deep within my head and makes my stomach roll.
My feet slip on the branch and I reach out to grip the tree but the bark seems to shift away from me and the world turns upside down. I land clumsily on the hard ground, stumbling forward as Alberic reaches for me.
‘Get away from me,’ I mutter, recovering myself as he steps away, shaking his head.
‘What were you thinking?’
‘Clearly I was thinking it’d be nice to fall out of a tree!’ I snap, moving away from it towards the path.
‘He’s far too powerful for you to take on – I’ve told you already, you need to pace yourself!’
‘Who are you to tell me what I need?’
‘Who else is going to tell you?’ he shouts. ‘You’re doing too much. You’re not looking after the human part of you!’ His copper eyes blaze in the darkness, even the freckles on his skin seem to glow. ‘You cannot be Jack Frost,’ he continues. ‘You’re a human, a girl. There’s a balance, it’s important . . . You need to remember that.’
‘How can I forget, with you around?’
‘I’m trying to help!’
‘I don’t need your help – what do you know anyway? All you’ve got to control is a few stupid leaves, even a kid could do that!’
Ice blooms out across the common as I shout, and Alberic staggers back until he can’t outpace it any more; instead he’s forced to stand on it. He doesn’t look too comfortable there, I think with satisfaction.
‘You think that’s all there is to autumn? To me? Are you really that blind, Owl?’ He skates towards me, his face mutinous. I step back, suddenly aware of how tall he is, how angular. There’s a wiry strength in him that I’d never really thought about before.
‘Everything autumn touches dies,’ he snarls. ‘Do you know how much control I have to use, every time I’m around you or one of your stupid human friends?’
‘Alberic!’
He raises his hands and his eyes blaze. The trees around us lower their branches, the remaining green leaves swiftly turning to an amber and gold that gleams. Another second and they’re falling, dry brown husks that skitter across the ice.
‘Stop it!’ I shout, as he starts towards me. In that instant there are traces of the Earl in his expression, something dark and inhuman that looks right through me and won’t stop, won’t give in, not for anything. ‘Alberic! ’
He flinches and stops in his tracks, tipping his head to the sky as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. The trees are released.
‘I can stop, any time I want to,’ he says, taking another step forward. ‘Can you?’
‘Just go, Alberic. Just leave me alone!’
I put my hands out to push him back and hail begins to fall, hitting at him. He lowers his head, fighting through it as my head starts to spin. I am doing too much, I realize, as everything gets hazy. I try to pull it back but I can’t, everything’s unravelling.
‘Owl . . .’
‘Uh.’
‘Wake up. You need to get back in.’
In? In where?
I open my eyes to see Alberic looming over me. I shrink back, looking around. The sky is lightening with dawn. We’re sitting on the step outside my front porch, I realize, a wave of nausea rolling through me.
‘Your mum . . . she’ll find out you’ve been out. I didn’t know how to get you through the window . . .’ He looks up as he says it, as if he genuinely spent some time considering how to do just that. ‘She’ll mind, won’t she? If you’re not home and she notices?’
‘Yeah, she’ll mind,’ I whisper, pulling myself up and digging my keys out of my pocket. ‘Won’t yours?’
‘Mine?’ He looks away. ‘No. I’ve, uh . . . I’ve always lived in the court. With the Earl.’ He takes a breath, looks me in the eye. ‘I’m sorry for what happened.’
‘Right.’
‘Take the day off,’ he says. ‘Tell your mum you’re sick or something. You can do that, yes?’
‘Why would I?’
‘I told you, you’re overdoing it,’ he says. ‘You don’t understand what that could do—’
‘I understand fine, thank you,’ I interrupt him. ‘And I don’t have any choice, do I? You’ll tell them if I start falling behind, if I can’t keep up with my work. And then they’ll know Jack’s daughter is failing and that won’t help either of us.’
He bites his lip. ‘I’m not going to tell them anything,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘It’s not your work, Owl. I think we should get him back. This whole thing was a mistake . . .’
‘I don’t want him back.’
What did he ever do for me, anyway?
‘You need him. If you carry on like this, you’re going to lose yourself. I think you already are . . .’
Alberic knows things I don’t. And I wonder – what if the owls in my bedroom are right? What if there is some big secret that could answer everything and help me see clearly? Do I even want that? I don’t want to go back to how things were before.
‘I just can’t,’ I tell the wooden owl. ‘I won’t.’
Even if it is a little more frightening, now that I’ve seen how Alberic can change. That inhuman force of power we both have.
I remember how Jack and Boreas played on the ice that day, how horrified Alberic was. I think I understand a little better now. If they took it just a step further, how destructive it would be . . . but I won’t think about that.
Because they didn’t.
In the morning Mum makes me take paracetamol, washed down with orange juice that stings my throat. She gets the extra blanket, the scratchy yellow one some old ancestor knitted back in the dawn of time, and puts it over my quilt.
‘What have you been doing, little Owl?’ she whispers, as the owl on the bedpost winks at me.
‘Little Owl,’ I murmur. ‘That’s what he called me, ’fore they sent him away . . .’
‘Who, my love, who?’
She sounds just like an owl, I think, as my eyelids grow heavy.
I open my eyes.
And blink.
And I’m dreaming.
Or it’s a weird sort of nightmare, like the one where you’re naked in assembly.
It’s my bedroom, so far pretty normal. And Mallory is sitting on the end of the bed, which is a bit surprising but not completely outrageous. And then Alberic is here, perched awkwardly on the little wicker chair by the window, and that’s just impossible.
I close my eyes again but now I can hear them talking, having a heated discussion about night visits to strange woodlands and Jack Frost’s banishment, and my new role as Mini-Frost.
Eventually I have to open my eyes again. They don’t seem to be going anywhere, and it’s annoying having to listen to them talk about me without saying anything.
‘Now you’re in trouble,’ whispers the owl on the bedpost with a soft clack of her wooden wings. I sit up and Mallory and Alberic turn to stare at me – which is incredibly unsettling, especially since I’ve no idea how long I’ve been asleep or what on earth I look like.
‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’ I demand.
‘We were with your mum, and then you started shouting about secrets and lies, and so I came to check on you because she was a bit tangled up with the pasta maker,’ Mallory says earnestly. ‘And Alberic followed me . . .’
‘And then you thought you’d both just stay in here and talk about me while I was sleeping? Isn’t that a bit weird?’
‘He burst in after me and wouldn’t go away,’ Mallory says, glaring at Alberic. ‘I called out to your mum that you were fine, but he stayed anyway . . . he says he was worried. Your mum seems to like him . . .’ She shrugs and mouths a ‘sorry’ at me.
I look at the window and imagine making my escape, but I don’t. I just get out of bed, glance in the mirror, nearly have a heart attack at the state of my hair, chuck a big jumper on over my clothes from last night, and sit down to face the music.
Just as the owls on the walls begin to kick up a fuss.
‘They speak to you?’ Mallory asks, as she and Alberic look up at the drawings, neither of them able to hide their shock.
