The Torn Wing

by Kiki Hamilton

  Tiki blinked in surprise. It was the boy who had stolen her bag in Charing Cross.

  “What are you doing here?” The words exploded out of her mouth.

  “Tiki.” Fiona jumped to her feet. “This is—”

  “Johnny Michael Francis O’Keefe, Miss.” He bobbed his head, his cap clutched in his hands. His face had a boy-like charm to it, but Tiki didn’t miss the hollows under his cheeks and the way his second-hand clothes hung on this thin frame.

  “Johnny O’Keefe?” Tiki eyes narrowed. “Also known as Johnny the Thief? I’ve heard of you before.”

  Johnny tugged the lapels of his rumpled, threadbare jacket straight. A nervous smile creased his lips revealing teeth that were surprisingly clean. “I swear I don’ know where you heard such a thing as that.” He waved a hand in her direction and cleared his throat. “Being the lady you are, an’ all.”

  Fiona snickered, then guiltily raised a long-stemmed red rose to her nose to hide her smile. Tiki chose to ignore her. Johnny the Thief had quite a name among the pickpockets who worked the streets of London. Not only for his quick hands—but also for his close escapes. There’d been more than one tale of Johnny eluding the bobbies by the seat of his threadbare pants.

  “It doesn’t matter where I’ve heard it. We’ve met before—at Charing Cross.” Tiki wasn’t smiling now. “I believe you stole my bag.”

  Johnny’s cheeks turned red. “About that…” He turned his crumpled cap in his hands and shuffled feet that looked too big for his lanky body. “I only did it because the blond lady promised me a quid. She was the one who told me to lead you to that little room.” He held his hands out from his sides and his face twisted in a look of disgust. “But in the end, it wasn’t even worth it because I lost the bloody money. Put it my pocket and found a dead leaf there later.”

  Tiki frowned at his mention of the blond lady. “What did this woman say to you?”

  Johnny shrugged. “I don’ know. She just came up and offered me a quid. Showed me the little room with the back door then pointed out you two fine-looking ladies.”

  Fiona blushed, and Tiki didn’t miss the pleased expression on her face. Tiki threaded her hands together, still standing stiffly erect. “How exactly did you find out where we lived?”

  “Oh, that part was easy. I just followed you home.” Johnny gave her an endearing grin. “Then I waited for a chance to talk to Miss Fiona.”

  Tiki’s stomach twisted at the thought that they were being followed by Johnny and hadn’t even noticed. Who else could have been following them? She would need to be more alert in the future. But right now Fiona’s face was bright with excitement for the first time in a long time. Tiki tapped her thumbs together, trying to make a decision as she eyed the painfully thin boy. Finally she heaved a sigh. It hadn’t been long enough since their fortunes had changed that Tiki had forgotten what it felt like to be hungry all the time. “Have you had breakfast?”

  SHAMUS JOINED THEM at the table as it was Saturday and pulled a chair up next to their guest as they nipped into platters of sausage gravy over biscuits. In typical fashion, Mrs. Bosworth had cooked enough for everyone to have seconds, so there was plenty for an extra mouth.

  Tiki cut a bite of gravy-soaked biscuit listening to Fiona and Toots chattering on while Johnny practically inhaled his food. “Where are your parents?” she finally asked.

  Johnny paused with a bite halfway to his mouth. “Debtor’s prison.” His voice held little emotion. Tiki noticed he handled a fork with practiced ease and swallowed his food before he spoke. “Didn’t see m’self living in that place so I set about my own business.” He elbowed Toots. “Went to Charing Cross and met a few blokes in the trade.” He took another big bite of food and swallowed. “I’ve done all right for m’self so far.” He grinned. “Not dead or in prison yet.”

  “I see.” Tiki moved the food on her plate around, her appetite suddenly diminished. There were so many children who were orphaned or living on their own. The conditions in the slums of London, as well as the workhouses, were hardly fit for an animal, let alone a young boy on his own. “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen this summer.” He shoved another bite into his mouth.

  Tiki looked around the table. All of them were orphans. Fiona’s mother, a seamstress, had been beaten to death by her employer. Her cousin, Shamus, had been on his own since his father, a mudlarker, had died in a drunken brawl in a pub. Tiki had found Toots in Trafalgar Square after his mother had kicked him out of the house at age nine because she had too many other children to feed. Clara had been curled up in a pile of garbage on a side road near Charing Cross where Tiki had almost tripped over her. She’d brought them both home and now they were a family.

  “I met him over in Covent Garden,” Toots said around a mouthful of food, nodding at Johnny. “He was pickin’ pockets at the market, just like we used to do.” Toots swallowed and took another big bite, oblivious to the stares suddenly directed his way.

  Johnny’s mouth froze mid-bite and his gaze went from Toots to Tiki then back to Toots again, a question in his eyes. “What’d you say?”

  “Toots.” Tiki nodded at his full mouth and raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, Toots, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Clara chimed in. She sat across from him, balanced on a large book. Doggie rested on the table next to her plate. “It’s not po’lite.”

  With a big gulp he swallowed his food and glared at Clara. “Hush up, Clara.”

  Clara stared back belligerently. “It’s the rules—”

  “Thank you, Clara.” Tiki smiled her. “I think Toots remembers now.” She turned back to the new boy as if nothing untoward had been revealed. “What are your plans now, Johnny?”

  He put his fork down, his brows knotted in a serious expression. “Have you ever heard of Rieker? He’s the best bloody pick-pocket in all of London.” His blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “I want to work for him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tiki and Shamus both choked on their food at the same time.

  “You do?” Toots asked, his mouth forming an ‘o’ of surprise. “But I thought—” he swiveled around to look at Tiki, his orange locks shifting with his movement.

  “I know Rieker,” Clara chimed in, her mouth half-full. “His real name is—”

  “Clara.” Tiki cut her off and shook her head, putting a finger to her lips.

  Shamus set his fork down and leaned back in his chair. “An’ what would you be doin’ for Rieker?”

  “Pickin’ pockets, o’ course.” Johnny smiled at Tiki. “An’ I’m good at it, too. With Mr. Rieker’s connections and working as a team—” his eyes lit up with enthusiasm— “he’s the best of the lot, you know.”

  “The best of what lot?” Rieker’s voice caused them all to turn. His tall form filled the doorway. He was still wearing his long black traveling coat.

  “Rieker!” Clara wiggled out of her chair and ran over to throw her arms around his knees. “Yer just in time to meet Johnny.”

  Johnny’s fork clattered to the plate, as his mouth dropped open. He eyed the well-dressed aristocrat who stood in the doorway. “R.. Rieker?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rieker said with a straight face as he bent down and lifted Clara up in his arms. He stepped close and patted Toots on the back. “Welcome home, Toots. Glad to see you’re back safe.” His gaze circled the table, pausing on Tiki briefly before stopping on the visitor. “Johnny?”

  Tiki sat quietly in her chair. Purple shadows colored the skin under his eyes and he looked like he hadn’t slept since she’d seen him last. She noticed he didn’t seem surprised to see Toots at all.

  Johnny hopped to his feet, knocking the chair over in his haste. “Johnny Michael Francis O’Keefe.” He said it so fast it was barely intelligible. “Sir.”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  “Johnny brought me a rose,” Fiona said, holding her flower up.

&
nbsp; Toots pointed across the table at him. “He’s a pickpocket too. I met him down at the station and—”

  “Johnny is a friend of Toots and Fi’s.” Clara’s high voice rang with childish innuendo.

  Fiona flushed and looked down at her plate. Like normal, Shamus remained silent, leaving the chatter to the others.

  Rieker raised his hand for silence. “You sound like a bunch of squabbling chickens—I can’t make out a word you’re saying.”

  Tiki stood and motioned to Rieker. “I need to talk to you.” She nodded at the rest of them. “You lot carry on with breakfast.” Rieker let Clara slide to the floor and followed Tiki to the library.

  “Who is he?” he said, the minute she closed the door.

  “He was here when I came down this morning.” She couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. “He stole my handbag at Charing Cross the other day. When I chased him into our old home Larkin was there hiding. He told me today that a blond lady said she would pay him to lead me in there.”

  Rieker raised his eyebrows. “No surprise, really, given who we’re dealing with.” He paced to the hearth and leaned an arm against the mantle, staring down at the kindling laid in the grate. “How did he find where you live?”

  Tiki moved across the room to stand near him, the skirts of her lavender skirt sweeping the floor as she walked. “He said he followed us home.”

  “Possible. Unless he was sent here.”

  Tiki caught her breath. “You think he might be—”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Rieker pushed off the mantle and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I’m suspicious of everyone now, especially Larkin.”

  Tiki told him what Toots had said about his disappearance and Clara’s comments about Dain and glamours. She fingered the lace on the hem of her blouse. “Clara said this Dain fellow was asking about you.” Her voice softened. “I was worried—where have you been?”

  Rieker’s jaw was set and his eyes were dark with concern. “I’ve been looking for Toots, trying to get the latest news on what’s happening. Larkin won’t quit until she gets what she wants from you.”

  “Do you believe her?” Tiki braced her shoulders. “Do you believe I’m Finn’s daughter?”

  The shadows shifted in Rieker’s eyes and something that looked like truth flickered there. His voice was quiet, but firm when he answered. “Yes, I do, Tiki.”

  LATER THAT NIGHT Tiki lay awake in the darkness of her bedroom, tossing restlessly.

  “Have you made up your mind yet?”

  Larkin’s voice came from within the deepest shadows in the room—the words disembodied and floating—almost as if they came from the very air itself.

  Tiki jumped, but in truth she wasn’t surprised to hear from the faerie. She’d known it was only a matter of time before Larkin came back for what she wanted. The faerie’s anticipation was so palpable Tiki could almost feel it reaching for her, like fingers—or claws— ready to sink into her skin.

  Tiki pushed herself into a sitting position, reaching for a night robe that hung on the bed post. She leaned over and lit the candle stub that was in the holder on the small nightstand next to her bed. Her dagger with the iron blade rested next to the candle and she slipped it into her pocket where she could grab the handle easily if necessary.

  “Tell me why you took Toots to the Otherworld,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  Larkin gave her a sideways glance from the corner of her eyes, as if calculating her response. “The boy is horse-crazy and wanted to ride.” She lifted her chin and waved her hand as if to dismiss the incident. “He needed to see a real horse. One who can run on the wind—”

  “You can’t just take a child!” Tiki snapped.

  “I didn’t take him.” Larkin sounded insulted. “And from what I heard, he wanted to go.”

  “He’s ten years old! He doesn’t understand the dangers.” Anger and frustration bubbled in Tiki’s chest. Larkin couldn’t possibly be that obtuse. Everything she did was for a reason. “He didn’t even know where he was.”

  Larkin sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. He’s home again, safe and sound.”

  “You took him because you wanted to get my attention.” Tiki said. “If you want my help, don’t ever take him again.”

  “Fine.” Larkin snapped. “I didn’t come here to be lectured.” She pursed her lips as if trying not to lose her temper. “Have you thought about what I said? Have you made up your mind?”

  “I have thought about it,” Tiki said. She’d hardly thought of anything else. “From what you’ve described there’s a terrible war going on in the Otherworld right now. I’m not going to show up just to be slaughtered. I’ve got responsibilities here.” Tiki’s voice wavered as she thought about leaving Clara and the others. “You’ve got to tell me what it is you expect me to do before I’ll agree to go.”

  The truth was she had already decided. She couldn’t risk the life of the Queen of England if there really was some way she could stop this madman. Nor could she take the chance that someone else—like Rieker, or her family—might be injured. She’d never be able to live with herself. But she wasn’t going to let Larkin know that yet.

  The faerie emerged from the shadows, her hair windblown and tangled, hanging like a golden mantle around her shoulders. As she moved, the flame of the candle shivered, throwing dancing shadows of light against the walls. Larkin appeared to float across the room to sit on the end of Tiki’s bed.

  She sat oddly still, her weight making no impact on the soft down-filled mattress, as if she were simply wrought of air. Tiki was used to the faerie twirling and dancing—taunting her—a mocking smile gracing her beautiful face. Now, it was as though she were a shadow of herself.

  “I’ll tell you what I can.” Larkin’s voice shifted to a whisper. “Donegal has been plotting this coup for centuries. The deception within the courts goes very deep. Back to when Finn was murdered.”

  Tiki tensed at the name.

  “His assassination could not have been easy to carry out. Finn had the Macanna, his own group of warriors, who protected him.” There was a thread of respect in Larkin’s voice. “Those men and women would have died for him.”

  Tiki smoothed her fingers along the stitching of the quilt that covered her bed. She sensed there was much more that Larkin wasn’t telling her. “What of Adasara?”

  “Addie was trying to get away,” Larkin said softly. “She managed to avoid them long enough to hide you in London, but eventually they found her too…” Her voice faded. “It wasn’t long after Addie died that they came after Eridanus.” Larkin’s tone shifted. “It’s obvious Donegal hasn’t known of you before now or he would have hunted you down years ago. Addie was successful in that much, at least.”

  Tiki shivered. She wanted to ask about Rieker, about the secrets to which Larkin had alluded, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers.

  A smile twisted the lips of the faerie. “We’re not so different, guttersnipe.”

  “Yes, we are,” Tiki snapped. “I can be trusted.”

  Larkin leaned toward her, an annoyed look on her face. “Well, I’m here telling you the truth, aren’t I? At no small risk to myself, I might add.”

  “Whenever you take a risk, Larkin, it’s because you expect to gain something in return.”

  A smile flitted across the faerie’s face. “True, perhaps, but if you come with me, we will both gain something.”

  “If what you say is true, that I’m the daughter of Finn MacLochlan, then why don’t I look like a faerie? Why don’t I remember anything? Why can’t I do anything?”

  Larkin’s eyes slid over Tiki, her lips turned down in a disapproving frown. “It’s not as if you haven’t been able to see things. You’ve seen them all your life and chosen to ignore them.” The faerie cocked her head at Tiki. “Your lack of knowledge is simply because you’ve never thought of yourself with those abilities.”

  Tiki felt rooted to the
floor as she stared at Larkin’s unearthly beauty. “But why don’t I look like a faerie?”

  Larkin gave a graceful shrug of her shoulders then grimaced, as if in pain. “Faeries are shape-shifters—chameleons. When outside of our world we instinctively blend with our surroundings. My sister was very powerful. I’m sure Adasara put an impenetrable glamour on you before she hid you in London. As you grew, you knew no other way to look. You unconsciously shifted the glamour to grow into the image you believed to be of yourself.” The corner of Larkin’s lip lifted in a mocking smile. “But I’m sure if you were to stay in Faerie long enough, you’d shed the glamour, and begin to look normal again.”

  Tiki ignored the girl’s barbs. “Why don’t I have wings?”

  Larkin sobered and silence stretched between them. Tiki was just wondering if the faerie was going to ignore the question when she spoke. “The purpose of wings has evolved over the centuries. Long ago they were a symbol of power—the size, the shape, the color—all gave an indication of the faerie’s status within court. But over time, the importance of wings diminished. Now they’re only worn for vanity. A faerie has wings just like a mortal has long hair. It’s so they may look a certain way.” She shrugged. “I can live without them. Adasara must have torn yours off when she brought you to London.”

  Tiki listened, trying to keep her face blank, to not reveal the shock that roiled around inside her at the idea that she was…not human. “But,” she finally choked out, “I don’t know the first thing about your world, these people—” she flung her hands out— “this war you’re fighting.”

  Larkin grabbed Tiki’s hands and clasped them in her long fingers. Tiki couldn’t remember the faerie ever voluntarily touching her before, other than to scratch her. Her skin was cool to the touch and soft, like a stone worn smooth by water. “That’s where I can help you. I can teach you the things that you know deep inside— help you to remember.”

  A deep unease stirred in Tiki’s gut. She wasn’t sure she would trust Larkin to teach her anything. “But what is it you expect me to do in the Otherworld with this … this Tara Stone?”