The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 50

She inhales deeply. A smile crosses her lips. “Is it there?”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mum sold roses at the pub. I always liked the smell.”

A sweet brown hare hops past, its nose wiggling at the ground.

“Wendy,” I whisper. “Don’t move.”

I brush the frost from a patch of bitter herbs and offer them to the bunny. Curious, he hops closer, and I nestle him into my arms.

“Here, feel,” I say, putting the rabbit near Wendy. She strokes his fur, and a smile lights her face. “What shall we call him?” I ask.

“No, you should name ’im,” Wendy insists.

“Very well.” I peer closely at his twitching nose. There’s something noble and aloof about him. “Mr. Darcy, I should think.”

“Mr. Darcy. I like it.”

I fashion a cage for him of twigs and vines and a bit of magic and place the little fellow inside. Wendy holds fast to the cage as if it contains her dearest dreams.

Though it is hard to say goodbye, our night must come to an end, and we must return to our world. We embrace with promises of tomorrow, and Pippa and the others escort us as far as the bramble wall. We’re on our way to the secret door when the ground begins to shake with the sound of horses.

“Let’s go! Quickly!” I shout.

“What is it?” Ann asks, but we are already running and there is no time for replies.

“They’re cutting us off,” I call. “To the garden.”

We run hard and fast with the riders in pursuit, but we’re no match for them. By the time the river is in view, they’ve got us trapped.

“Use the magic,” Felicity begs, but I’m so frightened I cannot gain control of it. It races through me till I’m on my knees.

Several magnificent centaurs step out from behind the lush ferns. They are led by one named Creostus. He doesn’t care for any mortal, and he especially doesn’t care for me.

He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest and eyes me with contempt. “Hello, Priestess. I believe you owe my people a visit.”

“Yes. I had planned to do so,” I lie.

Creostus leans close. His eyebrows are thick and his thin wisp of a beard comes to a point beneath a wide, cruel smile. He smells like earth and sweat. “Of course you did.”

“All is in readiness, Most High. I shall take you to Philon now,” Gorgon calls, slipping into view, and I know she’s had a hand in this. She wants me to make the alliance no matter what.

“Yes, you see? We were on our way,” I say, flashing Gorgon a glance, which she ignores. She lowers the plank for us, keeping her eyes on the centaur.

Creostus allows Felicity and Ann to pass but cuts me off. He puts his face near my ear, his voice a harsh purr that raises gooseflesh on my neck. “Betray us, Priestess, and you’ll be sorry.”

As I board, Felicity pulls me aside. “Must we go with that overgrown goat?”

I sigh. “What choice do we have?”

“What if they mean to make the alliance now, before we’ve really had a chance to change anything?” Ann asks, and I know it’s her very existence she’s speaking of.

“It is only a discussion,” I tell them. “Nothing is decided yet. The magic is still ours for now.”

“Very well,” Felicity says. “But please, let’s not stay long. And I won’t sit near that Creostus. He’s vile.”

We sail the river, doing our best to ignore Creostus and his centaurs, who watch our every move as if we might jump ship. At last, Gorgon takes the familiar turn toward the home of the forest folk. A veil of shimmering water hides their island from view. The boat parts the curtain of it, and we pass through a fresh, cool mist that coats our skin with jeweled flecks, turning us into golden girls.

The haze lifts. The verdant shore of the forest folk slides into view, a thick green as inviting as a feather bed. As our massive ship anchors, several of the forest children stop their game and step forward to gape at the terrible wonder that is the gorgon. Gorgon is not charmed by their staring. She turns toward them and lets the snakes about her head stretch and hiss, their forked tongues quick whips of red among all the green. The children yelp and run for the cover of the trees.

“That wasn’t very kind of you,” I scold. I’m still angry that she’s betrayed our presence to Philon.

“Miscreants,” Gorgon says in her slithery voice. “No better than toads.”

“They’re only children.”