For a moment I peered down at him, trying to parcel out my feelings. “I don’t know.”
He dipped his head. “I will endeavor to give you no further reasons to fear me. Now, come. There is much to show you before the day is gone.”
He stepped back through the waterfall.
And I followed.
CHAPTER TEN
WE RETRACED OUR STEPS THROUGH THEgarden and into the house, where a blue tiled corridor lined with miniature apple trees waited for us. I told the wolf I was tired and hungry, that I didn’t want to see anymore of the house just then.
His amber eyes burned into mine, but he didn’t call my bluff. “Ask the house, and it will bring you a meal. If you have need of me, call.”
And then he left me, the apple trees rustling as he passed them by.
I waited as long as I could bear, then started walking in the opposite direction. “House,” I said, feeling foolish, “Could I have a meat pie?” The air shimmered, and around the corner I found a plate waiting on a low table; the tantalizing aroma of stewed meat wafted up to greet me. I grabbed the pie and ate as I walked, so quickly I burned my tongue—I was starving, and even Donia had never made something so delicious.
Heartened by this success, I addressed the house again: “Could I have my knapsack, and supplies for the journey home?”
There was another shimmer in the air and around the next corner I found my knapsack hanging on a peg, full near to bursting. I slung it over my shoulder and made my last request: “Bring me to the gate. Show me the way out.”
The air shimmered a third time, and there came a rumbling sound from somewhere underneath me. “Please,” I said.
The apple-lined corridor gave way to an ordinary carpeted hallway, then a staircase winding down into darkness. I remembered how long it had taken the wolf and me to reach my room from the gate. “The shortest way, if you please,” I added. The floor jerked beneath my feet and I fell the rest of the way down the stairs, coming to a stop at the plain wood door. The lantern pulsed from its place high on the wall.
I took a breath, and opened the door.
Blackness enveloped me. “Let me through,” I whispered, in case the house held any sway down here. “Let me through.”
Wind raged around me, whipping through my skirt, clawing at my hair. I could feel its power, itsanger.But I could feel its sorrow, too. Icy claws scraped my neck, thorny fingers grasped my ankles, dragging me down, down. An invisible weight crushed my lungs, swallowing my breath away. I thought of the girl in the story. “By the laws of the old magic,” I gasped, “let me through, let me through.”
A high mournful shriek echoed in my ears. The weight on my chest lifted. Gentle hands steered me through the darkness, and then I was tumbling through trailing vines, out into the sunlight.
I blinked up at the sky, scrambling away from the hill, toward the wood. I looked back, something in me wrenching at the thought of leaving the wolf there, alone forever.You could go back to him,said a voice in my mind,when you’ve told your father you are safe.
But I knew I wouldn’t. Whatever I’d thought connected me and the wolf didn’t really exist.
And yet.
I stood there longer than I meant to, torn between the wolf and my father.
But at last I forced myself into the wood.
It was perfectly ordinary, at first. Leaves crunched under my feet, the wind blew cold and smelled of damp earth. There were no animals, no birds. Just me and the trees. Rodya’s pendant thumped against my chest, the ticking of the clock speeding up suddenly before stopping dead. Its silence was deafening. Ominous.
I tramped on as the shadows lengthened and the light began to fail, pushing away my uneasiness, telling myself I was almost through, almost home with my father again, even though I knew that was impossible—the wolf and I had been trapped there two weeks, my father longer.
I tried not to think of the girl in the story, of the thorny creatures and the cruel queen. I tried not to think of the wolf, of how angry he would be when he discovered I was gone.
I tried not to dwell on the possibility that I had made a terrible mistake, coming here.
Ahead of me, the trees began to rustle, even though there was no wind. Their bare branches twined together, twisting down over the path and blocking my way.
I turned right, walking faster.
The trees moaned, their voices deep and horrible, like strings ripped from cellos, or trod under boots.
I broke into a run, my heart slamming into my rib cage, one hand holding tight to the compass-watch. I ducked underneath hanging branches that tore at my clothes, trying to catch me, hold me, but I tore free.
