The Faerie Ring (16 page)

Tiki’s eyes darted to Mr. Potts’s face. She swung a leg over and perched on a stool behind the counter, trying to hide her guilty expression. “I’ll go get it in a bit.” She fingered the edge of the book in her hand. “Besides, I just finished it. How long will they be in Balmoral, do you s’pose?”

Potts shrugged, settling down on his old wooden stool next to her. Behind him stretched several aisles of shelves, filled with books top to bottom. “A coupla weeks, most likely. Might spend Christmas up there.”

“A couple of weeks,” Tiki wailed, her shoulders sagging. That sounded like forever. Already her nighttime trip to the palace seemed like a far-fetched dream.

Mr. Potts gave her a sharp look. “Oh, fer the love of Pete, wot difference does it make t’you when the royals come an’ go?”

Tiki forced a laugh. “Oh, I was just hoping to catch sight of the queen in one of her grand carriages, you know,” she said. “See the pretty trimmings and all.” She fidgeted on her stool and stared out the paned windows that faced the station. How could she collect the reward if the royals weren’t even in residence?

Tiki heaved a sigh. For some reason, she was having a hard time just being Tiki again. Dirty clothes and light-fingering food wasn’t enough anymore. She had allowed herself to dream of something beyond pickpocketing the rich folks going through Charing Cross. She wanted something more for herself as well as for Clara, Shamus, and the others.

Restless, she hopped down from her stool.

“Go git my book,” Mr. Potts said in a gruff voice. “An’ remember the rules. Return one before you take another.”

“I won’t forget, Mr. Potts,” Tiki said. “I’ll bring it by later.” She exited the store and walked down the thoroughfare of the railway station, not in a hurry to go anywhere. With the royals gone, it would take that much longer to collect the reward and bring Clara home. Home to someplace other than an abandoned shop alongside a railway station.

Tiki glanced up at the big clock in the center of the station. One thirty. With a pang, she thought of Clara. She and Fiona had gone up to the hospital yesterday and visited. The little girl had looked so much better. She had color in her cheeks and had hardly coughed at all while they were there. Tiki smiled. Clara was going to get well. She was sure of it.

Spotting an empty bench, Tiki ambled over and sat down. She pulled a coin from her pocket and shuffled her fingers, letting the silver dance across her clean knuckles. Since the ball, she had started washing her hands and face every day. She’d even eyed some soap at the market and was thinking about washing her clothes. Yesterday, Mr. Potts had glanced at her, then looked again really quick, as if he’d caught some stranger dressed in her clothes. “Umphf,” was all he’d said. But at least he’d noticed, Tiki thought.

With a flick of her wrist, she made the coin disappear, hardly conscious of what she was doing. She needed to figure out her plan to claim the reward for the ring. What rotten luck that Leo and the royal family had left for Scotland. For just a moment, she let herself wonder what she would think of Leo if
she
came from money and moved in his circles. He would still be spoiled and royal, she decided.

“Better be careful who you show that trick to or people will think you’re a thief.”

Tiki jumped at the smooth voice in her ear and turned to find Rieker leaning over the back of the bench. His long, dark hair flopped over his forehead, shadowing his eyes. His lips curved in a mocking grin.

“Rieker,” Tiki said with dismay. “What are you doing here?”

“Tiki.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You don’t sound happy to see me. You’re not still mad about that little chat we had, are you?” His eyes traced her face with a new sort of intensity, and Tiki was sure that he’d noticed she’d bathed, too. But instead of feeling pleased, she was embarrassed.

“What do you want?” She wished he would go away. “We can’t keep having the same conversation over and over.”

“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you for a few days. I thought maybe you’d started picking pockets in another part of town.”

“What does it matter to you?” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I thought King’s Cross was your turf. Why are you always down here?”

“Because I think you have the answer I seek, my little Tiki,” Rieker said. “That’s why.”

She turned her head away, trying to ignore the tugging inside at the way he spoke to her. His words had unexpectedly brought back memories of her father calling her “my little Tiki,” the nickname he had bestowed on her as a child. She felt weak with longing for something that couldn’t be.

“I don’t have the ring,” Tiki snapped. Might as well get right to it. For a second, she wondered what it would be like when Rieker wasn’t hunting her down anymore, trying to get information about the ring. Would she be happy when he was gone?

“Maybe not, but I’ve a feeling that you know where it is.” Rieker didn’t move. “I’m afraid for you, Tiki.” His voice was low and serious. Tiki’s eyes dropped to a dark stain coloring the sleeve of his jacket.

“What’s that?” Tiki pointed. Rieker followed her gaze and stepped back abruptly. Tiki grabbed his wrist. “You’re bleeding!”

The blood on her fingers felt warm and sticky. She pulled at his sleeve. He resisted, but she refused to release him.

She worked his sleeve up far enough to see a long gash stretched across his forearm. The wound was raw, and blood dripped freely from the cut. She looked at Rieker, aghast. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She twisted his wrist to examine the cut. “That needs to be cleaned and bandaged. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Tiki raced through the station back to the clockmaker’s shop. She slipped in through the sliding piece of wood and wiped her hands on an old cloth before she rummaged through their blankets, looking for anything from which she could tear several strips of relatively clean cloth.

Tiki went to the back wall and opened a cupboard. It wasn’t often that one of them got injured, but every once in a while a nail would catch somebody or a piece of glass would slice a finger. She grabbed the small bag of chamomile she’d nicked from a stall over in Covent Garden. She’d read a book from Mr. Potts’s shop once that had said a poultice made from chamomile wrapped in a damp cloth would take the red out of a cut.

She shoved the cloth and the herbs in her pocket and hurried back out into the station. As she approached the bench, Tiki slowed to a walk. Rieker was no longer there. She stopped and swiveled her head from side to side, looking for his tall silhouette and wild dark hair. But he was gone. How stupid can I be? Running off to help him, as if we were friends or something. Tiki shook her head. What a laugh he must be having right now.

“Looking for someone?” A soft voice came from behind her.

Tiki whipped around. “Rieker! Stop doing that. Why can’t you just walk up like a regular bloke, instead of scaring the daylights out of me all the time?”

“Who wants to be regular?” He laughed.

“Where did you go?” Tiki was suddenly uncomfortable. Was this a trick to find out where she lived?

Rieker shrugged. “Just for a walk. I don’t like to stay in one place for long.”

“Well, come over here and sit down so I can put something on that cut.” She pulled him over to the bench. “Pull your sleeve up.” She winced as she looked at the raw wound on his arm.

From inside her pocket Tiki pulled out several strips of cloth. “Don’t move.” She gave him a warning look before hurrying to a nearby water fountain. She dipped the cloth into the water and returned to the bench.

“Now tell me what happened.” She leaned down to examine the raw edges of the wound, grimacing at the depth of the cut. It looked as if a claw had ripped through his skin.

“They want the ring, Tiki. They think I know where it is.” He shrugged, but his eyes were serious. “It was more of a warning than anything, I think.”

Tiki dabbed the wet cloth on the cut, trying to clean the pus and dried blood away. “What do you mean, a warning?”

“The fey, Tiki.” Rieker’s voice was low. “They know the ring has been moved. They know the royals don’t know where it is. This is their golden opportunity to destroy the truce.”

“But why would they hurt you?”

“The UnSeelies think I know something. I tried to walk away from one of them, and she stopped me.”

“She?” Tiki asked, horrified. “What’s she got, claws?”

“They can have or be whatever they want. They’re shape-shifters. They wear glamours to look human. When they’re angry, faeries are vicious. They can rip you to shreds with their hands or their teeth.”

Teeth?
Tiki shuddered. They didn’t sound like faeries, they sounded like monsters.

“She thinks I know where it is.” Rieker flinched as Tiki pressed down too hard on the cut. “She’s frustrated that I won’t tell her anything, so she sent me a message.” He hesitated and Tiki looked up. “It would seem that my life lies in your hands.” He said the words lightly, but the intensity of his gaze was like a weight on her shoulders. “If you know where the ring is,” Rieker said softly, “you need to tell me.”

Tiki balanced the poultice on his arm, then pulled another long strip of cloth from her pocket and wrapped it around Rieker’s arm. Once the cut was covered, she tied the ends in a neat knot.

“Try to keep that on for a few days, just to give it enough time to heal a bit before it scabs over.” She rubbed her hands on her trousers.

Rieker twisted his wrist and moved his arm up and down. “Feels better already. Thank you, Tiki.”

Embarrassed, Tiki looked away. Rieker was making her feel guilty, if that was possible. Her eyes scanned the crowd in the large open area of the station. Was Rieker really in danger because of her? Her eyes stopped and backtracked. There, standing in a doorway not far from where she sat, was a face she recognized.

Marcus.

He didn’t try to hide from her. Instead he nodded at her in acknowledgment, his lips twisted in a grin that was somehow threatening. Tiki jerked her head away, her heart beating a rapid tattoo in her chest. How long had he been watching them? She thought of what Rieker had told her. Was Marcus interested in her because of the ring?

Tiki glanced over her shoulder, an eerie sense of being hunted making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. But Marcus was gone.

Chapter Sixteen

T
HAT
night, Tiki woke to what sounded like a catfight out in the alley. Hissing, yowling, and screeches split the night. She rolled over, closing her eyes again. Strange noises in the alley were common around the full moon. She’d learned to sleep through them.

It was the shout of either rage or pain that made her bolt upright from her pile of blankets. She was wide-awake now, her nerves tingling as she listened for other sounds.

“What was that?” Fiona whispered through the darkness.

“I don’t know,” Tiki replied in a quiet voice. She got to her feet and tiptoed toward the back entrance. Silently, Shamus fell in step behind her.

“Did you hear it?” she whispered over her shoulder.

“Yes. Sounded like somebody getting stabbed,” Shamus said.

Stabbed? She hadn’t thought of that. Goose bumps popped up on her arms as she carefully opened the back door. They wound their way through the short tunnel to the entrance that opened out to the alleyway.

“Let me go first.” Shamus put his hand on the door above Tiki’s head before she could open it.

“Suit yourself.” Tiki shrugged, taking a step back so Shamus could move in front of her.

Shamus pulled the door open just enough to put his eye up to the crack and survey the area outside. “There’s somebody backed up against the wall,” he whispered. “He’s got a knife.”

“Who is it?”

“It might be Rieker.”

“Rieker!” Tiki’s voice came out much louder than she intended, and Shamus turned back to glare at her.

“Quiet. Do you want him to hear you?” He put his eye back to the crack. “God’s love, I think he
did
hear you. He’s looking this way.”

Her heart crashed in her chest in an unsteady rhythm, making her breath catch in her throat. Who was out there? Tiki balanced on her tiptoes to see around Shamus’s shoulders. She squinted through the dim shadows. With a start, she realized there were other figures—really more like shadows—in the alleyway.

“There are three others, can you see them?” Tiki whispered.

“Where?”

“Right there.” Tiki pointed.

One of the shadows moved, and for a second Tiki thought the person was looking at her. She gasped as she was able to discern his features and clutched at Shamus’s arm.

It was Marcus. And he
was
looking their way.

His mouth curved up in an evil grin as he took a step toward her. Suddenly, the person against the wall moved and Tiki recognized Rieker’s tall form. What was he doing in this alley in the middle of the night? He raised his arm, and in a blink everything happened at once.

One of the shadows lunged at Rieker. Another moved toward them so fast, he was just a blur. Shamus sprang through the door with a knife drawn, but somehow Rieker got there first. With an animal-like growl, he sank his fist deep into the dark shadow’s stomach. Tiki heard a strange keening sound, like the wind high up in the trees in St. James’s Park. Then, as she watched, the shadow folded and disappeared.

Tiki’s mouth dropped open in horror. Who were these people?
What
were they?

She looked to Rieker for his reaction, but he and Shamus had moved to face the others still hovering in the alleyway. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, and a shaft of light pierced the dimness. At the far end of the alley, watching from a distance, Tiki recognized another shadow.

Staggered, she reached for the brick wall to brace herself. The girl from King’s Cross. From the hospital. Clara’s hospital. What was
she
doing here? Tiki wanted to cry at the thought that she knew where they lived. Was there any place they were safe?