The Wood Queen (13 page)

What do you think you’re doing?”

Aunt Paige’s voice was loud in the silent room, sounding like the sharp crack of an old tree branch breaking in the Ironwood.

Donna stood up quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to her head and clutching the journal to her chest. “I’m reading something you should have given me years ago.”

Her mother’s words echoed in her head:
war, genocide …

Weapon.

She glared at her aunt. This was her mother’s journal; that meant it belonged to
her
. Just the fact that it had been gathering dust in Aunt Paige’s study was the worst kind of betrayal she could imagine. All of her fears—all the doubts that had been building in recent weeks—came crashing down on her.

The Wood Queen was right about so many things within the Order, no matter how sick it made Donna to admit it.

Her aunt’s face flushed. “You would have gotten that on your eighteenth birthday.”

“Says who?” Donna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re talking as though it’s a bequest of some kind. Mom isn’t dead, you know, much as you might wish she was.”

Paige took a step back, all the color draining from her face in a single moment. “That’s not true.” Her voice shook. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Trying not to feel guilty, Donna lifted her chin in an unconscious gesture she’d inherited from her mother. “You might as well have her locked away in the attic so she can’t shame the family and endanger whatever the hell your agenda is.”

Her aunt was beginning to recover. “You’re talking nonsense. Where have all these ideas come from? I can only assume it’s that … creature filling your head with paranoid propaganda.”

“
Creature
? Oh my God, what is
wrong
with you? Xan is a person! And he’s not filling my head with anything,
let alone ‘propaganda.’” Her voice vibrated with barely repressed rage. “Xan doesn’t have any contact with the fey—he’s completely alone.”

“That’s what he told you, is it?”

“Don’t you
dare
turn this into an attack on him. You’re no better than the worst kind of racist!”

Aunt Paige folded her arms, gripping her elbows with white-knuckled hands. “That’s ridiculous. If I were a racist, I wouldn’t have been so happy that you found a good friend in Navin.”

Donna snorted. “Oh, so I should be grateful that you decided it’s okay for me to befriend a c
ommoner
.”

“That’s enough, young lady!”

“I’m just getting started.” Donna sucked in a breath and prepared for battle. “Mom is lying in the hospital, in a
coma
, and nobody in the Order is doing anything to help her. I’ve been put on trial for saving Navin and Maker, and you’ve been hiding things from me for years.”

“Hiding things?” Her aunt tossed dark hair out of her eyes. “What things have I hidden? You’ve always been a part of the Order—that’s all we ever wanted for you. You’re just too young to understand everything yet.”

“How about the fact that my mother is under a curse?”

Paige hesitated for just a moment too long. “What do you mean, a ‘curse’? Has that boy been putting ideas in your head?”

“Stop doing that! Stop talking to me like I’m either seven years old or an idiot. This has nothing to do with Xan, and everything to do with the fact that you’re hiding
the truth. Mom is elf-cursed, so you might as well stop pretending you don’t know that. I think you
want
her out of the way, and it suits you that she’s getting worse.”

“You have no evidence to support that,” Paige replied stiffly.

Donna dug her shaking fingers into the journal’s cover and waved it in her aunt’s face. “What the hell do you call this, then?”

Aunt Paige’s lips tightened momentarily and real anger flashed in her eyes. “The ravings of a mad woman.”

“I knew it!” Taking a step back as though Paige had hit her, Donna knew things had gone too far. There was no going back now—maybe not ever—after a fight like this. “You’ve always hated her.”

“Hated her?” Her aunt looked as though she might deny it, but then her shoulders straightened. “That’s too strong a word, but I’ll admit we never got along.”

“You always pretended that you did, though; at least, while I was growing up. After the attack, I mean.”

“Donna, it’s more complicated than that …” Paige’s voice trailed off. She was beginning to look as though she regretted opening up quite as much as she had.

“So explain it to me.” Maybe she was actually going to learn something useful. Something
true.
“We have all night.”

Her aunt’s eyes slid away. “I have to go out. That’s why I got up and found you here—in my study.”

“Yes, looking at
my
things.”

“Stop being childish. They belong to Rachel, and as you so rightly pointed out, your mother is still alive. Which doesn’t make them yours yet.”

Donna shook her head. “The diary says I’m to get it if she’s ‘incapacitated,’ not just in the event of her death. She wrote that herself, and you ignored it.”

Aunt Paige had no answer for that, so Donna continued on the offensive. It felt good to get some of this stuff
out there
.

“And where are you going this late at night, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you that, darling.” Paige’s voice had softened again, but it sounded hollow to Donna now. Seeing the growing anger on her niece’s face, Paige hastily added, “I
can
tell you that it has something to do with your mother. Quentin might have found a way to help her.”

Donna almost laughed at that, feeling white-hot anger gather in her chest and welcoming it. “That’s complete crap! Give me some fucking credit.”

Her aunt’s eyes widened; she’d probably never heard Donna curse before, but she did her best to hide her discomfort. “You’re upset, that’s understandable.”

“Upset? I’m pissed off!” Donna yelled. “Aunt Paige, why can’t you just tell me what you’re hiding? Why are you putting me through this?”

“
Me
?” Paige’s voice rose. “Young lady, you’re out of line. Who was it that broke into Simon’s lab and stole the most precious artifact we own? The result of centuries of study, the last remaining drops of the elixir, with no more
forthcoming until the Order of the Crow rediscovers the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“I couldn’t let them die!” Donna screamed, trying to get through to the woman even while she knew that screaming wouldn’t achieve much with her super-logical aunt.

“You should have come to me. I still don’t understand why you didn’t do that in the first place …”

Feeling miserable, Donna pushed a handful of hair away from her burning face. “Because I didn’t trust you. I mean, I didn’t trust the
Order
,” she added hastily, seeing the expression on Paige’s face darken. “And, quite honestly, I’m beginning to realize that I might be onto something.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, I won’t deny it; but we would have told you when the time was right.”

“But who gets to decide that? The ‘right time’ for you might be too late for
me
. In fact, it already is. Far too late.”

Her aunt leaned against the wall, shoulders slumped. “Your mother didn’t want you to have the journal until you were older.”

Donna tucked the precious book under one arm and took a step back. She felt unbearably hot—as though she was coming down with something. “More lies. Why wouldn’t Mom want me to have it? And how could she have told you that, anyway? She lost her mind thanks to your precious Order. You’re doing it again, Aunt Paige. Stop lying to me.”

Two bright spots of color appeared on her aunt’s normally smooth cheeks. “You go too far, Donna. I am
not
lying, and I certainly don’t have to justify my actions to you.”

“If you’re not lying to me, Aunt Paige, then you must be lying to yourself.”

“Don’t patronize me. You forget yourself.”

Donna raised her chin, feeling the anger that she’d held in for so long begin to expand throughout her whole body. “No, I think I’m finally beginning to remember myself.”

Her aunt turned away, confusion and anger warring with something else in her expression—something that Donna couldn’t quite name. “That’s enough. You’re still a minor and you are under my care whether you like it or not. Go to your room and perhaps we can talk about this in the morning. When you’re more composed.”

Donna gritted her teeth and tried to remember to breathe. “I’m sick of being composed. I want to know what you’re hiding about my parents, and why Mom was so afraid of the Order.”

Her aunt reached toward her, blazing eyes focused on the journal in Donna’s arms.

Shocked that Aunt Paige looked as though she might be trying to snatch the book from her, Donna backpedaled, stumbling as she hit the heavy oak desk.

“Give it to me. Your mother wasn’t well, even before the attack. You can’t take everything in that diary as the truth you’re so desperate for.” Her voice cracked. “Trust me, please. You don’t want to read the ravings of a mad woman.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that again,” Donna whispered, trying to figure out if she was more angry than scared right now. She hoped so. Anger might be the only way through this nightmare. “Mom was driven mad by the
Wood Queen. You know that’s true, even if nobody can prove it. Quentin said as much to me when I was younger. He told me about the elflocks, and that they—”

Aunt Paige was shaking her head as she cut in. “It’s not true, Donna. We tried to protect you from finding out about Rachel, about how sick she really was even before that night.”

The ground seemed to tilt beneath her, and for a horrible moment Donna really thought she might collapse. “That’s a lie!”

Eagerly, Paige pressed her advantage, taking another step toward her. “Why is it so hard to believe? Your mother was always … sensitive.” Her lip curled, but the expression of distaste was fleeting, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Especially with the way things were between her and Patrick.”

“What? What do you mean?” Blood pounded in her ears, making it difficult for Donna to hear what her aunt was saying.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way …” Aunt Paige’s voice trailed off and, for a moment, the expression of regret looked genuine. “Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was.”

“You’d say anything right now,” Donna replied, slowly circling backward around the desk, trying to keep the journal out of her aunt’s reach. The door looked depressingly far away, so her only exit was the window behind her. She swallowed, wondering if she could throw it open and escape before Paige could grab her.

Squeezing her free hand into a fist, Donna felt so tempted to hit something it almost made her dizzy. Her eyes suddenly focused on her aunt’s full-length mirror, the one she used to check her appearance before holding meetings in her study.

Donna gasped at what she saw reflected there.

Her face was the color of the whitest paper, and her normally soft gray eyes—eyes that she’d inherited from her mother—were black. Donna had never seen herself looking quite so fierce. She almost didn’t recognize the girl standing in front of her, and as she gazed at her reflection, the urge to smash … to destroy … hit her so hard she felt sick.

She had always been curious about what people meant when they said dramatic things like, “she finally snapped.” She wondered if it really was like a rubber band snapping in two, releasing a furious storm all over whomever was unfortunate enough to be in the path of the onslaught.

But she didn’t need to be curious anymore, because right then, Donna broke. All the confusion and doubt and fear, the loss and the anger, built to a crescendo inside her and …
snapped
.

As the dam collapsed, a tidal wave of power flooded through her.

“Donna, calm down!” Aunt Paige’s voice was anything but calm, although Donna could only just make it out above the roaring in her ears. It was like listening to the ocean in a shell, only a thousand times louder.

All she could see was a bright glow of power that spread across her vision, seeming to fill the room with a
light so bright that she thought her retinas might forever be scarred. Instinctively, she lifted her free hand to cover her face—to shield herself from the never-ending white light that threatened to blind her—until she realized, with a bizarre sense of serenity, that the light couldn’t hurt her because it wasn’t coming from the outside. It was coming from
within her
. Her hands and arms were lit up like Christmas decorations, the glow so intense it made her eyes water.

More precisely, the light was radiating from the silver and iron tattoos that she could feel swirling around her wrists and arms, making her fingers tingle and her whole body vibrate with a power she didn’t know she possessed. This wasn’t merely the sort of power that made you physically strong enough to punch a school locker and crumple the metal like paper, or to snap a door handle with the flick of your wrist. It was more than that.

This was
real
power. It was more savage and yet more subtle, even though none of that made sense as it flashed through her adrenalized brain.

With her mother’s journal still pressed under one arm, Donna allowed herself to look—really look, no matter how much it scared her—at what was going on with her arms and hands.

The tattoos
were
moving: shimmering and churning like silver waves against her barely visible skin, making patterns that she’d never seen before. It didn’t hurt, not any more. In fact, it was beginning to feel undeniably good.

Donna smiled.

Her first and only coherent thought was,
Escape.

Her second was,
Xan.

And that was when the ground tilted beneath her feet and the world disappeared.

Donna found herself standing just outside the front door of Xan’s house, at the foot of the stone steps, trying to figure out how the hell she’d gotten there.

Her next thought—one that came directly out of years of secrecy and that the alchemists would probably be proud of—was
Oh my God, did anyone see me?

Xan’s street was shrouded in early winter darkness, and the tall iron lamp on the sidewalk was flickering as though the bulb was ready to give out at any moment.

The cold air froze her burning cheeks, and Donna was glad for it.

She didn’t know exactly what it was she’d done, but she was pretty certain it wouldn’t have looked normal to anyone innocently walking by. Still clutching her mother’s journal tightly, she tried to remember what happened.

Did
she
do this? It certainly hadn’t been her aunt—Aunt Paige was an alchemist, sure, but real alchemy was more science than magic. It wasn’t like you could cast a spell with instantaneous results. There was a crapload of research and experimentation in alchemy, then complicated ritual, followed by intent and focus. Those were the four stages of alchemical “magic,” which were hardly consistent with most people’s wrong-headed perceptions of the ancient art.

Donna’s legs trembled and the bones in her hands and arms ached worse than they had in years. She bit her lip to keep from throwing up; the sudden wave of nausea took her by surprise. This remote travel had to be something to do with her new power, the abilities the Wood Queen had insisted she possessed. Power that her mother had hinted at in the pages of her journal.

As that thought hit her, Donna gratefully pressed the book to her chest, crossing her arms around it and hanging on as though it could protect her.
From the truth?

She slowly became aware of a car driving up alongside her, but was unable to move—to hide.
To do something.

With a burst of relief, she realized who it must be. Even in the dark, she could see that the car was a sturdy-
looking Volvo with a badly faded crimson paint job. Even bent over and breathing hard, she could make out the familiar dents and rust spots.

And then Xan was there, a frown on his face that turned to surprise as soon as he figured out who was standing outside his house, looking like she was going to puke all over the steps. The timing of his arrival home was perfect, though she couldn’t help wishing that her earlier calls hadn’t gone unanswered.

She’d needed him tonight.

Donna watched as Xan’s expression switched to concern. She knew what she must look like; how wild and panicked she seemed.

“Donna, what is it? Was it the trial? I’m sorry I didn’t get your calls earlier, I—”

But he stopped talking when he really looked at her, standing shell-shocked under the flickering streetlight in the early hours of the morning.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything, to share the burden of all the awful things that had passed between her and Aunt Paige. And how could she even begin to explain how she’d gotten here? One minute in her aunt’s study, the next … halfway across town. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like something had frozen her, right there on Xan’s doorstep. She looked down, suddenly conscious of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a coat and that her tattoos were on display. No gloves.

She was so cold.

Xan rested his warm hand on her shoulder, drawing her into the house and closing the door behind them. His green eyes flashed brighter-than-human in the gloom of the hallway.

Donna wondered if her legs would hold her much longer. She wanted to lie down and sleep, maybe hide under a warm blanket and not come out for a very long time. Maybe not ever. She was horribly aware of the fact that she must look half-crazed, but she couldn’t seem to move or speak. She realized that she was in shock, but knowing it and doing something about it were two entirely different things.

So she stood and shivered, with her arms a barrier across her stomach and her tattoos aching worse than ever.

Xan touched her cheek and she flinched.

He immediately pulled back, worry leaving a crease between his eyes that made him look much older. “You have to talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what happened. How did you get here? Did you take a cab? How long have you been standing outside, waiting? You must be freezing …”

Donna licked her lips and tried to speak. She felt like the heroine in a fairy-tale, struck dumb by magic and only able to regain her voice if she passed some kind of wicked test.

“It’s all lies, Xan,” she said. She was surprised to hear her voice so loud in the hallway. “All of it. My life, my parents …”

She shook her head, unable to go on. She could only gaze into Xan’s eyes and hope he might be able to take away her pain. She felt like a coward, but right now that’s what she wanted—someone else to carry the burden of truths she had finally begun to uncover. Being strong could only take you so far—she knew that now. Inner strength wasn’t an infinite resource, and she felt worn down and stretched way too thin. An image of her mother’s face as she lay in her hospital bed flashed into her mind, and Donna wondered if that was how she herself looked right now.

Except without the white streak, thank God.

Swallowing a hysterical laugh, Donna allowed Xan to lead her into the living room.

“I don’t want to talk, Xan,” she said, hearing her voice as though it came from somewhere very far away. It reminded her, for a horrible moment, of the bronze statue’s breathy voice. “I’m sick of talking.”

As she said the words, she knew it was true. Talking at the hearing. Talking to Navin. Talking to her aunt.

It was all just
noise
and she’d had enough.

“Okay.” There was no hesitation from him. “Whatever you need.”

She didn’t even want to
think
—especially not about how she’d gotten to Xan’s in the first place. It was like she’d been so angry with Aunt Paige, so devastated and stripped bare, that something had loosened, deep inside, and then
she’d sort of … teleported. If this really had something to do with the abilities Aliette said she could tap into, she was seriously confused. What the hell did teleportation have to do with opening the door to Faerie? Nothing made sense.

Donna laid her mother’s journal carefully down on one of the many bookshelves and reached for Xan, conscious of how the flickering firelight caused her tattoos to glimmer and flash.

He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. He murmured nonsense in her ear and pressed her hard against the warmth of his body.

She waited for a moment, letting him offer much-needed comfort and basking in the intense heat that poured off him, reminding her again that he was
other.
If he were fully human, there was no way he would be that warm—not unless he was running a fever.

She lifted her head, knowing exactly what she was doing. She wanted to forget. Her whole being cried out for oblivion, but she’d never been someone who turned to drinking or drugs. She’d been taught too much about self-control over the years, due to the need to control her strength. Super-human strength on alcohol wasn’t a pretty prospect.

Donna was sick of control. She wanted to let go—just this once—and be truly free.

So she kissed Xan, knowing that he wouldn’t kiss
her
unless she made the first move. Not at a time like this; not when she was clearly devastated, even though he didn’t understand why. He was too much of a good guy to take
advantage of her pain and confusion. But luckily for her, she thought with a wicked grin that seemed to come from nowhere, he wasn’t
too
good.

There was no hesitation from him. Xan moved warm hands to her face, his long fingers trailing fire as he explored her mouth with his.

They had only really kissed (not just the kisses for greeting or saying goodbye) once before. The night after they’d told each other their stories in Mildred’s café, they’d shared a real kiss just outside Ironbridge Common. It had been new and exciting and filled with promise. But this …
this
was so much more.

Donna felt something open in her chest, like a bud unfurling in the face of the sun. She felt herself slowly coming alive under Xan’s touch. Even though she still didn’t understand how she’d suddenly traveled from her house to Xan’s, or how it was linked to saving Mom, right now she didn’t care.

Then Xan pulled away, and Donna grumbled at the loss of his warmth. He held her at arm’s length, and she couldn’t help being pleased to see how much he was struggling to control his breathing.

And she could relate—the guy knew how to
kiss
. She tried not to think about all the other things he undoubtedly knew how to do, or all the other girls he might have done them with. He was way more experienced than she was, and she was worried that would show.

“Donna, wait, we shouldn’t—”

She cut him off by pulling free of his grip and placing the unmarked palms of her hands on either side of his face. “Shhh. I don’t want to talk. I already told you that.”

“Tell me what happened.”

She shook her head. “Kiss me again.”

Xan frowned, but she could tell he was torn. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. You’re upset …” His voice faded as she traced the fine lines of his cheekbones and stroked his caramel-colored hair back from his forehead.

“I’ll be more upset if you don’t shut up and kiss me.” Donna could hardly believe what she was saying; it was like a different person was emerging from a dark cocoon. She’d been buttoned up so tight for so long, and it was incredibly liberating to be wild.

If only for one night.

Xan pulled her hands from his face and held them tightly. His golden flesh looked darker than ever against her pale skin and silver tattoos.

Donna couldn’t help wondering if touching the iron hurt him at all—it had, once, the first time he’d touched her. But if he felt any discomfort she certainly couldn’t detect it in his face, and his grip never faltered as he pulled her hands down to his chest and then wrapped them around his back.

“Xan,” she whispered, pressing close and trying not to think about what she was doing, “make it go away, please. I don’t even want to think.”

His eyes drank her in as he stroked her tousled hair back from her hot face and examined her, as if looking for something that might be written on her skin.

Then he parted her lips gently with his, kissing her even more deeply than before.

Donna’s mind went deliciously blank. She’d even stopped worrying about whether she was doing it right—she just followed his lead and let him guide her as the movement of his mouth against hers turned her stomach to hot liquid. Her knees trembled, and this time she knew it wasn’t anger or fear or a need for comfort that made her hold on to him for support.

He pulled back, and she was about to protest when she realized he’d only done it so he could lift her into his arms. He cradled her against him and carried her upstairs. It was quite a change to allow someone
else
to be the strong one. It felt unbelievably good, and Donna never wanted it to end.

Xan kicked open the door of his bedroom and laid her on his bed, stumbling a little and throwing a black T-shirt and a crumpled towel onto the floor. He lay down beside her, his hip pressed against hers. Her body ached and she reached for him again.

He locked eyes with her. “There’s no rush, okay?”

Donna ignored him and kissed him again, her stomach fluttering as he said her name against her mouth. Xan rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Her hair tumbled around his face, but they didn’t break lip contact
and she gasped as his hands kneaded her lower back and pressed her against him.

And then he pushed her away, making her gasp, but before she could complain he gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head in one fluid movement. Everything went dark for a moment until Donna emerged from the material, her arms above her head, one hand still tangled in the shirt, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t dare meet his eyes as a wave of shyness threatened to make her want to shrink back—all her so-called wildness and bravery trembling on the brink of something she couldn’t put into words.

But it was a fleeting sensation. Xan grabbed her and flipped them again; this time he was on top, leaning his elbows on either side of her, supporting his weight as he began kissing her again. It was as if he could kiss her forever and it would be enough for him. There was a feeling of desperation in the intensity of his lips on hers, as though he was worried he might lose her if he broke contact for even a moment.

Donna thought she might explode from the heat building between them, but that didn’t stop her from pressing even harder against him.

Xan suddenly stopped his exploration of her mouth, sitting back on his heels to look at her, and she stared up at him with wide eyes. He was so beautiful; it didn’t seem fair that someone so gorgeous should have been through so much pain. She tried to push those thoughts aside—there was no place for them here, in this moment. It was like
they’d entered a secret oasis away from all the horror of both their lives.