The Wood Queen (6 page)

She frowned. That wasn’t exactly the response she’d been expecting. “Yeah, honestly. How do you know that things will be okay?”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Because,” he said, pushing her away and holding her at arm’s length, “you’re Donna Underwood, and you won’t let anything—or anyone—get in the way of you saving someone you love.”

Her eyes felt hot; more tears threatening, just beneath the surface. “I hope you’re right.”

Xan gave her a gentle shake. “You don’t sound so sure, but trust me when I tell you this: you
will
save your mother. And I’ll help you.”

“Even though the Order has me shut away like a criminal?”

“Like that’s going to stop you?” He smiled briefly and pulled her against him one last time.

Donna wrapped her arms around his back and took in the musky pine scent of him. He was right. No matter how afraid she was for her mom and what might become of her, she knew that nothing would get in her way once she’d made up her mind about something. It didn’t matter how many lies the alchemists—and her aunt—told her.

Rachel Underwood might be under an elf curse, fighting for consciousness and in danger of losing her very soul, but that wouldn’t stop Donna from doing whatever needed to be done. She closed her eyes and allowed Xan’s arms to give her the comfort she was so badly lacking.

Finally pulling away, she wiped her eyes on her gloved hands. “I’ll be back, Mom, I promise,” she said, not caring that the words were probably wasted.

But, just for a moment, Donna was almost certain that she saw the ghost of a smile on her mother’s pale face.

Lunch—if it could even be
called
lunch considering how late it was getting—was a snatched sandwich and hastily gulped apple juice. Donna had hardly had time to freshen up before it was time to return to the hearing.

She pushed open the bathroom door only to find herself facing a stranger—although, after a brief examination, she realized that he’d been at the opening session of the hearing that morning. It was Goth Dude, the young guy who had been sitting next to Miranda Backhouse. If he
was from the Order of the Crow, as she suspected, he certainly
looked
the part.

Under the bright hallway lighting, she saw that he couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. He was tall and skinny, with shoulder-length black hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb—or a haircut—in way too long, though the heavy layering of blue highlights more than made up for that. He was sort of nice looking, despite rather thin lips, and his dark eyes had an angular, Asian look to them. He also had ridiculously long lashes; it looked like he might as well be wearing mascara. Actually, Donna could now see that he
was
wearing makeup—black eyeliner was smudged into his lower lashes, and, combined with his black clothing and silver lip ring, it made him look like he was doing a bad impression of a skinny rock singer.

This
guy was an alchemist? She couldn’t help wondering how he got away with dressing like this; there was no way they’d let him do it if he were part of the Order of the Dragon.

And he was still standing there, completely and utterly silent.
What a freak.

Suddenly angry, she glared at him. “Are you
trying
to give me the creeps? Standing there like a big, dumb jerk and staring at me like you’ve never seen a girl before?”

For a moment she wondered if he might be laughing at her, but the quirk at the corner of his mouth was gone so fast Donna thought she must have imagined it.

He gestured with his head, clearly indicating that she should follow him, and turned away before she had a chance to say anything else.

Donna was beginning to feel increasingly nervous about the next stage of her trial—things were moving too fast. Still, she followed him because, right now, she didn’t have much of a choice, and she needed time to figure out what she was going to do about Mom. And the Wood Queen.

“It’ll be over soon. I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said, surprising her. He had a pleasant voice, sort of quiet with a British accent.

Donna raised her eyebrows and glanced around the hallway. They were waiting for the ancient elevator to arrive, but for some reason the dial was stuck on “one” and didn’t look like it would be moving anytime soon.

She forced a laugh. “So you
can
speak. I thought you might have taken a vow of silence, just to increase the dramatic tension.” She knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t help it—not when her heart was suddenly pounding hard enough to make her chest hurt.

Her companion barely looked at her. “This is taking too long. Let’s take the stairs,” was all he said.

He headed back toward the staircase and increased his pace, forcing her to run to catch up.
Long-legged bastard.

Despite her growing annoyance, Donna decided to try a more friendly approach. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” he replied calmly. But at least he slowed down again. “My name’s Robert Lee. I’m an adept with the Order of the Crow.”

“Are you based in London, with Miranda?” She tried not to sound too interested. But Miranda had seemed cool, for an alchemist—totally different from the female alchemists she was used to. “What do you do there?”

Robert regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before looking away again. “You ask a lot of questions, Miss Underwood.”

Miss Underwood?
She almost laughed at that. “Call me Donna.”

“It’s probably for the best if I don’t … Miss Underwood.”

She rolled her eyes. Was this just him being polite, or had someone told him to keep her at arm’s length? “Come on,
Mr. Lee
; you look like you’ve broken a few rules in your time.”

His thin mouth curved into a real smile. “Maybe. But maybe I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

Donna fixed a mock-serious expression on her face. “
Really
?” She dragged the word out. “I think you’re the one who started the whole talking thing, reassuring me that things are going to be okay. Remember?”

His cheeks flushed, but he refused to look at her.

“Oh,
please
,” she said, genuinely exasperated. “What are you afraid of—that I’ll use my so-called magical powers to brainwash you into letting me escape?”

Robert led her into a short passageway, waiting for her to draw level with him before glancing at her. His expression was completely serious. “I sincerely doubt your magic could outclass mine, Miss Underwood.”

This time she really did laugh. “You think?” He was definitely messing with her, but there was no way he’d admit it. She kind of liked that about him; that in his own strange way, Robert Lee was trying to take her mind off the hearing.

At least, she thought that was what he was doing. “So, you’re really not supposed to talk to me? They told you that, huh?”

He shrugged. “I’m just following orders.”

Of course you are
, she thought tiredly, but what she said was, “Fine. But it’s not like I can get out of a mansion filled with alchemists, is it? There’s no harm in talking to me until we get there; I’m not planning anything. Nothing, you know,
dodgy
.” She grinned as she said the last word.

For a moment he looked like he was going to laugh. “Did you just say ‘dodgy’ to me? Where did you get that from?”

“Isn’t that the sort of thing you guys say?”

An expression she couldn’t read crossed his face. “What guys?”

Donna frowned, genuinely confused. “Um … British people. You know? It’s not like I’ve never heard an English person speak before.”

His gaze slid toward her and their eyes met for a moment. “Oh. Right.”

“So?” she said, unable to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Are you going to answer any of my
totally harmless
and not-at-all-dodgy questions?”

He nodded slowly, as though uncertain of how much he should be telling her. “Yes, I’m based in London, although I won’t be working with Miranda now. They’ll assign me to an adept’s duties when we get home. I only recently passed the final tests, so I shouldn’t really be out here, but Miranda wanted me to meet Quentin.”

If Robert was a newly qualified adept, having completed the initiate’s standard magical tests and grueling exams, that meant he must be about twenty-one. He looked younger than that, though, with his scruffy hair and long skinny legs. Donna wondered what “duties” they would assign him once he returned to London. The Order of the Dragon might be the most magically active of the alchemists, but the Order of the Crow was supposed to be run by alchemists dedicated to finding—or remaking—the Philosopher’s Stone, given that they were based in England, one of the historical homes of alchemy.

The stairwell narrowed and they had to descend in single file; Donna felt the walls pressing in on her and was glad when the winding stairs came to an end. Robert held open the door at the bottom and gestured for her to follow. She glanced at his long fingers on the smeared brass handle, noticing that his short nails were painted emo-black.

“Nice paint job.” Donna smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way. “They let you get away with that in the Order of the Crow?”

“It’s not
school
, Donna,” he replied. “There’s not exactly a dress code.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I just meant—”

“Forget it,” he said. His tone had turned unfriendly, and she wondered what she’d said to upset him.
Sensitive, much?
Thank God she hadn’t mentioned the guyliner.

He led her into one of the many color-coded sitting rooms in the Frost Estate. This room was very … brown. The Brown Room. She couldn’t hold back a sneer—it was just so appropriate. There was something deeply symbolic about walking into a room entirely decorated in shades of excrement; maybe Simon had developed a sense of humor?

“Sit down; they’re not quite ready for us,” Robert said, gesturing at the crap-colored couch.

Sighing, Donna perched on the edge of the scratchy material covering the seat. She wondered what was causing the delay. Aunt Paige had been in a crazy rush to get back here, almost begrudging the short recess needed for that snack, and now everyone seemed to have disappeared.

Robert watched her like she was a particularly fascinating alien species, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. At least, not in a physical sense.

He cleared his throat as their eyes met. “You’re not what I expected.”

She scowled. “Why, what did you expect? A criminal mastermind?”

“Hardly. Although the Magus did tell me that you’d try to talk me into letting you leave.”

“The
Magus
? Who the hell are you talking about?”

He closed his eyes briefly, dramatically, as though something had genuinely caused him pain. “Please don’t invoke the name of the demon realm. Even behind the mansion’s wards, who knows what could be listening …”

“Are you for real?”

“What do you mean?” His tone had shifted from pained to defensive. “Miss Underwood you, of all people, should know the rules.”

Donna felt like she was trapped in one of those nightmares—the ones where you know you’re dreaming but you still can’t wake yourself up no matter how hard you try.

“I already told you once: please call me Donna. And then please explain what you mean by ‘the Magus.’”

“Miss—” Robert stopped and smiled. He really did have a nice smile, and the laughter lines around his eyes made it clear he did it a lot more than his moody exterior currently let on. “Donna, you must know who I’m talking about.”

She had a Very Bad Feeling, but the stubborn part of her didn’t want to have it officially confirmed. “You mean Quentin, right? Our Archmaster.”

“If I’d meant the Archmaster, that’s what I would have said.” The young alchemist gave her a look that clearly communicated his fears for her sanity. “I’m talking about Simon Gaunt—the guy who looks like a ferret.”

Any other time, Donna would have enjoyed Robert’s description of the man she’d grown to hate—but now was not that time. Her suspicions were correct: ever since she and Xan had found Simon’s lab, hidden behind an old clock in the Blue Room, she’d been pretty certain that the Order’s so-called “secretary” was in fact more than that. A lot more. The term “magus” had first snuck into her mind while they’d been stealing the elixir and trying to avoid capture, and she’d been finding it nearly impossible to shake those misgivings.

Perhaps it was the screaming bronze statue in Simon’s lab that had been the final straw, for who else but a magus could animate lifeless matter with the consciousness of a spirit? She didn’t really know
what
had been going on with that creepy statue, but it hadn’t just raised the alarm; she’d heard it talking to Simon while she and Xan were hiding. It had been alive … in some way. Or, at the very least, there was something alive
inside
it.

She shuddered, and Robert reached out as though to steady her. Donna realized that she had stood up without being fully aware of it. Her hands were clenched and her breath was coming out in short bursts. It was as though everything she thought she knew about her life was slowly unravelling. She wanted so badly to go back to simpler times—even if that meant returning to the misery of Ironbridge High and Melanie Swan’s vindictive attentions.

“Donna, please sit down.” Robert held her elbow and guided her back to the seat with surprising gentleness. “Come on, you’re not looking well.”

Donna allowed him to press her onto the dull brown couch. If Simon truly was a magus, did that mean he was the only one? Were there more? How had he kept something as huge as that hidden from her all these years? She’d heard talk of there being an actual magus in London, and possibly one in Prague, but the identities of those men (because they were always men) were kept a closely guarded secret.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to calm herself, not caring that Robert was probably freaking out. Her head was pounding and the pain in her arms, beneath the tattoos, felt like it could crush the breath from her lungs. Her chest ached and a strange sensation began to fill her, reminding her of what had happened out on the grounds after meeting Ivy. Something was wrong, something new and scary—and it only seemed to be getting worse.

And then other thoughts pushed aside the worry about her rebuilt arms and hands. Why hadn’t her aunt ever
told
her about Simon? In Donna’s presence, the alchemists had only ever referred to him as the Order’s secretary—or as Quentin’s partner and lover—never as a potentially more powerful alchemist than the Archmaster.

Shouldn’t Simon himself hold the title of Archmaster, if he really was a magus? Quentin had been a talented alchemist in his youth, but he was certainly no magus; she knew that because of a story he’d once told her about how he flunked some kind of important alchemical trial. It had been one of the many stories he’d told her while
sitting at her bedside during her long recovery as a traumatized child.

None of this made any sense.

But there wasn’t any time left to unravel things as the inner door opened and Aunt Paige walked into the room, closely followed by “the Magus” himself.

Donna tried to stand, but her legs still felt strange. Instead, she shifted to the edge of the seat and looked up into her aunt’s eyes. She was searching for some kind of signal; something she could hold on to during whatever was to come next.

But making eye contact with Paige Underwood caused any last drops of hope to slip through her fingers. Her aunt seemed as hard and unrelenting as the trees of Ironwood Forest.

“Donna, are you ready?” Aunt Paige asked.