Page 74 of Be the Serpent

Etienne nodded, very slowly. “Chelsea can transport you all to Muir Woods—”

“Hold on a moment,” objected Bridget.

He continued without pausing, “—but she will not be staying after you are safely arrived. Do I make myself very clear?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m grounded from doing literally anything fun, but I’m still allowed to help,” said Chelsea, and bounced over to kiss him on the cheek before she waved her hand in a lazy circle, opening a round portal in the air through which I could see the door to Arden’s knowe. The smell of sycamore smoke and calla lilies rose around her. Chelsea beamed, rocking back on her heels, and gestured for all of us to follow as she stepped through.

Tybalt was first, with me close behind him, and Sylvester on my heels. The portal closed behind us, leaving us all on the other side.

Chelsea looked to Sylvester, a question in her expression. He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I promised your father.”

“But Sire—”

“I don’t hold your fealty, but a word from me can see you grounded for a month.”

Chelsea pouted, almost impossibly casual in the face of horrific danger, and waved her hand again. A second portal opened, showing Etienne and Bridget. She stepped through, waving grandly, blew me a kiss, and allowed it to slide closed again.

“Kids,” said Sylvester, in a tone that invited commiseration.

I didn’t give it, choosing instead to look around us. We were standing on the mortal side of the knowe, the evening air cool and dim but not yet entirely dark. It seemed impossible that it should still be so early after everything that had happened. Shouldn’t the day be almost over? But no, it was dragging on and on, marching one slow step at a time toward sunset.

My car had definitely been in the parking lot for way too long. May wasn’t allowed to drive, and Raysel didn’t know how. With Quentin holed up in the orangery, there had been no one to move it. Oh, well. If I got towed, it wouldn’t be the first time, and that’s one bill I don’t mind paying in fairy gold when necessary. Hands on my knives, I approached the tree.

There were no guards on duty. That wasn’t the first sign that something was wrong—this whole damn day had been the first sign that something was wrong—but it was a bad one all the same. I turned my full attention to the doors, and paused.

This wasn’t like earlier, where they hadn’t been there at all due to Titania’s influence. Now, I could see them.

I could see that one of them had been knocked off of its hinges. It was still propped in the frame, held up by position and fit rather than any actual joining. “Oh, no,” I breathed.

Sylvester followed my eye to the door and frowned. “Someone broke a door?”

“She broke the knowe,” I said. “She’s already here, and she knows it helped to hide the children from her earlier. I am so sorry.” I caressed the doorframe with one hand as I got close enough, stroking it like I would a frightened horse. “I’m not a carpenter, and we need to stop the woman who hurt you, but I’ll make sure Arden knows you’ve been hurt, and sends someone to repair you as soon as possible.”

The knowe didn’t answer—the knowe couldn’t answer—but the unbroken half of the double door swung open in silent invitation. I lowered my head, momentarily closing my eyes, and stroked the doorframe again.

“We’ll be back,” I said, and slipped inside, Tybalt and Sylvester behind me.

“Does she do this often?” Sylvester asked quietly, in a deeply puzzled tone.

“Yes, as you would know if you had ever spent a proper amount of time with her,” said Tybalt. “She talks to buildings. They can’t talk back, but they seem to appreciate the courtesy, and they show her courtesy in return. I’ve witnessed it too many times to discount it.”

I stopped dead only a few feet from the door. The men stopped behind me, Tybalt not quite fast enough to avoid bumping my shoulder. Then he joined me in staring.

The damage to the door didn’t extend to the interior. That was a small mercy. The lack of damage meant the knowe was free to redecorate as it saw fit, changing the carvings the way it always did. Only now they showed scenes of tragedy, stretching all the way back to the founding of the kingdom.

There were the Cait Sidhe of the Court of Dreaming Cats, their agonizing deaths by poison somehow captured in the wood and shown with absolutely unflinching detail. Tybalt gripped my hand, hard enough to hurt. The next panel showed Samson, bleeding out on the ground. Tybalt and I were both recognizable behind him.

Another panel showed Manuel Lorimer, cradled in Sylvester’s arms, dying of the stab wound he had incurred from Oleander’s knife. If that wasn’t cruel enough, the very next one showed Luna in her Kitsune skin, the one I used to believe was hers in fact as well as in fiction, stretched on a bed in a room filled with carved candlelight.

“We have to keep moving,” I said quietly.

Connor. Dare. My father. Gordon. January. Devin. The walls were a procession of tragedies and personal losses, not ending until we reached the reception room doors, which were framed by a single contiguous carving of King Gilad, crushed under the weight of his own ceiling, yet still clearly dead of the gaping wound in his stomach, and a woman I assumed was the Lady Sebille, sprawled on a bed with her throat cut from ear to ear. A small child appeared in each scene, Arden with her mother, Nolan with his father.

“Message received,” I informed the knowe. “There’s been enough tragedy. We’re going to try to intervene before there can be another one.”

The smell of roses wormed its way around the edges of the closed doors, making my nose itch. I dipped my hand into my pocket, pulling out the jar I’d received from Oberon. It was a little more than half-full at this point. I was probably going to need the whole thing if I wanted to tear down a spell that had been given time to fully mature and sink into the person who carried it; disenchanting Tybalt had been hard enough, and that spell hadn’t been intended to last.