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The liquid he poured into Jacob’s mouth tasted salty, but at least it wasn’t liquor, which he used to force on him in the past.
And another face drifted into his silvery field of vision.
“Voilà! Salut!” said Sylvain.
Jacob tried to sit up, but Chanute pressed a hand on his chest. “Stay down! There’s still enough silver in you to make a dozen candlesticks.”
Seventeen.
Jacob turned his head. Fox’s hair shimmered faint red, but it was still silver.
He pushed Chanute’s hand away. His body was as heavy as if every limb were made of silver, but he managed to get to his knees and crawl to Fox’s side. Her face felt like warm silver picked up from a fireside.
“She got it worse than you.” Chanute threw a few branches into the fire. It burned very high and made the night air smell sharply of singed leaves.
“You have to thank the old Witch for making us go after you. She found a silver Heinzel up by the ruin and thought something must’ve come out of the tower. She got the recipe for this concoction from a Silver-Alder, but she said we’d best not try it.”
“When did you find us?”
“Two days ago.”
Two days. Will could be anywhere by now. Seventeen had done his work. But what did it matter? The firelight flickered on Fox’s frozen face as on a mirror. Her hair was curled as though shaped by a silversmith. Jacob put a finger to her lips. She was still breathing, but barely.
“Why did Alma’s recipe not work on her?”
“Can’t you see? Her lips have turned so thoroughly to silver we can’t get the potion into her.” Chanute avoided looking at Fox. She was almost as much a daughter to him as Jacob was a son.
“How did you find us?”
“Has there ever been anything Albert Chanute could not find?” The old man coughed some slime into his handkerchief. Jacob saw blood in it. “Don’t you look at me like that!” Chanute growled. “Alma wanted to send young Bachmann, the one who helped her get rid of the Stilt in the White Brook, but what does he know about following a trail? I know you so well I could find you with my eyes closed!” Chanute stopped coughing, but he looked bad, as though he’d crawled fresh out of his own grave.
“You should’ve seen how angry she got when Bachmann told her Sylvain and I were going.” He laughed, which brought on another coughing fit. “I thought she was going to hex me into my bed.”
“Pity she didn’t.”
“Really? Then why don’t you learn to take care of yourself?”
Just like old times. They were both so good at hiding what they felt for each other.
“Albert’s taking something the Witch called grave-bitters,” Sylvain said to Jacob. “It didn’t sound as though she thought much of it.”
“And that’s how you thank me for taking you along?” Chanute barked at him.
“Grave-bitters? Are you trying to kill yourself?” Jacob managed to get to his feet. Every movement felt like Seventeen had poured lead into his limbs. Not lead, Jacob. Silver. The fire seemed to have melted it so it could now course through his veins. The shimmering film on his skin meant he must’ve sweated out at least some of it.
Chanute spat. “What’s left to kill? I just wish we’d gotten here in time for Fox as well.”
Sylvain stroked Fox’s hair. “Ciboire. I will kill him,” he muttered. “I swear, I will kill them all!”
Jacob didn’t ask him how he planned to accomplish that. Instead, he had the same futile thought in his head. I will kill him. All of them. Even the girl with Clara’s face.
“Was that one of the Mirrorlings Sylvain met?” Chanute threw some fresh wood on the fire. Even the warmth reminded Jacob of Seventeen.
“Yes.” Jacob didn’t want to talk about him. Not about Seventeen or about the Elf. He took the card from his pocket. It was blank.
“What’ve you got there?” Chanute asked him.
Jacob turned away from Chanute, staring at the empty card. Give her back to me. Give her back and I will turn around. I promise. He could no longer think clearly.
