Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(28)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

 

“I thought I saw . . .” My feet slid to a stop as I came to face the bridges again.

 

Even at that distance, I knew him. It was the all-too-confident walk and that head of long black hair. Septimus was now leading a handful of other men across the modern bridge. Other Hollowers, I assumed, some from our own guild.

 

“Seriously?” I grumbled, backing up. “See you later, Trust Fund.”

 

I’d have to take one of the winding trails out of the ruins and hope I didn’t bump into any of Septimus’s other henchmen along the way.

 

I started to go, only to stop again as Septimus waved to someone back on the mainland, motioning in the direction of the village.

 

More Hollowers appeared near the official entrance to the ruins. A tall, dark figure struggled to break free from the grip two of the bulkier men had on him. One waved back in acknowledgment of Septimus’s apparent order.

 

Cabell. My chest constricted painfully. I pivoted back away from the bridge, starting toward the path that would wind down to the wooden bridge below. If I could make it across without anyone seeing me and get to the village . . .

 

The rattling of another pack trailed after me.

 

“Where are you going?” Emrys demanded.

 

“To help Cabell,” I snapped.

 

“There’s too many of them,” he protested. “You’ll never get him away.”

 

“Watch me.”

 

He lengthened his stride to catch up to me, keeping pace at my side.

 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

 

“You think I’m going to let you out of my sight when you hold all the answers?” he said, shaking his head. “Not a chance, Bird.”

 

 

 

 

 

The village was just waking up to the first of a fleet of tourist buses when Septimus and the others turned off the main street and made their way to an old barn at the town’s edge.

 

I followed close behind, ignoring Emrys the best I could as we approached the rickety building and crouched beneath one of its cracked windows.

 

The glass was clouded with dust, but I could still make out a few things: crates of cider and beer marked for the Excalibur Pub, excess traffic cones and road signage, and what appeared to be several sets of armor and the back half of a horse costume. The earthy smell of hay and the animals that had once occupied the stalls permeated the walls, a fading reminder of a past life in which Nash, Cabell, and I had slept in whatever shelter we’d been able to find.

 

I couldn’t make out what they were saying as Septimus pushed Cabell into one of the stalls and a Hollower I didn’t recognize bound his hands with a zip tie.

 

I rolled my eyes and a moment later saw Cabell do the same. As if Nash hadn’t taught us how to break a zip tie and pick the lock on handcuffs, given his vast experience with both.

 

For several minutes, neither of us moved or spoke. I ignored the knowing hum that came from beside me.

 

“What now?” Emrys whispered. “Don’t tell me you’ve already run out of ideas for this daring rescue.”

 

“Shut up or go away,” I told him. “I’m waiting for a few more of them to leave before going in.”

 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Well, if we’re going to be here awhile . . .”

 

He turned his back to the barn’s wall and pulled out a small knife and a chunk of wood from the side pocket of his trousers.

 

The movement of his hands was almost mesmerizing as he worked. Soon a spiral shaving dropped to the ground, then another, until he had carved away the grit of the bark and rounded the wood’s harsh edges.

 

I would have pegged him as having a more upper-crust hobby than whittling—something like foxhunting or collecting Fabergé eggs or summering on a superyacht.

 

Not that I spent much time pondering what Emrys got up to in his personal time.

 

“Was Cabell late in meeting you here?” Emrys asked. “Or did the others bring him along?”

 

I gave him a narrow look. “Why don’t you tell me? Isn’t that Daddy’s pal in there?”

 

The knife stopped midstroke.

 

What had Phineas said at the library? We’ll never get it out of the Council’s claws, and then it’ll be Endymion’s wrath we have to worry about . . .

 

“If he’s looking for the ring for your old man, why are you working for Madrigal?” I pressed. “Why aren’t you in there with Septimus and the others?”

 

“That’s none of your business,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the piece of wood in his hand.

 

“You’ve now made it my business,” I hissed back. “Don’t tell me—”

 

Emrys’s head suddenly snapped up, and before I could even think to react, he’d snagged my wrist in his hand and pulled us both away from the wall. “Look!”

 

Around the corner, a girl emerged from behind a nearby building. Her braids were twisted into buns on her head, and she was still wearing the furry coat she always did—and that hideous fanny pack, of course.

 

I pressed a hand to my face and groaned. I really hadn’t imagined her earlier.

 

Neve. From the tarot shop.

 

“Uh . . . ,” Emrys began. “What is she doing?”

 

She ran straight for the barn, her face set with determination. She slid to a stop a few feet from the side of the structure and threw an empty aluminum can at the wall. There was something dark on it, almost like . . .

 

She’d drawn a spell sigil on it.

 

“Huh,” Emrys said.

 

Neve reached into her fanny pack and pulled out a long, thin piece of wood. One end of its narrow body was capped with an obsidian blade, an athame of sorts, used to carve sigils. The other was edged with silver to conduct the flow of magic.

 

My stomach felt like it was about to fall out of my body.

 

“Wand,” I said, rising.

 

“Sorceress,” Emrys finished, clutching his whittling knife in his fist.

 

“Give me that,” I said, reaching for the blade.

 

He pulled it away. “And give you the opportunity to stab me with it? I think not.”

 

I turned back just in time to see Neve grin as she pointed the silver end of the wand toward the can.