Chapter 50

Neve's Vein brought us to the upstairs flat of the Dead Man's Rest, though I didn't immediately recognize it. The last time we'd been here, there'd been a few scattered pieces of broken furniture strewn about, as if it was intended to be as uncomfortable as possible to deter visitors.

Now there was a complete bedroom set: a rather striking canopied bed with plush bedding, a dresser, a marble side table with a lamp next to an armchair that looked like it would hug you back as you snuggled into it, a slightly faded but otherwise nice rug, even an empty bookshelf, waiting to be filled.

The sudden transformation was odd, even for the Bonecutter.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Caitriona said when she saw our questioning looks. "I knew better than to ask. She nearly took my head off with a broomstick when I showed up again."

"Voices carry, you know," the Bonecutter called up to us from downstairs, her voice ringing like little bells. "Hurry up, will you? I've waited long enough."

The pub was empty; it was well past the hour of last call. Winter solstice was the longest night of the year, and we'd only extended it by traveling back and forth across the sea.

I'd expected to find her in her usual spot at the bar, and Bran behind the counter, polishing the already spotless pint glasses. Instead, the open door to her workshop greeted us.

"Still alive, then?" the Bonecutter asked as we entered. One of her brows arched over the rim of her many-lensed glasses. She cranked her stool up higher, switching off the small blowtorch in her left hand and setting down the pliers that were in her right.

"Barely," I admitted. "But you should see the other guy."

She snorted. "At least this time you've come with good news. And who is our new Lord Death?"

I didn't respond, in part because I couldn't bring myself to say the words aloud, but also because I realized what the metal pieces were in front of her.

I rushed forward, gripping Librarian's lifeless hand. "How—why do you have him?"

"I sent Bran to collect him and anything else salvageable," the Bonecutter said. "I had the thought I might fix him."

She had. Outwardly, at least. The damage to his chest had been mended, a new plate welded into place. A tube fed liquid silver death magic into the joint between Librarian's left arm and his chest.

"What is this going to cost?" I asked. I could only imagine.

The Bonecutter switched to her crimson lenses. "Nothing you could pay. And I must warn you, even if I succeed, he will not be the same as he was. He will not have his memories."

I jerked back from the table, turning to Neve. "Do you have my bag?"

She jumped into action, digging through her fanny pack until she eased my much larger satchel out of it. I caught it when she tossed it over.

Unwrapping the loose bandage I'd placed around it for its protection, I held the small bottle of quicksilver liquid I'd collected from Librarian out to her.

The Bonecutter had to fight to not look pleased as she took it from me. "I suppose that might work."

"Is there something inside?" Olwen asked, cocking her head .

The Bonecutter pulled off her glasses, handing them to her. Olwen jolted as she looked at the bottle through them, then back at me. "Tamsin … is this molten silver what you saw in the cauldron in Avalon?"

I nodded, my throat constricting. "Lucky me."

Neve had a look, then Caitriona, but when Olwen took the glasses back, she didn't immediately relinquish them to the Bonecutter. "Can I observe?"

"I suppose you should," the Bonecutter said, pouring the contents of the bottle into a small cauldron on the table. "If you wish to become my apprentice, you'll need to learn."

My mouth formed a ring of surprise. Even Neve looked at a loss for words.

"Really?" Olwen asked, lowering the glasses. "You'd be willing to teach me?"

"Well, don't flatter yourself by thinking it's because you're special," the Bonecutter said gruffly. "I've need of someone who can tend to the pub when Bran and I travel to source materials. And seeing as you possess some intelligence, you may yet grasp the finer arts of the trade."

"Yes," Olwen said. "Absolutely."

"Wait," Caitriona said, shocked. "But that would mean …"

My heart throbbed with the unspoken. You would leave us.

Suddenly, I knew who the upstairs flat was for.

Olwen balanced her empty cup on the rim of the bathtub and clasped her sister's hand, stroking the back of it. "Dear heart, you've always known I've never had the same appetite for adventure as you. What I desire most of all is to be able to learn, to be of use to those who need it. I need to find a place for myself in this world, as do you."

Caitriona looked troubled. "If … if that's what you want."

"All the more reason to drop in for visits," Neve told her.

"Please, no," the Bonecutter said, stirring the contents of the cauldron with seven clockwise strokes, then seven counterclockwise. "Besides, you'll be quite busy with your adventuring. "

"What do you mean?" Neve asked.

The Bonecutter nodded toward a small cream envelope resting haphazardly on the top of one of the chairs piled high with scrolls. "A pooka flew in yesterday and dropped that off for you. I assume you know the one."

"Griflet?" I asked. "Seriously?"

"Smelled the same to me," the Bonecutter said, her small fingers adding flakes of something crimson to the cauldron. "Though I'll leave it to you to confirm that suspicion. And when you do, please inform it I am not a post office."

Neve picked the envelope up gently, holding it as if she believed it might turn to dust in her hands.

"Open it," I told her.

She flicked the wax seal open, pulling the single sheet of paper out. Her eyes skimmed over the short message there once, then again. She showed it to Caitriona.

Olwen took a tentative step toward her. "Neve?"

"Neve, you're killing me," I said. "What does it say?"

"Your father and I would have done anything to see you grow up, and have only ever desired to keep you safe. But there are more enemies in this world than you know," Neve read. "They killed your father, and now, unless I finish this, they will take you from me as well. Please do not try to find me. Return to your aunt. I love you."

Neve seemed almost stymied by her own hope as she looked up at us.

"Your mother sent the pooka," Olwen said, thinking aloud. "To keep watch over you."

"She should have come herself," Neve said simply, crumpling the paper in her fist. Caitriona took it from her, before she could destroy it, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans. "She didn't even tell me my father's name. Only that he's dead."

"When you find your mother, you can ask," I told her. "You can ask her about anything and everything. "

"She said not to," Neve said softly. "She doesn't want to be found."

"Are you going to let her decide that?" I asked. "I want you safe too, but I know you're capable of making your own decisions."

Caitriona's expression turned contemplative, her eyes narrowing with focus on the Bonecutter. "Where can we begin our search?"

"I thought you might ask."

The Bonecutter retrieved a massive tome from one of her many sagging bookcases and brought it over to the worktable. It exhaled a thick cloud of dust as she flipped the heavy cover over. "Now, I believe I may have an idea of where to begin looking for your mother, Caniad …"

I listened in as theories were spun out of sightings and rumors, clasping a hand over the weathered bracelet around my wrist. Olwen touched my hand with a questioning look, but I returned it with a shake of my head.

I had promised Neve that I would help her find her mother, and I would. I was thrilled for her to have the answers she craved, and to have the opportunity to seek out more. But some part of me felt only loss.

What family I'd had was gone, and the one we'd built among us four was breaking apart. Wherever Neve and Caitriona began their search, I knew I couldn't follow them. Not yet.

For now, a different fate awaited me.

My gaze drifted back toward the empty staircase, watching for someone who never arrived.