Urgent summons from the queen. Stay in the house until I return. Please.

Yours,

Finn

Twenty-seven

I DON’T KNOW WHICH I DREAD MORE—THAT Sir Bird will be in bird form when I enter the library, or that he won’t, and I will never get to say good-bye. I push open the door to find him perched on the edge of a chair, completely back to his normal black, arranging a pile of shiny coins and buttons.

“I—” My voice catches. Sir Bird looks at me, extending and retracting his wings nervously. “I have to give you back to him. Lord Downpike. If I don’t, Eleanor will die. Do you understand?”

Sir Bird is very still and then slowly bobs his head once.

“I already owe you my own life. And if you don’t want to do this, I won’t make you. I’ll open the door and you can fly away and I’ll try to find some other way to save Eleanor.”

He hops with a flap of his wings and lands on my shoulder and then nudges my cheek with his beak. He’s giving me permission, and it breaks my heart.

“Will he hurt you?”

Sir Bird shakes his whole body from crown to tail, puffing up his feathers, then caws in his most dismissive tone.

“You are the finest, bravest creature on the whole planet.” I take a deep breath, and then have a thought. It’s a gamble at best, probably pointless, and at worst will bring down more pain and trouble on all of us. I’m already allowing Sir Bird to be sacrificed. Eleanor is dying. Can I risk it?

Is it even possible?

“If I were to write a few pages, could I put them in the book? Could you make them a part of yourself?”

He lets out an uncertain squawking sound and then hops to the table. I kiss his feathered head and stroke the length of his back. “Thank you,” I whisper, then he turns into a book.

Sabotage, sabotage. If, like Finn, Lord Downpike has to renew spells every time he uses them, then maybe I have a chance to mess with his abilities. Opening, I search frantically for anything I recognize. I cannot risk damaging a spell that might be the one Eleanor needs. If it’s even in this book. Finding pages we’d looked at earlier, I rip them out as carefully as I can, hoping Sir Bird cannot feel it. I line them up with a blank sheet of parchment and transcribe the sequences nearly identically, mimicking the pen strokes as best I can. But I make subtle changes, substitute the wrong elements, the wrong words. Fire for water, confusion for clarity, darkness for light. I alter the parts of the equations I can understand. If I had more time, if I’d been able to plan . . . But this is the best I can do.

Then I tuck the papers back into the crease and hold my breath. A series of black sparks dance along the spine, and when I pull lightly on the pages, they stay affixed.

Lord Downpike wins this round, and I only hope that he has nothing further planned right now. I pick up the book to take it out to the nightmare man, but it trembles and then pops back into Sir Bird’s form.

“You should stay a book. It seems safer for you.”

Sir Bird pecks my hand.

“All right! Your way is best. I won’t argue.”

I walk down the hall with a heavy heart, already mourning the loss of Sir Bird. Something inside me is shaking loose, rattling around and making it hard to breathe. I push aside my own fear for what will happen when I hand the book to Lord Downpike. I’ll have no more insurance against physical harm.

It does not bear thinking about. There are no other options. I will not sacrifice Eleanor for myself.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I wipe under my eyes. Lord Downpike will not see me a tearful, fearful mess. Sir Bird nips my ear softly, and I nod. “I’m glad of your company, dear friend.”

I open the door. Twilight has cloaked the park in shadow, but I can see Lord Downpike standing at the edge of the trees. Before I can cross the threshold of the house, Sir Bird takes off from my shoulder with a loud series of caws. “Oh!” I reach out for him, then drop my hands, resolved. He took the offered escape. I’m not sorry. At least one of us has freedom.

So be it. I will throw myself at whatever semblance of mercy a man like Lord Downpike has. I lift my foot to step onto the porch, when I look up and see Sir Bird land in front of Lord Downpike. Downpike reaches down, takes Sir Bird around the neck, and twists his head with a quick, snapping motion.

“No!” I scream, but it’s too late. In his hands is nothing but a book. I slump against the door frame, hands over my mouth, silently shaking my head as though I can undo what he’s done.

“Not coming out to play?” he calls, tucking the book under his arm and strolling closer. “Clever, sending the poor birdie out so you could stay safe in Lord Ackerly’s home. I am impressed.”

That was why Sir Bird changed. So I wouldn’t have to leave the protection of the house. I owe him my life again, and he . . . oh, Sir Bird.

“Are you crying for my unfaithful familiar? Women are such strange creatures. I suppose you kept up your end of the deal, though I had hoped to take a stroll, maybe have tea together.”

I narrow my eyes, Lord Downpike blurred by the tears there. “Fix Eleanor. Now.”

“As you like. What was that countercurse . . .” He flips through the book then snaps it shut. My stomach tightens. If he noticed I altered spells, I’ve lost any hope of gaining an advantage and Sir Bird’s sacrifice is wasted. “That’s right. I left it in a sugar bowl in her silver tea service. Make sure she takes a cup with two scoops and she’ll be fine.”