and the air was hot and greasy.
Pushing the doors open released a blast of hot, smoky air. Blinking tears from my eyes, I stared into an enormous kitchen. Brick ovens roared, copper kettles bubbled over fires, and a dozen aromas flooded my senses. Furry little men in aprons scuttled back and forth between several long counters, cooking, baking, testing the contents of the kettles. A bloody boar carcass lay on a table, and hacking into it was a huge, green-skinned woman with thick tusks and brown hair pulled into a braid.
She saw us in the doorway and came stomping over, blood and bits of meat clinging to her apron.
“No loafers in my kitchen,” she growled, waving a large bronze butcher knife at me. “I got no scraps for the likes of you. Take your sneaky, thieving fingers elsewhere.”
“S-Sarah Skinf layer, this is Meghan Chase.” As Tansy introduced us, I gave the troll woman a sickly, please-don’t-kill-me smile. “She’s to help you in the kitchen by order of the queen.”
“I don’t need help from a skinny half-human whelp,” Sarah Skinf layer growled, eyeing me disdainfully. “She’d only slow us down, and we’re running ourselves into the ground, getting ready for Elysium.” Looking me over, she sighed and scratched her head with the blunt end of the knife. “I guess I could find a place for her. But tell Her Majesty that if she wants to torture someone else, try the stables or the kennel runs. I’ve got all the help I need here.”
Tansy nodded and left quickly, leaving me alone with the giantess. I felt sweat dripping down my back, and it wasn’t from the fires. “All right, whelp,” Sarah Skinf layer barked, pointing at me with her knife. “I don’t care if you are His Majesty’s throwback, you’re in my kitchen now. Rules here are simple—you don’t work, you don’t eat. And I have a little fun with the horsewhip in the corner. They don’t call me Sarah Skinf layer for nothing.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur of scrubbing and cleaning. I mopped blood and bits of flesh from the stone floor. I swept ashes from the brick ovens. I washed mountains of plates, goblets, pots, and pans. Every time I paused to rub my aching limbs, the troll woman would be there, barking orders and pushing me to my next chore. Toward the end of the night, after catching me sitting on a stool, she growled something about “lazy humans,” snatched the broom from my hands, and gave me the one she was carrying. As soon as my hands closed around the handle, the broom leaped to life and began sweeping vigorously, brisk, hard strokes, while my feet carried me around the room. I tried letting go of the thing, but my fingers seemed glued to the handle, and I couldn’t open my hands. I swept the floor until my legs ached and my arms burned, until I couldn’t see for the sweat in my eyes. Finally, the troll woman snapped her fingers and the broom stopped its mad sweeping. I collapsed, my knees buckling underneath me, tempted to hurl the sadistic broom into the nearest oven.
“Did you enjoy that, half-breed?” Sarah Skinf layer asked, and I was too winded to answer. “There will be more of the same tomorrow, I guarantee it. Here.” Two pieces of bread and a lump of cheese hit the ground. “That’s the dinner you earned tonight. It should be safe for you to eat. Maybe tomorrow you’ll get something better.”
“Fine,” I muttered, ready to crawl back to my room, thinking there was no way I was ever coming back here. I planned to conveniently “forget” about my forced servitude tomorrow, maybe even find a way out of the Seelie Court. “See you tomorrow.”
The troll blocked my path. “Where do you think you’re going, half-breed? You’re part of my workforce now, so that means you’re mine.” She pointed to a wooden door in the corner. “The servants’ quarters are full. You can take the pantry closet there.” She smiled at me, fierce and terrible, showing blunt yellow teeth and tusks. “We start work at dawn. See you tomorrow, whelp.”
I ATE MY MEASLY DINNER and crawled beneath shelves of onions, turnips, and strange blue vegetables to sleep. I had no blanket, but the kitchens were uncomfortably warm. I was trying to turn a sack of grain into a pillow, when I remembered my backpack, tossed onto a shelf, and crawled out to retrieve it. There was nothing in the orange pack now but a broken iPod, but still, it was mine, the only reminder of my old life.
I snatched the backpack off the shelf and was walking back toward my tiny room when I felt something wriggle inside the pack. Startled, I nearly dropped it, and heard a soft snicker coming from inside. Edging over to the counter, I put the bag down, grabbed a knife, and unzipped it, ready to plunge the blade into whatever jumped out.
My iPod lay there, dead and silent. With a sigh, I zipped the pack up and carried it into the pantry with me. Tossing it into a corner, I curled up on the floor, put my head on the bag of grain, and let my thoughts drift. I thought of Ethan, and Mom, and school. Was anyone missing me back home? Were there search parties being sent out for me, police and dogs sniffing around the last places I was seen? Or had Mom forgotten me, as I was sure Luke had? Would I even have a home to go back to, if I did manage to find Ethan?
I started to shake, and my eyes grew misty. Soon, tears flowed down my cheeks, staining the sack under my head and making my hair sticky. I turned my face into the rough fabric and sobbed. I’d hit rock bottom. Lying in a dark pantry, with no hope of rescuing Ethan and nothing to look forward to but fear, pain, and exhaustion, I was ready to give up.
Gradually, as my sobs stilled and my breathing grew calmer, I realized I was not alone.
Raising my head, I first saw my backpack, where I’d flung it in the corner. It was unzipped, lying open like a gaping maw. I saw the glint of the iPod inside.
Then, I saw the eyes.
My heart stopped, and I sat up quickly, banging my head against the shelf. Dust showered me as I scooted to the far corner, gasping. I’d seen those eyes before, glowing green and intelligent. The creature was small, smaller than the goblins, with oily black skin and long, spindly arms. Except for the large, goblinlike ears, it looked like a horrible cross between a monkey and a spider.
The creature smiled, and its teeth lit the corner with pale blue light.
Then it spoke.
Its voice echoed flatly in the gloom, like a radio speaker hissing static. I couldn’t understand it at first. Then, as if it were changing the station, the static cleared away and I heard words.
“—are waiting,” it crackled, its voice still buzzing with static. “Come to … iron … your brother … held in …”
“Ethan?” I bolted upright, banging my head again. “Where is he? What do you know about him?”
“… Iron Court … we … waiting for …” The creature flickered in the darkness, going fuzzy like a weak signal. It hissed and blipped out of sight, plunging the room into blackness again.
I lay there in the gloom, my heart pounding, thinking about what the creature had said. I couldn’t glean much from the eerie conversation, except that my brother was alive, and something called the Iron Court was waiting for something.
All right, I told myself, taking a deep breath. They’re still out there, Meghan. Ethan and your dad. You can’t give up now. Time to stop being a crybaby and get your act together.
I snatched the iPod and stuffed it into my back pocket. If that monster-thing came to me with any more news of Ethan, I wanted to be ready. Lying back on the cold floor, I closed my eyes and started to plan.
THE NEXT TWO DAYS PASSED in a blur. I did everything the troll woman told me to do: washed dishes, scrubbed floors, sliced meat
