Briar Queen

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Book: Briar Queen Read Online Free PDF
Author: Katherine Harbour
dead things in your place—”
    â€œShut up!” Teeth bared, Hip Hop stepped toward Finn. Bottle caught her wrist, said, “No. He’ll know.”
    Hip Hop smiled. “So? She deserves it, for what she did to our lady.”
    â€œI didn’t do anything to Reiko.” Finn’s voice cracked.
    â€œYou did.” Trip put his hands in his pockets. “You killed Reiko. Our queen. And you will pay for that, Serafina Sullivan. Someone’s going to make you pay. He’s been waiting. Watching. He’ll get you.”
    Satisfied with his threat, Trip sauntered away, followed by his siblings, their boots soundless on the snow. The shadows beneath the trees swallowed their wicked, fairy-tale figures.
    â€œFinn!”
    Finn turned. Christie and Sylvie were running toward her. When Sylvie saw her face, she halted and said, “Someone else was here.”
    â€œThe Rooks.” Finn pointed to the altar. “This is their place.”
    Christie stared at the Rooks’ footprints in the snow.
    â€œThey’re not happy.” Finn trudged toward the antique sled, which had splintered against the altar. “I owe you a sled, Sylv. Let’s go home.”
    â€œWhat did they say?” Sylvie helped Finn untangle the sled. “Did they threaten you?”
    â€œOf course they threatened her.” Christie took the sled from Finn, watching her with concern. “It’s what they do. It’s their sole purpose. It’s like they’re haunting her.”
    â€œThey’re not dead.” Finn didn’t want to tell them about the Wolf. Not yet. The Rooks might have been lying. He’s been waiting. Watching . “They’re only frozen and changed—like they’re becoming Fatas.”
    THE HARTS’ BIG VICTORIAN was warm and cluttered, the family room’s autumn-red walls hung with vintage sports posters and framed photographs of the Harts and their friends. The threadbare sectional was scattered with chew toys from the two wolfhounds and various portable electronica from Christie’s six brothers, who ranged in ages from nineteen to twenty-four. Though the three oldest brothers had moved out, they visited often. The giant plasma TV was always tuned to a football game or a nature show. Heavy metal music thumped from the second floor. Two brothers were arguing amiably in the kitchen. Finn thought she heard one of them say: “ . . . no such things as mermaids.”
    As Finn admired the seven-foot Christmas tree blazing with colored lights and boyish ornaments, Christie plucked a rubber squirrel and three remotes off the sectional sofa. “Sit. Sylvie’s bringing food from the café near her apartment, because my mom’s out and my brothers ate everything. There is nothing left but condiments.”
    Finn sprawled on the sectional. When the doorbell rang, Christie left to answer it. He returned with Sylvie, who sported a wool hat shaped like a fox’s head, its tasseled flaps concealing her ears. Christie held two carry-out bags labeled CROOKED TREE CAFÉ . As Sylvie unpacked the lidded paper cups and the blintzes wrapped in wax paper, she said, “These are my treat. Where’s Jack?”
    There was a knock on the front door and Finn said, “That’s him.” She bouncedup to answer it. Jack didn’t like doorbells or bells of any kind; they were something he’d once avoided, like iron, salt, and blessed objects.
    She stepped over a pile of boots in the hall and opened the door to reveal Jack, in a dark coat lined with fake fur, standing there, seeming distracted and tired. She looked at the basket he carried and her mouth quirked. “Have you just come from grandmother’s house?”
    â€œPhouka attempted to make cookies. Real ones. In an oven at the hotel. I think she magicked the oven. Not the gingerbread, which are burned on the bottom.” He entered the hall and surveyed with amusement
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