.42.

NOTHING BUT A THIEF

Quicksilver lay sprawled on the ground, gasping, a sharp pain blooming on the back of her head.

The white wolf’s mammoth paw pressed on her throat, cutting off her air. She clawed at the paw, tearing out tufts of fur. The wolf pressed down harder. She gagged, choking. The wolf snarled, a nasty grin curling across its long, sharp snout. Its hot, stinking breath burned her cheek.

She couldn’t sense the rest of the coven—where they were, what they were thinking, what they planned to do. Their collective magic had snapped and broken. The only thing she could feel besides the paw on her throat was Fox—and he was furious.

Get off her! He tore across the cave to the white wolf and rammed into its side. The wolf staggered but didn’t move. Fox leaped onto the wolf’s back, bit into his shoulders, and tore at his fur with furious paws. A spray of hot blood hit Quicksilver’s cheek. The white wolf roared, released Quicksilver, then slammed Fox to the ground and hit him in the stomach with one massive white paw. Fox yelped, skidded across the icy lake, and slid headfirst into one of the giant rocks.

Quicksilver screamed. Fox!

She scrambled away from the wolf and shot to her feet. Six streaks of burning light flew past her, whipping her hair around her face. Six lights—blue, gray, black, brown, gold, red. The lights whirled around Olli, Freja, Lukaas, Aleksi, Lumi, and Bernt like blinding bright cyclones. When the air stilled, six wolves stood in a semicircle between Quicksilver and the exit. Each held a monster in its jaws.

The other witches, wide-eyed and trembling, writhed at the wolves’ feet. Olli reached for Pulka, gasping. The owl flapped frantically, trapped in the blue wolf’s jaws. When Olli crawled toward her, the wolf gave her a violent shake.

The world tilted around Quicksilver, too slow and too fast both at once. Fear choked her voice, her mind, her whole body.

. . . Fox?

I’m not hurt, came his faint reply. He stood up and shook himself. Well, not irreparably so. Rotten fellow’s got a mean punch.

Can we connect with the others? Our collective magic—

Not like this, not with their monsters trapped. They’re in too much pain—

We have to try! Help me!

With Fox guiding her, Quicksilver reached out to the others, trying to re-create the magical net that had helped them up the mountain. She held out her power like an open hand and shouted at them, Grab on! Make the net! Many will be mighty!

But nothing happened. Their magic buzzed, dull and dim, at the tips of her fingers.

A throng of voices rang out from behind her—seven voices, booming and full of rage. And one eighth, tiny voice—a boy’s voice—trapped within them.

“Give me the skeletons,” roared the voices, “and there’s no reason for further violence. At least for now.”

Quicksilver turned to see the Wolf King walking across the ice, his hands clasped behind his back. She nearly gasped when she saw how much he had changed. His face was so gaunt she could almost see the skull beneath his skin. The shadows under his red-rimmed eyes had grown so immense that his entire face was drawn in shades of gray. His eyes leaked tears, though Quicksilver could not imagine what he had to cry about.

Five shadows, more solid and human shaped than the last time she had seen them, floated over the Wolf King’s head.

The First Ones, Quicksilver thought to Fox.

No matter what happens, we can’t let him get the last two skeletons.

I agree. Quicksilver forced herself to stand tall. No matter what happens.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

A slow, mocking smile spread across the Wolf King’s face. “Of course you do. I know who you are. I know who you’ve been. I—” He screamed, clutching his head, and fell hard to his knees.

One of the First Ones snapped its dark head around and hissed—and out from behind an icy boulder hurried Sly Boots, in a fine coat trimmed with shining fur.

He offered the Wolf King a sip from a leather drinking pouch and wiped his forehead with a cloth. He glanced at Quicksilver and then away, his eyes wide and watery.

Rage swept through Quicksilver in hot, crashing waves. She ran at Sly Boots, screaming, “You evil, you traitor—”

Pulka squawked, bringing Quicksilver to a halt. She whirled. Olli fought to raise himself to his hands and knees. He reached for Pulka, cried out her name. The blue wolf flung the owl to the ground and pinned her there. Its claws dug into her white chest, drawing blood. Olli sank back to the ground, moaning in agony.

The Wolf King rose unsteadily to his feet, his arm around Sly Boots’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t do . . . anything rash, witch,” he said, his voice faint and low. “Unless you want to . . . hear your friends screaming in agony . . . see them split open right in front of you.”

Quicksilver glared at Sly Boots, her stomach turning at the sounds of the other witches—all of them crying for their monsters, all the trapped monsters screeching and whimpering.

“So this is what you do now, is it, Boots?” said Quicksilver. “You play nurse to a bloodthirsty murderer?”

Sly Boots said nothing, just stared at Quicksilver. He widened his eyes and glanced pointedly at the First Ones, then at the Wolf King, then at the First Ones again as they circled over the group like storm clouds.

Quicksilver ignored him. Whatever he was trying to tell her, it was just another lie.

She held her cloak open so the Wolf King could see her pockets. “All right,” she said, “if you want the bones so badly . . .”

Behind her, Olli let out a strangled cry. “No!”

Fox? Quicksilver thought, her heart pounding. When she did this, what would happen to them?

Ready, Quicksilver.

“. . . then you can have them.” Quicksilver reached into her cloak pocket.

The wolves leaned toward her, the trapped monsters held tight between their teeth and under their paws.

The First Ones drifted lower, like birds of prey circling a kill.

The Wolf King watched her with bleary eyes, looking tired enough to fall over.

Slowly Quicksilver withdrew her hand from her pocket . . . and held out an empty palm for everyone to see.

The wolves howled in rage. The First Ones shot up toward the ceiling, five angry columns of black. The cavern shook; worms fell from the ceiling, pink and blue and wriggling.

The Wolf King once again cried out and collapsed, holding his head.

And through the chaos, Quicksilver watched with grim satisfaction as Fox ran out of the cavern to safety, the starling and ermine skeletons secure in his pack.

I’ll come back for you, Quicksilver. The warmth of Fox’s love flooded through her, making her less afraid.

I know you will—

Agony ripped through her, and she screamed and fell. Her leg was on fire. The white wolf, his teeth piercing her calf, dragged her across the cave floor to the Wolf King.

Quicksilver? Quicksilver!

She couldn’t think a word to Fox. She clawed at the ground, trying to pull herself away, but the wolf held fast.

The Wolf King stood looking down at her, his face shining and sickly with sweat. The First Ones roiled at his ears, whispering.

Sly Boots hovered behind the Wolf King, staring fearfully at Quicksilver.

“You’re nothing but a thief,” the Wolf King said coldly.

Quicksilver gasped, tried to breathe. The wolf’s teeth sent white-hot streaks of pain shooting up her whole body. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she flashed him a hard grin anyway. “That’s right. The best in the Star Lands.”

A small smile crossed the Wolf King’s face, and for a startling moment, Quicksilver thought it might have carried a sort of sadness in it. “We shall see if that’s still the case when you’re screaming for me to stop hurting you.”

“Leave her alone, you beast!” Olli bit out, his voice thick with Pulka’s injuries. “She’s just a child!”

“So was I, once,” said the Wolf King calmly, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the white wolf, now a bright arrow of light, straight for Quicksilver’s heart.