A MASSIVE, CRACKED tree trunk dominated the center of the clearing like a jagged throne, its roots covered in a skirt of vines and pine cones. Glowing runes spiraled over its bark, written in a language Sam had never seen. The language of foxes or squirrels, or maybe the language of the forest itself.
But Sam’s gaze was drawn upward, to the tallest splinter of wood jutting from the top of the trunk. Balanced atop this spike and bathed in moonlight sat the Golden Acorn.
Sam gasped. Even two dozen feet away, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. A part of her had wondered if the Golden Acorn was even real, if maybe it was just another lie Ashander had told her. But her heart had believed, and here it was. Sam had been brave enough to find it, after all.
The Golden Acorn tugged at Sam, urged her forward, pulled at her in every way short of calling her name.
“What’s this? Does our little Samantha see something she wants?”
Ashander stood on the other side of the clearing, already on all fours. His purple coat had reformed into sleek leather armor. He growled, and the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck raised.
“You can’t have the Golden Acorn,” Ashander said. “You don’t deserve the Golden Acorn.”
“I deserve it more than you do,” Sam snarled back.
The fox crouched, his muscles bunching. He was preparing to pounce.
She’d seen the documentaries. She knew how high foxes could jump, and how precisely they could land, teeth gnashing.
This was it, then.
The last battle.
Sam squared her shoulders, determined to try her hardest. Had Caitlin felt like this on that night, when she faced their father? The forest disappeared for a moment, and Sam was standing in the hallway outside Caitlin’s room while her mother pounded on the door. Sam’s toes dug into the carpet. Maybe, that night, Caitlin hadn’t wanted to say I’m sorry for the hundredth time. Maybe she’d said to herself instead, Let him snarl. Let him snap.
“Sam!”
The voice cut through the darkness, so loud that even Ashander turned to look.
A few days ago, Aunt Vicky’s voice had reminded Sam of a fluttering moth, easy to miss. But this was Aunt Vicky, too. Piercing, strong. Was her aunt in the woods? Was she trying to rescue Sam?
“She won’t save you,” Ashander said. He wore an eyepatch now and a big hoop earring. One of his fangs glinted silver, like a pirate. “She never asked for you or your sister to come here. She doesn’t want you. She doesn’t care about you.”
I want you to know that I love you.
Sam knew that the minute she stepped into the light of the clearing, the fox would be on her. She had to be ready. She had to be fast.
“The squirrels abandoned you. Your aunt will leave you, too,” Ashander said, pacing along the edge of the light. “All you’ve done is disappoint her. You’ve taken her things, and you’ve broken them. It’s only a matter of time before she throws you out … or worse.”
You can trust me.
Sam dropped the compass and the flashlight. She tossed her backpack into the mud. She bolted into the light.
The fox crouched.
Sam ran as hard as she could, but she wasn’t Caitlin. She wasn’t fast enough. She kept running anyway.
Ashander sprang, claws flashing.
The Golden Acorn was too far away. Too far!
Sam raised her arm to ward off Ashander’s teeth. He tackled her to the ground, and she rolled, trying to shake him off while he clawed and bit. His mouth opened wide—Sam could have counted his teeth—and he sank his fangs into her arm.
Only … the moment before his canines ripped through Caitlin’s hoodie and into Sam’s flesh, the sweatshirt changed. Blue light rippled over the fabric, and in its wake, the simple cotton transformed into shining metal.
It was Caitlin’s sweatshirt. She had given Sam her own suit of armor.
Ashander bit into Sam’s metal sleeve and yowled in pain. His claws scrabbled at her chest, but the armor repelled them.
Sam shoved the fox away and vaulted to her feet. Ashander was right behind her. She lunged for the Golden Acorn, hand grasping. Her fingers wrapped around something smooth and round and heavy. She squeezed.
The Golden Acorn!
Ashander tackled her again.
Sam curled up to protect herself. The hoodie covered most of her, but her legs were exposed, and her feet, and her face. Ashander was on her now, teeth bared. Sam thrashed and tried to throw him off.
“Sam, where are you?” Aunt Vicky called, but her voice was growing fainter instead of louder. She was going in the wrong direction.
If you mess up, I will still love you.
Ashander sank his fangs into Sam’s leg, and she yelped.
If you lie to me, you can still trust me.
“Aunt Vicky,” Sam cried, but the night swallowed up her voice in one easy gulp, as if she hadn’t said anything at all.
Ashander laughed. “Pathetic.” He snarled and snapped at her again.
Sam needed her voice. Her mouth gaped, but nothing came out. Don’t talk. Don’t tell. Don’t trust. Years of unspoken words were lodged in Sam’s throat.
Ashander’s paws pressed her into the ground. He looked down at her and growled, “Don’t say a word.”
Sam stared into the fox’s cold, charming, warm, angry eyes and heard other words.
You are worthy of love, Sam. Just as you are.
Sam yelled.
She yelled as loud as she could.
She used her lungs and her heart and every last thing she could find inside herself.
“Help! Aunt Vicky! The fox is on me! The fox!”
“Quiet!” Ashander growled. “No one cares what happens to you.”
Sam imagined Aunt Vicky crashing through the forest, fighting off twisting vines with a sword and dodging lightning. She imagined Aunt Vicky emerging from the darkness and challenging Ashander to a duel. She imagined Aunt Vicky—
And then, amid cracking branches, Aunt Vicky herself erupted from the darkness, swinging a sword of light.
The real Aunt Vicky.
Sam had called for her, and she’d come.
Aunt Vicky spotted Sam and charged, knocking Ashander away as if he wasn’t even there. He hissed and shrank down to normal fox size. Maybe even smaller. The vicious spark in his eyes dimmed but did not go out. He slunk into the shadows with his wet, ratty tail between his legs.
Suddenly there were fingers around Sam’s arms. There were warm hands pulling her up, off the ground. Away from the cold. Away from the fox.
“Sam, say something,” Aunt Vicky said. “Oh, God, you’re soaked and freezing.” She held Sam against her with one arm and waved the flashlight with her other hand. “I found her! I found her!”
“Ashander tried to stop me, but I found the Golden Acorn,” Sam tried to say. Her lips were thick and numb, and it came out all wrong. She could barely keep her hand closed tight. “I get to make a wish. I get to fix everything.”
Aunt Vicky lifted Sam into her arms and wrapped her raincoat around them both. The rain clattered angrily at the fabric but couldn’t get through.
“Pirate Princess and the mouse and almost Lady Louise,” Sam sobbed.
“It’s okay. I understand. I really do,” Aunt Vicky said. “Oh, Sam.” Aunt Vicky’s arms were around her, holding Sam so tight she could barely move. Which was okay, actually. Sam didn’t want to move. Not even when she realized her aunt was crying, too.
“The fox…,” Sam said.
“The fox is gone. Do you hear me? It’s gone,” Aunt Vicky said. “I won’t let it hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Sam thought about Ashander’s eyepatch and hoop earring, just like the ones that were on Aunt Vicky’s stuffed animal pirates. Aunt Vicky did understand. And if Aunt Vicky understood, maybe she could actually do what she promised.
Inside Sam’s chest, her heart gave a timid, hopeful rabbit thump.
Hannah and Caitlin arrived, breathless, and took turns hugging Sam.
“You jerk,” Caitlin said, and hugged Sam harder. “I gave you my hoodie, and this is what you do with it? It’s not water-resistant!”
“You’re not supposed to get your cast wet,” Sam said, because she didn’t know how to say, It’s good to see you, too.
Caitlin pushed wet hair away from her eyes and grinned. “Worth it.”
Sam didn’t dare open her fingers to look at the Golden Acorn, but she could feel it there, pressed against her palm like the pit at the center of an avocado. Aunt Vicky helped her walk all the way back to the house. Hannah volunteered to carry her, but Sam refused. She wanted to walk. It seemed important. It seemed like something a hero would do. She’d gone into the woods, and now she was leaving them. There and back again.
Ashander did not follow or attack.
They were four now, and he was only one fox.