Chapter Four

Ana

By Sunday afternoon, I still hadn’t heard from Pierce.

We never went this long without talking. It made me feel sick. Apparently, I looked as awful as I felt because Aunt Felicity kept giving me herbal teas and telling me I might have consumption. Or a megrim. Basically, a bunch of Victorian words for “you look like hell.”

Even Aunt Aisha remarked on it, which wasn’t a good sign. “Are you pining?”

“No,” I replied, affronted.

We’d told them what had happened with Jackson, of course, but there was nothing to do about it now but wait. I’d never shot anyone before. I had no idea if I’d left him befuddled or downright stupid. It wasn’t like cupcakes; you couldn’t measure that kind of magic. You couldn’t undo it. And you always paid a price. Usually, it was feeling like you had the worst flu ever, but for me it was the gnawing fear that I’d damaged something between Pierce and me. The thought of losing him made me feel unreasonable. Panicked. Basically I was freaking out.

Because Pierce’s brothers might drive him nuts, but they were family and I wasn’t. And I knew exactly how far people would go for family.

I burrowed deeper in my nest of blankets and stared at my mother’s painting of Cygnet House. It hung across from my bed, a riot of dripping paints and smears. The sky was filled with white feathers, some forming snowflakes. It had a dark, uncomfortable quality. Pierce never could figure out why I liked it so much. Mostly, it was because the brushstrokes were so bold and noticeable, concrete proof that my mother had lived here once, had affected something, even if it was just a canvas. Maybe she was gone, but something still remained.

Above the painting, a huge wicker basket hung from the ceiling. It was filled with swan feathers; tiny downy ones, long elegant and white, and everything in between. There were tail feathers for flying, chest feathers for warmth. The spines were translucent, like mother of pearl held up to the light. One day, someday, I would sew them all onto my blue cloak. I would wear the silver arrow pendant all the Vila swans wore. I would lift up into the sky and finally be a proper part of family tradition. And the space between my shoulder blades would stop feeling so hollow.

“Sulking won’t change anything,” Aunt Aisha pointed out from my doorway.

“You did what you had to do,” she reminded me, sitting on the edge of my bed. I grudgingly moved over to make space for her.

“I guess. You’ve shot people before, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Will Jackson be okay?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “It was your first arrow, and it wasn’t wrapped in your own hair. That can affect the magic. And he’s young and hormonal, which doesn’t help.”

“How can I fix it? What do I do?”

“You wait and see.”

I frowned. “There has to be some spell I can use.”

She shook her head. “Good magic after bad isn’t a solution.”

Aisha was just so hopeful and helpful. “How many people have you shot?” I asked.

“Enough. My first was a Renard, of course. I was fourteen and he was trying to steal my mother’s feather cloak. I almost shot your dad once, too,” she added with forced lightness.

“You did?”

“He was pissing me off.” She grinned. “He kept following me around, trying to sketch me.”

I couldn’t help but smile, too. “He still does that.”

“I know, it was just last week.”

“Just because you have no appreciation for art!” my dad yelled from his studio next door. Aisha and I grinned at each other as he continued to mutter to himself.

“Does it always feel like this?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied bluntly.

“What if I never get my wings?”

“You will,” she assured me. She paused. “Or you won’t. Either way, you’ll get through it.”

“I don’t want to end up like Aunt Felicity.”

“Good. She ordered seventeen cloche hats online yesterday. We can’t afford another one of her.”

“You know what I mean.” The only wings I felt was the panic fluttering inside my chest.

“I do, and worrying about it won’t change anything. Now, come on.” She slapped my ankle. “Training will do you more good than sitting around here.”

I groaned but followed her outside to the training field. I’d shot my best friend’s brother with an arrow; I deserved to run laps.

After dinner, I texted Pierce for the hundredth time. I’m coming over.

He finally replied.

Don’t. Seriously. Don’t.

Pierce

I wasn’t ignoring Ana so much as trying to keep my family from imploding.

Jackson fell asleep as soon as I got him home. When Eric asked, I told him he’d been drinking and whining about Rosalita. Stick to as much of the truth as possible. Then I went to my room and stared out of the window until the sun rose.

When I first found out that my best friend was part bird, I didn’t sleep for three days. Instead, I read everything I could find on swan maidens, most of which ended with the swan girl flying away forever. Sometimes I worried that Ana would do the same once she got her swan cloak. But for now, at least, she was anchored. She was still Ana, only slightly quirkier, like I’d discovered she would only eat peas on Tuesdays or thought the color yellow was bad luck. Interesting, but ultimately just another detail.

I hadn’t been prepared for the reality of that detail. My head still spun with the way Sasha had transformed, the way she’d melted into another shape, the way her shadow had clung to the swan shape for just a second too long. And then Ana with the bow. I already knew she was a good shot; we used to practice together. Nana used to get so mad if I missed the target that I would sleep in the shed until she cooled off.

Ana was the one who helped me improve.

Ana was the one who texted me stupid jokes so I could pretend I wasn’t in the tool shed with the spiders and the rusty remains of the lawnmower.

Ana was also the one who shot my brother.

I didn’t blame her, not really. I was going to tell her that as soon as I got some sleep, but Eric yelling woke me up, followed by a rifle shot.

Not good.

I stumbled outside in my pajama bottoms. Eric was on the porch, looking freaked out. “Jackson is shooting at crows.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. He tossed the rifle and headed into the woods.”

“Hell. Which way?”

Eric pointed behind the rickety shed. I ran back inside for clothes and boots. Spartacus pressed against my knee, eager to run. “It’s hunting season. You have to stay here.”

Jackson’s trail was obvious enough that it might as well have been left by a drunk bear. At least he hadn’t decided to go exploring the marshes. Or the fields around Ana’s farm. I picked up my pace. The trail petered out as the woods got thicker, which meant he must know I was following him now. Ana’s warnings were like a bell inside my skull. Did he remember being shot? Did he remember who he was? What was I supposed to do if he didn’t? How would I get him to come back home with me? I wanted to call Ana, but I’d left my phone back at the house.

There was a tiny sound, just enough to betray that I wasn’t alone anymore. I turned around. “Jackson?”

It was Liv.

“Oh.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I made a face. She was touchy, but I’d known her nearly as long as I’d known Ana. I knew she’d help if I needed it. I’d saved her from a fox trap once when she was twelve years old.

“I’m looking for my brother. He wandered off and I think he’s…ill.” I didn’t mention the Vila or the arrow. The last thing I wanted to do was to bring the Renards into it. Except that they were excellent trackers, supernatural even. “Give me a hand?” I asked.

“Well, since you’re so glad to see me and all.” She fell into step before I wondered if I needed to apologize again. She was prickly and held a hell of a grudge. She seemed willing enough to help me, though, combing the ground for prints. The pine needles were so thick here it was hard to tell. Her nose twitched and I wondered if she was using scent to track him, but it seemed rude to ask. I knew what she was, but hated talking about it.

She pointed to a snapped twig. “He went that way.”

We walked for a while in silence. Her family hunted, as did mine, so we’d both been trained to shut the hell up once you entered the forest. She always seemed to find me when I was out here. She ducked under branches, leading us through a muddy clearing. After an hour, she stopped, annoyed. “He’s going in circles.”

“I told you he’s sick. He’s probably confused.”

It took another three hours to find him.

“There.”

He was sleeping, propped up against a tree. He’d draped pine boughs over himself like a blanket. His face was pale and clammy. Fever sweat spiked his hair. I crouched beside him. “Jackson.” He didn’t respond. I grabbed his shoulder and his eyes opened so abruptly I froze. His eyes were glassy, burning like embers. “Jackson.”

He blinked slowly. “Pierce?”

I exhaled. Thank God, he knew who he was and who I was. “Time to go home.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.” I helped him up, supporting his weight. “You have to try and walk, though.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“I know a clean creek he can drink from,” Liv said. “This way.”

The water was cold and clear, tumbling over rocks as it meandered deeper into the forest. Jackson dunked his whole head under then drank from his cupped hands as if he’d been lost for days instead of hours. His cheeks regained a bit of color, enough that he didn’t look like wet clay anymore.

“He looks like shit,” Liv said bluntly.

I smiled weakly. “He’s sick.”

She didn’t smile back. “It’s not the flu, Pierce. It’s swan-sickness.”

So much for keeping it quiet. “He’ll be fine.”

“Who shot him?”

I nudged her out of earshot. “How do you know he was shot?”

She snorted. “Please. We know more about Vila arrows than they do. We’re the ones they’re always shooting at, remember?”

“So what do I do?”

“Why don’t you ask Ana?”

“Because you’re standing right here.”

She was still scowling, but she answered me. “Well, he knows his own name so that’s a good sign. And swan magic won’t heal him so don’t bother.”

“What about a regular doctor?”

“Only if he gets the regular flu.” She shrugged. “There’s not much you can do. Keep him comfortable and keep him from doing stupid things when he’s confused. If he was shot by an older swan who knows what she’s doing, he’ll be fine.”

“And if not?”

“Then your guess is as good as mine. They’re unpredictable before they get their wings, but they’re always vicious.” I ignored that. “It depends on whose hair was used and who shot the arrow.”

Jackson was snoring, curled by the bank of the water. He looked better, though. “So I should let him sleep before getting him back home.”

“May as well, it’ll take you just as long to carry him.”

I vaulted up onto a tree branch and settled in to wait. I didn’t even have a book with me. I was annoyed all over again. “Thanks, Liv.”

“You can’t trust her,” she said before walking away. I didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.

Jackson didn’t stir for another few hours, by which time I was starving and bored. He sat up, running his hand through his hair. “Why did you let me sleep in the mud?”

“Because you weigh a ton.”

He yawned. “Was I drinking?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.” He pushed gingerly to his feet. He still looked tired, but somehow angry, too. Like he was wound too tightly. “I guess that answers my question, then, doesn’t it?”

By the time we got home the sun was setting and I’d wasted the entire day sitting in a tree. But at least my brother wasn’t insane or an amnesiac and neither of us had been eaten by a bear.

Yet.

Nana stood behind the screen door, glaring furiously. “You sleep outside tonight.”

I groaned. “Nana.”

“You left the rifle on the ground,” she snapped at Jackson when he tried to push the door open.

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

“You don’t have respect, boy.”

“So why do I have to sleep out here?” I asked tiredly. My phone was inside, my car keys. Coffee. My books.

“You left it there.”

“To find him.”

“Eight hours ago. You boys have no manners. No respect.” She narrowed her eyes. “Behave like an animal and you’ll be treated like one.”

The door slammed shut and locked.

Ana

Pierce wasn’t at our meeting tree the next morning. The birch branches were thick with our tokens: blue glass beads, pop can tabs, wind chimes made of bent forks, red ribbons knotted with birthday wishes. We’d been meeting here for years, so he could drive us to school without having to contend with the magic cloaking our house. Once he’d been determined to pick me up at the front door and he circled for nearly two hours, hopelessly lost in his own neighborhood. But he wasn’t here now, and he wasn’t at his locker.

I haunted the hallways, feeling useless and slightly pathetic. By lunch time, I’d worked myself up into a fit. I finally saw him coming around the corner from art class and shoved him so hard his backpack flew off his shoulder. “I said I was sorry!”

Not exactly my best apology.

“Ow.” Pierce rubbed his shoulder. “The hell, Vila.”

I refused to move even as students pushed around me, called by the bell. I may have snarled at a guy who stepped on my foot. Before I could shove him, too, Pierce elbowed me into an empty classroom.

“You’re mad at me,” I said. “I get it. I deserve it. And I’m sorry.” I’d texted him that twenty-seven times.

He sighed, shoving his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you, Ana.”

The emotions swirling through me dissolved so abruptly that I felt like I was deflating. I looked at my shoes. “You should be.”

“I might be now,” he said, scowling. “You think I don’t know you saved him from your cousins and your aunts? It’s a mess, but it’s not your fault.”

I shrugged one shoulder. I’d been saving him actually. I felt something suspiciously like tears burning the back of my throat. I needed Pierce more than he needed me, and I couldn’t let anything get in the way of our friendship. Not feuds or magic arrows or the fact that I couldn’t stop noticing his arm muscles. He kept me grounded in an upside-down world.

“Ana, for Christ’s sake. You’re my best friend.”

“You wouldn’t talk to me all weekend.” It sounded weak when I said it out loud.

“Yeah, because Jackson was losing his shit. And then Nana locked us out and all I’ve had to eat is raw peas from the garden. One crisis at a time.”

That snapped me out of it. His nana pissed me right off. I’d keyed her car once, but I never told Pierce. I rummaged through my bag and shoved a granola bar at him. “Eat this. And what about Jackson? Does he know who he is?”

“He was sick all weekend. And weird. But now he seems totally fine. Angrier, but fine.”

“Not babbling about swans?”

He shook his head, unwrapping the granola bar. “No. And he hasn’t mentioned Rosalita once.”

“Also good.” He looked doubtful. “Isn’t it?” I asked.

“You tell me,” he murmured, angling his head in his brother’s direction.

Jackson stood against his locker, expression intense and cold, eyes tracking Rosalita as she hurried to class, with a kind of hunger that sent shivers down the back of my neck.

“Ophelia’s Bouquet?” I frowned at the new Shakespeare Café menu. “I never called it that!”

Our family was good with plants and flowers; good enough that I was already growing and harvesting my own herbal teas. Tradition again, but at least done my way. Pierce’s boss stocked them, as did another café on the other side of town. Shakespeare’s Tea was literally a recipe from The Winter’s Tale with lavender, mint, savory, and marjoram.

“You know Denise.” Pierce shrugged. “She saw all the flower bits and went with it.”

“So, Dead Girl Tea? Yum.” Whenever I brewed lavender-honey, Dad asked me why I was drinking old lady perfume. I guessed Ophelia’s Bouquet was a minor improvement over that.

“Just be glad Denise decided against serving food,” Pierce continued. “There was talk of Hamlet and Eggs.”

By all accounts Denise was a pretty cool boss, but she did love her wordplay. Most of Shakespeare’s puns weren’t PG enough for the café, though. “Well, she lets me sit here for hours bugging you, so for that she can rename all my teas,” I said. “I’ll even help her. Rosencrantz Rosehip.”

“To Bee or Not to Bee Lemon Honey,” Pierce suggested with a grin. His hair flopped over his forehead.

“Peking Puck.”

“Strawberry Milkshakespeare.”

“You win.”

He half bowed as my cell phone chirped in my pocket. It was Sonnet. She hated the phone. She hated any forms of communication and people and combinations thereof. I answered cautiously. “What?”

“Meet me at the robot Shakespeare.”

In any town other than this one, that might have sounded odd. The main festival theater had a tin statue of Shakespeare that freaked Sonnet out. “Why?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

“Renards.”

The call dropped. “Crap. I have to go.”

“I can go with you.”

“You have to close up,” I reminded him, grabbing my bag.

“You can’t go alone! What if that Henry Renard guy is still out there?”

“That was last week.”

“And your aunt shot him. I can’t imagine that would improve his mood.”

“I’ll run really fast,” I assured him.

“Text me!” he shouted after me.

“Okay, Grandpa!” He was such a worrier. As if I wasn’t trained to protect myself. And as if I couldn’t sing a big-ass windstorm to carry me home if I was in trouble. In theory. I’d never actually tried it. It sounded loud.

Sonnet was pacing around the statue when I got there, out of breath from running. “Took you long enough.”

“I got here as fast as I could. Which I will demonstrate by throwing up on your foot if you make me run anymore.”

“There’s something going on at the river,” she said, stalking away. I had to hurry to keep up. My lungs were not impressed. My leg muscles weren’t even talking to me anymore. “There are people on the island and they’re shifty.”

I stopped. “Sonnet, it’s probably a party. With people from school. Normal people. Also? I want to crash a party about as much as you do.”

She half smiled. “I know. That’s why you’re my favorite cousin.”

“I’m only your favorite cousin when you want me to do something stupid with you.”

When we got to the river, Sonnet went silent and stern. Aisha’s training practically radiated off her. It never seemed to translate through me quite as well. Still, I could stay hidden if I wanted to. A curved wooden bridge led to the tiny island rising out of the river. There weren’t the usual sounds of a dozen high school students thinking they’re being quiet. We crept closer, lying in the grass along the banks.

“Now what?” I asked, pebbles digging into my sternum. I strained to see through the shadows and the moonlight glittering on the water, praying fervently that Edward wasn’t on the island. I grinned to myself. I was thinking about Edward again. Things really were going back to normal.

The distinct sound of an angry swan cut through the small-town picturesque-river quiet. My muscles instantly tensed, prickling with awareness. Cranky swans weren’t exactly unusual for the Avon River, as the tourists discovered daily during festival season, but this was something else. Another hiss, a strange bellow. The flap of frantic wings.

“Coyote?” I suggested, even though they usually stuck to the fields not the town center.

“Worse,” Sonnet said, peering through her set of mini-binoculars. I went around with pockets full of herbs; Sonnet had pockets full of army and hunting gear. “Foxes. Told you.”

I couldn’t see what they were doing exactly, or who they were, only that there were two of them wearing black from head to toe. They struggled with something heavy, crossing back over the bridge. Two swans flapped enormous wings, rising out of the water defensively beside them. I couldn’t tell if they were real swans or swan girls. Whatever they were, they were pissed. So was I.

Because I could finally see what they were carrying: a cage with a slumped white swan locked inside.

I pushed to my feet. “Hey!” What did I think I could do? Citizen’s arrest? Sonnet swore, following after me with a great deal more stealth.

The two people paused. A van sped up along the river. There were no other cars, no one out for a stroll, just us and people stealing swans. I didn’t even have time to sing a song, not that making it windy was going to help at this point. I did try, though, and dust whirled up around them, pelting at their eyes. It wasn’t enough to stop them from reaching the waiting van and sliding the cage in the back. But it was just enough that one of them paused to point what looked like a tranquilizer rifle at me.

Sonnet shoved me in the river, following with a soft splash. We dove under, holding our breaths for as long as we could as we swam to the other bank. When I resurfaced, the van was speeding away, back door unlatched. We tread water for a quiet, shocked moment.

“They’re not just stealing cloaks now,” Sonnet said. “They are stealing swan girls. We have to get home.”

We hauled ourselves out, keeping to the trees to make sure the van hadn’t crossed the river to double back. “My phone’s wet,” I said. “So’s yours. Did you drive here?”

Sonnet shook her head. “Story dropped me off earlier for patrol.” Nobody loved patrolling as much as Sonnet.

“Hopefully Pierce hasn’t left yet,” I said. My overalls weighed a ton. I was carrying half the river in my pockets. “I didn’t recognize them. Did you?”

“No. Renard family reunion? Just what we need.”

We jogged back to the coffeehouse where Pierce’s red truck was still in the parking lot. I pounded on the back door. He swung it open, annoyed. He froze. “What happened to you two?”

“We need your phone,” I said, teeth chattering. “And a ride home. Something’s happened.”

Pierce

I blasted the heat in the truck as Ana and Sonnet dripped all over the seats. Ana’s long hair was knotted and the color of honey in the half light. I tried not to notice. It didn’t work.

“It might be nothing,” Ana said through chattering teeth. It occurred to me that she had occasion to say that a lot lately. Not a good sign. I tossed her my hoodie.

“It’s not nothing,” Sonnet insisted.

“You’re paranoid,” Ana reminded her.

“They had a swan.”

“Exactly,” Ana replied stubbornly. “A swan. Maybe there’s some kind of Ministry of Natural Resources thing. Swan rabies or something.” Even I knew swans didn’t get rabies. She gave me the side-eye even though I hadn’t said anything. “What, it’s a thing. They tag animals all the time.”

The thought of Ana as a swan trapped in a cage made my hands clench around the steering wheel.

By the time we reached Cygnet House, Aisha and half a dozen of Ana’s aunts were waiting on the front lawn. I saw the glint of arrowheads. I drove away, trying not to think about swan-sickness.

Getting home didn’t exactly help.

Jackson was drinking milk from the carton in the dark kitchen. The only light came from the refrigerator door. His shirt was wet with sweat. “Where’ve you been?”

“Working out.”

“What’s that?” I asked, noticing the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

“Nothing.”

I watched him steadily. I knew exactly what was in his hand; I could see just enough of the hair and eye to recognize her. “Is that a photo of Rosalita?”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I thought you were over her.”

“I was never into her.” He didn’t smile. “I hate her.”

Ana’s arrow had clearly done something to my little brother.

I just wasn’t sure that it was an improvement.

Ana

“Is anyone missing?” I asked Aunt Agrippina.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding my breath on the way home until she shook her head. “All accounted for.”

Sonnet and I followed her into the house, heading for the kitchen where Aunt Felicity had made more tea that tasted like wet grass. I added extra honey to my cup. Aunt Aisha was already flying over the river, searching for clues. The others were circling the Renard house. They returned hours later.

“Renards aren’t doing anything suspicious that I could see,” Aunt Ellie said. “No cages, no trucks missing.”

“So it really could be just a weird swan tagging thing?” I asked. I hadn’t actually believed my own stubborn suggestion. I snuggled deeper into Pierce’s borrowed hoodie until his book-and-coffee smell enveloped me.

“Even if they didn’t do it, you can bet they know about it.” They’d once been behind a very mundane petition to overturn the hunting ban on swans. One of the aunts had retaliated with a letter to the editor in the local paper all about the ancient tradition of fox-hunting. Neither idea appealed. But you try telling adults they are being idiots.

“You may as well go to bed,” Aunt Agrippina said. Aunt Sarafina was on the lawn right outside the window weeping and howling.

“Like I could sleep,” Sonnet said. Aunt Sarafina’s lost cloak was starting to take its toll. Loudly. Aunt Felicity stared out of the window, looking strangely forceful. Usually the threat of a Renard sent her to the attic for days, where she spent hours buying things online that served no useful purpose.

I went to bed, because if I stayed up every time the Renards did something like this, I’d never get any sleep.

As it was, I woke up with the sun, feeling wired and antsy. I was a bottle of soda, shaken up and pressing at the cap, ready to explode. I decided to go to the pond for a swim before Pierce picked me up for school. Water always soothed us, even before we got our feather cloaks. The swan was already nesting inside; it just hadn’t woken up yet.

I tried not to wonder if I was unlovable and destined to join Morag, Felicity and Sarafina. Maybe I’d turn into the crazy old lady who scared all the kids on Halloween.

I left my clothes on the grassy bank and waded in. My toes curled at the chill but I waded in further, until the water enveloped me like soft cold silk. I could let everything go, trusting the water to hold me up. I was part of this story now: water, sky, tiny fish. Nothing else.

I floated on my back while the clouds turned pink, then gold, then pale as swan feathers. A breeze spun the lucky tokens dangling in the birch tree. I was calm, happy.

And not alone.

I hadn’t heard the footsteps with my ears underwater. But I heard the hoot of laughter as a shadow fell over me. I lurched to my feet with an ungraceful splash of water. My clothes were now dangling in the tree with the crystals and the wish knots. Two boys and a girl stood on the edge of the water, sneering. They had red and brown hair, all the muted forest colors of a fox pelt. Great. Renards. And here I was, unarmed.

And naked.

Not just Renards, I realized. Liv and her brothers. I let my feet touch the muddy bottom of the pond while my mind scurried from option to option. There weren’t that many. I had nothing on me, literally. And the knife we carried out of family tradition (of course) was currently being thrown at the tree. It sank into the birch bark. I was probably lucky they hadn’t thrown it at me. Then again, I might have been able to duck it and throw it back.

“Look, a swan girl, all by herself,” one of the boys said.

“She’s not a swan girl yet.” Liv laughed. “She hasn’t got her wings. Who could love her?” Renards could shapeshift into foxes at puberty. It didn’t matter if they were a boy or a girl. And they didn’t need to fall in love. I could envy them that at least.

I kept below the surface of the water. “What do you want, Liv?”

“What do you think? Tell your aunts to stop flying over our house.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Give back my aunt’s cloak and maybe they will. Stop trapping swans and maybe they will.”

She scowled. “What the hell are you talking about? We keep to the treaty.”

Right. The toothless treaty designed to stop us from outright war, but not foster any actual reconciliation. We didn’t touch foxes, and they didn’t touch swans. Wing and fox tail trophies were still left as reminders and threats, but they were mostly taken from roadkill. Since no one had gone missing, no one pushed the issue. Nobody liked the treaty, but nobody would stand being accused of breaking it. We were in an endless game of chicken.

But at least some of us got to wear our clothes.

“And you’re the ones leaving steel-jaw traps in the woods,” one of her brothers said through his teeth. He was tall and sharp, the freckles across his nose incongruous with the way his hands curled into fists. “My father lost three of his toes.”

I stared at him. “That wasn’t us!”

“Of course not,” Liv scoffed. “I told you, Jude. She’s a liar. They all are.”

Except I knew we hadn’t set any traps. Too many of the feral aunts lived in the woods. Traps would be a danger to them. Not that Liv and her brothers were going to believe that. They were Renards. I was a Vila.

“Let’s cut off her hair.”

“Go to hell, Liv.” I felt a real thrill of fear then. If they cut my hair, they’d take my magic. I’d have less to work with and they might have more to use against my family. Against anyone. “Pierce will be here any minute.”

I hated having to use him as a threat, but I could see that it made her pause before she shrugged. “We can be quick.”

So I’d had to use my best friend as a threat, against best friend law and feminist law everywhere, and I was still going to lose my hair.

I bloody well didn’t think so.

I wasn’t about to leave the water, since I was a stronger swimmer. It was my only advantage at the moment. I backed up into the middle where it was deeper, but the pond was too small to really hold them off. They were already jumping in. Liv and her younger brother had left their boots and clothes on, which gave my nakedness an edge. I was faster, lighter. But Jude had already circled to the other side and was closing in. He’d had the sense to take off his shoes and jacket.

I kicked hard and splashed arcs of water in their faces to disorient them as I sang. Down among the dead men, Down, down, down, down, Down among the dead men let him lie.

The wind responded, ruffling the water into tiny whitecaps. It pushed them away from me and they struggled to swim against it.

“Shut her up,” the younger Renard said, sounding terrified. Vilas grew up fearing that the Renards could find us anywhere with their pendulums and tracking magic, and Renards grew up scared of our songs. The feud was stupid, and not just because I was losing this fight.

“Block your ears, Lawson,” Liv snapped. Renards usually carried earplugs, but I hoped theirs were too soaked to work.

Jude went under, avoiding the wind altogether. I didn’t see him vanish, but I felt his hand around my knee, yanking me down. Water closed over my face and I choked, the song effectively drowned. When I resurfaced, sputtering, Liv had my hair. Lawson was trying to stay afloat with a knife in his fist. I thrashed, scalp exploding with needles of pain. Water went up my nose again. They were stronger than me.

I should have let Sonnet shoot them that day at school.

I tried to make myself heavy, to go under the way Jude had, but it was only a momentary respite. In the murky water I could see their kicking legs, grass, but no way out.

Until I came back up again. I saw the silhouette of the huge swan before they did.

It dove, muscle and strength under a pretty fan of delicate feathers. The vicious black beak jabbed at Liv and her brothers relentlessly until there were ribbons of blood in the water. They let go of me to protect their eyes. The swan drew back, hissing, with red hair caught in its beak. A smack of a powerful wing sent Lawson underwater. Jude grabbed him and struggled to swim away. Liv followed as the swan landed and reared up, flapping its wings again. I crawled onto the bank, coughing and sputtering as they took off into the forest.

I crawled up onto the grass and wondered if I could use this as an anecdote in my essay on family feuding in Romeo and Juliet.

The swan landed near my head, hissing. When she transformed, she was still hissing. I smiled weakly. “Thanks, Aunt Morag.”