Cornelius turned his face up to the stars and laughed. Finally, after all his work, the bonfire was a success. Flames leaped high in the dark night. Stars laughed with him, twinkling in the sky. Even the moon sent her beams as blessings on the dancing figures. The ocean glowed darkly beyond the beach.
Of course, not all the royals Cornelius had personally invited had shown up. Fewer servants and warriors as well.
But there were still over thirty who had shown up, who spiraled up into the air, screeching their delight. This was just the first of several fires, Cornelius was determined. More fairies would show up at the next. And then more, and then more.
By midsummer, he’d have most of the fairies in the kingdom participating: Maybe not all the royals, but the servants and the warriors. They’d all support his rule. He’d show the priests—everyone—that he had been meant for the rule.
Maybe it was time for him to pursue being declared king. It would take time, and patience, and some political maneuvering, but that was something Cornelius had and did well.
And here he’d been complaining about the impatience of the warriors! Cornelius had to remember that spring always followed winter. Gideon and Imogene may have been right—their people were waning.
However, Cornelius was going to do something to make sure that they waxed again. He smiled from his position on the sidelines, watching his people enjoy themselves, though he also itched to join them.
The warriors grappled in midair, tumbling as they conducted mock battles far above the searing flames. They’d rise and fall, flinging each other around roughly. Cornelius was glad that these warriors protected his kingdom: Their fierceness filled him with joy.
Servants conducted a complicated dance that Cornelius had never seen before, weaving around each other gracefully, spiraling up and down. He was going to have to learn it, someday. It reminded him of a field of flowers, gracefully bobbing with the wind, interacting with the bees flying up and down.
The royals, like Cornelius, mostly stayed on the sidelines. Sometimes one would join in, dancing and screeching for a bit, before merely watching again. Neither Gideon or Imogene were there. Then again, Cornelius hadn’t directly invited them.
Off in the distance, surrounding the fire and the fairies in a wide circle, floated Thirza and her people. Cornelius wondered if maybe they could be enticed to join the dance, or if they took turns guarding and celebrating.
None of the priests had shown up, which disappointed Cornelius. Had Sebastian decided that they didn’t approve? Cornelius had thought they’d all be there. But they’d all stayed away. He’d have to ask Sebastian later.
When one of the younger royals—Eustace, wasn’t it?—gave Cornelius a flirtatious smile as she flew by, Cornelius spread his wide wings and glided after her, floating on the strong ocean breezes. There was no reason why he couldn’t also join in the dance, now and again.
Cornelius spiraled up, his fierce heart beating wildly in his chest. He’d never taken a mate: Had always assumed that none would have him. Most fairies never showed their age, but Cornelius had gone gray as a young man, over a century ago.
Maybe he’d been wrong.
Eustace led Cornelius on a twisting dance, up and down. He was glad that he’d been flying everywhere for the past two days: His wings had never felt stronger, despite how much he’d used them.
Or maybe because they were getting so much use.
The sound of screeching rose on all sides of Cornelius. He joined in, trying to express his joy. Yes! Yes! They should all celebrate, cry their hearts out to the night sky, dance on moonbeams and twist the flames higher.
When someone clipped Cornelius in the shoulder, he barred his teeth. How dare they interrupt his dance? His pursuit of a female? His hands formed automatically into claws, ready to tear the intruder to pieces.
Thirza floated there, growling back. She screeched into his face, “Stand down! It’s just me, you idiot.”
Cornelius automatically stiffened his back, his hands going back to their softer shape. What had he been thinking? Why would he attack someone? He shuddered. The bonfire had drawn up something ugly from his soul.
Then he remembered the insult. How dare a warrior call him anything other than “sir”?
“We’re being attacked,” Thirza said, pointing off to the south.
* * *
Adele laughed as she slit the throat of the third warrior. She wished she had a full troop of warriors with her so she could rest after a killing and lick up the blood.
But there were too many of the enemy, and she was alone. The others, the students, were children, really. Worse than royals in too many ways.
Adele had known that the double-cross was happening. She hadn’t trusted Ramit from the start, though she had felt more comfortable in his kingdom than she had at the Redwood Fairy Kingdom. But she also recognized his greed. His people were dying. He needed more subjects. If he couldn’t have them, he’d kill them.
Once the warriors had shown Adele just how much Ramit’s kingdom had fallen, she’d spent the rest of the night grappling with one after another, learning their strengths and weaknesses.
They all were strong, stronger than any other warriors she’d ever known.
But it was primarily their arms that were strong, probably from hauling logs and trees, trying to set up small shelters in the freezing winters.
They weren’t as nimble as she was, couldn’t maneuver as she could.
They also relied on strength, not magic or subtlety. Though Adele knew Cornelius would laugh at her, warriors could be subtle.
At Garung’s shouted warning, the others in his troop finally woke to the realization they were in danger.
Maybe Adele should have warned them earlier. Then again, they never would have believed her.
A few of Ramit’s warriors were successful, holding onto the students they’d placed themselves next to. Adele wanted to clap her hands with glee when she saw that Pravir had been neatly captured. Maybe the warrior beside him had some skill capturing and killing snakes.
Adele couldn’t be bothered with him after that. She had her own battles to fight.
Warriors flew at Adele from all directions. At least they understood that to attack her one at a time was stupid. She spiraled and whirled, shouting and screaming as she slashed at her attackers. Her wings were more vulnerable than a usual fairy’s—all that Ramit’s warriors would have to do would be to stick a spear in the clockwork, clog up the gears.
Luckily, that thought hadn’t seemed to occur to them. They fell on her screeching, four against one.
Adele flew hard, trying to get away, draw as many of them with her as they could. Maybe the students could get away if she brought more warriors to attack her.
Then she’d turn, and attack herself. They’d never seen fierce before.
A loud howl made Adele look over her shoulder. Titir had flown after her, and now attacked one of the warriors with a sparkling, silver chain, whipping it around and entangling the warrior’s wings again.
But Titir hadn’t noticed the other warriors coming toward him, fully focused on his one foe.
With a screaming howl of disappointment, Adele turned back. She was going to have to rescue the stupid fool. Then she’d probably kill him herself.
So much for getting away.
* * *
Brett glared at his phone. Infernal modern device. It was useful at times, but right now, he’d gladly toss it into the ocean, along with at least half the humans in his territory.
He hadn’t been able to find the damned human teacher who’d warned Nora. He had no doubt that one had made it through to her. He’d have to admit the teacher had been clever and had hidden her tracks well, mingling with the tourists and their shops, spreading her scent far and wide in a short period of time. It was like following a tangled net, teasing apart separate lines that led off, only to circle back into town again.
There was something off with her scent. If Brett had to guess, he’d say she was ill. Seriously ill. He was almost flattered by that, that the human magic makers would send such a one, considering it to be a suicide mission.
He hadn’t realized he’d gained such a reputation. He had chased off a few teachers, true, but he hadn’t killed many. Not more than half a dozen over the last five years. Plus, the accident on the main highway that had claimed the life of two others really hadn’t been his fault. And while he had some power over the water, the sneaker wave that had claimed one more also hadn’t been his fault, though he had encouraged the waves that morning to take any who were foolish enough to turn their back on the ocean.
Still, this teacher couldn’t be allowed access to Nora. She’d learn too much, too quickly, and would push him to the side, no longer trusting his appearance. She wouldn’t be able to see through his disguise—he was too old, too strong, too well practiced. But something would trouble her about him, and he’d never have another chance to get close again.
The teacher was out of his grasp for the night. He’d searched, and would search again in the morning.
Now, Brett wanted to see Nora. To bask in her warm hearthfire. To try to win her again. To maybe just slip the ring onto her finger, to bind her to him.
But the damned phone kept going straight through to voicemail.
It was as bad as when Brett had been courting the previous Maker, over a hundred years ago. All the hoops he’d had to jump through, the formal introductions, how he couldn’t just present himself at her house, despite calling hours: It just wasn’t done, a young gentleman calling on her like that.
He knew, though, that he couldn’t just show up. Nora’s mother would boot him out if he did. She had strict policies about such things, maybe a holdover from her mother.
It had been a shame to kill such a spark. But he couldn’t take any chances. Nora had to stay ignorant of his true nature until it was too late.
So Brett tried the phone again, stabbing the End Call button when it went directly through to voicemail. Again.
Though he knew he couldn’t go into the house, that he wouldn’t be welcome, well, he could still drive out there and check the property, right? He knew that Nora didn’t like the tall grass opposite the house, and he tended to agree with her: Too many creatures could hide in the darkness there.
Still, it was useful. Particularly on a night like tonight. Brett parked his truck at the end of the lane, not driving down the gravel road and giving away his position. Instead, he slipped out and flitted from shadow to shadow.
The blue flashes out near the water drew his attention. The fairies were out. On the beach. Why? That was most unlike them. They’d stopped having bonfires and dancing in the moonlight decades ago.
Something else Brett was going to have to investigate. He had thought the fairies coming to his territory would be a good thing, but they’d been nothing but a pain in the ass since he’d allowed them to drive out the dwarves and stay. Though the dwarves hadn’t been that good of neighbors either, digging out the jewels and treasures in his hills and carting it away.
A foreign car was parked in the driveway. Who? Brett didn’t recognize it. After he’d settled himself in the tall grass across the street from the house he unfocused his eyes to look past the sheetrock, to the souls inside.
The mother, the Maker and the Tinker were all scared. But not threatened. The soul who stood there with them was weak. Already corrupted. Had no power.
It—he—didn’t stay long. He whistled as he got into his car to drive off. Whatever it was that he’d wanted, he’d achieved it. Waves of smugness rolled off him. His scent wasn’t familiar, though.
Who was this stranger?
Brett longed to go inside, find the Maker, bask in her warmth. But he couldn’t.
He would follow this bastard, though. Maybe use him as leverage against Nora.
Without bothering to get back in his truck, Brett flowed after the interloper. Modern cars and their speed presented no challenge for him, and he easily followed the man to one of the cheaper hotels out on the strip.
There was a reason why the local Native Americans referred to his people as wind hawks—unshakable in stalking their prey.
* * *
Kostya watched with dismay as the fairies flew out of the disguised house that was the entrance to the fairy kingdom. A whole stream of them, and not just warriors—servants and royals as well.
What was going on? Why were the fairies leaving the fairy kingdom? Were they leaving for good?
This was going to blow his revenge well and truly to hell. He really was going to have to report this.
The house remained as dismal as it always had. The illusion of the boarded-over door had been replaced with an unwelcome gaping hole, that if Kostya squinted just right, he could see through to the opening to the house. The inside had been cleaned up since he’d last been there: All the order of the royals taking over.
Eventually, the stream of fairies died down. After the last few stragglers had flown off as well, Kostya tottered to the edge of the cliff and looked down. There, on a slip of beach below, the fairies had built a huge bonfire.
Kostya watched, gobsmacked, as the fairies danced. It was like an old-fashioned celebration, the kind they always used to have. What had caused them to be out like this now? Were they celebrating something? Had there been a royal birth? Some great victory?
But no, the fairies just seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Kostya had to turn away, had to walk back along the tall grasses, back to the road. How dare the fairies just celebrate the phases of the moon? They should be miserable and suffering, as Kostya had been miserable and suffering, all these years.
After stomping back and forth on the path for a while, Kostya finally calmed himself. He had to think. How could he use this? How could he twist the fairies’ celebrations into part of his revenge?
There, by the side of the gravel road, an old truck sat parked. It was one of those truly ancient beasts, as it was made mostly of metal. Kostya shivered as he approached it. Damn the humans and their machines. While Queen Adele had been wrong about most everything, as fairies generally were, she might have been right about trying to stop the spread of the humans and their infernal machines.
Kostya held himself still as old Eli approached the truck. Except that it wasn’t Eli anymore, was it?
No, this was a creature of age and strength. Kostya flattened himself to the ground as it passed, holding his breath, praying that this certain death passed him by, with its golden hawk-eyes and its long, silver hair.
Kostya didn’t dare breathe until after he was sure it was gone. That was the creature who’d kept Nora’s teachers away from her, he was certain of it. Why, he couldn’t even guess. Maybe to just keep her in his territory?
However, Kostya recognized him as one of the old ones, an o’onakie, who had been in the area before even the dwarves had arrived. The creatures were known for their great strength and magical power. They’d tolerate others in their territory, then seemingly at random kill all of them in a single night. Kostya had no idea that one of them lived here, that it had been masquerading as Eli for decades.
What did it want with the twins? Did it matter? Would it kill Kostya if he interfered? What if he told the Maker the truth? Which path would further his revenge? Should he warn the dwarven king about this creature? Or would that make him more cautious?
Whistling to himself, Kostya tottered back down the road toward the fairies dancing on the beach. If they were coming outside regularly, they’d be more vulnerable to attack.
Kostya just had to figure out how.
* * *
Garung fought with claws, teeth, wings, and cunning. He’d read about fairy battles, heard all the poems about them. Knew about the chilling cry of an attacker. Felt his own heart beating as fiercely as any warrior’s.
Nothing that Garung had read prepared him for a real battle. Blood coated his tongue and greased his cries. It also made his hands slippery, allowing the warrior he grappled with to slip out and away when his opponent folded his wings and dropped, diving down toward the forest floor.
Garung had gladly taken the spear that Sree had tossed to him. He’d read how to use them, had even done a little sparring himself.
His first stab had been a lucky shot, piercing the chest of the warrior barreling toward him. He hadn’t expected to actually kill another fairy. But the warrior had been going too fast to stop, and Garung had got him smack in the chest, piercing his heart, an injury even the toughest of fairies couldn’t recover from.
The sudden weight of the fairy on the end of Garung’s spear had caused him to drop his weapon. The crash below him had sobered him in a way that the attack from his brother hadn’t.
They had to kill these warriors. All of them. Or be killed.
Garung knew his troop was outnumbered. And outclassed, quite frankly. They could hold their own for a while, but they’d lose, sooner rather than later.
There really was only one thing for them to do.
“Fly!” Garung urged as he neared Sree and the others, fighting hand-to-hand with Ramit’s warriors. “Save yourselves! Flee!”
He couldn’t take his own advice when he saw another of the students in trouble. Resigned, Garung returned to the battle.
They were destined to lose, and no one would sing of their efforts either, make a song of their valiant attempt.
* * *
Dale sighed when Nora barged into his room. If he could have locked the door, he would have. He knew his sister would want to talk. And he hadn’t wanted to be a complete ass.
But he needed some time alone, too. To figure out what it meant that Dad, of all people, should be riding to the rescue. Dale had known their dad was a bully. He’d figured it out long before Nora had. And it looked like he still was. Nora had just better be out of there before Dale’s time to visit. He felt no guilt breaking that promise.
“Why do I feel like Judas?” Nora asked, dramatically flinging herself on Dale’s bed.
Though Dale loved his sister, he would actually be glad when she left for a while. When he could have more peace and quiet and order.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dale drawled. “Maybe because you over-exaggerate and are a drama queen at heart?”
Nora looked stricken. Dale almost felt bad. “I am not,” she said. “I just—I don’t want you to have to go anywhere with him.”
“I know, Nor. Going with him isn’t a fate you’d wish on anyone, not even Bridgette, that cheerleader you hate,” Dale said. “But you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about me, stupid,” Nora said, scowling. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m not,” Dale said. Why should he be worried about Dad? If he tried anything stupid, well, Dale had grown up a lot. He’d been surprised that he could look his dad right in the eye, now. And though Nora teased Dale about his “prison workouts”—those pushups had done some good. He wore larger shirts because of it.
“He wants to corrupt you, you know,” Nora said.
“I know. You already told me. But really, Nora, how can he?” Dale asked reasonably. Dad didn’t have any magic. There wasn’t anything he could compel Dale into doing. Why was she so worried?
“I don’t know!” Nora said, exasperated. “I’m just—I just feel helpless. I want to protect you and Mom. But this thing is chasing me away.”
It was Dale’s turn to sigh. As much as his sister embodied chaos, she was still a control freak at heart. “We’ll be fine,” Dale assured Nora. “I can take care of Mom after you’ve gone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nora asked suspiciously.
Dale rolled his eyes. Nora was spoiling for a fight. Fine. “Since you can’t be here to worry about every little detail, we’ll just have to manage on our own.”
“Are you sure you’re capable?” Nora asked. “I mean, you might end up dancing to the fairies’ will, instead.”
That was mean. “And you can’t even take care of yourself,” Dale replied hotly. “I mean, you’re going to have to rely on Dad of all people to rescue you.”
“He’s not that bad!” Nora said hotly. “I mean, well, he is a pig. But he does care about you.”
“Bullshit. All he cares about is some image he has of family,” Dale said. “That’s all he’s ever cared about. Shit, Nora, he accused you of being pregnant.” That had made Dale want to put his fist through his father’s face. It probably would have hurt like hell.
But it also would have felt really good.
“I know.” Nora sighed and deflated. “I just—I don’t want to have to go this way. It’s too close, you know? Too similar to how we had to leave LA.”
Dale nodded. He wasn’t surprised his sister still smarted from that. Mom had made them leave everything behind, depart in the middle of the night, change names, everything to get away.
And it took Nora a really long time to accept that Mom had done the right thing.
“Look, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be safe, and we’re going to be fine. Idiot,” Dale added, trying to get his sister to smile. Or maybe get off his back. Possibly leave his room, to boot.
But Nora wasn’t finished yet. She brought out a small blue-velvet box and set it next to her on the bed.
Dale thought about playing dumb, but figured that wouldn’t get him anywhere. “From Brett?” he guessed.
Nora nodded. “I don’t know why he’s so insistent on me taking this ring of his grandfather’s.”
Dale hesitated. Should he tell Nora his suspicions? Now would probably be as good a time as ever—though he was already resigned to the fact that there was never going to be a good time to bring this up.
“Do you think Brett could be the creature?” Dale asked.
Yeap. Bad idea. Nora glared daggers at Dale. “Impossible,” she said. “He’s too—ordinary.”
“Exactly. Too ordinary. Maybe that’s how he’s hiding from you,” Dale pointed out. Why else would his very special sister be attracted to him?
Nora snapped open the blue box. “He wouldn’t be offering me a ring like this if he was the monster, trying to keep all my teachers away.”
“How can you say that?” Dale asked, bewildered. “It’s a magic ring. You said so yourself. You have no idea what the hell it does. It’s exactly the kind of thing a creature might offer you.”
Nora shook her head. “No. It’s slippery, I’ll give you that. But you can’t really see it, can you? Not like I can,” she sneered.
Damn it—why was Nora being so obstinate? More than usual? It couldn’t just be because she had to leave, was it?
“How do you know?” Dale asked. “You don’t know enough about magic to know exactly what it does.”
“Do so,” Nora said.
“What?” Dale asked. “How? Since when?” He saw Nora looking at the ring, her eyes drawn to it constantly.
That ring was doing something to her. “Put it away, Nor,” Dale said, getting up from the bed. “Close the box. Give it to me.”
“Jealous?” Nora asked, picking up the ring and holding it closer, bringing it to her chest.
“Idiot,” Dale said, holding out his hand. “Can I see it, at least?” When Nora hesitated again, Dale added, “Please?”
Nora started to hand over the ring box when a knock came on Dale’s door, startling them both. Mom stuck her head in the door and Nora snatched the ring box close to her chest again.
Damn it. Dale was going to have to steal that box from Nora. And soon.
Or something really bad was going to happen to his sister.
* * *
Garung felt himself falling. He’d fought well, he knew. But he wasn’t a warrior. His arms bled freely from long scratches, his right wing was torn to shreds, and his mouth was sticky from blood.
However, the latest blow had dazed him, and he couldn’t get his wings spread out. He was going to fall, crash, hard.
Ramit had been right—their mother wouldn’t really care that she’d lost two sons. But he hoped someone would mourn him as he struggled to get his wings to work, to stretch, damn it, to fly as a fairy was meant to fly.
Instead of the ground, Garung hit something—squishy. Something that bounced. That sent him up flying into the air again.
What?
When he looked back down, he realized that it was a net of new material, spread out between the trees, defended by two of the students. It was giving them an edge.
A bright flash of silver drew Garung’s eye as he continued to struggle to get his wings spread. Pravir struck out again with a long sparkling chain. It entangled the wings of the warrior he engaged with, and with a quick tug, ripped them to shreds. The warrior tumbled toward the ground, as Garung had.
But there was no net to catch her.
Garung wanted to protest: Fairies didn’t fight with chains. They weren’t one of the traditional, time-honored weapons.
But he also wanted to get out of the forest alive.
“Flee!” Garung called again. His troop was rallying, yes. But they’d never win. “Fly!”
The two with the net flew up behind Garung, the net trailing behind them. They suddenly darted to the side, the net stretching between them. Two of the chasing fairies flew into it, entangled.
It gave Garung and the others a head start.
Garung’s wings ached, pain seeping into his very bones. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes and the humid air was hard to breathe.
He kept flying.
Strung out over half a mile behind Garung flew two dozen students and Adele. Maybe more would be able to escape Ramit, maybe some had voluntarily decided to stay.
But he had less than half of his original troop. Garung shuddered to think of the songs that might be sung about him now, losing not most of one, but two troops.
Titir flew up beside Garung, his silver chain still wrapped around his hands. He grinned at Garung, his lips seared red with blood. “You know they won’t stop, right?” he asked, challenging.
“What do you mean?” Garung asked. They’d gotten away, hadn’t they? He looked over his shoulder.
There, in the distance, a ways off but gaining, flew Ramit’s warriors.
“Damn it!” Garung said. His eyes scanned the ground ahead. Was there anywhere they could get away? Where they could rest? How were they going to get away?
“What are we going to do?” Garung asked. Titir was the smartest of them all. Garung had been convinced he was soft, though. Just a scholar. Maybe he could be something more.
“We run,” Titir said. “We fly to the Greater Oregon Kingdom, and ask for sanctuary.”
“That’s three days away!” Garung said. They needed to rest. To mend their wings. To recover. To bind their wounds.
“Too bad,” Titir said, shrugging. “We fly. Or we die.”
Garung looked behind him again. They’d had so many dreams, so many plans.
And damned if he was only going to be sung of in sorrow, another troop to never return.
“We fly.”
* * *
The undulating warning call of the warriors echoed against the cliffs, over the water, and spiraled around the leaping flames.
Danger came.
It took the dancing fairies a few moments to recognize the call. Like Cornelius, they mistook the initial sounds for more fierce screeching from the warriors. Slowly, the servants separated, drifting apart from each other. The royals on the sidelines looked up, puzzled, then dismayed.
Time to flee.
Cornelius jerked away from Thirza. He refused to be hustled back inside the safe fairy kingdom. When had they all forgotten how fierce they once were?
Queen Adele might have been right about more than one thing.
Cornelius stretched his wings wide and flew hard toward the incoming creatures. The ocean winds picked up away from the sheltered cove, and he had to concentrate to keep from being blown back in toward the coast. Clouds gathered at the horizon, promising a cold rain later. Echoing warning calls faded as Cornelius shortened the distance between himself and the lead warrior.
Thirza flew beside Cornelius. Even from that distance, Cornelius could hear her growling, and imagined that her complaints were all about him.
He was the leader of the royals, however. He would see this threat to his kingdom firsthand.
After a short while, Cornelius could make out the fairies flying toward them. They were a ragged bunch: They still bore long scratches and scrapes, with dried blood on the remains of their clothes.
With a start, Cornelius recognized the leader: Garung, from the Redwood Fairy Kingdom.
“Wait!” Cornelius called out, trying to stop his warriors from attacking. “We know these fairies!”
What terrible battle had they been in? Who had attacked them? Why were they coming to the northern kingdom again? Were they seeking refuge? Or revenge?
“We ask for sanctuary!” Garung called out across the space dividing them. “The Forest Fairy Kingdom is still after us!”
The Forest Fairy Kingdom? Cornelius did not like the sound of that. He’d only ever known of one kingdom to the south. Now there was another?
“Escort these people to safety,” Cornelius told Thirza.
She mutely shook her head, staring at the refugees.
“What?” Cornelius asked.
Then he turned and looked more closely at Garung and his group.
“Hello, Cornelius,” came a familiar voice.
Queen Adele floated to the front of the line.
* * *
Brett waited while the human got out of his car at a small coastal hotel. The breeze was picking up: There would be rain before morning. It would destroy the scent he’d been following all afternoon. Damn it!
Then the human stepped into the light. He looked like an older version of Dale.
Nora had never mentioned her father. She’d actually let Brett assume he was dead. But Brett, as Eli, had filed the restraining order against the man, working his magic on the system so it looked as though Denise had actually filed it before they’d left California.
What was he doing here? Why was he bothering the Maker?
Brett couldn’t just kill him, as much as he might like to. It would automatically put Denise under suspicion with the human authorities. And while Brett could probably fix any trouble, it was easier to avoid it in the first place. He was just going to have to wait until the father was driving out of town.
Those roads along the coast could get awfully lonely, as well as slippery with sudden showers. Accidents did happen.
But for now…Brett raised his nose to the air, taking in a deep breath. He needed to find his prey before the rains came. She wouldn’t risk leaving her hotel room again, not until she had Nora under her wing.
There. The Teacher. One had made it through. And there she was. Off along that line of cottages and old fashioned hotels. She must be hiding there.
Humming, Brett slipped into the shadows to seek his prey.
* * *
Nora couldn’t be bothered to listen to Mom. Yeah, Dad was back. Blahdy blah blah. He was a pig. Maybe Nora could transform him into one, someday. Like those circus shows. See the mighty pig man! Laugh at his snout and beady little eyes!
Dale’s stare felt like a weight against Nora’s chest. God, he could be so pedantic sometimes. Sure, she didn’t know exactly what the ring did. She could admit to that. It wasn’t her fault that she’d never had a teacher.
And now, she knew it really wasn’t her fault. Something had been keeping them away.
The ring was originally Old Eli’s, but it was being given to her by plain, ordinary Brett. That didn’t mean it was bad. He was so plain and ordinary he’d probably rubbed away some of the magic, just by holding it for a while.
Nora leaned her head back against the hard wall, scrunching up Dale’s cover between her fingers, leaving random pleats in his orderly bed. She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave like this. Without saying goodbye to her friends. She’d done that once, when they left LA. It still stung.
When Nora realized Dale and Mom were staring at her, she just nodded and said, “Sure. Whatever.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Mom asked, coming farther into the room. She put the back of her cool hand against Nora’s forehead. “You feel warm.”
“That’s just the magic, Mom,” Nora explained. “Part of the transformations, you know? Oh, right, you don’t. You’re human.” Nora pushed herself off the bed, hitting the floor harder than she’d expected. Her ankles twinged. She pushed past Mom and headed toward the door.
“Excuse me, young lady?” Mom asked.
Nora knew that she’d overstepped her bounds. But she found she didn’t care. She’d be gone the next night. Might as well cut all the ties she could. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be in my room. Packing. Out of your hair soon enough.”
“Nora,” Mom called out after she’d pushed open the door.
For a moment, Nora paused, expecting to feel her mom’s hand wrapped around her bicep. But it never came. Instead, Dale said in a low voice, “Let her go.”
Of course. Mom would side with Dale. He’d get to stay. Nora knew he wanted to, anyway. To never leave Port City.
Well, that was too bad. She was going. And good riddance.
Nora found herself in her room, looking at the mess there. Maybe Dale was right, sometimes it was a sty. But it was her sty. No one else’s. Those were her project bags, that she’d have to leave behind. Her craft projects that she’d probably never be able to finish. Her little magics—simple knotted strings in various eye patterns—draped across the window so nothing could come in, possibly even with her permission, were all going to get left behind, taken for granted.
And for what? So Nora could learn more magic, be more of a freak? Apart from her family and everyone else, kind of like her Dad?
If only she could tell Brett. Or have him come with her. She knew that wasn’t safe, though.
And Dale would spoil it all, too, by showing up early. He’d do that sort of thing. He might not have been fooled by their dad, but how long would that last?
Nora opened the little box containing the shiny ring. It hadn’t looked so smooth, or so solid, when Brett had showed it to her on the beach. She put it on her bed, open, like a calming beacon, while she dutifully went to her closet and pulled out her suitcase.
What should she take? Dad lived in Texas. It would be hot there. Much hotter than the Oregon coast. Except when it wasn’t, when it was freezing from all the air conditioning.
God, she hated this. Why couldn’t she just stay?
Nora drifted over toward her bed, where her ring awaited her.
She couldn’t take it. Couldn’t make any promises to Brett.
But she could at least try the ring on, once, to see how it fit?