by Holly Hook
My vision had sharpened enough for me to make out details. My boyfriend had no color in his face, but at least the witch hadn't found him. Tate had taken off his leather hat and thrown it on the ground. I knew the topic of discussion. Me. He was freaking out.
And Tate still held the iron knife. As far as I could tell, the stove still imprisoned Macon. Tate seemed to have forgotten why he had the dagger.
Would Macon try to kill me when he got free?
Or had Macon known about this the whole time?
He'd warned me not to linger in the dark spot for long, after all. I just hoped Tate saw some sense in his panic and hadn't blabbed the whole thing to Macon.
"I'm not joking," Tate said as I approached. His voice had a beautiful ring to it, almost like music. The metallic scent filled the air.
"She changed right in front of me. She didn't even leave her clothes. I ducked down, and the Alric guy went after her. We need to do something. Or shoot Alric. I like the shooting idea."
Good job, Tate, I thought. But he was doing his best. He didn’t have control of his emotions right now. Heck, neither did I. Why hadn’t my thoughts changed? Become wilder? I still felt like myself inside.
I crept into the clearing. Macon said something muffled inside the stove. Tate still held the knife. He’d forgotten that he needed to use it to cut the huntsman out of there. I stood there, watching him scratch his head and shift leg to leg.
Tate, I wanted to say. But of course, I couldn’t.
I stopped next to him. Tate was cursing under his breath and eyeing the stove for any hinges he might have missed. Yes. He had forgotten.
Then he noticed me.
“Gah!” Tate leaped back and grabbed the edge of the stove. He held the knife in front of him, and his eyes got big. I silently begged that he wouldn’t wet his pants.
“What’s going on?” Macon asked. The iron stove resonated with his voice.
I couldn’t respond to him. I stood there as Tate continued to hold up the knife.
“Red, is that you?”
I nodded, best I could, and stared up at him. I hated this. I hated that he was seeing me like this.
He sighed in relief and lowered the knife a little. “You don’t want to kill me?”
I shook my head. Well, I tried to. Pain erupted inside my chest. Tate was scared of me. I couldn’t blame him. His limbs were tense, and the fear wafted off him stronger than ever.
“Oh, man,” Tate said. He shook his head and slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, man. The witch must have done this to you. I wasn’t expecting this. We have to find a way to get you back. I should go back and kill her.”
“Excuse me,” Macon said from inside the stove. “The knife. Did you ever get it? I need to get out.” He was getting ticked. I wasn’t sure if Tate could hear it yet, but I could.
Tate turned, trembling, but he kept me in his peripheral vision. “We did,” he said. “We have another little problem here.”
Macon might try to hurt me. I didn’t want to have to fight him, as much as the guy was annoying. But he still had that bow unless the witch had taken it.
“I know that we do,” Macon said. “You have to get me out before we worry about that.”
I backed away a bit. Tate noticed. His gaze softened, and he relaxed a bit.
“You have to promise something before I let you out,” Tate said. “You will not hurt Red. She’s not going to hurt us. And then you’re going to explain what’s going on here.”
I nodded in agreement, or I tried to. I hoped there was a cure for this, or at least a way I could get out of this form.
Macon said nothing for a moment, and at last, he caved. “I promise. But I can’t guarantee she won’t hurt us if we go through another dark spot."
His words sunk hit me. Macon expected me to still be in this shape when we traveled. It wasn’t a good sign. Tate lifted the knife and hesitated, then jabbed it into the side of the iron stove.
We had no choice.
Iron flaked away from it and fell to the ground. “You see anything?” Tate asked.
I drew closer, watching as Tate leaned down and tried to see what damage he’d done.
“I see a bit of light,” Macon said. “Here’s the thing. You need to keep scraping away at that. It was quite a curse that she put on me, and it’s going to take some work to get me out.”
Tate went to work, stabbing at the iron stove over and over again. A hole formed in the side and the smell of armpits and bark wafted out. Macon's smell. I’d have to remember that. The metallic fear coming off Tate only intensified as he studied the trees. We were on the same page there. Alric could walk into the clearing at any second and so could his mother. We had to get out of here, quickly.
I smelled the air. I wished I could talk, but I’d been silenced, at least to Tate and Macon. Tate kept working, but at last, I caught a faint scent of the underground in the air.
Alric.
He was out there, still looking for me.
I went up and nudged Tate, urging him to hurry. Tate looked down at me. “I’m rushing,” he said. Then he looked away like he couldn’t bear any of this. “I’m going as fast as I can.” He took the knife and scraped away, making the hole in the iron stove larger. It was slow work.
Macon was able to poke his face out. It was like some strange optical illusion. I couldn’t see him through the barred door, but I could see him through this opening. It must be the curse.
I sniffed again. The cave scent was stronger this time, and there was the stench of sewage mixed in. Alric’s mother had joined him. I nudged Tate again. All thoughts of my situation flew away. They would hurt Tate to get to me.
Tate broke out into a sweat and worked faster. More iron chipped away, and Macon stuck his shoulders out.
“Glad to be free,” he said, squeezing out of the opening. He grinned and stood. He was oblivious to the approaching danger. The scent rode on the wind from our right and behind. Alric and his mother were headed back to the trail. Then they would come here. We had to get back to the road.
Some underbrush snapped in the distance. A bird took off into flight. Macon took his sweet time stretching while Tate clenched his teeth. "See? I told you the knife would work."
I rammed right into Tate to urge him back towards the road, away from the house. We need to go, I thought. Could I speak to Tate with my mind as those wolves had spoken to me? But he glanced at me, and I rammed into him again. He couldn’t. Fantastic.
“Are you trying to say something?” Tate asked.
I nodded and looked back in the direction of Alric and his mother. Tate couldn’t detect them. They were trying to sneak up. The smells grew stronger, so much that I was sure they would break into view any second.
I shoved into him again, and he backed up. “I think we need to go,” he told Macon.
I nodded again, and Macon reached for his ax. “I agree,” he said.
For once, at least, he wasn’t arguing.
The three of us walked back down the trail about as fast as we could without breaking into a run. The smell faded a bit, and the panic died down inside. The trees swallowed us as we got farther and farther from the cottage. I just wished I could talk.
But Tate and Macon weren’t talking, either. Both kept their expressions stony. At last, I spotted the dirt road through the trees and the dark spot where the witch had been lying the night before. The area had grown a bit bigger since we’d come through and Macon put some distance between him and me as we walked past it. I gave the small dark spot a wide berth.
We stopped at the mouth of the trail and on the side of the road.
Tate leaned down to face me. His fear smell had vanished some, but he still wasn’t entirely relaxed. “You can smell them coming, right?”
I nodded.
“We’re going to need you to watch out for us,” Macon said.
I backed up and stared at them. Were Tate and Macon kidding? I wanted to stand on two legs again more than anything
. I wanted to know why this had happened. They seemed to know something that I didn’t. The two of them had been talking while I was out in the woods, leading Alric off our trail.
I wanted to shout at Tate that he was supposed to be supportive right now. He was supposed to tell me that we’d find a way to turn me back and things would be okay, that Alric wasn’t going to turn me to his side.
Tate and Macon looked at each other. Macon cleared his throat.
Great.
“Here’s the thing,” Macon said. He faced me but still kept his distance. And his hand on his ax, too.
Was his role in all of this to cut me open?
Or to free me from this?
Tate and I watched him. I could see the sweat forming on his brow, even though he kept his expression stern.
“The dark spot you were in brought out your other form,” Macon explained. He was in his element. He steeled his gaze and wiped all the emotion off his face, but his eyes gleamed. “Dark spots and the dark region always affect magical creatures. That’s why I told you not to linger. Maybe you should have sent in Tate and waited for him. Now the dark spot has woken up your real nature."
I snorted. At least I could still do that. I wanted to remind Macon of how we’d told him not to walk that creepy old woman home, but I couldn’t. I had no choice but to listen and it was driving me nuts.
“It’s hard for young werewolves to change forms,” he continued. Tate backed away and waited for him to finish. Meanwhile, I tested the air again and found no traces of Alric or his mother. “Until you've aged a few years, you won't have much control at all. Only certain triggers will cause you to change. You are likely stuck until you fall asleep. For some reason, sleep always seems to make your kind shift back to human form. Mary has told me a lot about the creatures in Fable."
I turned around so that I wouldn’t have to look at Macon anymore. I hadn’t stayed in the dark spot for that long and besides, Tate and I had a mission in there. Macon didn’t. But at least I had an answer.
“Your grandmother must be next to the border of the dark region,” Macon said. “This is not a good thing. She will be in wolf form when we get there, and the dark region turns your kind evil. Yes. She's like you."
I stared at Macon again and backed up a bit.
Grandma--a wolf?
My kale-eating, health nut grandmother?
Macon continued. He must have seen the question on my face. "You probably had no idea what you are until now because your grandmother fed you rabbit food all your life or something. There are ways to keep a werewolf's true nature at bay. Some of your kind want the lives of humans and have successfully kept the transformations from happening. Your grandmother must be one of them."
I shook my head.
It didn't make any sense. It was the opposite of what my grandmother was.
"Which brings me back to dark spots and the dark region," Macon continued. "Werewolves are not by nature evil. Right now, you’re okay. Neutral. But if you linger in a dark spot or the dark region for too long, you’ll become violent, and I will have to defend myself. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
I hated the way Macon was talking down to me. To us. But I nodded. It wasn’t going to be good if we had to pass through any more dark spots. It wasn’t going to be good when we got to wherever they were holding Grandma. She could be turning dark already. Alric only had to reach her before I did.
“And if you turn dark, your story will end badly,” Macon continued. “And I know what your next question is. We can’t go back. Avoiding your story won’t help us. If we don’t get to your grandmother in time, she turns all the way dark and so does this entire forest. And you will go with it.”
I shuddered. It was wonder Mary had sent us on this quest. We needed to finish the story the right way. We needed to free Grandma and me from turning evil, or maybe even from whatever curse had made us this way. It was the only way to ensure that Alric didn’t make this fairy tale fall.
“But Red,” Tate said. I turned to find him advancing on Macon. “She needs to way to turn back. I’m sure she hates not being able to tell you what a hypocritical moron you are."
I nodded. At least Tate still had a sense of humor in all of this. And some words of truth.
But Macon didn’t seem to care. “It will have to wait until she falls asleep. I don’t know of any other ways she can change back before then. We’re wasting daylight, and we need to move before they figure out that we escaped. It’s still a long way to the cottage, and we might not even make it today now that this has happened.” His tone dripped with blame, blame that he aimed at Tate and me.
Macon turned and started to walk down the road. Tate sighed and followed. “Come on,” he said. “I'm sorry. I should have gone into the cottage by myself.”
I walked next to Tate. I only came up to just above his knees, and he towered over me, but at least his tension was melting away the farther we got from the witch’s cottage. I wanted to remind him that I’d insisted on going with him, but I couldn’t do that right now. I wouldn’t be able to for a while.
Grandma had spent her life hiding us from this. It wasn't just the existence of Fable.
She had taken me and her out of Fable somehow and done everything she could to suppress what we were. Her refusal to buy meat. To let me go out in the woods. Her forced diet of kale and broccoli and tofu.
Grandma hated what we were and wanted to run.
And our migraines.
Once a month. Always once a month, and I knew it didn’t have anything to do with hormones.
Were they always around the full moon? I’d have to check if I ever got Tate back home. I had a feeling I’d find a fascinating answer there. Grandma and I did seem to get them at the same time.
Grandma had succeeded in keeping me from this and would have continued to if I hadn’t gone off to Disney World where that portal and the Watchers waited. If I hadn’t done that, Alric wouldn’t be trying to destroy our story.
Tomorrow, I could be a raging beast who wanted to tear throats out. I didn’t want to do that now. I looked up at Tate. I’d never hurt him.
Heck, I didn’t even want to tear Macon’s throat out.
I wasn't evil. At least, not yet.
We walked for a long time in silence. Even Macon went quiet as the morning wore on. Tate set the creepy knife inside the basket and rummaged around inside.
“Hungry?” he asked me.
I nodded.
I was very, very hungry.
Tate fished out a biscuit, then changed his mind and pulled out a couple of strips of jerky. “I guess your grandmother can’t force you to eat seaweed anymore,” he said. “What excuse does she have?” He handed me the jerky.
I took it and chewed. It wasn’t easy, but I didn’t think I could eat the biscuits right now. The jerky was good but too dry. I finally managed to swallow it, and Tate frowned at me. “I don’t have any more,” he said. “Maybe master huntsman here can shoot us something.”
Macon frowned at him. “Actually,” he said. “We shouldn’t be starting any fires out here. The smoke will attract the wrong attention.” Macon grabbed for his bow. “Anything I shoot will have to be for Red only.”
“But we’ve got to at least cook—“
“Not for her, we don’t.”
I could sense the jealousy waves coming off Tate. They smelled like the hard water that we got out of our well before Grandma got that water filter. Tate got between him and me. His fists balled. “You’re not making her eat raw meat,” Tate said. He kept his back to me. “Why don’t we let her take a nap, so she can go back to her normal form and speak for herself? It shouldn’t take that long. What about that sleepy wine in the basket? Have you ever stopped to think that’s what why Mary packed it? In case this happened?”
I nodded. It sounded like a great idea, but Macon didn’t like those. I was hungry, and I didn’t want to wait to eat much longer. The thought of raw, bloody meat wasn’t even turning my s
tomach.
And that scared me.
“Here’s the—“
“Enough with that, man,” Tate said, more fierce than I had ever heard him. “Let her take a nap.”
“Time is wasting,” Macon said, holding up a finger and standing there. “If she takes that sleeping draught, she will be out for a while, maybe even until nightfall. We can’t have that. We can’t walk around here at night, even with her. The clock is ticking. We need to wait until tonight until she sleeps. And besides, we need her heightened senses right now.”
I nudged Tate. I couldn’t let this get out of control. If the two of them went into all-out fighting, it would be horrible for all three of us and possibly every other living thing in these woods. We could keep walking. I could live with this for several more hours, especially with so much at stake. I’d get mad at Macon later. Grandma, too.
“Let’s go,” Tate said, defeated.
Chapter Nine
Rabbits gave off a smell like roasting chicken. They bolted back into the trees whenever they saw the three of us coming, white tails disappearing among the weeds and the flowers. A whole group of them ran for their lives about an hour more up the road, and I noticed that they split to avoid a house-sized dark spot that was far back from the way. I could even smell where they had been sitting on the road minutes before as we walked over it. The group of them had left a dinner aroma going right into the trees.
Foxes gave off a weird scent like moss and burnt cheeseburgers. One watched us from the edge of the forest, not moving as we passed. Macon kept his hand on his ax in case it tried anything, but it was one of the least threatening things I had seen since entering these woods.
Master huntsman, indeed.
And deer?
They gave off the aroma of steakhouses. I spotted one standing there on the edge of the path, and it stared at us like the deer my grandmother had almost hit with her car years ago when she was taking me to school one early morning. This one had antlers that were making Macon practically drool.
The wind blew in our direction, and that was when the steakhouse smell hit me full force.
