“You’re being modest. How else did it happen, if not by talent alone?”
“It was a total fluke. It all started with an English assignment where we got to pick any book about gangs in the 1960’s and put our own spin on a favorite chapter. Being the nerd I am, I turned mine into a big rumble between a bunch of supernatural gangs. But my teacher liked it so much she talked me into entering it in some contest. Then before I knew it, a big publisher was asking me to expand the idea into a book.”
His eyes widened. “Do four-leafed clovers always grow under your feet like that?”
“Believe me, it’s not always green clovers, pink hearts and yellow moons for me. Sometimes it’s broken mirrors. And I think we both know we’re probably in for at least seven years bad luck on this one.”
“You’re way too young to be so fatalistic.”
She frowned. “You expect someone named Fate to be anything but?”
“Aye, I do. With a name like that, you should feel in control of your destiny.”
“Have you ever looked up ‘fate’ in the dictionary?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “‘The development of events beyond a person’s control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.’ If you need an example, just look around.”
“I’ll agree our predicament appears to look that way. But I’d also argue that what we’re thinking and feeling day in and day out is the determining force behind our destinies, making us, as the poem goes, ‘the masters of our fate, the captains of our souls.’”
“How can you say that? I know I wasn’t wishing to get trapped here, wherever this is.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Squeezing a fistful of the sleeping bag, she drew in a shaky breath. “Yes, because I’m so not thrilled about being here.” Terrified was more like it. And she was homesick for Eustace, the comfort of her bed and Oz purring near her head.
“What is it you spend so much time writing about again?”
“Adventures about make-believe people and places,” she muttered.
“And where are you?”
Frustration welled up, flushing her face with heat. “I did not make this happen! And what about you? What did you supposedly do to get here?”
Finn leaned away from her angry tone. “Well, I’m always getting into strange situations, usually on purpose. But when it seems like pure chance, I know I’ve got to take responsibility for it.”
“What’s any of that supposed to mean?”
“It’s what I was taught since I was––”
“You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I didn’t mean to upset––”
“Forget it,” she said, jerking the bag over her head. “I’m too tired to talk anymore.”
She waited for him to say something but heard nothing, save for the wind battering the tent and the sound of the lantern being turned down. As she lay in the noisy dark, curling into a tight ball, she puzzled over why she’d lost her temper so completely. But deep down, she knew the reason. There had been a stinging ring of truth in what he’d said. And if she was really being honest, she knew she’d always wished for real adventures over making them up.
Well, she finally had her wish. Only one problem, she wanted safe adventures, an oxymoron, if ever there was one.
•
The melodic chirping of birds woke Fate from a dead sleep. As she lay half awake she smiled, knowing Eustace was making breakfast. Hopefully, pancakes. Yawning, she opened her eyes, seeing an ugly camouflage pattern in place of the sparkly blue netting above her bed. She sat up, gulping for air, disappointment weighing heavy on her chest as she realized yesterday really wasn’t a bad dream. Fighting back tears, she looked over at Finn. Her stomach dropped. His sleeping bag was empty.
Had he vanished back to Scotland? Had he ditched her? She shoved her head out through the tent flap. He was sitting on a log, whittling a stick. She ducked back inside, shaking with relief. Grabbing the notepad, she wrote up a change of clothes, opting for a pair of pink tartan jeans and a black argyle top. When she whispered her description of being showered and groomed, her skin felt instantly cool and clean, and her hair actually smoothed into shiny waves. Now that was something she could get used to.
Feeling a little better, she stepped out of the tent. Finn looked up. When his gaze meandered down the length of her body, she blushed, unsure if he liked what he saw.
“I didn’t see any luggage full of clothes,” he said.
She tugged the notepad from the pocket of her jeans. “Abracadabra.”
“And I see you fancy the tartan weave.”
“A homage to my Scottish roots,” she said, leaving out the fact that she’d been obsessed with everything Scottish her entire life.
“You’re Scottish?”
She smirked. “Royalty even. I was born in Edinburgh Castle. Only because I arrived seven weeks too early while my intrepid parents were touring the place.” Her smile faded. “But…there were complications. My mom died before the ambulance got us to the hospital.” She shrugged. “I guess I almost went with her. That’s why Eustace dubbed me Fate.”
“I know how it feels to lose your mum. I lost mine when I was five,” he said, adding another clue to the growing list.
She thought about pushing for more, but when she opened her mouth, something else came out. “Uh…sorry I dropped the grumpy bomb last night.”
“All’s well. I survived the fallout.”
“Can I interest you in a change of clothes?”
Finn nodded. “Aye, that’d be excellent.”
While he was changing in the tent, Fate glanced up at the powder blue sky, her thoughts spinning in circles. “It can’t be him,” she whispered to herself. “Stop thinking about it.”
She breathed in the earthy scent of last night’s rain hanging in the air. Smiling, she stepped forward, almost tripping when her foot sank in the soggy ground. “Oh great,” she mumbled, bending to see how much mud was on her boots.
She screamed.
Finn bolted out of the tent with his new shirt half on. She scrambled onto his bare back, flinging one leg over his shoulder, digging the other knee into his spine and pulling back his head to hoist herself up onto his shoulders.
He pried her hands off his eyes so he could see. “For God’s sake, Fate! What’s going on?”
“Don’t drop me!”
When he let go of her hands she grabbed hold of his hair.
“Ow, I promise I won’t let you fall. Now what’s got you so blinking scared?”
“Don’t you see them?”
His body tensed as he turned his head side to side. “What? Where? I don’t see anything!”
She tilted his head down. “No, there. On the ground!”
He stared at the surrounding flora.
Fate lost all patience. “How can you not see those squirming gelatinous tubes of pure gore? They’re all over the place! Look at them with their slimy snouts poking the air.”
“Do you mean the worms?” he asked, his tone incredulous.
“What else could I possibly mean?”
His muscles relaxed beneath the death grip she had on his head. “Oh I don’t know. I was thinking something silly like an ambush.”
•
Hatho circled high above the encampment, eyeing the two strangers’ every move before flying back to the palace to report to Elsina.
The sorceress was pouring cream over her breakfast of wild berries and curds when Hatho sailed down and landed on the terrace. Dismissing her butler parrot, she invited the soldier hawk to sit next to her.
He remained perched on the parapet, bowing his head before speaking. “I have important news, milady.”
Elsina smiled at her loyal companion. “I hope it’s interesting, Hatho. I will admit we’re certainly due for some excitement. It’s been much too long.”
Hatho shifted his weight, gripping the balustrade with his talons. His mistress was kind, but unpredictable if the
balance of the island became unsettled. And knowing what he knew, the scales would tip very soon indeed. “There’s a shipwreck in the cove. And a young man lies unconscious on the beach.”
The sorceress snapped her fingers. A large sparrow with sharp human features darted forward. “Send word to the ox to fetch this young man.” Like a shot, the sparrow seemed to vanish from there to other parts of the palace.
“There is more, milady,” Hatho continued. “A sorceress, or witch of some sort, and her apprentice have trespassed. She possesses a powerful tool. I witnessed her conjuring clothing into being with a tiny magic book, and she wrote her spell with a sliver of wood that needs no ink.”
Elsina turned a brooding gaze out over the forest sprawling beyond her terrace. “Bring me this magic book. And send Sithias to watch for anything else they may possess.”
“Consider it done, milady.” Hatho climbed high into the cerulean sky, letting out a piercing cry that echoed over the island. Within seconds, ten soldier hawks gathered behind him.
Chapter 6
AS EMBARRASSED AS FATE WAS about freaking out and climbing Finn like a tree, she remained on his shoulders. She just couldn’t get down on the ground with those worms. At least he seemed to be okay with waiting while she wrote in her notepad and spoke the words to clear their campsite.
As the tent vanished and breakfast appeared in her hand, she felt him laughing beneath her. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me how this fear of wee wrigglers began?”
She shoved a warm, gooey cinnamon bun into his hand. “No. Just get me out of here, please.”
“Must’ve been painfully bad to make you so mental,” Finn said, biting into his bun. He started to leave, but stopped to stare at one of his protective wards. The pile had been flattened into oblivion by the rain. “Uh-oh, we’ve been living on borrowed time. The rain washed away the––”
Suddenly the forest walls rattled with shrieks and a battery of beating wings. Startled, Fate fell backwards into a patch of ferns, her scream cut off as the air slammed from her lungs.
A strong hand grabbed her by the arm, jerking her upright. Gulping for air, she stared through the slit of a silver helmet into the glinting eyes of a white, overgrown hawk with muscular arms. As shocked as she was by the bizarre, totally unreal sight, she recognized him as Hatho from the fable.
“Surrender your magic book, witch.” His voice was surprisingly deep for a bird.
Still winded, she twisted in his grip, straining to see where Finn went. He was nowhere in sight.
“Stay the witch’s hand,” Hatho ordered.
His soldiers pinned her arms down while he searched the pockets of her jeans and pulled out the notepad. He was stealing her only means of survival and she couldn’t stop him. Hating how powerless she felt, she kicked at the hawk’s head but missed, hitting his shoulder instead.
He grabbed her throat, choking off the air. “I’d kill you now, but milady has seen fit to let you live––for the moment.” With that, Hatho and his soldiers launched skyward, vanishing from behind the treetops.
Coughing, she rubbed her sore neck just as Finn appeared out of nowhere. “Where were you?” she croaked.
He ran over to her. “I threw a circle of invisibility around us, but you fell off.” He looked frustrated.
She glared up at him. “Thanks for leaving me alone with the hawks on steroids!”
He clenched his jaw, biting back a response.
“They took my notepad! We’ll never get out of here without it!”
“We’ll get it back.”
“How? March into Elsina’s palace and demand she fork it over?”
“I say we head back to the big book and read through the fable again. Maybe we’ll find something in the story that’ll help us hatch a plan.”
Something cold squirmed under her palm. Lifting her hand, she squealed when she saw a worm stuck to it. She jumped up and clamped onto him, her feet on top of his. An awkward moment dragged out between them.
“We’ll make better progress if you get on my back,” he suggested. “It’s the least I can do.”
As much as she wanted to refuse, she didn’t argue. After they reached the worm-free path, she climbed off, walking the remainder of the way back to the cove in uncomfortable silence.
•
Hatho placed the small brass notepad in Elsina’s hand. She closed her eyes, feeling for the heat or tingle of magic within the curious piece. Frowning, she opened her eyes and rubbed her finger over the filigreed surface in an attempt to awaken the indwelling spell. When the metal remained cool and unresponsive, she pulled the thin red stick from its holder. The lid sprang open. She flinched, expecting the air to charge with hot sparks or bolts from whatever enchantment she was certain she’d just unleashed. But nothing happened. Not even the slightest shift in the wind.
More puzzled than ever, she stared at the pale-green paper covered in light scratchings. Squinting at the marks, she recognized they were letters, though sloppily written. No doubt it was a spell or incantation. She read the words aloud. “From out of nowhere, I am ordering a freshly made, hot pepperoni pizza with Parmesan.”
There should have been the usual heat and coppery taste in her mouth. Even the weakest of spells left a slight aftertaste. She shot Hatho a black look. “There’s no magic in this thing, or the incantation. And who is this Parmesan? Did you see a third trespasser?”
“No, it was only the witch when we attacked,” Hatho explained. “I thought I saw her apprentice from the air, but he was gone when we landed.”
“Did the witch use her magic against you?”
“No, we gave her no time.” He paused. “She seemed weakened after we took the book.”
“That makes no sense.” She slammed the notebook on the table. “It’s only a piece of tin.” She fell quiet, her confusion and concern building. If the book wasn’t the witch’s source of magic that meant the magic was in some other object. Or someone else. Most likely the so-called apprentice, or this missing Parmesan. “Find Sithias. He’ll have found out more by now. I want to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
•
Finn suddenly rushed down the last stretch of steps leading to the cove.
“Hey, slow down!” Fate called out. “Jeez, I’m already in danger of breaking a sweat.” Plus her legs were way too sore from yesterday’s hike to even think about running after him.
“Don’t you hear it?” he said, without stopping. “That singing––that voice, it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before.”
“You mean that seal barking?” she yelled.
He left her standing there without answering.
Irritated at having been abandoned yet again, she took the steep steps at a more hurried, torturous pace. By the time she pushed through the bushes, he was halfway down the beach, walking into the ocean toward what looked like a girl who was skinny-dipping.
“For crying out loud.” Fate ran down the beach as fast as she could. Waves smacked against her knees as she waded in and grabbed him by the arm. “What…do you think…you’re doing?” she said, out of breath.
He shot the girl in the water a lovesick grin. “She’s singing to me. She wants to take me somewhere.”
She was a knockout, super model kind of knockout, unless you count the fish scales from the waist down. Fate dug her fingers into his skin. “She’s a sea nymph. Probably the sea nymph from the fable.”
He pulled away from her.
Planting her heels in the sand, she yanked on his bicep. “Finn, she’s luring you in with her sireny ways.”
“She wants to take me away with her.”
“And where do you think that is? Down to her giant clam shell where she’ll smother you in kisses and hand feed you soggy shrimp popcorn? Try rolling you in seaweed and serving you to her bottom-feeder friends.”
He continued grinning like a fool. “She’d never hurt me.”
Fate scowled at the sea nymph. “Don’t come any closer. I know wh
at you’re up to.”
The sea nymph bobbed in the frothy waves, her eyes wide and staring, but with a hint of something wild and dangerous in the stormy blue of her irises. She reminded Fate of the raccoon she’d thought she’d tamed by feeding it from her bedroom window. Cute and cuddly, until the night it skulked in through Oz’s cat door and stuffed its furry burglar face with most of her Halloween candy. When she’d woken to Oz’s growling and the crinkling of wrappers, the ungrateful bandit had spit and hissed at her.
The sea nymph ducked under the water, only to pop up twenty feet away. Fate managed to pull Finn back onto dry land, but his eyes were glued to the siren.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, would you stop staring at her?” She pushed him down in the sand and blocked his view. “We’re in trouble here, and I need you to focus––on me.”
He leaned over to see around her. She blocked his view again, but he tilted in the opposite direction, craning his neck, a sappy look on his face.
She picked up a rock, threw it at the sea nymph and watched it miss by a good ten feet. Huffing, she looked for something else to throw, but stopped short when she saw the wreckage of a broken ship near the edge of the cove. “Finn, look. A ship crashed on the rocks last night.”
He didn’t respond.
She gripped his head between her hands, forcing him to look at the wreckage.
He resisted until his face squished up in her hands. “I can’t see her,” he complained.
“Snap out of it. That must be Torrin’s ship, which means we’re at the beginning of the story.” She let go of him, panic unraveling her self-control. She wanted to slap him out of it.
Thinking better of it, she told Finn not to move and ran back to the Book of Fables. Sweeping aside the branches and driftwood, she opened it up to the first fable and read through a few lines. She glanced back at Finn. He was still sitting forlorn on the beach. When she saw the sea nymph had gone, she went back to reading.
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