by B. J. Smash
“One thing you should know about your aunts: Aunt Cora could crush Aunt Clover if she wanted to. It's not Cautious Cora; it should be Crazy Cora. Aunt Cora had the potential to be a great sorceress. But she continued to choose the good side, so her chance was lost to her. Roddy, also known as ‘Rodinand,’ had to find another Seaforth to take under his wing, to fulfill his plan. Guess who that would be?”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself calm and focused, for I realized exactly what she meant. “You.”
“You must understand, I never bound myself to the Seelie. I have never even met them. That was a lie that Izaill told you, to throw you all off. I'm bound to the Unseelie. My choice. When Magella offered to me what Aunt Cora had passed up, I jumped on the offer. But it's not going to end well for Magella—or Izaill.”
“How so?”
“Roddy never cared for Izaill or Magella – he was only using them to get to me. Now they will be useless. And he is ever so powerful, you see. He and his minions of Unseelie.”
Aggie had been right about one thing: Zinnia had fallen in love, with herself and with power. She also had been right about one other aspect. Izadora, Izaill, Magella, and Montague were going to have to work together to get rid of a common enemy. Rodinand.
A twig snapped off in the distance. Zinnia looked anxiously over her shoulder. “I must go now. And you will return to Izadora. Tell her to keep Izaill. We don't need him anymore. He and Magella were only tools, to get me where I am. We come, the Unseelie, to take over the forest—and perhaps, someday, the world.” She turned to leave, only to turn back and say, “And Father will soon be returning to us. There is nothing you can do about it.”
“You will never have him back, Zinnia. Never.” My adrenaline pumped so, that I could have flattened her right then and there.
“The game is on, sister.” She laughed and turned to walk away.
I could hear someone calling me from the other side of the bridge. Drumm. His voice was muffled and faint, but I could sense the urgency. When I turned to walk through the fog and cross the bridge, I heard a loud whip-like snapping sound from behind me. I spun around to see that Zinnia had disappeared.
Making my way over the bridge was like walking through quicksand; dragging my feet, I spotted Drumm with his hand extended through the fog. I could hardly breathe in the haze that I walked through. Grabbing his hand—he somehow pulled me through—I collapsed on the ground.
“What happened?” Drumm looked so concerned that I wanted to give him a hug, but I didn't.
My childhood with Zinnia flashed before my eyes, starting with my first memory of her: my dear, sweet sister and I at my second birthday party. Cake covered our faces and our chubby little hands. We ran through our yard in little frilly dresses. The next memory was of us sleeping side by side in a tent, and our father reading our bedtime story by flashlight. Then we were older, chasing fireflies in the dark, putting them in a jar and laughing gleefully.
When I was around five and she seven, I fell from a tree, scraping my leg, only to have Zinnia help me up, consoling me until we reached the bathroom where she applied peroxide, dabbing it with a cotton ball and putting on a Band-Aid. She had kissed her hand and then placed it over the Band-Aid. “You'll be all better soon,” she had said in her young voice. “I love you, Ivy.”
The memories flooded my mind, until we were at the end of the road. The last time we'd spent together was days ago at Gran's house when she fixed my hair. She had said, “One thing I know, Ivy, we'll always be sisters. No one can take that away from us.”
“There is no way that's Zinnia. Maybe it's a dark part of her, but deep down, she is still there. Agghhhh!” I screamed out in frustration.
“She's turned to the bad side, I take it?” Drumm asked nonchalantly.
“That she has. But we will rescue her before it's too late.” I stammered as tears welled up in my eyes.
“We will need help, then. And I know just where to go. We shall leave tomorrow evening.”
“Where are we going?”
“To meet your mother and the rest of the light elves.”
I felt overwhelmed, and I laid my head on the ground. As I did so, two figures walked out of the edge of the forest. I swiftly sat upright. As they moved closer toward us, I noticed they were two men even taller than Drumm, wearing tight-fitting white pants and hunter green shirts with matching green robes. They held bows, and each had a slender bag of arrows. They looked at us intensely.
“Or perhaps they have come to us…,” Drumm said.
