Toil & Trouble

by Emery Belle

  “Hard to say.” Harold tipped his head up to the clouds and closed his eyes. “Too long. Not long enough.”

  The wind picked up, whipping through his hair, sending his dark gray locks streaming behind him. When it died down again, he sat down cross-legged on the forest floor, nestling himself in among the crunchy dead leaves and motioning for me to do the same. In the distance, a dog barked, but otherwise the forest was eerily quiet.

  “I have always found it hard to live among others,” he said, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his chest to the cool night air. I averted my gaze; there was something very appealing about this man, something wild and untamed and dangerous, yet not.

  “But you did,” I pointed out. “It’s my understanding that you held down a job at a butcher shop in town for many years.”

  “Ah, yes.” Harold’s keen eyes fixed on mine. “Run by a man named Auggie, who used to be a good friend of mine.” He paused and picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “Due to some… differences… we had to part ways.”

  “I heard you stole from him,” I said bluntly. “Prime cuts of meat. He lost a lot of money thanks to you, and you were supposed to be his friend.”

  “Indeed, Auggie was forced to share some of his great fortune, albeit unwittingly.” Harold held up his hand, and the bat flapped onto it. “Sometimes, though, we must learn to use our good fortune to help those who are helpless. Let me show you. You know where to find them.” He directed his last sentence to the bat, who curled its toes around his fingers for a brief moment before taking flight.

  Harold watched him recede into the night, and then turned back to me. “How is Auggie? I suppose he sent you here to collect the debt he believes I owe him?”

  Ignoring the question, I said, “I heard rumors that Auggie blacklisted you from every business in town. That must have made you incredibly angry.”

  Harold shrugged. “For a time, yes. One does need a few gold coins to survive in society, I suppose. But then, when I released myself from the man-made shackles that bound me and learned to live off the land, like my ancestors and their ancestors before them, I discovered my true home. And it is a place of wonderous beauty and serenity.”

  He fished around in his pocket, then pulled out a pipe and a paper bag of dried leaves. “Do you mind?” he asked me. “I like to partake of a few simple pleasures during the full moon. It helps to keep my urges at bay.”

  When I nodded, he inclined his head in a thank-you gesture, then made a quick fire with a couple of sticks and lit up the dried leaves. He inhaled deeply, then released a cloud of musky smoke on a happy sigh. After a few more inhales, he turned to me with a soft smile.

  “I suppose I’m not quite who you expected, am I? The High Court doesn’t want more of the werewolves to discover the secret to true happiness, like I have, and so they’ve forced our pack leaders to spread rumors about my instability to prevent my four-legged brothers and sisters from joining me in the land where we can run free… some nonsense about us being a danger to society.” He laughed, loud and long. “If anyone is a danger to society, it is Augustus Macon.”

  I had to agree with him on that one.

  He held out the pipe, but I shook my head—goodness knows how whatever he was smoking would react with the anti-anxiety potion. He shrugged, as if to say suit yourself, and then leaned against a tree, scratching his shoulders idly against the bark as the smoke he exhaled spiraled into the sky, dissipating over our heads.

  Finding myself feeling utterly relaxed—though I had a feeling it had more to do with the company than the anti-anxiety potion—I leaned back against a tree of my own and joined him in staring up at the stars.

  “I always search the skies for the Lupus constellation,” he said, tracing the pattern of the stars with the tip of his pipe. “Named for my kin, of course. And speaking of which!” He turned his head toward a scuffling sound a few feet away from us. “Here they are now.”

  I squinted toward the sound but saw nothing other than shadows whispering off the dark outlines of the trees surrounding us on all sides. Then a pair of yellow eyes glowed out from the blackness, followed by a second set, and then a third, until the snapping of twigs and crackling of leaves on the ground revealed a litter of wolf pups, their raven fur making them almost invisible in the darkness. The bat fluttered out of the night sky behind them and landed once more on Harold’s shoulder.

  Harold bounded over to the wolves and scooped up two of them. The pups began wriggling and squealing in his hands, one of them nipping playfully on his fingertip while the other stretched out its neck to lick his nose. Harold’s laugh was genuine as he cradled the pups in his arms and whistled for the others to join him; four more came tumbling out from behind the tree, climbing over each other in their excitement to reach him. The smallest of the litter, a female pup with striking golden eyes, nuzzled her cheek against my leg. I scooped her up and petted her silky fur.

  “I think I’m in love,” I said with a sigh.

  Harold set down the two pups he’d been holding and folded his hands together in his lap. “Back when I was still living among the other islanders, I was out for a walk in these woods one evening after work and found the litter—it must have been hours after they were born. Their mother had died, and they were too young and weak to gather food for themselves. And so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” He gave me a meaningful look, and I gasped.

  “The meat from Auggie’s butcher shop! You stole it to feed the puppies?”

  Harold pursed his lips. “I don’t care for the word stole. I merely borrowed from someone with an abundance of good fortune to provide for those who otherwise would not survive.” He looked down at the wolf pups with pride. “And now, they are not only surviving, but thriving. It was worth the loss of my job and reputation. What are we, if we cannot sacrifice something of ourselves to care for the weak and helpless? It is my duty as a wolf, and as a man. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

  He smiled at me. “And when you report back to Auggie, you have my permission to repeat this word for word, and also to thank him on my behalf. In the end, he did me a great favor.” He bent down, and the wolf pups crowded around him, all jostling to be the first he would pet.

  I stood there, watching him, debating whether to tell him about Auggie’s death and question him further about his possible role in it. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from the playful, happy pups, and the beast of a man who was now, at odds with everything I’d heard about him, singing them a lullaby as they curled into balls of fluff at his feet, their eyes drowsy with sleep. When they drifted off a few moments later, their breathing deep and even, he glanced up with a puzzled expression, as though surprised to find me still standing there.

  “Was there anything else I could help you with?” he asked, and I hesitated for several seconds before shaking my head.

  Harold glanced up at the sky, to where the moon was once more poking out from behind the clouds. “Then I suggest you leave this forest, young witch, for the moon is full and proud tonight, and the night is still very new. There are many creatures prowling these lands, and not all are willing—or able—to tolerate a stranger among us.”

  Just then, the clouds shifted, and Harold’s face was illuminated in moonlight for a brief moment. As I watched, transfixed, he began to morph back into a wolf in front of my eyes, his legs shrinking, his chest broadening, his amber irises fading to yellow. In barely an instant, I found myself face to face with the wolf lurking behind the man, and as a growl started low in his throat and he pawed anxiously at the ground, a shiver of fear raced down my spine.

  I turned and darted away, a scream lodged in my throat at the sound of paws pounding behind me, but when I chanced a glance over my shoulder, the werewolf was running in the opposite direction, his charcoal coat glistening in the moonlight.

  I somehow managed to find the forest path again, and followed it all the way to the edge of the trees, my footfalls echoing around me in the st
ill, silent air as I sprinted toward the clearing beyond. When I finally broke free of the forest’s gloom, I saw Pierre sitting just outside the trees, panting heavily and whining as his tail thumped nervously against the grass. When he caught sight of me, he heaved himself to his feet, belly swaying dangerously close to the ground, and waddled toward me, faster than I’d ever seen him move.

  “Too little, too late, don’t you think?” I said to him sternly, hands on hips, and then shrieked with laughter as he threw his full weight into my legs, knocking me onto the grass, and began licking my face with feverish excitement.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, pushing him off me and struggling to regain my breath. “I forgive you. Again.” He pressed his wet nose into my cheek, and then began snorting around in my pockets on a frantic hunt for treats.

  “Now come on.” I straightened up, brushing the dirt from my hands, and beckoned to my familiar. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 12

  The morning of my appointment with Homer Vale, my stomach was wound so tight with nerves I could barely choke down a piece of dry toast.

  “You never know, it might be good for you,” Garnet said, whacking me on the back when I dissolved into a coughing fit. “You haven’t been yourself the past few weeks, and since you won’t talk to me about what’s going on, maybe it’ll help to see a professional. Whatever you’re going through, Wren, you can’t keep it bottled up inside, or eventually you’ll burst.”

  She grabbed her wand and aimed it at my empty water glass. “Aqua.”

  The glass filled itself to the brim, though the water looked tepid and brown. She frowned down at it, then tried again. This time, it was sparkling and clear, and her face lit up. “Yes! I’ve been practicing that one for days.”

  When she saw the look on my face, her smile dropped. “Sorry, Wren. I’m being insensitive.” We both glanced over to my wand, which was lying on my pillow, looking innocent enough.

  “Look on the bright side,” she said, giving me an encouraging nudge to the ribs. “If this elf is able to help you as much as Lady Winthrop thinks he can, you’ll be back to practicing your magic in no time.”

  “Yeah,” I said, giving her a tight smile in return.

  If only it were that simple—I was fairly confident that, renowned mind-healing elf or not, Homer Vale wasn’t going to be able to perform a gene transplant on me, swapping out my dangerous combination of human and magical genes for normal ones, ones that would bring stability to my magic, which had been going haywire ever since I’d earned a wand of my own.

  And with the secret of my identity lurking beneath the smile I presented to the world, the word apprehensive didn’t even begin to describe how I felt about giving this complete stranger access to the most private parts of myself. What if he discovered the truth about my parents and blabbed it to the whole island? The repercussions of that went far beyond the loss of my home, my job, my place at the academy… they could be deadly.

  And not just for me. What about Glenn? And Cole? The former had kept my secret for three decades, and the latter… well, it seemed that the latter was currently paying the price for his loose lips.

  That last thought had me tossing the rest of my toast into the trash can as what little was left of my appetite disappeared completely. After patting Pierre on the head—the dog had dived into the trash to scarf up the remnants of my pathetic breakfast—and giving Monty’s chain a flick for good measure, I headed for the door and out into the overcast day.

  The wind was fierce, whipping up sand from the beach and pelting the islanders who were scurrying to and fro, on their way to work, school, or wherever their day would take them. I watched a trio of teenage witches heading to the academy, their heads bent together against the wind, giggling over some whispered conversation and eyeing a group of handsome young wizards zooming around on broomsticks.

  My chest burned with envy at the sight of their carefree faces; not only had my childhood been robbed of all happiness, but now what semblance of a peaceful existence I’d managed to build for myself after a lifetime of disappointment and hurt was crashing down around me. And there was nothing I could do except lie down among the pieces, battered and broken. Always broken.

  I meant to head for the elven lands, but my feet carried me in the opposite direction instead, toward the imposing black building that stretched into the clouds, toward the cold-as-ice man who lingered behind its doors, toward the monster who lurked in the shadows of my nightmares. Once outside, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed my way through the front doors.

  The courthouse was quiet this morning; only a few islanders waited on benches outside the various rooms, some sullen and withdrawn and alone, others conversing nervously with their lawyers, a few shackled and outfitted in prison uniforms as they stood beside bored-looking police officers. I thought of Gerald, and my resolve deepened. We were each in a battle for our lives, each on a quest for the truth.

  I stormed through the foyer, where Millicent, the guard parrot, watched me through fiery eyes that sparked with intelligence, and something more. Something dangerous.

  Undeterred, I strode past her toward the solid gold doors leading to the High Court’s chambers, my face set, my steps purposeful. Millicent let out a deep, booming squawk and stretched her wings, which spanned the length of the entire room, before launching herself off her perch and landing in front of me, preventing me from accessing the chambers.

  “Get out of my way,” I said through gritted teeth, whipping out my useless wand and aiming it directly between her eyes. I could sense the courthouse behind me growing quiet as everyone in the foyer turned their attention to the confrontation. The few sharp intakes of breath I heard reminded me just how reckless I was being, but by now, I was far beyond caring.

  The parrot cocked her massive head and let out another warning squawk. Up close, seeing the steel sharpness of her beak, I knew she could tear through my flesh in the blink of an eye. If I died here, on the pristine courthouse floor, my blood running along the marble in crimson rivulets, would Lord Macon spare even a moment of grief for me? Or would he spit on my body and turn away, glad to be rid of the final reminder of the once-beloved daughter he had put to death?

  I may have been about to find out.

  “I’m giving you five seconds,” I said to the parrot, pushing my wand a few inches closer to her beak. “If you don’t move aside before then, I will make you.” I took a deep breath. “One.”

  Millicent retracted her wings, tucking them back into her sides, her orange eyes trained on mine.

  “Two.”

  She bent her legs in a low crouch, arching her back to the ceiling.

  “Three.”

  A deep, rumbling squawk worked its way up her throat.

  “Four…” I dragged the word out as long as I possibly could, and the parrot, sensing a challenge, began shuffling back and forth in front of the chamber door in a frantic boxer-dance. She beat her wings, whipping up the air around us, blasting me in the face until my eyes stung with tears, but I refused to tear my gaze away from hers.

  “FIVE!”

  The word blasted out of my mouth, and Millicent lunged forward in a frenzy of talons and beak and wings at the same moment I ripped the duct tape from my wand and surged toward her. We collided, her wings tangling with my arms, and before I could even open my mouth to perform a spell, she had me pinned beneath her.

  Each time I gasped for breath, her talons dug deeper into my chest, and when I looked down, I saw two dark spots of crimson forming on my shirt. My head began spinning at the sight of my own blood, and stars bloomed in front of my eyes just as the chamber door opened with a loud bam and a voice shouted, “Millicent, down!”

  Ignoring the command, the parrot dug her talons in deeper, and I groaned in pain. My breathing was becoming shallower, more labored, and I closed my eyes as Millicent bent over me, opening her beak wide and giving me a terrifying glimpse of the blackness inside.

  Th
is was it. This was how I died. On a cold courthouse floor, by a parrot of all things. If I was going to live on a magical island, didn’t I at least get to brag to my buddies in the afterlife about being murdered by a dragon, or a manticore, or something equally awesome? But a giant parrot? I would be a laughingstock.

  Dimly, distantly, I heard several loud bangs from a wand, and the parrot reared back, another squawk ripping from her throat, this one so loud the walls around us seemed to shake. She tore her talons out of me, eliciting a long, loud scream from me as my skin shredded, and soared back toward her perch in the center of the room.

  A pair of arms scooped me up and carried me into the High Court chambers, past the floor-to-ceiling windows, past the rows of spectator benches, past the gleaming white dais and the throne in the center, now empty, where my grandfather meted out punishments as though they were candy.

  There was a grunt and a rustle of robes as the person holding me shifted my weight so he or she could open a door at the back of the chamber. Squeezing my eyes shut against the pain, I heard a quick murmured spell before I was lowered onto a soft bed with sheets that felt cool and crisp against my skin. More murmured spells, and then a strange sensation on my chest, tingling and burning and not altogether unpleasant. After a few minutes of this, footsteps hurried away from the bed, and when I was finally able to open my eyes again, I looked down to find that my wounds were healed, the bloodstains scoured from my shirt.

  A door opened somewhere behind me, but when I turned to look, my head began spinning again and I fell back into the pillows. “Here,” a voice said. “Drink this. It will help replenish your lost blood.”

  I groped blindly for the mug being offered to me but kept grabbing air instead, and so a cool, dry hand guided my own toward the handle, wrapping my fingers around it and bringing it to my mouth. I drank greedily, and by the time I was finished, the spinning had stopped and the world seemed to right itself again.