“I just want what belongs to me,” Cricket went on. “What does a human girl need cat magic for? Is this what you want for her, to live in that trailer park for the rest of her life, a place where you humans keep crags?”
Just go, Dad, Emma thought. Go back to the trailer to find me, then I can take care of Cricket and the troll and get Helena back.
“But you don’t really care about Emma, do you?” Cricket asked. She sounded frustrated. “You let that Heart-Killer live with her. I can take her off your hands and give you back the one you want. One daughter for the other, an even trade.”
Emma held her breath. It was a question she hardly dared to ask herself.
“You’re wrong,” Emma’s dad said. “I love Emma. I love her just as much as Helena. If she was the one missing, I’d have done all of this for her, too.” He glanced at the troll, then at the window. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m going to bring Emma anywhere near you.”
As Emma watched, a lump in her throat, he ran to the window and tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. The troll began to stomp toward him. Emma’s dad banged on the glass. “Helena, can you get it open from that side?” he yelled.
But the window looked wrong. Emma frowned. The reflection of sunlight was back, but it was much too bright. Then Helena reappeared suddenly, too suddenly, and she was somehow rippling, like she was a reflection herself.
The troll was nearly at the window. Cricket leaped on her dad, clawing his arm. He threw the cat off, crying, “Helena, stand back!” then balled his hand into a fist, and punched through the window. Glass flew everywhere. He swore loudly and clutched his hand, then he stopped and stared.
Inside the diner, in the place where Helena should have been, was nothing but a bundle of twigs tied together with gold ribbon.
CRAG FACT OF THE DAY:
“Most trolls actually stink far less than humans, depending on what plants are growing on them. Swamp-dwelling trolls are a smelly (!) exception.”
CragWiki.org
No, Emma thought. She stared at the bundle of twigs. No. She was there. I saw her. But she knew she’d only seen what she wanted to see. The image of Helena had looked wrong. She’d believed — wanted to believe — that it was her sister, but it had been a trick. She gritted her teeth. Crying wasn’t going to help. It never helped.
Emma’s dad blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Helena? Helena, where are you?”
Then the troll swung out its great arm, hitting him in the chest and sending him flying. Emma watched her dad land hard.
She found her claws were extended and she was running from the trees, followed by her snarling pride. She could hear Chloe screeching encouragement from somewhere nearby.
“Leave my dad alone!” she yelled, fury and grief and frustration welling up inside her.
“So he brought you after all,” Cricket purred. “And you brought the rest of the pride, too. How nice. But they’ll follow me as soon as I have the Heart’s Blood — which you’ll give to me, of course, to save your father. Or you can try to fight me. And then my troll will crush both your heads in and I’ll have my pride anyway.”
The troll took a step toward them.
“You’ve decided to become a Heart-Killer, have you?” said Jack. “I’m a little impressed. You were always so disgustingly loyal, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
This just made Cricket hiss and spit again. “Look who’s talking. I’m not a Heart-Killer if I don’t actually kill her!” She glanced around at the other cats. “She’s not a real Pride-Heart. She’s not even a cat. How can I be a Heart-Killer if I kill a human girl that harbors a murderer and is too stupid to stay out of cat business?”
But the pride was not swayed. They crept out from behind Emma and began to close in, tails bristling, green and yellow eyes locked on Cricket. As long as Emma had the Heart’s Blood, they were loyal to her.
Emma looked over at her dad. He was trying to crawl toward the diner’s front door, clutching at his side and sucking in air. She would make Cricket pay for that. She wasn’t scared of her anymore, like she’d been just a couple of days ago when she’d pounced on her as a mountain lion. Jack, the Toe-Chewer, and Fat Leon were at her side, and she could see Chloe now, partly hidden at the top of a tree but ready for action.
Wild trolls were dangerous, though. She didn’t want to put her pride or her new friend in peril if she didn’t have to.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Emma said. “But I’m not giving up the Heart’s Blood, either. Or my cats. Not when I’m so close to finding my sister.” She hesitated, unsure if she was doing the right thing. “Why don’t you join me instead? Become a part of my pride. Help me find Helena.”
All of the cats stopped and stared at her.
“You’d never be able to trust her,” Jack hissed. “Better to kill her and be done with it.”
“Better to trust me instead of him,” Cricket said. “Do you really think he gave you the Heart’s Blood because he wants to help you? He’s a true Heart-Killer. He only knows how to help himself! He’s planning something, I just don’t —”
Jack was done listening. He darted past Emma, running at Cricket.
“Jack!” Emma yelled, but it was too late. He pounced.
The troll moved like a landslide, faster than Emma would have believed possible. He grabbed Jack out of the air, then threw him almost casually against the wall of the diner. Jack hit it with a sickening thud, splintering the rotting wood, then crumpled to the ground, where he lay quite still.
Cricket jumped up on the troll’s shoulders, and looked down at Emma. “You never should have listened to his lies,” she purred, her tail flicking back and forth. “Kill her,” she instructed the troll. “If she runs, kill the other human instead. The one-eyed cat can die, too, but try not to hurt the others. They’re mine.” Then she leaped onto the roof of the diner to watch.
The troll looked at Emma with small, ruby eyes. “I will plant your bones in my garden, little one,” he said, his voice a slow, grinding bass that carried no emotion. “Do not be afraid.” Then he thundered toward her, his footsteps cracking the cement underfoot.
Emma didn’t — couldn’t — move. She’d have as much luck trying to fight a mountain. Her cats leaped at the troll, climbing it and clawing it, sending bits of grass and dirt flying. But he just threw them off, and came steadily forward.
Emma extended her claws, trying to will herself to attack even though she knew it was useless.
“Claws alone won’t stop them,” Fat Leon said. He was still standing calmly next to her. “But magic will.”
“I don’t know how!” Emma said.
“The Heart’s Blood knows,” Fat Leon said. “And so do you.”
A scream tore the air, a sound so horrible it seemed to cut through Emma’s skull. She fell to her knees, covering her ears to block out the sound, but it didn’t help. All around her, the cats howled in pain, scratching at their ears and rolling on the ground. Even the troll rumbled and shook his head. Cricket clung to the diner’s roof, her eyes rolling up into her head, tail lashing out every which way.
Through eyes half closed with pain, Emma saw Chloe fall from the sky and grab Cricket in her talons. The ginger cat hissed and spat and twisted, scratching at Chloe’s legs.
“Please. Help me,” Emma whispered to the Heart’s Blood. She shut her eyes. Help Dad. Help Chloe. Help Jack. They’re all part of my pride.
Carefully, deliberately, she let her fear fall away and the magic take its place. She felt the tugging in her gut, and stopped fighting it. The magic flowed out of her like a great dam bursting, but she stood in its waters like a rock, still and strong and certain.
“Magic!” the Toe-Chewer cried out giddily, and other cats echoed him, purring, “Magic, magic . . .”
Emma opened her eyes just as Cricket fell from Chloe’s claws, spinning in midair out of instinct, trying to land on her feet but crashing to the ground instead.
The whole clearin
g stopped — human, cat, harpy, troll. Was she dead?
Then Cricket began to move — and to grow. She was using Emma’s magic, too, just like the rest of the pride. Emma didn’t know how to stop her. The magic was for all the cats in her pride — and Cricket was still part of it.
The clearing was now filled with deafening roars as enormous lions and panthers and tigers replaced the small cats. Fat Leon looked like himself but ten times larger. The Toe-Chewer had turned himself into some kind of fox. In Cricket’s place the mountain lion stood once more, her eyes on Jack, who still lay motionless.
“Help Jack,” Emma cried to the other cats. “Don’t let Cricket get away.”
And before Emma could stop him, the Toe-Chewer bounded toward Cricket. He was going to get hurt — or worse. What could a fox do against a mountain lion?
If I can give magic, I must be able to take it away, Emma thought, desperately. She concentrated on the magic flowing out of her, the different threads connecting her to each of her cats, and with an instinct she hadn’t realized she had she felt the thread going to Cricket. With a thought, she stopped it. Cricket yowled as her lion form wavered and shrank.
Emma turned as the troll bellowed behind her. Her pride had pounced on it, digging their huge claws into whatever cracks they could find in its skin, trying to pry it apart. But they couldn’t stop it. The troll grabbed one of the cats — a small lynx — with both hands and squeezed.
Emma felt a pang of pain and fear and anger wash over her, and then some part of her faded. Just like that, the cat was dead.
“It’s not enough,” she whispered. “Even with magic, it’s not enough.”
“You turned yourself into a ratter,” said Fat Leon next to her. “You should be able to turn him into something, too.”
“I can’t!” Emma cried. Her cats were circling the troll now, but it was still coming toward her.
Fat Leon licked his lips as if he’d been anticipating this. “You won’t have to do it alone. I can help. Focus on the troll. You’re a Pride-Heart. Tell your eyes what to see, tell your nose what to smell. That’s not a troll, just a stone. A big, broken stone.”
Emma tried. She saw the world with the double vision of a human and a cat. She concentrated as hard as she could, in an effort to force out the magic inside her. Beside her she could feel the weight of Fat Leon’s magic steadying her and guiding her, reaching out for the troll with her. The rumble of the troll’s heartbeat began to slow.
Nothing but stone.
Slower . . .
She pushed the magic out at the troll, and the cats around her joined Fat Leon and did the same.
Nothing but stone.
Slower and slower . . .
This was the pride. All of them working together. This was what their power really meant.
The heartbeat stopped.
Emma fell to her knees. She felt suddenly numb. Beside her, Fat Leon was panting. “Well done,” he said. “You’ll feel better soon, don’t worry.”
“Is it . . . dead?” Emma asked.
“As dead as stone,” Fat Leon said. “Unless you want to change it back.”
“Hey, Pride-Heart, that was awesome!” the Toe-Chewer cried out.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief. He was okay. One of the other cats — a leopard — sat next to him, Cricket hanging from its jaws. Cricket had become a small ginger cat again. She was hissing and swiping at the leopard’s throat. The leopard shook her until she stopped struggling.
The grin on the Toe-Chewer’s fox face made him look slightly terrifying. “It’s so much fun having magic!” he added. “Maybe I could turn into a harpy next, or even a dragon. A dragon would be amazing!”
“We’ll see,” Emma said. Then she remembered and spun around. “Where’s Jack? Jack!”
“You worry too much,” Jack said.
He was sitting near where he’d been thrown, calmly licking his paw. “You can handle this yourself,” Jack purred, looking at Cricket. “Now that you’re finally a true Pride-Heart.”
Emma rubbed her face. She still felt numb from turning the troll into stone. Its head and arms had already broken off, the sapling lying on the ground. The cat that had died lay nearby, trampled and bloody, its empty eyes staring off into the forest. “Let me guess. You want me to kill her, right?”
“Unless you have a better idea for how to keep her from coming after you again, not to mention your dad,” Jack said.
Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “Dad!” She looked around desperately. How could she have forgotten about him? What if he was lying unconscious somewhere, or worse? Why hadn’t she sent one of the cats to find him and make sure he didn’t get trampled? “Dad, are you all right? Dad!”
Then she heard his voice. “Emma, I’m okay! I’m right here.”
Emma’s dad sat propped against the wall of the Red Caboose. She ran over and knelt beside him. His breath came in short, painful gasps.
“Dad, are you hurt?” Emma asked. His hand was still bleeding, and she could see bits of glass embedded in his skin.
“I’ll be fine.” He smiled crookedly and put his good hand on her arm. “I thought I told you to stay at home. But . . . I guess I’m glad you didn’t. I saw what you did over there. You’re not just my little Emma anymore, are you?” Then the smile fell from his face and he let Emma go. “Helena. Where’s Helena?”
“Dad, she’s not here. It was a trick.”
But he wasn’t listening. Clutching his hand to his chest, he dragged himself to his feet and took heavy, limping steps toward the Red Caboose. “Helena? Where are you?”
“You’re bleeding,” Emma said. “We have to get you home or to the hospital.”
“She’s here. She has to be here.” Gritting his teeth against the pain, he walked into the diner. Emma followed him.
Inside, the Red Caboose had somehow avoided being impaled by trees, but the forest had managed to creep in all the same. Broken ketchup bottles sprouted strange, small flowers. Thin vines ran along the floor and up the cracked walls.
Her dad called Helena’s name as he searched the booths, the burned-out kitchen, the ruined bathrooms. Then he returned to the table where the fake Helena had been sitting, where the bundle of twigs still sat on the booth’s upholstery, the golden ribbon fluttering.
“Helena?” he whispered. Hesitantly, he picked up a shard of glass and held it up in front of his face. He started as if he could see her inside it, then brought the glass closer. He stared at the twigs.
“It was just some kind of trick,” Emma said again. “Though how Cricket did it, I don’t know. But I’ve found out something. An address where she used a phone: 500 Ocean Avenue in New Downtown.”
Her dad shook his head. “No, she has to be here. I saw her. You have to look through the glass.”
Emma snatched the bundle of twigs off the seat. He grabbed her with his injured hand without thinking, then cried out as she easily pulled free of his grasp.
“Emma! What are you doing?”
“I miss her, too, Dad. You’re not the only one that lost her. Go home and let me keep looking for her, or this was all for nothing.”
She extended her claws. Her dad’s eyes grew wide, but before he could take another step Emma sliced through the golden ribbon. The twigs fell on the ground and she stomped on them.
Crack! They were all thin, dry, and brittle. Crack! Crack!
Soon the bundle was nothing but a small pile of crushed wood.
“I’m going to have one of my cats guide you home,” Emma said softly. “Mom should be there soon. She can take you to the hospital. I’m going after Helena.”
“Emma, you know I can’t let you do that. It’s dangerous. All this cat stuff has to stop. You saved my life, but you could’ve been killed yourself. I couldn’t stand losing you, too.”
“Dad, you can’t stop me from going.”
“You’re just like your grandfather, you know,” he said. “He gave up everything to get me and my mother out of Vietnam aft
er the war. When Helena disappeared, I thought, how can I do any less? How can I risk less than he did for me?” He looked down at Emma and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I would have done the same thing if you’d been the one to disappear like that. And . . . I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Emma said, her voice only a little hoarse.
“If your mom asks, I yelled at you about going, all right?” he said. “I was very strict and authoritarian, but you just wouldn’t listen.”
Emma grinned, and blinked the tears out of her eyes. “Nope. I didn’t listen at all.”
CRAG FACT OF THE DAY:
“It’s estimated that only one in a thousand trees is awake enough to have a real dryad, or tree spirit. A law passed in 1976 requires anyone wishing to chop down a tree to knock three times before cutting, and ask it if it is awake.”
CragWiki.org
Once her dad had gone, his arm over the back of a tortoiseshell cat, Emma turned back to her pride. The cats were sprawled around the stone troll, licking their wounds. The Toe-Chewer stood to one side. He seemed not to know what to do with himself.
“So what are you going to do with the dead cat?” Chloe asked. “Do they eat it, or what?”
“No!” Emma said. “No one’s going to eat it. We’ll bury it. Him.”
“What for?” Fat Leon asked. “He’s dead. Might as well just leave him there.”
“Because he was part of my pride,” Emma said. Because I felt him die for me. She shivered as she remembered the part of her that had faded as the troll had squeezed the life out of the cat.
The leopard broke her thoughts. “I’m tired of holding her,” she said, pinning Cricket under her huge paws. “It’s no fun if you can’t eat them once they stop squirming.” The comment was delivered in the usual I-don’t-really-care manner that all the cats except the Toe-Chewer seemed to have, but Emma realized they were waiting to see what she would do.
Claws (9780545469678) Page 11