With a Kiss

by Stephanie Fowers

  Chapter Twelve

  The faery forest glimmered

  Beneath an ivory moon,

  The silver grasses shimmered

  Against a faery tune.

  —Sara Teasdale, The Faery Forest

  "You lost, little girl?"

  I stumbled back when they spoke. There were three wolves, dark and furry and menacing—with an attitude. Okay, maybe I really was asleep. "Hey, Lil Red, you on your way to Grandma's?" The more they talked, the more they seemed like gangsters . . . in a faerytale sort of way. This would be the place for it.

  "Who you got with you, girly girl?" another wolf growled at me. "A little piggy?"

  The first wolf snickered. "No, bacon."

  The other wolves guffawed at this. I glared. They had better not be referring to Babs as bacon . . . or a pig. She wasn't fat—just chubby and cute! I squeezed her like Charmin. "And who's the little punk?" The wolves eyed my Capris, arm warmers, and boots get-up.

  I rolled my eyes. For once, my latest style was completely Hobs' fault. Since he professed to be a fashion guru, I suspected he had done it as a joke. For now that was the least of our problems. "What are these things?" I asked. Bikers on paws? It looked like they were afraid to get closer. I glanced up at Hobs and guessed he might be the reason. He looked more irritated than anything.

  "Get lost," he told them. "She's with me."

  The wolves circled us. One of them had charred fur down the side of his body. It was probably from when he took a ride down the little pig's chimney. "Aren't you a little far from home, Hobany? Or are you headed to your mommy's with your tail between your legs? Did you miss her?" They made blubbering noises, mocking him. First of all, just who was Hobs' mother? And second of all, why were they calling him Hobany? "Hobs" was short for Hobgoblin.

  A wolf sniffed at the back of my neck, sending cold prickles through my skin. He wore glasses, and seemed somewhat intelligent in an unnatural way. Hobs allowed himself a small chuckle. "How's your belly, Glasses? Those rocks digest yet?"

  The wolf lifted his head, his lips curling up from his teeth, but instead of eating us, he growled out angrily, "Ere the morn breaks, the twilight of gloom. The echoes of death encircle your tomb."

  I glanced at Hobs. The mat of fur just spouted poetry at us. It gave me chills. Hobs didn't look impressed—he laughed instead. "Is it just me, or do these hairy rugs need new material?"

  The wolves howled out their appreciation at the insult. The one Hobs called "Glasses" regarded me with accusing eyes, as if I were the one copping attitude. He growled out another line of a poem. "The rustle of leaves, the crack of a twig, rouses the hunter. Your grave soon he'll dig."

  "Is that Shakespeare or the Bible?" I asked, trying to distract Glasses from eating me.

  By the looks of him, an intellectual conversation might do the trick, and it did. Glasses tilted his head at me, his ears flattening back. "The Bible? Shakespeare? That's an inadequate comparison to my work."

  "Are you kidding?" Hobs hastily interrupted the next onslaught of poetry. "His stuff isn't that poetic. He makes it up on the sly. Seriously, boys, is this what you do all day? Quote overdone poetry and wait around faery transporters to pick up lunch?"

  "We like fast food," the charred wolf cut in smoothly.

  "So much for coming in unannounced, aye, Hobany?" the fluffy gray spat. "You actually thought you could sneak past us?"

  "We can't let you wander around out here in the woods alone." The charred one gave us a wolfish grin. "You might get lost. You were heading for the hag's place anyway, right? How about we do you a favor and escort you the rest of the way?"

  "Would you, Octavius?" Hobs gave him a warning look that they weren't reading. Apparently they didn't know him as well as I did. "So clever of you to guess we were on a visit. We thought maybe we'd have a bite to eat at her place and talk about good times." He elbowed me after I didn't respond.

  "Uh, yeah, right." I could only guess he didn't mean it. I just hoped that Babs' mother was on her way to pick her up. I smoothed back Babs' long blonde hair. My hand scraped over her wings and I jumped. Oh, not real wings. The kid was still wearing my fairy costume. Hobs didn't have the decency to put her in real clothes. At least she had the outgrown sneakers Daphne had given her.

  "We'll travel together then," Octavius suggested in a gravelly voice. "We could always use a bite. If you get lost . . . we'll eat you. Always did like a good game of hide and seek."

  Hobs laughed with them and I gave him an annoyed look. He shrugged off his jacket. "Wolves just love games," he said sarcastically. I knew exactly what kind of games they wanted to play. Babs shivered next to me, and Hobs wrapped his jacket around her, imparting a comforting smile. Her wings gave her a hunchbacked look. "It's okay." I caught his whisper to her. "I won't let anyone hurt you." I probably wasn't supposed to overhear that—it would blow his cool cover. He took our hands to peel us out of the snow, leaving an impression of us behind.

  The wolves nudged us deeper into the woods, surrounding us in their protective ranks. The branches sagged with mounds of white snow, and hung threateningly over us. The one called Octavius sniffed Hobs' backpack. "What do you got in there?"

  "It's for Grandma." Hobs looked much too secretive. "Leave it alone." That only made the wolf more curious, though I couldn't recall anything particularly amazing that Hobs had put in there.

  "Got food in there?"

  "Yeah, human food. Ever eat that?"

  Octavius licked his lips, his gaze fastening on us. "Yep. It is a delicacy."

  Hobs followed the wolf's meaning with obvious self-reproach. "What? Are you kidding? You've got to plump them up first before they're any good. Don't you know anything?"

  "I don't like my food full of fat—just nice and juicy."

  Hobs stepped around me to walk between us and the wolves. The birds sang an elaborate ditty, seemingly unaware of the threat below them. How had they survived this cold weather? The wolf with the glasses tipped his ear at the sound. "Birds of blue and birds of red, flutter free and soon are dead." Couldn't the poet say anything pleasant?

  "That's three for sparrows," Octavius said, walking companionably next to Hobs, "and five, no, six for bluebirds."

  Were they playing I Spy now? They did like games. Next to me, the gray wolf lunged up on his spindly legs, shivering with excitement and dancing a little too close to Babs for my taste. I dragged her to my other side and she tried to hide behind me. Her little hand felt stiff. I tried to adopt Hobs' calm attitude. "Don't worry," I mouthed down to her.

  "Oh, I just spotted an owl." The gray wolf smacked his lips. "That's the first one of the day."

  I couldn't see the owl anywhere. "Wheresh the birdsh?" Babs asked.

  "What? Your little sausage link don't believe me, Hobs? You know what that means, right boys?"

  Babs' fingers clenched harder over mine as if she were afraid they were going to tear us apart. The gray snarled at her. I stiffened, my other hand forming a fist. Hobs gave me a warning look to stay out of it before he plunged to her defense. "Yeah, your stories are getting worse, you pig dropping. What kind of lies are you trying to feed us, anyway?"

  Octavius nodded in agreement. "Didn't you eat all the owls last week, Caesar? What are you pulling?" I glared at the gray wolf too, smarting from his attack on Babs. I didn't know if my ninja skills worked on this side of the world, but I was ready to try them out.

  The gray wolf shrugged at us. "What? There were leftovers."

  "Maybe some feathers," I seethed under my breath.

  Octavius's wolf ears pricked up and he snorted. "Alright, little girly. You're so smart, let's see you make a wager. Tell us how many birds are in these woods between here and the castle, and we'll give you your freedom. How about that?"

  The wolves snickered. It was completely unfair. There was no way to come up with that number, let alone judge it. But they hadn't offered any ultimatum if I failed, so glaring, I chanced a guess. "One-thousand-and-thirty-two." />
  They chortled again, but this time with grudging respect. I had always wondered what was going through animals' minds before this, but I shouldn't have bothered. They were just as lame as everybody else.

  "Okay," Octavius said. "If you can figure this next one out, I'll give you my right paw."

  I wasn't sure if I wanted to play this game, but Hobs' eyes danced at the offer. "Sure, I'll take it," he said.

  "What do you and my breakfast have in common?" Octavius asked.

  "Nothing. I'm smarter."

  Octavius chuckled. "Wrong. You'll both be digested . . . uh, but at different times."

  Somehow it wasn't as funny as Hobs' answer—even the wolves groaned. "That's awful," Glasses said. "How about this one—what's the difference between a little girl and her grandma?"

  "One's older?" the gray one guessed.

  "Nope, about two seconds. Gulp goes the grandma. Gulp goes the little girl." They laughed, and I mussed Babs' hair, trying to put her at ease. She looked very somber, but she had been that way as a baby, two days ago.

  "Okay, okay." Octavius pawed Hobs' leg in his eagerness. "What has horse hooves, a monkey tail, and goes flap, flap, flap?"

  "Dinner," Hobs said.

  The wolves exchanged looks. Apparently that was the right answer, and I remembered the deal. Someone had to give Hobs something pretty important. Hobs looked more serious than I had ever seen him. "You owe me your paw, Octavius."

  Octavius braced himself. The charred wolf was way too cool to back out of the deal now, and besides, his friends were all watching. In the ensuing silence, he extended his paw. The other wolves watched tensely. I held my breath, not sure what Hobs was going to do with it. Lopping it off seemed a little extreme, but I had no idea how faeries worked. After a moment, Hobs took the paw and shook it. The wolves went back to their laughing and bantering, pleased that they could play with their dinner. Bunch of animals.

  "So," Hobs asked the wolves in a conversational tone. "Did you just happen on us, or did the hag send you?"

  Glasses looked at him like he was missing some brain cells. "Of course she sent us. I think she misses you, actually."

  "Oooooooh!" The chortling and snorting that followed the announcement didn't make it sound good.

  Hobs wasn't ruffled. "Yeah, I'm sure every time she curses, my name's somewhere in there."

  The wolves shared another laugh with him, but they didn't offer an explanation. I got frustrated. "So, what's your reward for helping us get to the hag's place?" Hobs asked. The wolves fell silent. Hobs had effectively killed the moment, and true to form, he kept stabbing at it. "Medals? A free dinner with the nymphs?" So far, he hadn't hit the mark. "I know. She's throwing a party for you because she's so grateful for your help."

  By now the wolves' heads were hanging. Gray—as I decided to call him—sullenly hit a tree with his paw as he passed. "No," he grumbled. "She's not doing any of that."

  "Well, the old hag's got to be showing some gratitude for you? I mean, she's sending you all the way out here in the snow and the cold. What? It's like twenty minutes to the castle?" They avoided his gaze and I bit my lip. Hobs had found their sore spot; the wolves weren't appreciated like they deserved, though it seemed a little obvious that Hobs was working it. But watching the wolves, all I saw were disgruntled faces.

  We trudged through another clearing, fighting through the deep snow with nowhere to run if given the chance. There had to be a way to get out of this, but before I could think of anything, we were back inside our crowded clump of trees. Birds chirped overhead, breaking the silence. Hobs lifted his shoulders. "Well, I'm sure she's doing something nice for you."

  "Just drop it, okay?" Octavius said.

  "You're right. She's not worth it. How about a game instead?" Hobs acted like he was doing the wolves a favor. "That's always a nice diversion. I know, try guessing our names, if you can."

  "Guess your names?" Octavius eagerly picked up the change of subject. Gray snickered next to me.

  What trick Hobs was playing now? I hoped it would work. His eyebrow sketched up at me. "Yeah, it's a riddle. Bet you can't do it." If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to tell me something in code.

  "We know who you are for sure. Hobany," Glasses said. I half expected him to push his glasses further up his nose like the intellectual he was. "Then we have the child of . . . uh . . . Oberon—for lack of a better name—and . . ." He glanced at the tiara wound over my head. "Her punk babysitter? We'll call her the keeper, for the sake of the game. How's that?"

  Hobs smiled, slowing his steps to meet their eyes. "Nope to one of the guesses. The other two are spot on."

  They looked intrigued. "Yes, but who has the wrong name?"

  "Not telling. And if you can't guess, you have to let us go." When did Hobs start calling the shots?

  The wolves were confused too. "What for?" Octavius sputtered.

  Hobs threw his hands behind his back to stretch, acting casual, as if we weren't prisoners, but friends out for a jog. "Because if you don't guess now, I'll never tell you the answer. And she won't tell you either."

  "The hag?"

  "It's a carefully guarded secret. I wish she trusted you more, but you know how it is."

  The wolves' eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in thought. "I know. I know," Gray said. "It's you we gave the wrong name—because you have so many. Puck, Robgoblin, Robin, Pixie . . ."

  I laughed at the girly names. After a warning look at me, Hobs shook his head. "One name, even a euphemism—if it happens to be the right one—will do. I'm not tricking you this time."

  Glasses squeezed his yellowed eyes shut, thinking hard. "So, who's not who they say they are? Oberon's child or the keeper?"

  There was no way Hobs was telling them, and he grinned broadly. "Is it she?" Octavius pointed me out with his snout.

  "Of the three you mentioned?" Hobs hesitated, drawing out the suspense on purpose. "Nope, you were right about her name."

  Glasses gnawed on his lower lip. It seemed like it would hurt with those sharp fangs. "So, you're saying that your girlfriend either has your name, she's the daughter of Oberon, or she's the keeper?"

  Hobs snickered. "Excellent deduction. She's one of the three names you guessed. Just admit it. You have no idea why you're wrong. Are you ready to let us go?"

  By now Octavius was wearing a smirk, too. He wasn't about to give up. "But which one was right?"

  "Nice try. I'm not saying a thing."

  The happy dog grins turned downward. "Well, she doesn't have your name. We know that!"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes!" The wolves snapped. They waited for Hobs to give them a clue, but from past experience, I knew they'd never get the satisfaction. They began to whine. "We're almost to the palace. Just tell us!"

  "We are?" As if Hobs didn't already know. He lifted a hand to his eyes to block the light from the blinding snow. The spires of the castle rose over the forest like an elaborate ice sculpture. Nothing but magic could create such a thing. So much for letting us go if the wolves didn't get the right answer. Stupid wolves. I felt myself panic—I wouldn't surrender Babs to the hag. Hobs had to know that.

  "Guess you're out of luck, boys," Hobs said. "You'll never know the answer." He threw in a careless rise of the shoulders.

  Gray gave Octavius an anguished look. "C'mon, we've got ways of making them talk. We'll stay out here and freeze it out of them."

  Octavius shivered. "We'll freeze too! And she's expecting us."

  Glasses added his argument to Gray's. "She doesn't know they're in the Sidhe yet. He's wearing that talisman—that'll cover up their tracks pretty good. The hag won't know the difference." He watched me accusingly like I was the one keeping the information back.

  I seriously had no idea. I mean, sure, I was Babs' keeper, there was no mistaking that. But to be honest, I had no idea who Babs truly was, and Hobs? His name could be Rumpelstiltskin or Twinkle Toes for all I cared. We had more important things to think
about, more immediate things, like escaping this hag.

  The wolves growled amongst themselves. "We can't stay here any longer," Octavius said. "The hag always knows what happens in the Sidhe. If she finds out we're hiding the prisoners from her . . ."

  "And what if she does?" Glasses snarled. "We don't get our fine steak dinner to show us the appreciation she never gives us? What a Cheltenham tragedy."

  I kind of wanted to hear what the other wolves said to that, but Hobs was already leading Babs and me away into the soft snow, though not away from danger like I wanted. No, we were heading straight for her place. The castle’s spires sucked in the mist around it like a shield against invaders. I complained, but it wasn't satisfying in the least, since I had to keep it quiet. "What are you doing?" I hissed.

  He glanced over his shoulder. "They'll never expect us to go this way."

  "Why won't they? They're dogs. They'll sniff us out, or just follow our tracks in the snow. We're leading them straight to us!"

  "There's a difference between book smart and street smart, and baby, they haven't been around the block—if you know what I mean." No! They seemed pretty intelligent to me. And so was I for that matter. Hobs couldn't do this to me again. He sighed as if reading my mind. "Wolves are easy to trick. All we have to do is act like complete idiots and already they've underestimated us."

  Well, he was doing a really good job of acting like an idiot, and if I listened to him, I'd be an even bigger one. "So, are you going to tell me?" I asked.

  "What?" He dragged us further into the forest and closer to the castle.

  I wrestled my hand from his. "Whose name did they get wrong?" Babs or Hobs . . . or me? But that was stupid. I know who I am. "If Babs isn't who you said she was . . . Well, you need to tell me everything. How else will I be able to help her?"

  Hobs had on his half-smile again, the same one he used on the wolves. "If I told you, what would be the fun in that?" He dimpled at my outrage. "Ah c'mon, the wager doesn't even matter. I was just trying to confuse them so we could get away. And it worked. See?"

  "You were just playing with them?"

  "Play? No, I never play." He laughed when I made another face. "I'm telling the truth. I swear."

  He was swearing. I should've known that meant more trouble. His fingers tangled through mine again, and without so much as an explanation, he led us straight for her place.