War of the Networks

by Katie Cross

  Or so I hoped.

  I stumbled over my feet on my first attempt to skulk to the door. Coordinating all my paws was, at first, confusing. But I fell into a workable rhythm within a few runs of the room. Juba’s snores deepened.

  Hurry, hurry, I thought, slinking toward the door. No time to waste on perfection.

  So much could go wrong. Mabel could return unexpectedly. I could get lost, caught, or stepped on. But if I found the Book of Light or Isadora, I could make so much right. Keeping that at the forefront of my mind, I held my breath as I approached the door, ready to vomit a nervous hairball. No burst of fire exploded from the seams. When a little flame flared, I bolted through it as fast as I could. The fire ebbed.

  First obstacle complete.

  I glanced over my shoulder into Mabel’s room. Juba slept on. The clock said 11:53. Zane would only risk waiting until 12:30.

  Sounds from the hall filtered past my sharp ears. Walking. A sweeping broom. My sense of smell was better too—without even trying, I detected burnt bread, steel, and dust behind the nearest door. I could tell which direction a slight wind was going just by the scents it brought.

  What would a walk in Letum Wood be like from a cheetah’s perspective? I wondered. Focus. Focus on the goal.

  The hallway stretched in two directions. I headed to the right, the way Mabel always did, grateful that my paws seemed to find their natural stride.

  The heat, which I’d found burdensome and oppressive enough as a witch, startled me with its intensity. Must be the fur. Panting, it turned out, was inefficient, and I longed for a cool pool to lounge in. The Arck, which had seemed a little damp before, suddenly had a thousand different scents. Mold. Decay. Fresh linen. Hints of spices. How did Juba handle this all day long? I shook my head and was startled by the unusual sensation of my ears flapping.

  Strange.

  The hard edges of each paw gave me a firm grip on the stone floor as I padded down the hall, trying to orient myself to my lower-than-usual vision. I recognized the pulse of muscle as I ran, the ease of movement that came with bone and sinew, moving the many small parts of the body as one great whole. Running was running, and it satisfied a flare of magic in my chest that had been antsy and itching. If nothing else came of this adventure, at least I’d have some reprieve from the demanding magic.

  I remained a cheetah while creeping through the halls, panting in the heat, exploring the world from knee height. I moved from shadow to shadow, keeping low, out of sight, moving almost without sound. Maintaining the unfamiliar magic tired me, but after days of pent-up magical energy, I needed to be tired.

  It didn’t take long to familiarize myself with the basic layout of the Arck or find the stairs. Most of the doors in the hallway were closed. My thick, strong tail served as a decent sort of arm to reach up and test the doorknobs, but nearly all the closed doors were also locked.

  That won’t work, I thought with increasing nervousness. Perhaps I’d never find Mabel’s office. Or Isadora.

  The scent of blood drifted in on a breeze, activating bells in my cheetah mind. A thudding pulse of hunger took over me, drowning me in the desire for the rich juiciness of a rack of—

  Hold on, I thought, mentally retreating out of the haze of instinct. Cheetah taking over.

  Once I reoriented myself, a new idea occurred to me. Seeing my way through the Arck wouldn’t be easy as a cheetah. But my strongest asset wasn’t my vision.

  It was my nose.

  I scurried from door to door, sniffing. Mabel’s floral scent would be punishingly strong to my ultra-sensitive nose. Minutes passed. I crept along the hall, waiting in the shadows for maids to pass by and hurrying along the walls in the quiet until, finally, I smelled Mabel’s floral perfume. With an eager trot, I followed it until I came upon a set of double doors. Light spilled from one that stood ajar. I paused, ensuring that no one waited inside, slipped in, and pushed the door closed behind me with my tail.

  It was a large room, nearly as big as Mabel’s personal chamber. A balcony filled one wall, admitting a hot breeze. In the middle of the room lay a table that was as long as the ceiling was tall. On top of it, papers fluttered in a little breeze. Inkwells were stationed at varying intervals, surrounded by stacks of blank scrolls. A small shelf of books stood against the back wall.

  Mabel’s office. It had to be.

  A clock on a natural stone shelf said 12:19. My heart leaped with a little thrill. I’d done it. I’d found Mabel’s office with only a few minutes to spare.

  I headed for the bookshelf while I released the transformative magic. Thumbing through the books would be difficult with claws. Reversing the transformation released a heavy burden, and I turned back into an exhausted version of myself.

  I pulled the books off the shelf with a spell so I could look at them all at once. Dark Arts. Network Governments. In Defense of Black Magic. Nothing that could be the Book of Light. Despite my depleted magical reserves, I used a revealing incantation, but none of the books changed. My heart sank, and I slumped back against the bookshelf.

  Frantic, I searched all her drawers and peeked under the couches to no avail. Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t fail!

  “Tell Daemon I want to meet with him in the morning,” Mabel’s voice said from just down the hall. My blood froze. I straightened in disbelief. No! With another taxing spell, I sent all the books back to the shelf, closed the drawers, straightened the pillows, and stood against the back wall near the door, my heart pounding.

  12:26.

  “His performance has been unacceptable,” Mabel said, her voice growing louder. I glanced around in a panic. I couldn’t jump out the window because I still wore the manacle. Juka would surely recognize me as false right away, even if Mabel didn’t. In one last-ditch effort, I transformed my hair into short, blonde locks, smudged dirt from the dusty books on my face, and transformed two quills from the desk into a mop and bucket. The door to the office flew open, and Mabel strode inside.

  “The West Guards in contingent thirteen need to start training with—”

  I remained pressed against the wall, my eyes averted. Mabel stopped two paces after she passed me, her expression twisted in confusion. Juka walked on her other side, her ears perking up. Her head swung my direction when I slipped by, murmuring what I hoped sounded like an apology. I darted into the hallway, the water in my transformed bucket sloshing onto my dress.

  I didn’t wait around to see if Mabel or Juka had detected my magic or not. I half-walked, half-jogged out of the hallway. Now, how to get down to the kitchen without raising questions … Once I turned the corner, I dropped the mop and bucket and whispered the transformation spell. Twice as fast as before—no doubt the result of my panic—the magic twisted me back into my cheetah shape. I could hide more easily as a cheetah.

  Before my tail had finished elongating, I sprinted for the stairs, bounding down them so quickly they blurred together. One of my four legs slipped, and I plunged forward, smacking my front leg, jaw, and head into a wall. The impact reverberated through my skull. I blinked, dazed, before righting myself and starting down the stairs to the second floor again.

  Don’t give up on me, Zane, I pleaded as I started to navigate the stairs. Don’t give up!

  The smell of baked bread rested heavy in the air when I slinked onto the second floor with a sigh of relief. I’d made it! I was going home!

  A familiar, high-pitched cry stopped me. I had only enough time to suck in a deep breath before a spotted body tackled me, its razor-sharp claws digging into my shoulders.

  Juba’s weight sent me flying back to the staircase where my head hit again with a resounding thud.

  Dafina

  I woke to the metallic smell of death.

  It took me only a few seconds to register that Juba stood over me, panting. I turned away with a grimace, revolted by the smell. My stomach threatened to empty itself on the floor. He snarled, so close to my face I could feel the movement of his whiskers.


  A hot trickle rolled down the back of my neck and shoulders, and I recalled the pain of his claws in my flesh. I put a hand to my bloody neck, surprised not to see fur. Had Juba dragged me back to Mabel’s chamber by my neck? I must have still been a cheetah when we crossed the threshold, or the flames would have killed us both. I supposed the transformative magic had dissipated over time since I hadn’t been awake to keep it going.

  Juba loomed over me with undisguised menace for an eternal minute. Hostility rolled off him in long waves, and I realized that I’d risked his life by sneaking around. The fact that Mabel wasn’t openly laughing at me meant she hadn’t returned.

  Which also meant she probably didn’t know.

  Juba’s eyes narrowed. He pressed his paw into my ribs, leaned his weight on me, and forced the air from my lungs, making clear what he couldn’t say in his feline state.

  Not a word.

  With a growl, he backed away to stand near the wall like a tall sentry, his gaze as steady as death. If he hadn’t been so vicious, I would have found his feline grace beautiful. A deep disappointment surged through me. I hadn’t found the Book of Light, I still had no idea where Isadora was hidden, I wouldn’t be going home, and I’d just made a greater enemy out of Juba.

  I forced the bitterness aside. For now, I had to focus on repairing my cuts and hiding the blood. At least Juba and I had one mutual purpose.

  Mabel could never know that I had escaped.

  After my escape, life with Juba changed dramatically.

  I woke the next morning to find Mabel gone and the manacle attached to the bedpost. When I tried to move, it resisted, tightening by a few links and pulling me closer. At this radius, I barely had enough room to stand.

  “What is this?” I demanded. Juba glared at me, his head cocked to the side as if to say, “You did this to yourself.” He’d probably replaced the chain after Mabel left.

  “I have to use the bathroom.”

  The chain disconnected from the bed and shot across the room, jerking me with it. It linked itself to a spot on the wall near the bathroom. I slid across the floor and collided with the wall. The jostling opened the puncture marks on my shoulders and neck. I ground my teeth together to keep from screaming. Blood oozed onto my collarbones. I cast a numbing incantation and stood up. Just enough chain remained to allow me to use the bathroom and come back out. When I glared at him, I could have sworn he smirked. He screamed when I tried to shut the bathroom door, so I swallowed my dignity and left it open.

  For a cheetah, Juba exhibited impressive magical strength. After transforming into an animal, I could understand the forceful drive of instinct. But Juba’s use of magic made it clear that he liked being a cheetah and chose to remain in that form. I shuddered when I recalled the delighted way in which he’d eaten the Western Network witch that attempted to murder Mabel.

  I took my time cleaning my wounds and washing my face. Juba prowled in the doorway, alternately growling and banging his tail against the doorframe.

  “Can I sit on the divan and read, Your Highness?” I asked him imperiously when I left the bathroom. He bared his teeth and stood on top of the book I’d reached for.

  “Fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll sing. All day long.”

  I caterwauled at the top of my lungs, horribly off-pitch. After a few moments, Juba hissed and moved off the book. The chain slid over to the leg of the divan, wrapping around it several times. I’d learned my lesson—I hurried toward the divan before the chain pulled me in.

  No sooner had I settled into History of the Networks Volume Three than I heard a strange little cry. I peered over the top of the book to find Juba stretched across the balcony on his belly, his front paws trapping something that glowed red. He growled, his nostrils flaring open and closed. He moved his paw to look at his prisoner, and the light twitched to the side. A high-pitched bellow of rage rang through the air. Only one creature was that small, that bright, and that bossy.

  “A fairy?” I whispered in disbelief, setting aside the book. “In the West?”

  Juba pressed one of his nostrils to his paws and sniffed, setting off another round of hysterical displeasure. The light intensified.

  “Set Dafina free!” screamed the fairy, her voice shrill. “The wrath of the fairies be upon you!”

  I’d just stumbled upon a most fortunate—and rare—situation: a fairy in need. If I could save her, she would owe me a favor that fairy law dictated she must fulfill. If she didn’t, she would lose her natural beauty. A true tragedy.

  “Let her go,” I called, standing up. Juba ducked his head down and snarled, his golden eyes compressed and his nose wrinkled. He snapped his teeth at me.

  “Fine,” I said, shrugging. “Eat the fairy.”

  The red light flashed frantically underneath his paw. “No!” she wailed. “Dafina is not your meal!”

  Juba hadn’t taken his eyes off me. His lips pulled back, revealing his back teeth in a low hiss. I met his gaze, feigning confidence. I’d already made a lifelong enemy out of him—this wasn’t going to help our relationship at all. Still, a favor from a free-roaming fairy was worth Juba’s wrath.

  “If you eat her, I’ll tell Mabel that I escaped,” I said. “If she needs proof, I’ll transform back into a cheetah. Although I doubt she’ll need me to convince her with all the holes you left in my neck and shoulders.”

  His ears flattened against the back of his head. He growled.

  “What’s it going to hurt me if she knows I escaped?” I asked. “I’m her only leverage in the war. She can’t kill me.”

  But she can certainly torture me.

  I forced the thought aside and continued with forced casualness.

  “But she can kill you. Although, knowing Mabel, I doubt she would. No, she prefers pain over death. She doesn’t like it to end too easily, now does she? She killed her own mother, remember?”

  While Juba’s nose twitched and his tail shifted back and forth, I sat back on the divan, taking pains to straighten my skirt with exaggerated nonchalance. After a few minutes, I glanced over at him. He hadn’t moved. He panted in the hot air, but his paws remained still. Even the fairy had quieted.

  “Ah. No treat, then?” I asked. “Smart move.”

  Juba leaped toward me with a scream but stopped short of my legs and retreated, whacking the terrified fairy across the room with his tail. She tumbled, heels over wings, and smacked into the sandstone wall. As soon as Juba turned his back, I scrambled forward as far as I could. The chain barely allowed me within reach of her.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  The fairy shot away from my touch and into the air like a tiny firework. She was nearly naked, clad in a tight dress that stretched from her bosom to the middle of her thigh. Her fast-moving wings created a radiant glow that matched her scarlet hair but left a choking trail of smoke in their wake. She bared her razor-sharp teeth, tinged red with blood. No doubt she’d just returned from hunting before she, herself, was hunted, trapped, and brought to this lifeless land of sand.

  “Daughter of the Central Network,” she hissed with a scowl, hovering a breath away from my face. “Why are you here?”

  “Why are you here?” I countered. “You’re far from Letum Wood. Did my father send you?”

  The little fairy scowled. “I work for no one, and I know no witches, daughter of the Central Network.”

  My hope, though small, shrunk smaller still. Fairies had earned their reputation as vain little beings that hated anything not fairy. While some used false innocence to draw in their prey, and a few associated with witches, most were vicious creatures obsessed with blood. They hunted in family packs that stayed together for decades and fiercely guarded their territory. The scorn in her voice told me all I needed to know.

  “Why are you in the West?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “Many reasons.”

  I studied her. “You were caught by a West Guard, weren’t you? They brought you back to show you off to their friends
, and you’ve escaped.”

  She narrowed her beady eyes on me. Her lips curled up in a snarl. “I recognize you,” she said.

  “I hear that a lot. I’m the High Priest’s daughter.”

  “High Priest’s daughter?” She tilted her head back. “What does this mean? You are not of the forest?”

  “You don’t know who the High Priest is?” Fairies were conceited, but I hadn’t known they were clueless.

  Her long wings fluttered. She folded her arms across her chest. “No. We care not for witches and mortals. Or your war.”

  The war between witches and mortals had ended thousands of years earlier, when the five Networks were first formed, but I didn’t feel like giving her a history lesson.

  “Ah,” I said. “I see. Well, if you don’t know my father, how do you know me?”

  “The forest.”

  “Letum Wood?”

  “It knows you.”

  “Why?”

  “The forest recognizes its own.” She zipped around my head, her lips twisted as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. Demeaning herself to speak to a witch clearly pained her. “I am Dafina, fairy of the Mytack pack of Letum Wood. Since you prevented my demise, I shall grant you a favor.”

  “What can you do for me?” I asked, although I already knew the limits of her magic.

  “Wealth, power, guaranteed love.” She held out one hand. “Tell me your desire, and I shall grant it.”

  I considered using the fairy to free myself. How wonderful to beat Mabel with such a horrible little creature! The irony alone made me want to laugh. But my amusement at fate faded. Would saving myself be the best use of such an opportunity? Besides, there were so many layers to Mabel’s magic. I likely couldn’t peel them back enough to escape with just one favor.

  Dafina looked at my manacle. “Freedom?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “It is a wonderful gift, is it not?”

  “A wonderful gift indeed but not the one I seek.” I swung the manacle behind my back. Juba remained within earshot, so I lowered my voice. “I want you to find my friend.”