“I get it,” I told him as I sat against the trunk of a friendly redwood, watching Devon Hendrickson, pretty-boy faerie, put the moves on Brittney Jones, also a faerie and the BFF of his girlfriend, Allison Sparks (who is also a faerie—are you sensing a theme here?) while Allison was holed up in her dorm room with the stomach flu.
“Birds mate in the spring,” I continued.
Hip Hop, perched on my shoulder, trilled an affirmative.
“But that’s because your chicks need to hatch in the summer, and the incubation period for your eggs is only a few weeks. Humans are different.”
He gave me a direct look, and I felt my cheeks heat up.
“I’m just talking scientifically here, okay? Not about babies. And even they don’t look like they have reproduction on the brain,” I said, jutting my chin towards the faerie drama playing out closer to the dining hall. “Maybe acts that might lead to reproduction, but not for the sake of making more little faeries.” I made a face. “I feel like I’m just digging myself into a bigger hole here. And a way worse mental image. Can you imagine a bunch of tiny Devons running around, two-timing their toddler girlfriends?”
Hip Hop made a disgusted noise.
“Anyway,” I said, shaking my head in an attempt to dislodge the imagery, “while you are totally, completely, one-hundred-percent correct that Devon and Brittney are being gross, it has everything to do with their weird love triangle thing, and nothing to do with the fact that it’s October. Humans can find romance any time of the year, not just in spring.”
Hip Hop was silent for a moment, and then let out a string of chatters and chirps that told me exactly what he thought of human mating practices.
I bit my lip to hide a smile. “Yeah, we are weird. I’ll grant you that one.”
I leaned my head back against the redwood, took a deep, satisfied breath, and looked up at the bright blue October sky.
“You know why else humans are weird? Because we coop ourselves up indoors on glorious days like this.”
Hip Hop trilled an amused reply.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess failing my classes would be bad.” Then I grinned. “But at least it’s Friday afternoon. Two exams down, zero to go. And we have a video on Robert Burns in English class, a study hall in Shop, and then the Intro to Weightlifting talk in PE, which means almost zero brainpower required this afternoon. And then two whole days off, with no tests or quizzes scheduled for Monday and this gorgeous fall weather calling our names.” I sighed happily. “I don’t know about you, but I’m planning to spend every minute of it outside, soaking up this awesome sunshine.”
Hip Hop held out one wing and I gave him a gentle fist bump.
And then we turned back to watch the faeries.
“We really need popcorn for this,” I said.
He chirped an enthusiastic assent.
***
The only thing I remember about the boring documentary in English class is that Robert Burns said something about mice and men and their best-laid plans going awry. Which turned out to be frustratingly apt when Hip Hop and I left seventh period PE with a skip in our step—and exited the gym into the pouring rain.
We groaned in unison.
“Maybe it’ll clear up soon,” I said, trying to hold on to my optimism. “It started suddenly enough.”
Hip Hop chattered, drawing my attention to the darkness and thickness of the heavy grey clouds overhead.
“Grrr,” I said. “Okay, fine. Then I’ll race you back to— Hey!”
Hip Hop was already winging his way through the rain, maneuvering like a fighter pilot to stay out of the worst of it. I ducked my head and sprinted after him. We arrived soaking and out of breath at the dining hall a few minutes later, and stopped outside under the eaves to catch our breath.
“Fi-i-i-ine,” I said. “You win.”
Hip Hop preened and settled on my shoulder. I wiped a hand ineffectually over my wet face and hair, and peered into the dining hall.
Inside, students from all four grades and at least seven magical races flung pumpkin guts at each other in the center of the room, while a handful of resigned-looking teachers supervised. Around the edges of the room, some groups of wizards and dwarves and shifters actually carved pumpkins like they were supposed to—but not always the way they were supposed to.
I caught the eye of Mr. Hayes, my homeroom teacher. He raised his eyebrows at me, looked turned to look pointedly at the trace-and-carve jack-o’-lantern kit he held in one hand, turned to look pointedly at the nearby hedgewitches who were going to town with knives, paint, and little formal artistic sensibility, and turned back to me, his expression just shy of panic. I grinned back at him.
If you’re familiar with the, you know, non-magic high school system, you might wonder why it would matter that Mr. Hayes is my homeroom teacher. At Kaine Academy, homeroom isn’t just a place where you show up to get counted in roll call and goof off with your friends for a few minutes every day or every week. It’s a full period, and the only one of the day that you get to practice your magic instead of learning English and history and math. So the hedgewitches all get together with Ms. Munro and practice talking to trees and birds and squirrels, the wereanimals all get together with Ms. Lopez and play lots of competitive sports, and the faeries all get together with Ms. Malakov and practice biting sarcasm and being the worst people ever.
But there’s no elf homeroom at Kaine Academy. So I’m stuck with Mr. Hayes and the rest of the wizards. It’s… actually not so bad. In fact, Mr. Hayes is pretty cool.
I cocked my head, wondering if I should go inside and rescue him from abstract art and his own OCD tendencies.
But then something else came up.
“Don’t feel like carving pumpkins?” came a familiar voice from just a few feet away.
“Nah,” I said, forcing my voice to stay casual, despite my suddenly quickening pulse. I turned to face Martin Russett. He’s a teenage werewolf, but surely that doesn’t make it fair for him to have such broad shoulders or such an infectious smile.
I wrestled my mind back to the conversation at hand. “No jack-o’-lanterns for us today. I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent way too much time inside this week. Hip Hop and I were just going to go for a walk. Want to join us?”
Hip Hop started to chatter indignantly about the rain pouring over the eaves a few feet away. I poked him and gave him a look. He made a rude noise in response.
“Sorry,” said Martin with a bright smile. “I need to go for a run before dinner. But you guys are welcome to join me if you want!”
I made a face. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not really a runner.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Maybe we’ll cross paths out there. Have fun!” Then, in a single unselfconscious motion, he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulled it over his head, tucked it into the waistband of his running shorts, and trotted off into the rain.
Hip Hop chattered at me.
“I was not staring,” I said.
His answering chirp sounded quite skeptical.
“Though,” I murmured, “who could blame me if I did stare a little?”
Hip Hop blatted rudely again.
“Rain, schmain,” I responded. “I think a walk sounds good. You coming, or do you want to model for that group of battlemages?” I pointed through the windows to a foursome who had worked some kind of abstract bird motif into their pumpkin.
Hip Hop hesitated, clearly torn, but then he cheeped once, decisively.
“Sweet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Mr. Hayes caught my eye again from inside the dining hall and raised his eyebrows in a question that looked like it contained a lot of “Please???!?” in it. I shook my head, grinning. Then I mentally shouted, Sorry! and headed off down the path. I wasn’t sure the telepathic message would get through to him at that range, but I figured my body language was pretty clear.
***
Fifteen minutes later, we were out past the faculty cottages,
into the forest. We’d made a quick pit stop at my dorm room for appropriate rain gear.
“Better?” I asked.
Hip Hop, snuggled up on my shoulder against my cozy scarf and well out of the pathway of the water streaming from my rain hat’s brim, nuzzled his head against my cheek.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said with a smile. “You don’t have to get all mushy or anything. If you really want to thank me, maybe you could just lay off teasing me about Martin for a while.”
He chirped thoughtfully.
We strode through the forest for a while in silence, just enjoying being outside after a long week in too many classrooms.
The woods smelled like wet earth and green, growing things. The sound of my boots crunching through maple and sycamore leaves was music to my ears. The chilly breeze just made me feel grateful for my warm rain jacket. Out in the redwood groves, droplets of water were caught by shining green needles on sturdy branches. They hung there, sparkling like diamonds when the light was right.
“It’s official,” I said, a smile stretching across my face and the cares of the week rolling off my shoulders. “Fall is the best.”
Hip Hop chattered to me.
“Seriously?” I asked. “How can you like spring more than fall? Fall is the best season ever. Harvest, holidays, bonfires and Halloween and warm sweaters and—”
He chirped again.
I changed tacks. “And pumpkin cookies and pumpkin pie and homemade bread and—”
His response this time was decidedly more cheerful.
“And snuggling up inside with a good book, and apple cider, and cinnamon and nutmeg in everything—”
I paused again, but not because of a snarky chickadee reply.
Off in the distance, I could hear loud, snarling barking and the cries of a frightened animal.
Hip Hop and I looked at each other quickly, and then bolted towards the noise.
We hurried up and down a series of low hills, my feet pounding on the trail and Hip Hop’s wings pumping near my ear. Then we rounded a sharp bend—and stopped short.
Up against the dark, leaf-strewn side of a hill stood a lone oak, its branches thick with foliage.
And standing with its front legs against the trunk of the tree was a giant green hound. It looked like a constellation come to life. Bright spots of hunter green light shone through the shadows of the forest, and fainter lines of green connected them to form the shape of a dog. I could see the texture of the oak tree right through its spectral body.
“Um,” I said to Hip Hop between attempts to catch my breath.
The hound snapped its head around to look at us. It froze, nose twitching rapidly.
I held very still and tried to remember whether or not you’re supposed to look aggressive dogs in the eye. Did the same principle hold for magical aggressive dogs?
But the hound, apparently satisfied, gave me a quick wag of its tail and then returned to barking up the tree. A flash of something white moved in the foliage, and the hound’s barking redoubled.
Hip Hop let out a cry out of outrage.
“Wait,” I said, and concentrated on the dog spell. With a little effort, I could see the magic behind it, rather than the hound itself. And that magic definitely looked familiar.
“I’m almost positive this is part of Mr. Hayes’ sentinel spell. Which means that the hound should be on our side. And which also means that whatever’s in that tree might… not.”
Hip Hop froze in place. We’d had, uh, a few unpleasant experiences with black magic in the past few weeks, and I didn’t think either of us wanted to get too close to something that might want to hurt us.
But just then, a huge grey wolf bounded into the clearing and tackled the spellhound.
“No!” I said, running forward as the two canines wrestled on the ground, growling and snapping.
And that’s when I hit a particularly slippery patch of leaves, slid sideways, and smashed right into a big boulder.
Instantly, the dogfight stopped as two ridiculously large animals and one small one hurried over to see if I was okay.
“Ugh,” I said, pushing away the spellhound, who was enthusiastically licking my face. “Stop it. And you stop too,” I said to the wolf, shoving his cold nose out of my ear. “I’m fine,” I assured all three of them. “I think I just twisted my ankle.”
The outline of the big grey wolf (who was obviously Martin) shivered. I clapped my eyes shut, remembering suddenly that wereanimals tended to strip naked before popping in and out of their alternate forms.
“You okay?” asked Martin.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I repeated. “Why’d you barge in here like that, anyway? I think the spellhound is friendly.”
“Yeah,” Martin said, managing to sound sheepish despite his recent appearance as a big scary wolf. “I thought he might have been barking at you, but I figured it out after a few seconds. So did Shep. We’re cool now.”
“Shep?” I asked. I opened one eye—in the direction away from Martin—and scowled down at the spellhound, who wagged his (green, transparent) tail at me as if to answer to the name.
I arched an eyebrow. “Well, I think Shep here found something in the tree. And I think we’d better get Mr. Hayes to help this time.”
“This time?” Martin asked.
“Um,” I said, remembering that the black magic a few weeks before wasn’t common knowledge in the student body. “Long story. Can you go get him? He was in the dining hall, overseeing the pumpkin carving, last I saw.”
“Sure,” he said. “But why aren’t you going to get him?”
“Twisted ankle, remember?” I made a face. “Besides, you’re faster anyway.”
“Fair enough,” he said with way too easy agreement. “By the way, I’m decent now.”
I opened the other eye slowly, and then clapped it shut again.
“I’m not sure a strategically placed tree branch really counts, Martin.”
He huffed a laugh. “Suit yourself. Shep’ll stay here in case whatever’s in the tree is dangerous. I’ll be back soon with Mr. Hayes. What should I tell him?”
“Tell him that his sentinel spellhound treed something, and Hip Hop and I found it. I don’t know if it’s a malfunction of the enchantment or what—I assume he’d ordinarily get alerted if something triggered his sentinel spell—but it’s probably safest to have him come out and see for himself.” I smiled. “I don’t think he’ll mind having an excuse to leave the dining hall right now anyway.”
“You got it,” he said. Scuffling sounds came from that side of the trail. A cold wet nose poked my hand and I opened my eyes carefully. Martin, back in wolf form, grinned at me, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, and then loped away.
“And bring pants this time!” I shouted after him.
I heard a bark of lupine laughter, and an answering whuff from Shep.
“And you,” I said, pointing at my feet.
Shep trotted over to me, his tail wagging so hard that his whole body moved back and forth, and thrust his ears into strategic locations near my fingers.
“Wow,” I said, scritching as ordered. “You’re both so scary.”
I couldn’t see any fur under my hand, but I could sure feel it—long, soft, and warm. Shep definitely wasn’t a normal dog. For one thing, I couldn’t have a conversation with him like I could with Hip Hop or other animals. But he wasn’t a hasty magical construct either.
“Wow,” I said again, kneeling so I could run my hands over his fur more thoroughly. “Mr. Hayes spent some time on you, eh, buddy?”
Shep looked at me for a moment, his eyes level with mine, and then licked me from chin to forehead.
“Eww,” I said, shoving him away. “Realistic slobber too. Awesome.”
And that’s when I realized I was getting entirely too little sass from a particular chickadee. I looked around, worried. When I spotted him, perched on a tree branch nearby, I frowned.
“Hip Hop?” I asked.
No response. He continued to stare raptly towards the oak tree.
My frown got deeper. “Buddy?” Leaning on Shep, I hobbled towards the chickadee.
Still no response.
I was just about to freak out entirely when I looked in the direction he was staring.
There, in the shadows of the oak tree, was another bird.
And not just any bird.
A large, immaculately white bird with a long, elegant neck and a crest of feathers on her head. She stood stock still, her eyes focused on Shep, her sides moving quickly as she breathed too fast.
“Whoa,” I said to myself, my hand still on Shep’s back. “An albino peahen!”
Shep vibrated under my hand, as though he still really wanted to chase the bird but was holding back just to be a good boy. I stroked his fur absently, and leaned towards Hip Hop.
“Do you think she’s scary?”
The chickadee let out a small peep in the negative.
“Then why were you chasing her?” I asked Shep.
He looked at me, looked at her, and growled deep in his throat. He completely ruined his scary-dog impression by wagging his tail at the same time.
“Okay, well, when Mr. Hayes gets here, we can— Hey!”
Hip Hop fluttered to a branch near the peahen and sang out an uncharacteristically soft series of notes.
The peahen blinked and then turned to Hip Hop.
I had a flash of terror. Would she suddenly sprout black magic tendrils and engulf my friend, leaving me powerless to help?
She opened her mouth, moved her long neck—and let out a loud squawk in reply. Which was pretty jarring, coming from such a graceful-looking creature. I couldn’t help laughing.
It wasn’t until Hip Hop turned to glare daggers at me that I realized how much trouble we were in.
Hip Hop wasn’t worried about the peahen being dangerous.
He was in love.
Smitten, twitterpated, head over heels.
Of course, there’s one upside to him falling in love with what is probably not but still technically could be a scary invading black-magic monster, I thought to myself.
Saxifrage & Starshine Page 12