Follow the crows? Ronnie thought, her mouth nearly dropping in astonishment. Surely, she was joking.
The look on Wynter’s face said clearly that she wasn’t.
“Oh....well. Goodbye, then!”
Ronnie rushed out of the library, her heart pounding. She’d never seen Mrs. Graham transform into the Spriteblood before, and she was hoping like crazy that she wouldn’t ever have the reason to see her do it again. While the fairy was pretty in a weird sort of way, if you could ignore the pointed, sharp-looking teeth, there was something oddly comforting about seeing the dour-faced librarian she was used to meeting in the school library instead of a Spriteblood.
“If the answer is to follow crows, it’s time to go and find some,” Ronnie said softly to herself as she came out of the school’s big double doors.
FINDING CROWS WASN’T nearly as hard as she had thought. She spotted the first one on a light post across the street from the school, but it seemed to know that she was looking for it and flew off the instant she spotted it.
Then, she saw two more perched on a fence near the road. They ruffled their feathers and puffed out their chests, movements that told Ronnie that they weren’t pleased that she was staring at them.
She watched to make sure no one was around, then walked across the road. The crows cawed once they realized that she was coming toward them.
Taking another quick look to make certain no one was watching, Ronnie shifted into her Chickcharney. The crows, obviously not happy with what she had done, cawed loudly, then flew off into the forest.
She followed from a safe distance so as not to spook them, but they seemed to fly in a direct path, as if they knew exactly where they wanted to go. At first they moved quickly in an effort to put more space between her and them, but after a few moments they calmed and went slower, for which Ronnie was very happy. The underbrush had grown thicker and it was more difficult to navigate around the trees and branches, while keeping the birds in sight.
It’s too bad they won’t fly above the trees. It would be so much easier to keep up, she thought, dodging around the sprawling limbs of a giant oak. The crows darted north suddenly, moving so quickly that she nearly missed them turn.
The sky was darkening overhead and the air had turned brisk and cold and she found herself happy to be flying a safe distance below the clouds that rolled above the trees, blocking out all the light. I hope they lead me wherever I need to be soon. I don’t need to be out in this, whenever the storm breaks free.
As if the crows had either heard her thoughts, or were certain they had lost her with that last turn, they flew up and soared above the trees.
Ronnie nearly turned back. Every instinct in her gut was telling her to forget it and follow them another day—but she ignored it. She caught a sudden gust of wind and rose above the treetops, closing the gap between her and the crows.
But they didn’t stay above the forest for long, and soon dipped down between two mountains into a small hollow. She followed them and watched as they dropped into a thick grove of pine trees. As she reached the place they had entered, she hit something hard and smooth, and found herself lying on the ground.
She hopped up and puffed out her feathers and looked in front of her. She could see the copse of trees ahead, but they looked slightly blurred. If she had been in her human form, she never would have noticed the wall of magic surrounding them. She spread out her wings until one barely touched the barrier. She felt the slight tingle of magic that thrummed along her feathers.
This had to be where she was supposed to be. Ronnie shifted back and looked at where the wall should have been. She had been right, her human eyes saw nothing out of the ordinary. She reached out and laid her palm against it and felt a surge of power that stung her fingertips.
“I’ve never had a book made of an owl,” a strange voice echoed around her. It sounded curious, as if it weren’t speaking to her at all, but rather to itself. “Perhaps, I shall give it a try.”
“Perhaps, you won’t,” Ronnie retorted hotly. “I didn’t come all this way to have…” She didn’t see anyone, so she wasn’t sure who or what she was speaking to. “I didn’t come all this way to become a book. I came for help.”
“And why would I be helpin’ ye?” the voice asked crossly.
Ronnie shrugged. It had worked before, maybe it would work again. “Because I am a Chickcharney—I’m charmed. And if you don’t help me, I’ll curse you.”
An audible popping sound was the first thing she heard. “A Chickcharney, ye say,” a dark chuckle bounced eerily through the trees. “How can I resist helping a creature such as that? Best ye come in now and we’ll see what can be done.”
As Ronnie took a step forward, she felt the magic wash over her as the invisible wall was put back into place. Whatever was in here had some serious power. She found herself hoping like crazy that whatever it was really believed she had enough power of her own to curse it. Otherwise, she was going to be in a heap of trouble.
A small hut with a thatched roof stood in the center of the grove, a curling wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. Ronnie took a deep breath and went to the door. She raised her hand to knock.
“Well, come on then! We haven’t got all day, now have we?” the cross voice said impatiently.
Ronnie put her hand against the door and pushed it open.
Chapter 4
RONNIE WASN’T SURE what she had expected to find inside, but the small, ancient creature with bulging eyes wasn’t it. A quick memory of Nikki’s book zipped through her mind and she remembered the name she had seen scrawled beneath the title.
“Are you Efflehurt the Bog Elf?” she asked.
“It’s pronounced Ee-flur!” the creature answered angrily. “Why can’t anyone say it as it’s meant to be? They never mistake Bog Elf, but canna say anything as simple as Efflehurt!” He thumped his walking stick into the floor and glared at her.
“Oh…I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Ronnie mumbled, afraid to take her eyes off the weird little being, lest he make good on his threat of attempting to make some sort of book out of her.
Efflehurt harrumphed, but seemed to be mollified with her apology. “Before I be helping ye, I want to know how ye found me.”
“I followed the crows as Wynter told me to do.”
A strange look passed over the Bog Elf’s face. “So that’s how she finds me. I suppose that I need to spell them, too.” Then, he seemed to remember Ronnie was still standing there. “So what help do ye need?”
Finally, Ronnie thought. Let’s get this over with. “Wynter had a book that held the power to take magic away…”
“I won’t be making ye such a book,” the Bog Elf interrupted crossly, not waiting for her to finish. “Curse me if ye wish.”
“No, the book is not what I want.” Ronnie shook her head emphatically. A crazy, gross, magical book was the last thing she needed to lug around with her. “What I want is to have my magic taken away,” she explained. “I don’t want to be a Chickcharney anymore.”
Efflehurt gaped at her as if she had suddenly grown two extra heads. “No magic? Have ye gone completely daft, girl?”
Ronnie put her hands on her hips. All traces of fear were gone now. She had come for help, not to be called stupid. “My magic isn’t understood by someone and to keep him, I need it gone. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Aye,” Efflehurt said, leaning heavily on his stick, his expression gone thoughtful. Then, a wicked grin covered his face. “But I must have payment for such a service.”
Ronnie felt the blood drain from her face. “What…what kind of payment?” she stammered.
“Ah, nothing that ye be wanting anymore,” he nodded. “I be wanting the thing ye wish to be rid of.”
“You want my magic? I’ll give it to you. Just tell me what I need to do.”
“That be simple enough,” he said, picking up a knife from a nearby table. He hobbled toward her.
With each step he to
ok forward, Ronnie took one back. The dark gleam in his eyes was not reassuring.
“I’m not going to kill ye,” he snapped. “I’m just going to take yer feathers. That be where yer magic is. Each feather holds magic, so I’ll cut them free.”
“Oh,” Ronnie said, stopping her retreat. So long as skin wasn’t attached to those feathers…
“Ye need to shift to yer owl,” he instructed, then gestured to the shelves of books around her. “And please try not to destroy anything while ye do it.”
Ronnie nodded and within the next second, the Bog Elf was hobbling behind her. She spread her wings, letting him have whatever feathers he chose.
With each flick of his blade, Ronnie felt another feather fall—another bit of her magic leaving with it. She knew that it hadn’t taken long for the mountain of feathers to pile up beneath her, but it felt like she had stood there for an eternity, waiting for each tiny bit of magic to drop away, little by little.
Finally, the last feather fell and Ronnie stood there, her arms spread out. All traces of her wings gone.
“That’s it!” the Bog Elf said gleefully, hobbling around her. He gave her an enormous smile. “It be done now.”
“My magic is gone? You’re sure?”
“Aye, but if ye don’t believe me, try it.”
Ronnie concentrated, searching for the familiar silky feel of feathers, but she found nothing. She thought she would be happy. After all, this is what she wanted. Instead, she found herself ready to cry.
You got what you came for, she reminded herself. Now you’ll have John again.
“Is that all you needed?” she asked Efflehurt, who was eyeing the pile of feathers with a look of profound happiness.
“Aye, that be enough,” he nodded happily. “I’ll let down my magic wall so ye can leave whenever ye wish.”
Ronnie nodded, then turned and went out the door, quietly shutting it behind her. She walked back out of the grove, never feeling the surge of enchantment as the wall opened to let her pass through.
It was done. Her magic was gone.
Chapter 5
AN ARTIC COLD blast of air shoved into her the instant she stepped past the barrier. In the time she had spent inside, the weather had taken a definite turn for the worse. The wind whipped around her in a fury, as if it was angry with what she had done and knew that she would never soar on it again. The snow had come too, and was covering the ground so fast that nothing looked as it had before she had gone in.
This could be really bad. I was an idiot to get rid of my magic with a storm coming. She didn’t know for sure exactly how far she was from home, but she knew the only way to get there now was to walk, so she began trudging through the snow. Thankfully, her sense of direction hadn’t left with her magic, and her instincts told her she was definitely going in the right direction. Now, she would have to hope that home wasn’t as far as she feared it was.
SHE’D SPENT THE first two hours moving as fast as she possibly could. Twice, she had fallen. The first time, she skinned her palms—a result from throwing her hands out to catch herself. The second time, she slid in the growing drifts of snow and nearly rolled over a steep embankment. After that, she took more care to watch her footing.
The sun hadn’t been there the entire time on her trek, but she had still known it was early evening. But now the sky had darkened—not from the storm, but from the night that would soon be coming.
Ronnie thought about finding a place to curl up and sleep for the night, but the temperature was dropping at an alarming rate, and she was afraid to stop for fear of freezing.
But I can’t keep going for much longer. Everything is starting to look the same. I’ll be lost, wandering in circles. Her legs were burning from plodding through the snow and her feet felt like two solid blocks of ice that became heavier and heavier with each step.
Despair mixed in with exhaustion and she sank to her knees. Tears freezing on her eyelashes, she threw back her head and screamed—a cry of anguish that bounced through a silent, white forest.
A dark image moved between the trees—a shape that she could barely make out that moved like something on two legs.
No human would be out in this, so far from town. What else moves on two legs? A bear…or a Sasquatch.
The first, she knew would be no help. But the second? Hope surged through her.
“Help me, please!” she shouted with every ounce of strength that she had left. It’s working! It heard me! The creature, whatever it was, was definitely heading directly toward her. Please don’t be a bear, she thought, as it came closer.
The first thing she recognized were the two large, curling, tusk-like teeth. It wasn’t a bear or Bigfoot that came to save her, but a Woodsburl. Ronnie was so happy to see it that she would have jumped up and down had she had the strength.
Instead, she grinned as wide as she could. Her chapped, bottom lip split as a product of that enthusiasm, but she didn’t care. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she said, her voice gone hoarse.
The Woodsburl grunted in reply, and stopped directly in front of her. “We need to find shelter,” he said in a low, rumbling voice, offering a big, clawed hand to help her up. She gladly took it, but stumbled as soon as she made it up. Her legs felt like Jell-O. “I’ll carry you.” The Woodsburl picked her up, not waiting for her to agree to his offer, but Ronnie didn’t care. She didn’t have the strength or any reason to object.
He cradled her in his arms and set off, stomping easily through the snow.
Normally, Ronnie would have had a ton of questions for the big creature who had every bit as much magic as she once had, but she was too tired to ask any of them. She leaned her head against his arm, feeling the safest that she had felt in days, and sat there quietly, as he walked quickly through the forest.
Within moments, he had found a small cave and ducked inside, then put her down carefully, as if he thought she might break. Then, he went back out, and a few large cracking sounds came from outside.
He reappeared with an armload of thick tree branches, which he set to criss-crossing against the entrance of the cave in an effort to keep the cold and snow out. Ronnie, in the meantime, had found a supply of dry sticks in the corner of the cavern, which must have been left by a hiker passing though.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, which startled the Woodsburl. He turned and looked at her. She lifted up her newest discovery—a nearly empty lighter, which had been hidden behind the sticks. “Now, we just have to hope that there is enough fluid in it to get a fire started.”
She managed to pile the smallest sticks up in a small heap in the center of the cave, then sat down beside it. Her frozen fingers were stiff and didn’t want to bend, but she kept fumbling with the lighter. She had expected the Woodsburl to shift back to human since they were safely inside the cave, but he stayed as he was, and watched her, not offering to help.
Finally, the lighter caught and a small flame lit at the end. Her hands shaking, Ronnie placed it under the small pile of twigs and sent up a silent prayer that it would catch fire. A small, errant breeze came from under the branches at the mouth of the cave and the lighter snuffed out.
“Crap,” Ronnie mumbled, trying to click the lighter back to life again.
The Woodsburl moved opposite her and sat down. When the lighter flicked on again, he spread his big hands out as a shield around Ronnie’s hands, protecting the tiny flame as it caught on the twigs, then started piling the bigger pieces on as it grew.
Ronnie sighed in relief and put her hands as close as she dared to the fire, feeling the numbness finally leave her fingertips.
The Woodsburl had been silent since they entered the cavern, but now he had decided to speak. “Why were you out in this storm?” The question had sounded more like a demand, really. Ronnie frowned.
“I was visiting someone and didn’t pay attention. By the time I left, the storm had set in.”
“Why didn’t you stay with this friend? It isn’t safe to
be out in weather like this.”
“I’m not a human,” she said, then realized immediately that she really was a human now. “I mean,” she added softly, “I wasn’t just a human earlier, and I didn’t feel comfortable staying with the one I was visiting. He was not a friend.”
At the Woodsburl’s questioning look, she decided to continue, feeling that she owed him that much for saving her. “I was a Chickcharney. I went to find someone who would take my magic away. The only one who could do that was a Bog Elf and I didn’t trust him—I trust the storm more than him. Anyway, I didn’t realize the storm had come while he was taking away my magic.”
“Why would you do that? Have your magic taken away?” he asked in a gravelly voice.
“Because my boyfriend is human and he wouldn’t understand. Well…he was my boyfriend,” she said, her voice cracking on the last words. She shook her head, determined not to get teary-eyed again and changed the subject. “So, you can shift back to human, now that we’re safe inside. Besides, I don’t even know your name.”
The Woodsburl grunted and shook his head. “I will stay as I am in case I need to go out for more wood.”
Ronnie wanted to point out that he could just as easily shift back. She had been around Woodsburls before and knew that their magic came to them quickly, and that they could shift with a second if they wished. But she didn’t say it, and instead scooted around the fire and sat near him and offered him her hand. “My name is Ronnie.”
His huge hand enveloped hers, claws circling her wrist. He paused, before he answered. “I’m Nate.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Nate. Thanks for saving me.”
Nate grunted, then released her hand. “You’re welcome.”
“So why were you in the forest? I know Woodsburls love being near the trees, but they’re not immune to the cold, either.”
“I’m new to this magic thing. I keep finding myself drawn to the forest. In fact, you’re the first person who has even told me what exactly I am,” Nate said, his big hands touching his curling teeth, and then his face. “A Woodsburl,” he said softly. “The name fits the monster.”
The Keeper Saga: Wynter's War, Charmed, and The One (The Boxed Set Book 2) Page 19