The snow was so thick now that she couldn’t see more than ten feet on either side of her. The wind picked up, sending the snow flying diagonally into her face. The sky was only a smear of white. Little Beau tried to curl up in the lee of a stump, but she tugged on the scruff of his neck. “Come on,” she told him. “We have to keep moving.”
She offered him a sniff of the antler again and was relieved when he got back up and put his nose to the ground. She tromped behind him. Even though she had on mittens, her fingers were going numb. She’d prepared for snow, but not for a blizzard. What would happen if the storm got worse before they found the Cottage? How long could they go without stopping to make a fire? She trailed behind Little Beau on a path of dizzying switchbacks that made her feel as though they were hiking in circles. She could swear they’d passed by the same trees several times, but if their footsteps had ever been there, new snow had already hidden them.
As evening fell, the forest plunged into an even deeper cold, and she collapsed against a rocky outcropping that provided a windbreak from the storm. Her feet were rapidly turning numb. If she didn’t start a fire and warm them, she wouldn’t make it another mile. With frozen fingers, she hunted through the snow for branches and formed a small pile of kindling, but even with dry matches, she couldn’t get a spark going. The wood was too wet. She dug through her pockets and found a scarf and a fresh pair of socks, but they weren’t enough to keep her warm. She needed magic. With a swallow of powdered herbs, she cast a whisper to conjure an enchanted spark that would burn through damp wood. She added more wood onto the pile, whispering softly, and the fire grew. Her shoulders sagged in relief.
The snowdrifts around them began to melt. Water trickled down, forming a puddle in a bowl-shaped indentation in the rockface. She cupped the water in her hands and drank deep.
The dog, though, kept his distance from the flames.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you thirsty?”
She turned back to the snowdrift and let out a cry. The snow had melted away and now lifeless eyes looked back at her. Pale blue eyes, pale blond hair, skin the same sickeningly white color as the snow itself.
A corpse.
Anouk pressed a bare hand to her mouth. It was a girl. Younger than Anouk. Melting snow clumped in the girl’s hair. She’d been dead for, what, weeks? Months? A sickening bubble rose in Anouk’s throat.
A few broken twigs lay at the girl’s feet. She must have tried to make a fire too. Anouk started to notice other oddly shaped snowdrifts scattered on the ground throughout the woods. How many of them hid bodies? Was this a forest or a graveyard?
A branch snapped under Anouk’s foot and she cringed, picturing a snapped femur beneath the snow. It was getting darker. Night was falling and there was no sign of the Cottage, no paths, no signposts, no traces of lights anywhere. The Cottage could be a stone’s throw away and she might not see it. With the wind changing directions so erratically, Little Beau would never keep hold of the scent.
She felt something at her back, a shadow. She jumped up, twisted to look at the clearing, and scanned the trees. She found nothing. But the hair on the back of her neck was prickling.
Cautiously, she turned back to the fire.
She let out a cry.
A boy had appeared on the other side of the clearing. Anouk’s heart began beating as violently as the storm. There were no tracks in the snow around him. He’d appeared supernaturally, as though blown in with the snow.
The boy cocked his head and said in a voice that clinked like ice, “I’m cold. Can I share your warmth, lovely?”
Chapter 5
Anouk didn’t dare respond to the stranger.
His skin was smooth enough to give him the look of a child, but there was craftiness in his gaze that seemed ancient. His long white hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, but a few jagged pieces hung sharp and straight in the front, like icicles. His skin was so pale it was nearly blue, but his eyes gleamed with a black so complete that it bled beyond his irises.
Whoever he was, he wasn’t human.
Little Beau growled. He should have picked up the boy’s scent long ago—​unless, like the snow, the boy had no scent.
“Stay back.” Anouk plunged her hand in her jacket pocket, searching for her knife.
He cocked his head at her curiously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt fire.” Despite his insistence that he was cold, he kept a wary distance from the flames. “You aren’t like most girls who wander into these woods. They come seeking magic, but you already have a glimmer of it.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s impossible to light a fire in the Black Forest. The wood is too wet. The wind is too fierce.”
With a shiver, Anouk thought of the frozen girl and her paltry collection of twigs. She asked, “What kind of magic handler are you?”
“Snow Children don’t handle magic,” he chided. “We are magic. Whenever there’s snowfall, we are there.” The reflection of flames danced in his eyes. “You want to be an acolyte at the Cottage.”
She nodded. Her left hand, thrust into her pocket, curled around the hilt of the paring knife.
“I can take you.” A curl formed at the corners of lips. “It isn’t far if you know the way.” The winds shifted, throwing stinging snow into Anouk’s face. “If you don’t, it might as well be in another world. You’ll never find it, even with magic.”
A log popped in the fire. Heavy flakes caught in her eyelashes. Little Beau pressed protectively against her leg. She eyed the boy warily. He was doubtlessly one of the creatures from Luc’s fairy tale, something outside of the four orders of the Haute.
“I don’t need magic to find the Cottage. My dog is leading me there.” She showed him the piece of carved antler. “This is part of a clock that belongs to Duke Karolinge. Little Beau can track its scent to the Cottage.”
The boy regarded her pityingly. “Poor lovely. The dog is tracking a scent, yes, but not the one you think. He’s following a herd of elk. You’re going in circles, trailing the elk as they forage. It isn’t the dog’s fault. He can’t tell the difference between the scent of a carved antler on a clock and the real thing.”
Anouk knew in her heart he must be right. They’d been walking for hours in circles. The storm showed no signs of dying. The cold had seeped into her bones. Her teeth were chattering. Little Beau had a coat of fur, but it was soaked with melting snow, and the pads of his paws were exposed. He was shivering violently. Even with the fire, they’d be lucky to survive the night.
She swallowed and asked against her better judgment, “What do you want in exchange for showing us the way?”
His eyes gleamed. “From a lovely girl like you? I’ll settle for a kiss.”
She shook her head firmly. “Not that.”
“So wary of a kiss?”
“I’ve been warned against kisses from your kind.”
He feigned indifference. “Well, then, it’ll be a shame to have another girl freeze in these woods. It’s already so full of the dead. And the dog won’t last much longer than you.” He tsked. “Pity. I’m fond of dogs. And there’s nothing more tragic than a dead dog who easily could have been saved, don’t you think?”