A small gash pierces the shrubby. I crawl toward the rift and squint through.
The spring tributary weaves through the bracken, the water’s glint impervious to darkness, the bubbling surface so radiant that peeking at it too long hurts my eyes. Though it doesn’t seem to bother them. Three humanlike silhouettes skulk around the tree trunks, hunting amidst the foothill.
I veer from sight.
And wait. And wait. And wait.
At last, I hear the silhouettes recede into the depths. My pulse beats a nasty rhythm against my neck. When I peek and catch no sign of the figures, I haul myself out of the recess—and slam into two bodies.
We totter backward, our yelps nicking through the landscape. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Then we snatch each other into a hug.
My sisters and I gasp, our voices overlapping with “Are you all right?” and “Are you hurt?” and “Are you insane?”
Pulling away, I rush my palms over their cheeks, but Juniper bats me away. Her brisk, woodsy voice could chop through timber. “You have no sense of foresight. Did you think we wouldn’t follow you?”
Cove braces her spear, agitated tendrils of teal hair splitting at the ends. “We tethered Papa’s albino outside the border, then came the rest of the way on foot,” she heaves, her lisp more pronounced when she’s nervous.
“You left an evident trail.” Juniper squeezes her crossbow, a quiver of bolts strung over her shoulder. “Never mind us, but you should have thought to conceal your tracks. I took care of them, you’re very welcome.”
Nobody’s perfect. I’d been in a hurry.
My point in leading the chase was to protect them, not beckon them into fatal territory. Juniper and Cove have a knack for not listening. That also runs in the family.
“You’re idiots,” I say.
Juniper attempts to smirk past the fear. “We learn from the best.”
I wish we had time to chuckle over that. I open my mouth, but a snapping twig cuts off my warning. We vault around, putting our backs to each other and forming a circle. My whip’s up, and my sisters’ weapons click into place. I haven’t peeked to see either of them do this, but I know how my family works. I know the noise we make—it’s a trio of sounds and a single sound.
We brace our defenses, but who are we kidding? The instant a black figment sweeps past our periphery, we disarm. Linking fingers, we hoist one another up the slope, where we huddle behind a yew tree, the trunk as wide as a troll’s ass.
The molten fireflies return, several of them on the verge of singeing Juniper’s hair. She swats at them, then gives a shocked cry at the burn, which prompts Cove to squeak. Curled between them, I whip my arms out to the sides, my palms slapping over their mouths.
We freeze. Dread crawls across their profiles.
Wings flare with a great thwack, the breeze ruffling a set of feathers.
Hooves stalk into the thicket. That’s no horse gait. I’d bet my whip on it. Maybe a deer? But what deer has only two hooves?
Lastly, a violent thrash of water spews from that blinding spring.
How does this commotion manage to sound graceful, depraved, and nefarious all at once?
Every breach in the silence causes us to jerk. I fixate on Juniper’s wide, green eyes, then Cove’s teary ones. I wait for another invasion of music, but it doesn’t come, nor does that snicker from earlier.
It takes an eternity for the noises to wane. Finally, I draw away from my sisters’ mouths. On the count of three, we totter down the slope and return to the cul-de-sac to collect Whinny Badass. Thank Fables, the blue feather nestles safely inside my undergarments.
As we race out of there, a draft sweeps up my spine. I feel an aerial weight brush the flesh of my back—a pair of glittering eyes watching from an unseen perch.
3
The darker it gets, the brighter the stars get. As the hour clicks from one to the next, sleepy blue glosses the sky. We shuffle down the back-porch steps, our sheer nightgowns ballooning, about to take flight. If we had wings, I wonder which of us would soar the highest, the fastest, and the farthest.
My sisters and I skitter through the grass like we’ve done since we were runts, carrying lanterns twitching with fire. It’s late, almost midnight. Juniper strides toward the pen where a foundling fawn waits on its stalky legs, the tuft of its tail flicking. Approaching the creature, she brushes its spotted fur and whispers secret tidbits.
Cove tiptoes to the pond where a gleaming water snake zigzags through the ripples. That breed of serpent is native to Middle Country; the trade poachers who’d coveted the brown marbled scales had gutted the reptile’s family. Not long after, Cove had found the lone survivor wounded.
The snake relishes her play-splashing and retaliates with a watery thwack of its tail, sprinkling Cove’s nightgown.
I head for the makeshift aviary. At the base of a tree, I set down my lantern and whip— keeping my weapon close feels necessary after today. I climb the trunk ladder, ascending the rungs, and burrow into the leaf-crusted awning. A dozen cages and nests dangle from the boughs, the doors permanently open so their inhabitants can fly in and out, so long as they’re able to. Until they can return to their habitat, the net I’ve arranged in the rafters protects them from predators.
A starling rides on a swing near one of the birdseed funnels. I’m glad to see her broken wing has mended. She’s ready to be released.
Above her, the aristocratic resident falcon stands vigil. That’s a defensive one, make no mistake. Poachers stole him from an outlying acreage last year, and the trauma did a number on the bird’s sense of trust in humans.
That’s the thing about our home. It’s a refuge for stray, orphaned, and foundling animals. My family’s rescued too many creatures to count, giving them a home at the Fable Dusk Sanctuary.
Atop one of the branches, I make myself comfortable and whistle. A hermit thrush flutters onto my thigh and whistles back, and we start a tune.
Afterward, I scurry down the tree, then grab my lantern and whip. Deeper into the sanctuary, an enclosed wagon hunkers beneath a willow. Tendrils of verdant leaves droop from the boughs and encompass the oval vehicle, faded teal paint coating the caravan’s exterior, reminding me of an ancient jewel box propped on wheels.
I hop up the iron steps and duck through the door, setting my light and weapon on the rug. The flame illuminates a treasure trove of chipped and scratched toys. A stack of shelves along the back display a stone maze set; a woodland board game, the pieces shaped into raccoons and chipmunks; and a little glass fish tank.
Costumes hang from pegs. An owl mask and a pair of moth wings. A crown of deer antlers, a fox muzzle, and a cloak of porcupine quills. A seahorse tail and a serpent visor with a forked tongue.
Normally, this wagon offers comfort. No such luck tonight. I still hear that flute and feel those mysterious eyes on me.
I need to get rid of the burden. I need to do something that’ll tickle my funny bone.
When Cove glides into the wagon, I restrain myself. However when Juniper marches up the steps, her studious mien appearing through the door’s small window, I yank the curtains closed in her face. Cove chokes back a laugh, and I snort.
Cove’s a beanstalk, whereas I’m average height, but Juniper’s short legs ensure that she doesn’t have to bend under the door jamb. She stomps inside and smacks my shoulder while I plaster a bunch of sloppy kisses on her cheek, squishing her face until it resembles a sponge.