Holiday Magick (21 page)

A combination of dread and shock fills my stomach, choking off my reply. I swallow hard, and when I do manage to speak, the words are soft and pitiful, even though I fight to make my voice sound normal. “What do you want to do then?”

“I don't know.” Another smile. “But I do know I don't want it chosen for me.”

I murmur something that I hope sounds like agreement and focus on the forest. The blue-black spaces between the trees keep me from thinking about Cillian without Gabriel, without the green eyes and smile that brightens even the worst of days. My eyes burn and I close them. If I start crying, I won't be able to stop.

I'm so focused on keeping the tears at bay that I almost miss his next, quiet words.

“You could come with me.”

“No, I couldn't.” I speak without thinking. “I can't leave my family.”

He doesn't argue. Instead, he lapses into a list of things he wants to do when he leaves, from sailing on one of the fishing boats that trawl the coasts to running with the bulls in Madrid. It's the most I've ever heard from him at once, and when I look up the sun brims against the horizon, spilling pink and yellow light across the hills and turning the trees blood red. Gabriel climbs to his feet and helps me up. We're so stiff we can barely move, but we hobble over the fence and along the path that leads to my family's house and, further on, Cillian.

From then on, every fourth night Gabriel comes and sits with me, and we talk of a life outside Cillian, away from the pressures of his father's apprenticeship. Away from the forest, too, but we don't mention that too much. I appreciate his company—the nights pass faster when I'm not hunkered against the fence, my ears full of the sound of my own heartbeat.

The trees still creep closer each night, but I barely notice.

Suddenly, there are more important things to worry about.

We're sitting in the paddock, knees and shoulders touching. The moon hangs high over the forest, giving the trees an eerie white glow that filters through branches and leaves and vanishes in a layer of knee-high fog.

Two weeks have passed with no attacks, and the trees have not crept any closer, their whispers fading for days before disappearing entirely. The people of Cillian are beginning to relax, substituting smiles for strained conversation and whispered rumors. Even the sheep are calmer, venturing a short distance away from the fence to nibble at the scrubby moss that covers the field. I watch as three new lambs, wobbly and muddy, chase each other a few yards from the safety of their mothers' legs. Soon we'll round the adults up and shear them, and my brothers will take my evening watches while I spend endless hours at the spinning wheel. Any other year I would have welcomed the schedule change, but this year it doesn't seem quite as attractive.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and shifts against the fence. The reeds groan in protest, and the sound is loud enough to send the lambs scurrying for their mothers. We laugh, leaning against each other for support. It isn't until our laughter fades that I realize my head is resting against his collarbone. I look up and find I'm not the only one who is wide-eyed and breathless.

I tip my chin up.

He moves closer.

Then his eyes shift past mine, toward the forest, and his expression shifts to horror. He's on his feet in an instant, pushing past the sheep as he strides toward the far end of the paddock. Slowly, I climb to my feet and join him, ignoring the twisting, nervous feeling in my stomach.

“What is it?”

“I don't know,” he says. “Something's out there.”

My fingers tighten around the throwing knife's blade. If I strain, I think I can see what he's talking about—something dark and low to the ground cutting through the fog along the forest floor like a water serpent. As it approaches, I can hear the trees begin to whisper to each other, their voices a rasp of trembling leaves and shifting branches. A chuckle spreads through them, beginning deeper in the forest and growing louder until the noise echoes from one end of the tree line to the other. It's the first noise I've heard from them in nearly a week, and it terrifies me.

I turn to the sheep. They've spread themselves throughout the paddock and are still grazing, oblivious to whatever lurks beyond their fence.

“Gabriel. Help me.”

Gabriel doesn't need any other instructions. He glances back, nods, and turns toward the sheep, arms outspread as he clucks and nudges and guides them toward the lean-to. Grumbling, they shuffle forward, giving me enough time to scramble ahead and grab Gabriel's bow. I pray he doesn't have to use it, but I sling it across my back and dart back into the field to help him corral the flock.

It only takes a few minutes, but we're both panting by the time we get the sheep herded into the lean-to. My loose tunic clings to my back, and judging by the way Gabriel tugs at his shirt's collar he's having the same problem. We station ourselves between the sheep and the field, weapons at the ready and eyes locked on the forest. Whatever was winding its way through the fog has vanished, but the trees still murmur to each other, their otherworldly voices sending chills down my spine.

“What was that thing?” Gabriel asks, his gaze still on the trees.

“I don't know.”

Nothing lives in the forest that borders Cillian. Animals that know better skirt the trees, giving them a wide berth as they pass on their way to safer homes beyond the river. Even the birds know to avoid it—and if they don't, they either learn fast or they become the forest's next meal. So the thought of something existing in the forest is beyond unsettling. And I can tell Gabriel is thinking the same thing.

“Someone needs to tell Papa,” I whisper. “He'll get the council and they'll figure out what it was.”

Gabriel nods. “I'll go get them.”

At first, I bristle at his chivalry and want to protest. But someone has to stay with the sheep. And, I reason, sending Gabriel toward our house—putting plenty of distance between him and the forest—is the best way to keep him safe, even though the thought of being alone in the paddock is enough to make me shiver.

Finally, I take a deep breath. “Hurry.”

He nods again, his face pale in the moonlight. Before I can protest, he surges forward and presses his lips to mine. For a moment, everything else, from the sheep to the trees to whatever it is lurking in them, disappears.

Then he breaks the kiss and everything bounces back into stark reality. He half-smiles at the bewildered look on my face, but his eyes are nervous.

“I'll be right back,” he whispers, before pulling himself over the fence. I want to watch him go, but the trees demand my attention. I grip my knife in both hands and turn to face the forest. It stretches, dark and rustling, from one end of the horizon to the other.

That's when I see the flash of shining blackness, less than fifty yards from the paddock. A moment later, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps hitting the spring-wet ground. They skirt the fence and fly past the lean-to, faster than the messenger horses that occasionally make their way to Cillian.

I spin, just in time to see Gabriel, half-invisible in the fog and topping the hill that sits just beyond the paddock. The black shape hesitates, like it's choosing between the sheep and the thing running away from it. A heartbeat passes, and it heads for Gabriel.

I open my mouth to scream, but there's no time. The thing hits Gabriel and he drops, his shout echoing through the hills. There's a wet, crunching sound that turns my stomach, and the scream cuts short.

Without thinking, I swing my legs over the fence and break into the fastest run I can muster, muttering prayers under my breath that he's alive and unhurt.

My prayer is half-answered. I don't find him dead. Instead, I find drag marks, and long, dark lines that lead back toward the forest. Bile rises in my throat.

I don't stop to think that the wise thing to do would be to alert Papa and let the council take action. I don't stop to think that the sheep are unguarded, and any harm to them means ruin for my family.

I don't think about anything. Instead, I take a deep breath, tuck my knife into its sheath, and sprint toward the forest.

The trees tug at me as I pass, their branches scrabbling to wrap around my limbs like grasping claws. It's not long before my skin sports dozens of scrapes and scratches that burn like fire, but I ignore them, focusing instead on the drag marks that lead deeper into the forest. My heart thuds in my ears, almost drowning out the whispers and the sound of my own heaving breaths.

The light fades the further I run, until I'm hunched over, eyes locked on the ground. I can't risk losing the trail, but I don't dare stop, for fear it will give the trees an opportunity to latch on to me and put Gabriel at further risk.

The trees thin and I'm standing at the edge of a grassy clearing. The moon shines directly overhead, illuminating a rough, rectangular-shaped stone. A tangle of limbs is crumpled at the stone's edge, but I instantly recognize the shock of dark hair.

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel moans, his voice muffled in the dirt. The sound sends a wave of relief crashing down on me. He's alive. For now. I have no idea how badly he's hurt—a dark stain blooms across the back of his canvas shirt, and one of his legs is twisted. But he's alive, and that's all that matters.

I hear a rustle, and I bound forward into the clearing, ready to grab Gabriel and drag him back to the safety of the open spaces.

Before I can go more than a few steps, something collides with my midsection and I go flying back. Fire-hot pain surges through my side as I hit the ground, gasping for breath and blinking back tears. Trembling, I pull myself up on my hands and knees. Fog and pain cloud my vision, but I manage to drag myself into a crouch and squint through the mist.

And then, it's there.

It's long and sleek, disappearing in the fog and reappearing as a glimpse of fluid shoulders or a flicking tail. Again, I'm reminded of water serpents, undulating their way through the waves and half-invisible.

Until it rears, showing its full height.

No
, I think dazedly,
not like a snake at all
.

Slitted yellow eyes peer at me from above a blunt muzzle. Its ears remind me of a wolf, pointed and tufted and twitching at every sound. The tips of too-white teeth glint where its lips meet, contrasting sharply with fur darker than the night itself.

Then it smiles.

I scramble along the ground, fingers scraping themselves raw as they strain to pull me further away from the creature. It follows me on paws that are more like hands, watching me with the jagged smile that freezes my blood.

“I have to say,” it says in a soft voice that resembles dead leaves rattling on their branches, “I have never seen a human follow me into my realm before. Many have run
from
me, but never
after
.”

Even though every nerve is screaming at me to run, the creature's voice fixes me in place. I open my mouth then close it again. Slowly, the creature creeps closer, moonlight bouncing off its back like raindrops, until it's close enough for me to smell the blood on its breath.

“You can speak to me, you know,” it croons. “I am not planning to hurt you. Not right now, at least.”

I swallow and chance a glance at Gabriel. The dark pool around him is widening, and his chest trembles with each breath.

“I…” I force the tremor out of my voice and continue. “What are you?”

The creature seems to ponder the question, bringing one clawed finger up to scratch at its chin. When it responds, it almost sounds bemused.

“I am the keeper of the trees.”

“The what?”

“The keeper of the trees,” it repeats. “I tell the trees when and where to seed. I help them grow. I ensure nothing happens to them.”

A sinuous branch clenches around my wrist, and I realize I've gotten too close to the edge of the clearing. I pull away and scoot sideways, careful not to close the distance between the creature and myself. It doesn't seem to notice that I've crept closer to Gabriel. A thrill of hope rushes through me, but it quickly dissipates. Even if I get close enough to hoist Gabriel over a shoulder and make a run for it, there's no way we could make it to Cillian. If the creature didn't get us, the trees would.