Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure – Read Now and Download Mobi

EYE OF THE WIZARD

by

Daniel Arenson

Copyright © 2011 by Daniel Arenson

All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

Chapter One

Three Promises

Nobody else saw the grobbler.

At first Scruff thought he imagined it. His family didn't seem to notice the creature. Father and Mother dozed in armchairs by the fireplace. His brother Neev was reading a dusty, leather-bound tome about chess. His sister Jamie, the youngest in the family, was playing with toy knights under the table. Had nobody felt the chill in the air, heard the grunting, glimpsed the twisted figure outside the window?

When he looked out the window again, Scruff saw nothing but an empty street, the wet cobblestones glistening beneath lanterns. The windowpanes were opened wide, and the night wafted into the house: its cool breezes, scents of crackling hearths, the distant sound of chanting monks. No grobblers. No lurking shadows. You just imagined it, Scruff, he told himself. You listen to too many fairytales.

Scruff was thirteen and already six feet tall—the tallest kid in town—but when he was smaller, his mother would tell him stories of grobblers. "If you don't behave," she'd say, "they'll get you. Grobblers eat misbehaving children."

But of course, those were just stories. Pagan gods cursing beautiful, vain women, twisting and wilting their left halves? The women wandering the world as grobblers, left halves rotting, right halves never aging, a reminder of their corrupted beauty? It was ridiculous. Even their name, grobblers, sounded silly, a name some rambling storyteller would invent after his tales of Arthur, Robin Hood, and William Tell were already told. Scruff shook his head. Just stories, just stupid stories told to—

A shadow moved outside, severing his thoughts.

Scruff straightened, goosebumps rising across him. There was something out there, something strange. Scruff could not see the creature itself, but its shadow made his heart race. At first he thought it the shadow of a young woman, but when it turned, Scruff saw a hunchback and a knobby, twisted arm. Half beauty, half beast. Hands sweaty, Scruff grabbed his brother's arm.

Twelve years old and wiry, Neev looked up with a grunt, eyes flashing. "What do you want, Scruff? I'm trying to read."

Scruff pointed outside. "Look! What's that?"

Neev sighed. "Really, Scruff, I don't like being bothered when reading, and...."

Neev's breath died, and he gaped out the window. The grobbler had stepped into view. Scruff saw it only in profile, and he gasped. He had never seen a woman so beautiful, with hair so golden, skin so silky, lips so plump and red. Then the grobbler turned to face him. Its left half was rotted and warty, scraggly hair swarming with maggots, red eye blazing.

The grobbler turned that red eye upon him, and Scruff grimaced. Its stare burned like a ray of hellfire. The grobbler's mouth opened—a mouth half perfect, half shriveled—and it hissed in a voice like flames.

"You will die, Scruff."

God. It knows my name.

Scruff's little sister Jamie, still holding her toy knights, looked up and screamed.

Everything started happening in a whirl of terror and light.

Father leaped to his feet, burly but quick as a falcon. He lunged toward the window, drawing his dagger. The blade gleamed. The grobbler reached into the house, swiping its claws at Father. Father ducked, dodging the claws, and thrust up his dagger. Scruff stared, frozen, as the dagger slammed into the grobbler's throat. Black blood spurted.

"Papa!" Jamie screamed.

"There's more!" Scruff said, voice trembling. Father had killed one grobbler, but Scruff saw many more outside, an army of these creatures. His legs shook. How did it know me? How could grobblers know my name?

"Away from the windows!" Father said. "Back against the wall." He slammed the wooden windowpanes shut, but Scruff could still hear townspeople screaming and crying outside. Jamie sobbed. The grobblers were moving from house to house, screeching and smashing windows, and Scruff smelled smoke. The town of Burrfield was burning.

Face pale and lips tightened, Mother handed Father his breastplate and helped him don it. Father grabbed his weapons from the wall—a battleaxe in one hand, a sword in the other, their blades filigreed.

"Papa," Jamie sobbed, "what's happening?" She was clinging to her brother Neev, tears streaming down her cheeks. Fire crackled outside, and Scruff heard people running down the streets, grobblers tearing them apart. He bit his lip so hard, he tasted blood, and his legs shook.

Father stepped toward the door, a tall knight with a handlebar mustache. He paused and looked back at his family. His face was like chiseled stone, but his eyes were haunted windows, shattered. He whispered words Scruff could not believe.

"I must go."

Mother stepped toward Father, gasping, tears in her eyes. "Go? But...."

Father hugged her, still holding his weapons, and a grimace found that stony face of his. Scruff had never seen Father like this, never seen him so... scared. Scruff could barely believe it. He had never known Father could feel fear, not Sir Sam Thistle, the hero of the Crusades, the strongest man in town.

"He is back," Father whispered, voice low, tense, as if struggling not to tremble. "He is back and leading these grobblers. The warlock. You know who I mean. He'll keep conjuring them, Amabel, more and more of them; they will never stop. I must find him... kill him. Only killing him can stop this." The tremble finally found his voice. "I must go—now! I cannot stay with you here."

A warlock. Scruff shuddered. Summoner of demons. Weaver of black magic. He had heard of warlocks, but never seen one. Few people had. Why would one of these dark wizards be attacking Burrfield? Why did his parents seem to know him? And, dear God, how did the grobbler know his name?

Outside, the sound of shrieking grobblers rose, high pitched, inhuman, a sound like winter winds through canyons. The smell of fire filled Scruff's nostrils. Though he trembled and his heart raced, he stepped toward Father.

"I'm coming with you," he said. He hated that his voice sounded high, childlike. He swallowed and clenched his fists. I'm stronger and taller than most adults. I will fight.

Father shook his head, face haunted, eyes storming. "Stay here. Protect the family until I return. You can do this. It's the only way, Sam."

Sam. It was his real name—Sam Thistle the Fourth—but everyone just called him Scruff, his nickname since being born with thick, scruffy hair. Father called him Sam only on the most solemn occasions, and the name sent chills across Scruff. Biting his lip, he looked at his family. Little Jamie clutched Mother's skirt, pushed against the wall far from the window. Neev stood at Mother's other side, short and scrawny for his twelve years, his eyes dark. Protect them? Me?

"Take my sword," Father said and placed the hilt in Scruff's hand. His eyes moistened. "I... I cannot stand to leave you here. But it's the only way. The only way, Sam. You are ready for this. I know I can count on you."

Scruff nodded, clutching the sword, lips tightened. He had never held a sword outside the training yard, and the hilt felt cold. Father nodded, eyes glinting with sudden pride, then rushed out the door and into battle.

"Papa, don't go!" Jamie screamed, but the door shut behind Father, leaving them alone and trembling in the dark.

The room suddenly seemed colder and smaller, closing in around Scruff. Fear filled him, and... anger. Father left them. He left them! How could he? The rage burned, making Scruff tremble. But no... Father had not abandoned them. He had gone to defend them. He had gone to kill him, this warlock... the only way to stop the grobblers, the only way to save the family. I could have gone with him! I could have fought by his side. Scruff tightened his lips. But he needs me here. He needs me to defend the family. The sword felt heavy, so heavy he could barely hold it.

"I'm scared," Jamie said, burying her face in Mother's skirt.

Neev snorted, fists clenched at his sides. "Scruff will protect us," he said, glaring at Scruff with burning eyes. "With his sword, Scruff is a mighty knight."

"Be quiet, Neev," Scruff said, his palm sweaty around the hilt. Neev was just scared, he knew, and trying to hide it under his usual show of disdain for everyone. But Scruff would have none of it—not now. "Go back to your chess book and stop being jealous."

Neev's eyes blazed in a mix of amusement and anger. "Why would I be jealous, O great Sir Scruff the Strong?"

"Because Dad gave his sword to me, not you."

Mother interrupted, face pale. "Kids! This is no time to argue." She had taken a log from the fireplace and held it like a weapon. Its one end smoldered, red and crackling. It reminded Scruff of the grobbler's red eye, its searing stare.

Scruff tightened his lips. Mother was right. The grobbler screeching grew louder by the moment, and Scruff could also hear clanking armor, thudding boots, the cries of soldiers. A battle raged across Burrfield. Scruff wished he could be outside, fighting with Father, slashing at grobblers, cutting them down. Anything would be better than waiting... waiting in the dark, sword in hand... endless, torturous waiting for something to attack.

Suddenly, with a shower of splinters, a grobbler smashed open the windowpanes. Scruff started and Mother screamed. The grobbler climbed through the window, drooling and hissing. Its fair half faced Scruff—an angelic beauty with soft hair and pouty red lips. When it landed on the floor, it revealed its left half, the withered, wormy half of a hunchbacked crone.

"Scruff!" Jamie screamed, but Scruff could not move. The fear froze him, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the creature, a creature so fair and foul. How could such beauty, such horror exist? The dichotomy dazed him, numbed him. The grobbler reached toward him, one hand delicate and pale, the other clawed and bloody. "Hello, Scruff," it hissed, voice demonic. Everything else seemed to disappear; the whole world became this creature before him, this thing of ancient vanity and pagan curses.

"Kill it, Scruff!" Neev shouted, but his voice seemed muffled, distant, as from another world. "What are you waiting for?"

Scruff realized he wasn't breathing. He shook his head wildly to clear it, forced a deep breath, and pulled his feet forward. The floor felt like quicksand. The grobbler cackled and came charging forward, brandishing claws, but it seemed so slow to Scruff. The whole world turned sluggish, like living in a bowl of jelly where every movement slowed to a crawl.

"Scruff, kill it!" Jamie shouted, her voice impossibly distant, a mere echo.

Scruff's heartbeat rang in his ears. He swung his sword, Father's sword, the family's ancient weapon. The blade arched through the darkness, glistening, reflecting the leering grin and burning eyes of the grobbler. Please, God, let this blade land true.

But his fingers were sweaty, trembling. He felt his grip slide. No! Horror stabbed him, ice cold. He tried to clutch the hilt, but the sword flew from his grip like a slippery fish.

God, NO.

When the sword fell, it seemed as slow as a feather. Scruff tried to catch the hilt... his fingers grazed it... but just missed it.

Jamie and Neev screamed.

The sword hit the floor.

The ringing of steel against stone tiles clanged in his head, a horrible sound, a cackle. Scruff howled. How could I have dropped it? Tears burned in his eyes.

The grobbler crashed into him, shrieking. Pain exploded, renting the sluggish mists engulfing his mind. Everything started happening at lightning speed again.

The grobbler rammed him into the wall, cracking the wood, clawing at him. Scruff could barely see through the pain. He punched blindly. He felt his fists hit the grobbler, crushing its face. It screeched and fell away, maw bloody, and Mother clubbed its head with her burning log. The grobbler fell, hair aflame.

"There's more!" Jamie screamed.

Wincing, Scruff saw three more grobblers smash into the house. One came through the window, and two more broke down the door. Neev and Jamie were screaming and tossing plates at them. Mother was swinging the log, snarling, her face red; Scruff had never seen her like this. Where's the sword? How could I have dropped it? Scruff could not see the blade.

As he looked around wildly, he saw the grobblers surround Mother. They clutched the log she swung, wrenched it free, and knocked her down. They began to claw and bite her. Scruff felt like somebody stabbed him with an icicle.

"Leave her alone!" he shouted and leaped onto the grobblers, but they shoved him back, smiles dripping blood and drool. One slashed his shoulder, and Scruff screamed, blood soaking his shirt.

Smoke filled his mouth and nostrils, making him cough. The grobblers were burning the house, tossing logs from the fireplace onto the rug and tapestries. Scruff's eyes watered and he could not breathe. The smoke filled the room, black, heavy, choking him.

"Everybody out!" he shouted, hoarse. He could just make out Jamie ahead; the smoke hid everything else. Scruff lifted his sister and ran outside, shouting. "Neev, Mom, follow me!"

He stood in the night, smoke flowing around him, screams and shouts echoing down the street. Had they heard him? Were they alive? Guilt ached in his belly. He had dropped his sword, had failed to defend his family. I'm a coward. His tears fell and his body shook.

Neev burst out from the burning house, ash covering his face, his hair singed.

"Mom's dead," he whispered, eyes haunted. He suddenly seemed so young, a skinny child, frightened, all his disdain and smugness gone.

The grobblers emerged from the burning house, screeching. Blood covered their claws and fangs.

"Run!" Scruff shouted. He ran through the burning town, holding Jamie in his arms. Mom. Dead. It can't be. Scruff trembled as he ran, tears on his cheeks. Neev ran beside him, his face pale and ashy. Around them, soldiers were battling dozens of grobblers, and the smell of blood, sweat, and fire filled the air. One of the creatures grabbed Neev's foot, tripping him. He fell, bloodying his nose, then managed to kick himself free and keep running.

"Where will we go?" Neev shouted over the roar of fire, grobbler screeching, and clanking armor. His eyes were red and moist.

Scruff pointed to Friar Hill which rose ahead between burning houses. Sometimes wandering priests would preach atop the hill, giving it its name. Today Scruff saw a hooded, robed figure standing there, wreathed in flame, arms moving as if conducting the slaughter.

"Father said a warlock is leading these grobblers," Scruff said, running toward the hill. "That looks like our warlock. Father will be there."

They ran around the town stables where horses screamed, over old Gorse Bridge, and past the Porcupine's Quills Tavern which rose in flame. Bodies of townsfolk littered the roads and floated down Gorse Stream. As he ran, anguish filled Scruff, bringing tears to his eyes. Mother is dead. I couldn't save her. His breath ached in his lungs, and he felt like dying.

Jamie sobbed in his arms. "I want Mamma," she whispered, trembling.

Her tears pained Scruff more than his wounds. I won't let them get you too, Jamie, he swore, his boots thudding across bloody cobblestones. He suddenly loved his siblings so much—even Neev—that his heart seemed to clench.

Finally they reached Friar Hill, raced up the grassy slope, and froze. The warlock stood ahead, clad in black robes, face hidden in the shadows of his hood. The children crouched behind a fallen log, cloaked in shadows. The warlock did not see them; he was busy waving his arms as if conducting. As his hands moved, the grobblers below swept from street to street. The warlock controlled them like a puppeteer. Hatred filled Scruff, burning, spinning his head. There is the man who destroyed the town, who murdered Mother.

As the children watched from the shadows, Father came running up the far side of the hill, axe in hand, armor glinting in the firelight. Scruff bit his fist, eyes blurry. Father! He'll take care of this. He crouched low, hidden, watching. His siblings trembled beside him.

"It's you," Father said to the warlock, eyes hard. He stepped toward the cloaked figure. "I knew it would be you."

The warlock turned toward Father, his black robes swishing, darker than the night. "Well well, it has been a while, has it not?"

"Not long enough," Father said. "Leave this town."

The warlock's voice was dry and deathly like old bones. "Do not interfere with my plans again. Stay back, or I'll kill you before you've taken a step."

Father charged, axe raised.

The warlock grunted, as if surprised that Father should truly attack. Scruff guessed that few people ever dared attack him. The warlock began to utter a spell, raising gaunt hands gloved in leather.

Father reached him. The axe swung.

Black sparks fluttered around the warlock's fingers.

The axe slammed into the warlock's side, and Scruff heard a horrible crunching sound, an inhuman sound, like the sound of splintering wood. Scruff held his breath. Was the warlock dead?

No—he still stood, the axe embedded in him. How can he still live? Growling, the warlock grabbed Father, and black lightning flowed from those gaunt, gloved hands, slamming into Father. The bolts crackled, smoking, raising Scruff's hair. Father cried and fell.

"Dad!" Scruff screamed, leaped out of the shadows, and ran forward. His heart felt like it had frozen and shattered. Neev and Jamie ran with him, also screaming. Scruff curled his fingers into fists, prepared to pummel the warlock, but was too late. Cursing and clutching his wound, the warlock uttered a spell and vanished like a ghost. The axe hit the ground, clanging. In the town below, the grobblers howled in fear and began to flee, their courage gone with their master.

Tears in his eyes, Scruff knelt by Father. Was he dead? Scruff leaned close, the smell of seared flesh spinning his head. Father still breathed, but his breath was shallow. His hair was burnt, and smoke rose from him.

"You did it, Dad," Scruff said, tears falling. "You banished the warlock. I'll take you to a doctor. You'll be fine."

Father was pale. He held Scruff's hand. "Take care of your family when I'm gone," he whispered, words so soft Scruff could barely hear. "Become a knight, Scruff. Follow in my footsteps."

"I promise," Scruff said, then let out a sob. Father's breath died, and his hand fell from Scruff's grip.

He was dead.

Father, no..., Scruff thought. He lowered his head and tasted tears on his lips.

"I promise too, Papa," Jamie sobbed, hugging Father's body. Ash rained around her, coating her hair and face. "I'll become a knight someday too."

Tears on their cheeks, Scruff and Jamie turned their heads and looked back at Neev. Their brother stood two steps behind, cloaked in shadows, fists clenched at his sides. Fire burned behind him.

"Aren't you going to promise too, Neev?" Jamie asked, voice trembling. "Aren't you going to be a knight?"

Eyes aflame, face ashy, Neev shook his head. He spoke through a tightened jaw. "No. I won't become a knight." His voice was soft but full of rage and pain. "I'm going to be a warlock."

Chapter Two

The Giant and the Runt

Spring had come to Burrfield, and it was a beautiful day.

Daffodils and primroses covered gardens, windowsills, and Friar Hill, their scent wafting through the town, mixing with the morning scents of dew and baking bread. Children ran playing along cobbled streets, free from winter's confines, while starlings chirped and geese honked in clear skies. Leaves coated oak saplings, bright green and newly sprouted, like uniforms for pupils on their first school day. Ancient pines used to tower along Burrfield's streets, gnarled and wise as old kings, but most had burned in Grobbler Battle five years ago. Whenever Burrfield's new trees leafed, the town celebrated; it meant beauty and peace had returned.

It was a perfect day—for everyone but Scruff. He was miserable.

Standing in Fort Rosethorn's courtyard, surrounded by fellow squires in chain mail, he tried to swing his sword. He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and focused on the swipe, a complicated move called The Wolfbite. It was no good. His fingers trembled, dropping the wooden sword. It thumped at his feet.

"SCRUFF!" Lord Bramblebridge bellowed from across the yard, cheeks puffed red. His bald head glinted with sweat and his orange mustache bristled; bad signs. "What in the heck is wrong with you, Butterfingers?"

Scruff sighed, eyes stinging, staring at his fallen sword. "Sorry, my lord."

Scruff hated sword practice. It had been five years since Burrfield burned, but the memories still haunted him. Whenever he touched a sword—even this wooden training blade—the pain returned like a punch to the belly. That day, so long ago, he had dropped Father's sword in fear, letting the grobblers kill Mother. To this day, swinging a blade made Scruff's belly hurt, his hands shake, and his eyes moisten.

Twenty other squires stood around Scruff in the courtyard, swinging their blades, all mastering the moves with ease. Dust flew from stomping boots, covering sweaty faces. The sounds of grunts, clacking wooden blades, and chinking chain mail filled the air, echoing between the crumbling towers and barracks. Roses covered the old fort walls, their scent mingling with the tang of oiled mail, sweat, and leather armor.

Lord Bramblebridge came marching toward Scruff, shoving squires aside, gut sucked in, barrel chest thrust out. "What in blazes is the matter, boy?" he demanded, a foot shorter than Scruff, but tough as an old bulldog. Lord of Burrfield, the stocky Bramblebridge had been Father's friend, but he treated Scruff like one might treat goo found on one's boot.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Scruff said again, lifting his sword. "It's just... I can't do it. I'm no good at swordplay."

"Tell me something I don't know, Professor Brainiac!" Bramblebridge was shouting so loudly, his cheeks glowed red like apples. "You are the worst excuse for a squire I've seen, and I've been training squires for thirty years."

Scruff lowered his eyes. Five years ago, when he moved into Fort Rosethorn as a squire, he had beamed with pride. His father had trained in this fort, and joining its ranks meant the world to Scruff. Fort Rosethorn stood upon a hill in southern Burrfield, a cluster of towers and barracks, all built of crumbling bricks overrun with weeds and roses. This was home to a dozen knights, three hundred soldiers, and twenty-odd squires... Bramblebridge ruling them all with his iron fist.

Father thought the world of Fort Rosethorn, Scruff knew, eyes stinging. But I let him down. I just can't do it.

Blinking back tears, he glanced at his sister Jamie. She drilled beside him, swinging her sword so fast, it whistled. Ten years old when Burrfield burned, Jamie was now fifteen and deadly with the blade. She wore her black hair short like a boy's, and dressed as one too, sporting a tan jerkin and leggings. Even her face was boyish, with fiery eyes, tightened lips, and freckles sprinkled across her upturned nose. Only Scruff knew she was a girl; she had been pretending to be a boy since learning that girls couldn't be knighted.

"Looking at Jamie, eh?" Bramblebridge said, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Well you should, lad. Jamie is the best swordsman we have. He might be five feet tall on his tiptoes, and barely a hundred pounds soaking wet, but he can beat your lumbering butt any day with a blade."

Scruff nodded. "Yes, my lord." Secretly, he wished he were small and limber like Jamie. She had not grown much since Grobbler Battle five years ago, but he had just kept sprouting. He now stood closer to seven feet than to six, and weighed three hundred pounds. Children would taunt him, calling him an ogre, and Scruff often cried into his pillow at night, wishing he were small and speedy like his sister.

Lips tightened, he tried to swing his sword again, emulating Jamie's flawless technique. But it was no good. Just touching the sword made his fingers tremble. He dropped the blade again, missing Bramblebridge's foot by an inch.

Bramblebridge stared down at the wooden blade, up at Scruff, then sighed. "Just... go away, Scruff," he said. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and spat. "You're hopeless."

Scruff stumbled off, head lowered, chain mail chinking. The sounds of clacking swords died behind him, and Scruff could feel the eyes of the other squires against his back. He could just hear their taunting, calling him a beast, a mindless golem, a creature better tied to a plow than decked in armor. Scruff felt like crying. It was embarrassing to be eighteen and still useless with the sword. The other squires had mastered these moves years ago, yet Scruff kept failing sword practice, year after year.

Scruff sighed. When will I become the man I want to be? Even his childhood nickname stuck. His true name was Sam Thistle the Fourth, but nobody called him that. To everyone, Sam Thistle meant his deceased father, a knight of honor and distinction, a hero in this town. But I remain Scruff... or Butterfingers... or the Ogre. Scruff sniffed. As hard as he tried, he couldn't become as respected as his father. Jamie took after Dad... while I'm just a lumbering, stupid, overgrown beast.

Wishing he could disappear into oblivion, Scruff left the dusty courtyard. He walked past the barracks and armory, crumbling buildings covered with roses, magpies nesting on their roofs. Shooing aside peacocks pecking for seeds, Scruff stepped under a portcullised gate, leaving Fort Rosethorn behind. From here, standing atop Rosethorn Hill, he could see all of Burrfield below, a sprawling town of wattle-and-daub houses, young oak trees, and a stone church with a single spire. Feet dragging, Scruff walked down the hill and along cobbled streets, heading to that church.

He shuffled down Baker Lane, where the scents of apple muffins tickled his nostrils, and into cobbled Scribe Square. Several vendors stood hawking fruit, parsnips, fish, and sausages from carts. In one corner, a group of children were watching a Punch and Judy show. Briefly, Scruff considered watching the puppets too; even at his size, he loved puppets, and they could always soothe him. He headed toward the show, but the children noticed him and started whispering.

"The ogre!" one said, covering his eyes. A little girl whimpered. Even the puppets looked at him, then covered their button eyes and cowered.

Scruff lowered his head, spirits crashing. It felt like somebody had poured icy water down his tunic. With a sigh, he turned and walked away.

Something hit the back of his head. A rotten egg, he realized. The children laughed behind him. For an instant rage filled Scruff, and he considered rushing toward the children, howling and waving his arms. That'll scare the daylight out of them. But he only kept walking away, sadness drowning his rage. Howling at the children would only prove they were right, that he was an ogre. Eyes moist, Scruff left Scribe Square, heading into narrow Cobbler Avenue.

If I were a knight, he thought, picking egg shells from his hair, nobody would toss rotten eggs at me. Nobody would call me an ogre. They would call me Sir Sam Thistle, like they called my father.

On days like today, Scruff could barely believe he was Father's son. Father had been so proud, noble, and handsome. How had he, Scruff, become this lumbering, shaggy-headed beast?

Rubbing tears from his eyes, Scruff finally reached the church. Gargoyles stared upon him from the spire, their maws mossy and their horns chipped. The sound of chanting monks came from within the church, and Scruff could smell the incense they burned. Walking around the church, he entered its old graveyard, which lay behind a few ash trees. Roses climbed over tombstones and statues of angels, petals shivering in the breeze. Walking gingerly over fallen petals, Scruff made his way to his parents' grave. He stood before it, head lowered, so sad he couldn't stifle a tear. Ravens stood on a nearby grave, watching him curiously.

"I'm sorry, Mom, Dad," Scruff said in a small voice. "I'm trying."

He had promised Father he'd become a knight. You had to keep a promise you made on your father's deathbed. Everybody knew that. You had to. Jamie was well on her way to become a knight, keeping her own promise. His brother Neev was apprenticing at the Coven, a council of warlocks dug into tunnels beneath Batwog Mountain; he would soon complete his apprenticeship and fulfill his promise from five years ago. But he, Scruff, just couldn't do it.

"I've let you down," he said to the grave, wiping tears away. "I'm trying to be a knight, but it's so hard."

Only one thing made Scruff feel better on days like today. He left the graveyard and walked down a dirt path, heading to the southern edge of Burrfield. Past the well and silos, Scruff reached the craggy wall that encircled the town, the wall built after Grobbler Battle to keep out warlocks and their monsters.

By the wall he found the thorny bush he sought, a venerated hedge called Old Thicket. A thousand years ago, thorns had covered Burrfield; the town founders sought security between the prickles, but suffered too many cuts and eventually uprooted the plants. They left only Old Thicket, and still it grew, a reminder of Burrfield's prickly past. Wincing, Scruff rummaged between the thorns, ignoring the pain, and finally pulled out his favorite weapon: Norman.

My old friend, Scruff thought, lovingly hefting the spiny mace. Jamie is thin, fast, and deadly like the sword she wields, but you are like me, Norman; overgrown and brutish. Scruff had never had a dog, but he loved Norman the way people loved their pets. Maces were for guards or outlaws, not knights, but Scruff didn't care; Norman suited him more than any blade.

The other squires could not lift Norman, and even Lord Bramblebridge would have trouble wielding it, but Scruff was stronger than an ox. Lips tightened, he carried Norman past Prickle Gate, out of town and into Teasel Forest. Mist swirled around his boots, and the birches rustled around him, their leaves dappled with sunlight. Bluebells moved in the breeze and robins fluttered among the boughs.

Alone between the trees, Scruff swung Norman against some boulders, shattering them, scattering chips of stone. Whenever he felt bad he came here, to this secret place in the forest, where he could beat away his aggression. Stone shards covered the forest floor from previous bashing sessions. I'll never be a knight. I'll always be the brute, the simpleton, the failure. As the stone shards flew, his tears burned.

A breeze blew, and a malodor hit Scruff's nose, severing his thoughts.

Scruff frowned, lowering his mace, panting. It smelled like mold and rotten leaves, but ten times worse. He had never smelled anything like it. Covering his nose, Scruff stepped toward the source of the smell, wishing his chain mail didn't creak so much. Beside a fallen log, he found several clawed, smoking prints. They raised a stench of rot and wisps of black smoke.

"What the...," Scruff muttered. What could have left such tracks? It wasn't human. It wasn't an animal. Scruff had never seen anything like it. The chill that ran through his body spoke of that night five years ago, the last time monsters had come to Burrfield.

The breeze blew again. Though it was a warm April day, the breeze was cold as winter. Scruff shivered and clutched his mace.

* * * * *

Her sword moved like a viper. With a cry, a thrust, and a whoop of triumph, she landed her coup de grâce. Her wooden blade hit her opponent, a hulking squire who towered over her, twice her size and clad in chain mail.

"That's a kill!" Lord Bramblebridge announced with a nod. His red mustache curled up, a sign of pride. "Good job, Jamie."

Yeah! Jamie thought, panting. She sheathed her sword, spat, and outstretched her hand for her opponent to shake. Giving her a dirty look, the squire rubbed his side, where her sword had struck; Jamie's blows left bruises even past chain mail. Grumbling, he shook her hand.

"Good fight," he muttered, staring at his boots.

Several other squires stood around them, also muttering and rubbing bruises. Their faces were red and dusty. Jamie had beaten them too. They're upset that little me, not even five feet tall, could beat them, she thought with a smile, pushing back strands of her short, damp hair. If they knew I was a girl....

Lord Bramblebridge slapped Jamie's back, a mighty blow that nearly knocked her down. Bramblebridge was squat and powerful as an armored bulldog, and his friendly slaps could leave bruises. Jamie was so tiny that a slap on the back, a friendly punch on the shoulder, even a hearty handshake could hurt her. But what she lacked in size, she made up for in agility. Scruff is strength; I am speed.

"My boy, you are the best swordsman I've seen in decades," said Bramblebridge, cheeks beaming, bald head glistening. "Your brother Scruff is thrice your size, but you prove that even a baby-faced runt can be the deadliest warrior around."

"Thanks," Jamie said, knowing Bramblebridge meant it as a compliment. She looked over the line of squires she had beaten, beefy boys now bruised and battered, and pride swelled within her. At this rate, she could be knighted within the year, becoming the youngest knight Fort Rosethorn had produced.

I wish you were here to see this, Mom and Dad, she thought.

Remembering her parents, cold sadness washed over her warm pride, and Jamie lowered her head. Poor Scruff; he can't let go of the memory. Jamie felt bad for him, so bad that her stomach ached. Her brother tried so hard. He excelled at all other classes—he'd memorized all the heraldic poems, was a perfect rider, an expert falconer. But give him a sword, and he dropped it like a burning coal. Oh Scruff, why can't you just let go, why can't you get over that day? Jamie knew the memories of Grobbler Battle filled him whenever he touched a sword. It tore Jamie's heart whenever Bramblebridge yelled at him, drove him from the yard in shame.

"If I may, my lord," she said to Bramblebridge, "I'd like to go find my brother." Her heart still raced from her fights, and her clothes were sweaty.

Bramblebridge rolled his eyes and snorted, mustache fluttering. "Go find the oaf, if you must," he said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "But don't encourage him. I know you want him to keep practicing swordplay, but he won't get it. God knows I've tried. He's just not knight material, your brother. Scruff was born to pull a plow, not wield a sword. Instead of training for knighthood, he should seek a career as an ox. Slap a yoke onto him, he'd make an excellent draft animal."

Jamie nodded, wanting to argue but biting her tongue. As much as she hated to admit it, Bramblebridge was probably right. Well, not about the ox part, but about Scruff not being knight material. Like it or not, knights had to use swords.

Sighing, Jamie approached the rack of swords in the corner of the yard. She hung up her wooden training sword and retrieved her real blade, Father's blade, that same blade Scruff had dropped during Grobbler Battle. Filigreed and jeweled, the sword was called Moonclaw, and whenever Jamie bore it, she knew she was honoring Father's memory.

Slinging Moonclaw over her back—it was almost as long as she was tall—she left the training yard, pebbles crinkling under her leather boots. As she walked away, she heard the other squires whispering behind her, probably wondering how in hell this slight, short boy with girl arms had beaten them.

Jamie sighed again, heading around the dovecots behind the barracks. Every day, more and more squires whispered. Every day, she heard more whispers of "girly" tossed her way. That had not happened a couple years ago, but at age fifteen, faking boyhood was becoming difficult. These days, new squires usually thought she was a girl at first, until she punched their noses, bent their arms, and wouldn't let go until they took it back.

How long can I keep up this act? Jamie wondered. A few years ago, nobody would imagine she was a girl, but every day she looked less boyish. It wasn't fair! She was a thousand times better at the sword than anyone, so why couldn't she be knighted on that merit? Why did she have to maintain this charade? Sometimes it made Jamie want to scream and smash things.

With a sigh, Jamie remembered the tales of Lady Lenore, her heroine. Twenty years ago, the beautiful noblewoman, disguised as a boy, had become a knight and heroine, slaying trolls and dragons across the kingdom, clad in the purest white steel. As a little girl, Jamie would beg traveling bards to sing of Lenore, and they would sing of monsters slain, towns saved, and treasures found. As the years went by, fewer bards sang Lenore's poems, and these days few remembered her. Where are you, Lady Lenore? Jamie often wondered, fearing in her deepest thoughts that her heroine had died. More than anything, Jamie dreamed of becoming the next Lenore. One day the bards will sing of me, Jamie Thistle, the Lady Knight. I'll do it for you, Mom and Dad.

Leaving Fort Rosethorn behind, Jamie walked through a garden of clover, morning mist still clinging to the purple flowers. She crossed Gorse Bridge, dandelion petals and ducks floating down the stream beneath her. A memory flooded her from five years ago: during Grobbler Battle, Scruff had carried her over this bridge, bodies floating below in the water. Jamie blinked, pushing the memory aside. That was a long time ago. No monsters had invaded Burrfield in five years, not since the town built its new wall.

Moonclaw clanking over her back, Jamie stepped around the stables and toward this wall, the wall built to keep out grobblers. She knew where to find her brother. Whenever Bramblebridge scolded him, Scruff ran to find his hidden mace and smash boulders in Teasel Forest. Usually Jamie would leave him alone, letting him beat out his aggression, but today she wanted to talk to him. Today did not feel like other days, though she could not explain why. Perhaps it was just that they weren't kids anymore. She was fifteen and would be knighted soon, and what would happen to Scruff then? They needed to figure things out.

Maybe I can give him private lessons, Jamie thought. I'll teach him swordplay in secret, alone in the woods. I can be a better teacher than Bramblebridge. Jamie nodded to herself, lips tightened. I'll make sure Scruff is knighted with me this year, come hell or high water.

She stepped out the gates, leaving Burrfield and entering the woods. Bluebells carpeted the forest floor, and birches and elms rustled around her, casting dapples of light. The smell of earth, pollen, and leaves filled her nostrils. Where was Scruff? Usually she could hear him bashing boulders from here, but the forest seemed oddly silent today. Even the robins did not chirp. Jamie walked between the trees, leaves and pebbles whispering under her boots. Where are you, Scruff?

Jamie was far from Burrfield when a moldy stench assailed her, so putrid she felt dizzy.

"What the—" she began when three creatures burst from the trees.

Jamie's breath died.

The three creatures were shaped like men, but looked more like fallen logs, rotten and covered with mud, moss, and snails. Lichen draped over their pale skin, and their eyes were red, their teeth sharp and green. Their hair was made of worms. Jamie recognized them at once.

"Moldmen," she said in disgust, drawing Moonclaw with a hiss. Her blade gleamed in the sunrays that fell through the canopy.

The moldmen opened their maws, squealing, a sound like dying boars. Bugs and mud filled their mouths, and their eyes blazed. Icy fear flooded Jamie, but she shoved it down. I will fight like Lady Lenore, fearless. She narrowed her eyes and held her sword high as they rushed toward her.

Their claws reached out, dripping slime, and Jamie's blade flashed left and right. Severed moldmen hands flew against the trees, and the creatures screamed so loudly, Jamie's ears ached. One severed hand caught her foot, still alive on the forest floor, tripping her. Jamie fell with a yelp, the moldmen swooping down onto her.

She thrust up her sword, impaling one of the creatures. He writhed on her blade, snapping his teeth at her. His drool hit her face, hot like dripping wax. Jamie screamed, eyes narrowed, and shoved with all her might. She managed to push the moldman off, then slashed her sword left and right, cutting the other two moldmen. She kicked wildly, knocking off the severed hand that clutched her. It flew.

The moldmen were wounded, but still alive, limping toward her. Jamie snarled, rage filling her, and ran toward them with a scream. She spun her sword, rage flowing through her, chopping the moldmen until they moved no more.

They lay dead.

Jamie stood above them, panting, their blood and moss covering her. Her own blood dripped from her leg, where the severed hand had clutched her. She saw that hand still writhing on the forest floor, and she slammed her sword into it, finally killing it. She wiped her brow, only smearing slime across her face.

Catching her breath, Jamie looked around the forest, waiting for more moldmen to arrive, but none did. Her mind reeled. What were moldmen doing here? She had never seen such creatures, but all knew of them. Parents told their tales to scare errant children, and drawings of moldmen filled scrolls in church libraries. Centuries ago, the moldmen were human outlaws, terrorizing the countryside. A warlock had buried them underground, sending them into an enchanted sleep, bidding they wait for a day that he should summon them. The warlock died soon after, and the moldmen remained buried, sleeping. As the years passed, mold, mushrooms, and snails grew across their rotting bodies, and still they waited underground for their lord to summon them.

Who had woken them, summoned them here today? And why? Jamie could not imagine, and she clutched her sword, remembering the last time a warlock had led monsters into her town. Jamie shivered.

Did Scruff meet these creatures too? Is he wandering this forest, or back at Burrfield? Jamie did not know, and she felt dizzy. The moldmen's blood and slime covered her, stinking so badly, her head spun. She looked over her filthy clothes with disgust. To hell with Scruff, I'm going to take a bath. She started walking back toward Burrfield. If moldmen attack him out here, the brute deserves as much for wandering off. She gave an annoyed grunt that blew the hair off her forehead.

Bloody and slimy, Jamie found her way back into Burrfield. She walked down cobbled streets, townsfolk covering their noses as she passed by, and entered Fort Rosethorn. She crossed a courtyard where an old caregiver was sweeping fallen leaves and petals, shooing away peacocks that came begging for crumbs. Behind three old pines—among the few leafy survivors of Grobbler Battle—Jamie found the fort's bathhouse.

It was a squat, brick building covered with ivy. The place always made Jamie wary; she would bathe here sneakily, praying nobody caught her. If anybody saw her naked, her secret would be out. Luckily, squires were a stinky bunch, and most bathed only monthly. The bathhouse was usually vacant when Jamie desired a bath, which she often did; unlike the boys, she hated being dirty.

Peaking around, Jamie tiptoed into the bathhouse. She saw several clawfoot tubs, towels hanging on the walls, and shelves lined with brushes and soap. A fireplace crackled in the back wall, casting orange light. Pots of water bubbled there; servants often kept hot water ready should Bramblebridge desire a bath post haste. Luckily, no servants were here today. Jamie saw only a lizard on the wall and a sparrow on a rafter.

Breathing out in relief, Jamie filled a bath with water, then peeled off her bloody, stinky clothes. When she was naked, she grunted in disgust; the moldmen's slime had seeped right through her clothes, staining her skin. God, I smell like Scruff's butt.

She entered the bath, grabbed a brush and soap, and scrubbed her skin red. What were those moldmen doing here? she wondered, washing her hair so hard, her scalp hurt. Had a warlock summoned them? Could it be... him... the warlock who had murdered Father? Jamie shuddered. Suddenly she missed her parents so badly, she ached.

She was just leaving the bath when the door creaked open.

Jamie spun to face the doorway, her arms moving to cover her nakedness.

Lord Bramblebridge stood there with twenty squires. "Remember, lads," the old bulldog was bellowing, "Bishop Barleyworth is visiting tonight, and I want you spic and span, so grab brushes and...."

When Bramblebridge saw Jamie, his voice died and his mustache drooped.

Everyone stared at her.

Jamie gaped back, feeling the blood rising to her face. Her hands hid her nakedness, but could not hide the truth.

Her secret was out.

"You...," Bramblebridge began, blinked, and swallowed. "You're a girl!"

Jamie sighed. Damn it.

* * * * *

Scruff and Jamie stood in Bramblebridge's chamber, staring at their feet. The stocky lord was shouting so loudly, his cheeks turned bright red, and sweat steamed on his bald head. Smoke looked ready to fly from his ears, and his mustache fluttered as he shouted. Scruff would have preferred to face Lucifer himself; nothing could be more terrifying than a bellowing Bramblebridge.

"And you!" Bramblebridge said, pointing a trembling finger at Scruff. "You knew all along, didn't you? You knew she's a girl."

Scruff stared at his boots as if they could save him. "Well, yes, but—"

"Don't talk back, boy!"

"But you asked me a—"

"Will you shut it?!" Bramblebridge pounded his table, raising chips of wood. He turned to face Jamie, shaking with rage. She stood before him, eyes lowered, hands clutched behind her back.

"You, girl," Bramblebridge said, voice dripping disgust. "You have profaned an ancient, holy tradition. You have insulted everything Fort Rosethorn stands for. You are kicked out! And YOU, oaf!" He turned to Scruff. "You failed your sword class for three years in a row. My five-year-old granddaughter would beat you at a sword fight. Scruff, you're out too! I want both of you out of Burrfield by nightfall."

Scruff and Jamie stared at each other, gaping. Bramblebridge wasn't just kicking them out of Fort Rosethorn; he was banishing them from the entire town.

"B-but...," Scruff began, then let his voice die. There was not much he could do, he realized, daring not speak more for fear he'd sob. Horror sunk to the bottom of his belly as if he'd swallowed a brick. He looked at Jamie. Her face was pale, her bottom lip trembled, and she blinked as if fighting back tears.

We've failed our parents, Scruff thought, trembling. We broke our promises.

"My lord, please," Jamie said, looking pleadingly at Bramblebridge, tears spiking her eyelashes. "If you just give us a chance, we'll—"

Bramblebridge slammed his fists down again, breaking his table in two, scattering splinters. That seemed to only further enrage the burly lord. This time, Scruff could swear he did see smoke leaving the man's ears.

"Look what you did!" Bramblebridge shouted, gesturing at the broken table. His face was redder than the devil's. "I want you out of this town, the two of you. If I see either one of you in Burrfield again, I'll make sure you hang. Now out!"

Scruff and Jamie fled the room, too shocked to speak.

Chapter Three

Of Demons and Teddy Bears

The demon Issa, chief torturer of Hell, cracked her flaming whip.

"Time for pain," she hissed, smoke rising from her nostrils.

She stood in a towering cavern, feet upon a boulder that rose from bubbling lava. A new shipment of sinners stood before her upon jagged rocks, chained and shivering. They had torn clothes, teary eyes, and burnt hair. Miserable worms, Issa thought. She growled, puffed her cigar, and blew smoke toward the poor souls.

When she turned around, she saw a hundred demons behind her. They fluttered above the lava, bat wings churning smoke and sparks. Issa smiled. As pathetic as the dead sinners were, these demons were glorious. Here were the torturers of Hell, each a creature of beauty and malice. Their hair of fire crackled, drool dripped down their fangs, and their claws glinted. Sisters of pain, Issa thought. My girls. She loved them all.

Well, other than one demon—one demon so horrible, so torturous, Issa shuddered at the mere thought. Romy. Thank Lucifer, that one had not yet arrived. Every moment without Romy was a blessing.

Pushing the thought away, Issa unrolled the scroll she carried. It rolled down to her clawed feet. Upon the parchment appeared the names of these new souls, freshly dead, and their sins.

"Ke'ev!" Issa barked, and a demon flew toward her, tail flapping and horns glinting. Ke'ev was among the meanest torturers in Hell. Like her sisters, she wore nothing over her deep red skin. Tongues of flame coiled around her body, her only garment. Her irises were rings of fire, and her hair too was made of flame, crackling on her head. The firelight glinted on her claws, and her bat wings flapped behind her, glistening black. She carried a flaming whip.

"I am here, boss," Ke'ev said, smiling her crooked smile, fangs glinting.

"Take this robber," Issa told her. "I want his screams so loud, even Heaven will hear."

Ke'ev nodded and cracked her whip, raising sparks of fire. "You got it, boss." The demon grabbed the sinner—his eyes wide and his hair wild—and dragged him away.

"Rael!" Issa called next, and a second demon flew forward. This demon carried a pitchfork, and drool dripped down her fangs. Her eyes crackled, wild and bloodthirsty. "Take this adulterer. Show him pain like only you can."

Rael snarled, eyes blazing. "Gladly, Issa," she hissed. She grabbed the sinner and dragged him away kicking and screaming.

For an hour, Issa stood upon her jagged boulder, reviewing each sinner, choosing the best demon to torture him or her. Each demon was more terrifying than the last. The male demons were soldiers; they spent their days patrolling the First Circle, those dank tunnels near Earth's surface, defending Hell should angels invade. Here deep underground, here buried in the bowels of the Ninth Circle... here were Hell's daughters, more wicked, sinful, and dangerous by far. Here were beings woven of cruelty.

Finally Issa came to the last sinner. The soul stood trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. According to the scroll, this sinner had robbed many old ladies. Now and for eternity he would pay for every one.

Issa turned to call the last demon... the demon she always chose last, the demon she dreaded to summon.

Issa pursed her lips.

No demon flew behind her.

"Romy!" Issa called, her belly already aching. "Where are you?"

If Issa had one wish, it was to never see Romy again. But Romy's dad, a wealthy demon, had donated many racks and whips to the torture chambers. He'd insisted Issa hire his daughter.

"Keep her busy," the old, portly demon had warned Issa, flexing his claws. "Keep her happy. Most importantly: Keep her out of my hair."

Issa sighed. "ROMY!" she shouted, her cry echoing in the cavern.

For a moment the only sounds were the sinner's whimpers, the bubbling lava, and the shrieks of dragons that swooped above. Issa dared to hope that Romy was ill, maybe even dead. But then she heard that voice... that horrible voice that would echo through her nightmares... the high, childlike voice of Romy.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Romy came flying from the darkness, if you could call it flying; she careened through the air like some wobbly stork with one wing. In one hand, she carried a teddy bear; in the other, a ribboned pitchfork. "I'm here, Issa! Sorry I'm late again. I was having a tea party with Floofie, and—"

"Romy, shut it!" Issa shouted so loudly, spit flew from her mouth. "Get over here."

Wings flapping, Romy floundered toward a block of stone that rose from the lava. She landed, wobbled, and fell onto her backside. "Owie." A cloth bag, which was tied to her belt, opened to spill marbles.

"Oh no, my marbles," Romy said miserably, sitting with her legs splayed out, watching the marbles roll into the lava.

Issa landed before her, grabbed Romy's hair of flame, and pulled her to her feet. "Get up," she said in disgust. She tore the pink ribbons off Romy's pitchfork. "How many times have I told you, do not decorate your pitchfork."

Romy wobbled for a moment, struggling to steady herself. She managed a salute. "Yes, boss!" She began to suck her thumb.

With a growl, Issa pulled Romy's thumb out of her mouth. "Stop that! I told you a million times, don't suck your thumb. You're a grown demon."

Romy nodded, hair raising sparks. "I know, I know," she said. "Be tough, be mean, be strong as a tiger. Roar!" She growled, but it sounded more like a kitten than a tiger.

Issa sighed the longest, deepest sigh of her life. Romy had been insufferable from day one. She looked just as mean, beautiful, and sinful as the others. Her lips were pouty, her hair flaming, her fangs glinting and sharp. Tongues of flame raced over her curvy red body, and her claws and horns glistened. Yes, Romy looked demonic at first glance, if you ignored her teddy bear. But as soon as she opened her mouth....

"Uhm... Issa?" Romy said. "I know I'm not allowed to play checkers with the sinners I torture. But... I just bought some new toy ponies, and I was wondering if—"

Issa roared. "Romy, no games! No checkers, no ponies, no tea parties. For God's sake, you are a demon, not a little girl. How old are you?"

Romy straightened, puffing out her chest and raising her chin. "207 and a half. I'm big!" She wagged her tail.

"But mentally, you're a baby."

Romy pouted. "Am not. I'm a big demon. Don't call me a baby." She began to tremble, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Oh Hell, she's going to cry again, Issa thought. Whenever somebody called her a baby, Romy burst into tears. A standard speech usually followed, and indeed Romy delivered her speech now too, voice trembling.

"Just because I suck my thumb, and just because I have a teddy bear named Floofie, and just because I like tea parties, and just because I don't have a boyfriend, and just because I'm scared of ducklings, it doesn't mean that... that...." Romy thought for a moment, scrunching her lips. "I lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?" Her eyes brightened. "Were we talking about marbles? Because I just invented a new marble game, and—"

Issa grabbed Romy by the throat, cutting her off. She pulled her toward the sinner, who stood gaping and rubbing his eyes. "Romy," Issa said, "this one is yours. He robbed old ladies, so I want you to torture him long, and torture him hard, and no games."

Romy heaved a sigh. "Oh, all right," she said, staring at her toes.

"And I mean real torture this time," Issa said. "Whips, pitchforks, and the rack."

"Can I tickle him?" Romy asked hopefully.

"No tickling!"

"Can I give him Indian Burns? I'm good at those."

"No Indian Burns, Romy."

Romy scrunched her lips. "How about wet willies? I give a mean wet willie."

Issa roared. "No more wet willies! No more wedgies. No more forcing sinners to punch themselves while chanting, ‘Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself.' And no more making them listen to you practice your accordion." Issa lowered her voice and muttered to herself. "Though I admit that one does come close to real torture." She raised her voice again. "Understood, Romy?"

Romy heaved an even longer, deeper sigh. "Oh, fine." She pouted.

"Promise me, Romy," Issa said, flexing her claws. "Promise, or by Lucifer, I'm going to torture you and show you how it's done."

"Fine fine, I promise!" Romy said. "Sheesh, you're so grumpy today."

She took the sinner by the hand and led him off into the darkness. Issa stood sighing, listening to Romy's babbling until it died off in the distance.

"...and Floofie (that's my teddy bear) also likes to play marbles sometimes, but he's not very good. Yet. I'm teaching him. And oh—I'll show you my new marble! I hope it wasn't one of those I lost in the lava. Do you play marbles? Maybe after I torture you, I'll show you how to play, but don't tell Issa! Do you play chess? How about checkers?"

When Romy was gone, Issa clutched her head. She needed a vacation.

* * * * *

Today Neev's life would change.

He paced the chamber, boots thunking against the bloodred tiles and echoing in the domed, painted ceiling. His black robes swished around him, and he tapped his fingers against his thigh. The room's columns glinted with gold, paintings of dragons covered the ceiling, and jet statues of demons rose around him, yet Neev didn't spare the opulence a second glance. He had been living in the Coven for five years now, this network of tunnels carved under Batwog Mountain, and no longer contemplated its splendor. Especially not today. Every few seconds, he glanced up nervously at the shadow who sat, black and wispy, at the granite table.

"Is it time yet?" he asked for the hundredth time.

The shadow laid down his quill and looked up from the scroll he was scribing. Shadows were beings of the underground, formed when the spirits of sinners struggled against their doom; their souls were dragged into Hell, but their shadows clung shivering behind for warlocks to collect.

"A moment more, young apprentice," this shadow said, voice like a wisp of smoke. "And please stop pacing, will you?"

But Neev would not stop. He continued clanking across the antechamber, glancing every moment toward the towering stone doors. They were beautiful doors, carved with images of warlocks, griffins, and nymphs, but Neev barely noticed their artistry. He cared about what lay beyond those doors. The High Warlock sat there, the Coven's leader, the world's greatest weaver of black magic. Neev pushed back the hair from his sweaty brow.

"You do know," he said to the shadow, "I might become the world's youngest warlock." He was seventeen; most apprentices became warlocks only around age thirty.

"That is lovely, young man," said the shadow, sighing, "but for the next few moments at least, you are still an apprentice, so please use one of our lovely benches and sit down."

Neev couldn't imagine sitting at a time like this. His nerves frazzled, and he kept going over his spell in his mind. He had spent the past two years working on this spell, studying ancient grimoires of invocation, preparing every syllable, cramming by candlelight into the nights while his friends were sleeping or partying. He had never cast the spell before. Not a spell like this. This was a spell you cast once in a lifetime.

"It'll blow the High Warlock's socks off," he whispered to himself.

Of course... there was the issue of his jinx.

Even if his spell worked, the old jinx could act up. It had plagued him from his first day at the Coven. The first spell he cast—a simple Seeing Spell into Hell—made donkey ears sprout from his head. His second spell—an invocation of smoke from Hell's firepits—gave him a pig's tail. Since then, most spells he cast caused some side effect. He'd often wander the Coven's tunnels with a pig snout, horse hooves, a wagging dog tail, and once, after a particularly complicated spell, a blowhole that spouted water all day.

Neev did not know how he caught the jinx. Maybe when he'd joined the Coven, somebody slipped a curse into his drink. Maybe he was born with it. Who knew? Neev knew he was wunderkind, the Coven's brightest apprentice... but with this jinx, would he ever be dubbed a warlock?

Neev took a deep breath, tightened his lips, and raised his eyes to the domed ceiling. Painted dragons flew around clouds against a starry sky, each star a diamond; the ceiling was worth a king's ransom. I'm going to keep my promise, Father, he thought, gazing into that ceiling as if gazing into Heaven. I'm going to become a warlock tonight, despite this pesky jinx. He clenched his fists. And then I'll be powerful enough. I'll find the warlock who killed you... and kill him.

It seemed ages before the shadow finally placed down his quill, cleared his throat, and rang a silver bell. "The High Warlock," he announced, head tossed back, "shall see you now."

Neev had waited anxiously for this moment, had dreamed of it for years. Now he dreaded it. He didn't want to go past those doors. Pacing this antechamber for eternity suddenly seemed like a good alternative. The shadow, however, slid off his chair, glided toward the large doors, and pushed them open. Neev saw darkness and swirls of smoke beyond. There was no turning back now.

Neev swallowed and followed the shadow into the chamber of the High Warlock.

Past the doors, the air was cold, and Neev saw nothing but swirling green smoke and darkness. He heard the shadow walking ahead, and followed the sound, until the smoke cleared and he saw a great chamber, large as a cathedral's nave, lined with black columns and topped with an arched ceiling. This chamber lay miles under Batwog Mountain, miles from the light and air of the world, buried beneath countless tons of stone.

And at the back of this chamber, the High Warlock sat upon a throne, cloaked in darkness.

The shadow, three feet tall on his tiptoes, puffed out his chest, cleared his throat, and announced, "Apprentice Neev Thistle, son of Sir Sam Thistle of Burrfield, has come before the High Warlock to show his respect, to demonstrate his skills in the art of black magic, and to ask acceptance into the Coven."

Neev bowed his head, sneaking a glance toward the High Warlock. As always, looking at him made Neev shiver. Even after years in the Coven, it was strange seeing a living skeleton. The High Warlock's true name was Jan Rasmussen, but everybody called him Dry Bones. An old fire had eaten his flesh and blood, leaving only his skeleton, white and gleaming. The warlock—probably the greatest in the world—used black magic to stay alive, but could not restore his flesh. He now wandered the Coven's halls as nothing but a skeleton, naked and clanking.

"Thank you, Fitzgerald," Dry Bones said to the shadow, his jawbone rattling. "You may leave us."

The shadow sketched a bow, spun on his heels, and left the chamber. Neev remained with his head bowed, staring at his boots.

Finally Dry Bones spoke again. "Welcome, Neev Thistle of Burrfield. Do you have a spell for me today?"

Neev looked up and swallowed. Dry Bones' familiar, a viper named Baumgartner, slithered between the skeleton's ribs, hissing and raising Neev's hackles. Neev forced himself to take a deep breath. I'm going to wow both Dry Bones and his snake, he thought. Please, jinx, don't act up, not today.

"I do, master," he said and straightened.

"I hope it's an impressive one, young apprentice," Dry Bones said, gazing down from the empty eye sockets of his skull. "It's a bold move to request graduation at age seventeen, and after only five years of apprenticeship. But very well. You may proceed."

Dry Bones leaned forward, and even Baumgartner slithered out from between the skeleton's ribs and stared.

Neev took a deep breath, then began to chant his spell.

Sparks, burgundy and golden, glittered around his fingertips. Cold wind blew across him. His lips moved, uttering every syllable at perfect pitch, in perfect timing; a song of such fragility that any wrong inflection could kill him. The sparks grew, flowing around him, ruffling his hair and dancing in his eyes. The light sang like pixies. Neev closed his eyes, head spinning, galaxies circling him in a dance. Everything disappeared but his magic; all thoughts, all memories, all notions of himself. He was but a vessel, a funnel for power to flow from the hidden worlds through him, moving to his words, forming and twisting with every tap of his tongue and flick of his fingers. As he conducted that magic, weaving strands into patterns, turning chaos into power, euphoria filled him. It was like choir music or towering paintings, art to elevate the soul but greater. This was what he was born for. This was where he belonged, floating between this world and the infinite ones that pulsed around it. He was magic.

His power swam around him... and he pointed it down. Spinning his arms, he created a circle of fire before him, drove his consciousness underground, found a pulse of life and pulled it up. Fires blazed and winds roared, and the screams of distant sinners echoed in the chamber. Into Hell itself did Neev reach, and with his strands of magic, he fished out a demon.

He took a step back, panting, eyes wide, barely believing he had done the feat. Cloaked in flames and smoke, a figure stood before him, head lowered, bat wings wrapped around it like a cocoon. The wings slowly opened, a flower blooming, revealing the most enchanting creature Neev had ever seen. She was a female demon, shaped as a young woman of infinite beauty, of full lips, of dark red skin, her irises rings of fire. Her hair was made of flames, flowing and crackling, and her horns, fangs, and claws glistened. She looked at him, eyes widening, mouth falling open. Her tail hung between her legs. She was beautiful. She was cruel. She was scared.

Neev shook his hands, casting off the last strands of magic.

His spell was complete.

He had done what no apprentice had done before, what only the greatest warlocks could achieve.

He had summoned a demon.

Panting, Neev looked up at Dry Bones, expecting the High Warlock to gasp with pride and dub him a warlock on the spot. But instead, Dry Bones only stared, silent, Baumgartner hissing on his shoulders.

Neev reached up and patted his head.

His fingers caressed fluffy rabbit ears.

Damn.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * * * *

Flunked.

Neev couldn't believe it.

Flunked out of the Coven!

Several hours had passed since he summoned the demon, an ancient being who called herself Romy of the Ninth Circle. It was the greatest spell he'd ever cast; he should be a warlock now, a sorcerer of legend. Instead Neev stomped through the forest in his apprentice robes, grumbling and kicking pine cones, the demon following him like a dog on its master's heels.

Those damn rabbit ears! They still sprouted from his head, and would probably remain for hours.

Slapping burrs off his cloak, his scarce belongings clanking over his back, Neev looked over his shoulder and scowled. "Will you quit following me?" he demanded.

Walking several paces behind him, Romy shrugged, her bat wings creaking. When she spoke, her fangs glistened. "Where else would I go?"

"Go anywhere! Just leave me alone. You got me kicked out of the Coven."

Romy shook her head, sparks flying from her hair of flame. "I did not. You're the one who grew rabbit ears. I didn't ask for this. Now what will I do? You brought me into this world, so you're my mother. Now care for me."

Neev blew out his breath in frustration. This was not what he had expected. When he had summoned her that morning, her feral beauty shocked him. Her red body clad in tongues of flame, her hair of fire, her flicking tail—all spoke of temptation, sin, and malice. Who'd have thought she'd act like a newly-hatched duckling, following the first human she saw?

"I am not your mother," he said with a snort. He hitched his backpack, trying to rearrange the spellbooks inside; one was poking his spine with a hard corner. "I'm a fearsome warlock."

Leaning on her pitchfork, Romy raised an eyebrow. "Uh... actually, you're not, Mister Bunny Rabbit. You failed your final exam."

Inside his backpack, the book's corner was now poking his kidney. "Thanks to you."

She shook her head. "Nu uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nu uh!" She stuck out her tongue.

Grumbling, Neev opened his backpack, rummaged inside for the spellbook that was poking him, and tossed it into the forest with a curse. Birds fled, squawking. Neev turned back to Romy, still scowling, and was surprised to see her shivering.

"What's wrong?"

Romy pointed with a shaky finger. "Birds," she said and began to suck her thumb.

Neev sighed. "You're scared of birds?"

She nodded, thumb in mouth, trembling.

Neev drew a shaky breath, trying to calm his anger. "Look, why don't you just go live in a cave somewhere? There are no birds in caves."

She removed her thumb and pouted her bee-stung lips. "No thanks, Mommy. You summoned me, so you have to take care of me. I'm coming with you."

He did not need this. Not today. Romy had already ruined his day—indeed, his entire life. He did not want her tagging along. When he had summoned her, he thought he'd impress Dry Bones. After all, only the best warlocks could summon demons. Yet Dry Bones only stared at Neev's rabbit ears, announced that no warlock should look so silly, and kicked Neev out of the Coven.

It was outrageous. I'm the brightest apprentice they've had. I summoned a demon! Who cares about rabbit ears? Yet now he wandered the wilderness, homeless and penniless, this demon leeching along.

Neev looked at Romy, sighing. She looked back with large, puppy dog eyes.

"How old are you?" he said wearily. If she were human, she would look to be about twenty, but you never knew with demons.

"207, and you?"

"Much, much younger. Not even ten percent as old as you. And you still can't take care of yourself? You're still following me around like a duckling?"

She shrugged and twirled a lock of her hair of flame. "Well, I'm new to this world. And I might be a duckling... but you, sir, are a bunny." She reached out and tugged his rabbit ear. He slapped her hand away.

Grumbling, Neev turned and kept walking down the trail. He tried to ignore the pebbles in his boots, the wind in his rabbit ears, and the sounds of Romy babbling behind him. He walked as fast as he could, refusing to look over his shoulder or acknowledge the demon. Maybe if he stopped paying attention to her, she'd get bored and leave. Leaves rustled and birds chirped, and Neev tried to focus on the forest sounds and forget about this horrible day.

He must have walked a mile before he turned his head again. Romy was still there, walking several paces behind.

"Hey," she said and waved.

Neev growled and shook his fist. "You're still here?"

"I'm hungry. Feed me." She patted her belly.

"I have no food."

"Get some."

He spread out his arms and his voice rose to a yell. "Where? Do you see any kitchens around? Any shops? Any fruit trees? We are banished into the wilderness thanks to you."

Romy pointed into her mouth. "But I'm hungry. Me want fooood."

"I'm hungry too." At the thought of food, his stomach grumbled, and he sighed. Like it or not, he knew, he and Romy were in the same boat; both were tired, hungry, and lost out here. And, like it or not, Romy was his only friend now. The Coven was forbidden to him, and his siblings lived many miles away; right now, this childlike demon was all he had.

He rearranged the pot, backpack, and blanket that hung over his back. "Let's keep walking," he said. "Maybe we'll find some berries on the way."

Romy jumped up and down, grinning. "So I'm allowed to come with you?"

"No. But you're dogging me anyway, and I can't get rid of you."

She smiled and blew him a kiss. "Oh, you like me. I know it. I'm like your little baby, right, Mommy?"

He rolled his eyes. "Stop calling me that."

She skipped beside him, happy as could be, sparks flying from her hair of flame, her demon tail wagging. "Where are we going, Master? Can I call you that?"

He gazed at the birds and squirrels in the treetops, wishing he knew some hunting spells. He could toss a fireball into the trees and roast the critters, but would only burn down the forest. "Just call me Neev."

She chewed her bottom lip. "Where are we going, Master Neev?"

He looked ahead at the rocky, winding trail. It ran as far as he could see, birches and pines lining its sides. "We're going to Hermit Island. It's a place where outcasts live. We can find shelter there, and maybe another hermit will share food with us."

Romy twirled around, arms outstretched. "I like this world. I like you."

"Well, I don't like you. Thanks to you, I'll never become a warlock, and I'm homeless to boot." He knew it was unfair to blame Romy, but couldn't help it; blaming her felt better than blaming himself.

"But we're on an adventure!" she said, swinging her pitchfork as she walked. "That makes it all worthwhile."

Neev froze. Romy kept skipping, but Neev stopped her by raising his hand.

"Hush!" he said and stared at the ground, eyes narrowed. Romy stood beside him, staring down with him, tapping her chin. Strange tracks covered the trail; they looked like human feet, but moss covered the footprints, raising smoke and stench. Neev clenched his fists, ice shooting down his spine. A monster. He hadn't seen monsters since the night Burrfield had burned, and the anguish rushed back into him.

"What is—" Romy began, but Neev hushed her with finger to her lips. Something scuttled in the bushes. Neev's rabbit ears twitched. He saw the leaves move and heard snorting and creaking.

His heart bursting into a gallop, Neev slowly lowered his backpack and muttered the first words of a spell.

A creature burst from the bushes, a pale figure covered in moss, mushrooms, and snails, clad only in strands of lichen. A moldman, Neev knew. Its maw opened wide, revealing rotting teeth and a lolling white tongue. Screeching, it rushed toward Neev, brandishing claws.

Romy shrieked in fear, and Neev tossed the fireball he summoned, eyes narrowed. With a crackle, his rabbit ears vanished, and he felt a tail sprout behind him. The fireball crashed into the moldman, knocking it down. It groaned, kicked its feet, then lay still and smoking.

Neev took shaky breaths, a monkey's tail peeking under the hem of his cloak. God help us, what is a moldman doing here? His heart pounded against his ribs.

Hair crackling, Romy knelt beside the burned creature. "A moldman!" she said and shuddered. "These creatures are known in the underground. We demons hate them, and they hate us. What's one doing here? They usually sleep in the earth, waking up only to hunt worms." She began to suck her thumb, trembling. Then she noticed Neev's monkey tail and her eyes widened. She removed her thumb, started to giggle, and reached out to grab the tail. Neev pulled it away, glowering.

He took a few more shaky breaths, trying to hide the tremble in his fingers. This creature was different than those that had invaded Burrfield, but nevertheless, the sight of a monster filled him with memories. The agony of that day, five years ago, flooded him. The day grobblers killed his parents. The day he swore to become a warlock. Neev looked down at the dead moldman and felt nauseous.

"Warlocks can summon moldmen," he said softly.

Neev remembered the warlock who had led the grobblers into Burrfield. The man's face had remained hidden in his hood, but Neev had sworn to find him someday. I swore I'd become a warlock powerful enough to kill him.

But what would happen now? He was banished from the Coven just when he needed all his training. Monsters were returning, and Neev felt like a boy again, helpless to stop them.

Being out in the forest suddenly seemed very, very frightening.

Romy slipped her hand into his. Her hand was hot, and Neev squeezed it, more lost and confused than he'd been since Burrfield burned.

Chapter Four

Twisted Tongue, Straight Arrows

It was her sixteenth birthday, and tonight Cobweb would be anointed an adult spiderling... or outcast into a life of exile and pain.

She swam in the pond, waterlilies blooming around her, glowing dragonflies circling above. She tried to calm her worry by admiring the sunlight on the water, the chirping of robins in the surrounding alders, and the sound of the waterfall behind her. Spiderlings are never really banished on their Star Ceremonies, she told herself. That only happens in stories.

She placed her feet down on the lake-bed and sighed. Her thoughts always sounded so coherent. If only she could speak as clearly as she thought, she'd have no cause for concern. But when she spoke....

Cobweb took a deep breath and tried speaking her thoughts aloud. "S-s-spidewwings awe nevew weawy b-banished," she said. "D-dat o-o-onwy happens in stowies."

She sighed. It was no use. No matter how hard she tried, she could not speak like an adult. She sounded like a baby just learning to talk. Everyone thinks I'm stupid because I sound funny, she thought. If only they could hear my thoughts, they'd know I'm smart.

Cobweb stepped out of the pond onto a grassy shore. Sunbeams glowing around her, she slipped on her dress, a dress woven of gossamer that glowed like moonlight. Upon her head she placed a garland of crocuses, purple like her skin, and donned a necklace of painted apple seeds. I'll be fine, she told herself, watching birch leaves float in the lake. There's nothing to worry about. She tried speaking the words aloud: "N-n-nutting to wowwy about."

Cobweb sighed.

It wasn't fair. All her friends anxiously awaited their Star Ceremonies, spending moons (if not years) planning the event. After all, a Star Ceremony—the night a spiderling turned sixteen—was the most important day ever. Ever. When the first star twinkled, the clan elders would pass judgment upon the girl. If she was perfect, she would be anointed with dew, becoming an adult of the clan. And if she was impure, well....

Cobweb shook her head and began walking between the birches, bluebells carpeting the forest floor and caressing her bare feet. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn't help remembering the tale of poor Tangleweb. The spiderling had lived here a hundred years ago, born with a birthmark beneath her eye. The elders had deemed her impure, a danger to the spiderling race. They banished her from Spidersilk Forest, and spiderlings whispered that the humans caught poor Tangleweb and ate her.

Cobweb shivered. "B-but dat was d-diffewent," she told herself. Spiderlings lived for beauty, for purity, and poor Tangleweb had been marred. I myself have no physical deformity. Her hair was milky white and glowing, her eyes blue as sapphires, her skin perfect lavender. Will the elders deem my voice a monstrosity?

"M-m-monstwosity," she tried, then sighed. It was no use. Why must I sound like a baby? Tears filled her eyes, and she caressed the spiderweb tattooed onto her shoulder. Please help me tonight, spider spirits.

She walked between the trees, heading toward Memory Meadow, the holiest place in the forest, the place where every Star Ceremony was held. Cobweb walked as slowly as could be, dreading sunset. It was dangerous wandering alone, she knew. Humans could burst through the trees, wielding weapons of that strange, hard material called "temal" (or something of the sort). Humans loved eating spiderlings, Cobweb knew... though right then, she'd prefer to face a human army over the scrutinizing elders.

I just have to keep my mouth shut, Cobweb told herself. If the elders ask me anything, I'll just nod or smile. She could not, of course, pretend to lose her voice. Falling ill was the worst sign of impurity.

A starling landed on her shoulder, and Cobweb patted the bird, tears on her cheek. I don't want to be exiled, she thought. I love Spidersilk Forest. She tried saying it aloud, practicing: "I w-w-wove Spidewsiwk Fowest."

Cobweb sighed.

Soon she heard tinkling laughter ahead, the laughter of spiderlings, a sound like rain on flowers. I'm here.

Cobweb stepped into Memory Meadow, the heart of Spidersilk Forest, the heart of every spiderling. The towering Memory Boulders stood in a ring around the meadow, each taller than Cobweb, glistening with golden runes. The Ancient Ones had arranged these monoliths in the shape of the planets, carving the runes that collected starlight. Pollen glistened in sunbeams that fell upon the meadow, and flower petals glided through the air. On most days, only the elders were allowed in Memory Meadow, the caretakers of its magic. Today, for Cobweb's Star Ceremony, a hundred spiderlings sang and laughed here.

Singing their songs, tunes formless and playful as butterflies fluttering, the spiderlings were arranging baskets of fruit and jugs of wine. Glittering dragonflies and fireflies haloed around their heads, lazily gliding, leaving wakes of golden powder. The spiderlings wore gossamer over their lavender skin, and flowers filled their glowing white hair. Humans were separate from nature, Cobweb knew, and could at best form a bond with it; spiderlings had always been part of nature, one with flowers and stones and leaves.

Her two best friends, Gossamer and Webdew, were hanging strings of glowing riverstones upon the birches. They noticed Cobweb and ran toward her, feet silent in the grass.

"You're here!" they said and hugged her.

Cobweb looked at all the spiderlings who smiled at her, standing among bouquets, the sunbeams glowing upon them. "It-it's b-beautifuw," Cobweb whispered.

But not every spiderling loved Cobweb. As she walked through the meadow, holding her friends' hands, some spiderlings snickered. Others whispered amongst themselves. "There comes the baby," one girl whispered to her friend, probably not meaning Cobweb to hear, but she heard anyway. Her eyes moistened. I'm not a baby, she thought, biting her lip. It's not my fault that I talk like one.

Her friend Webdew, her skin soft purple and her sapphire eyes sparking, gave Cobweb's hand a squeeze. "Just ignore them," she said. "Who cares what they think?"

Gossamer, her other friend, nodded. She wore feathers strewn through her glowing white hair, and acorns hung from her pointy ears. "Those who whisper are the real babies."

Cobweb nodded, sniffing back tears. "T-tank you."

The feast soon began, the spiderlings settling in the grass before wooden bowls of fruits, but Cobweb could not eat. She sat before her bowl, not touching it. She held a goblet of raspberry juice but could not drink. Around her the spiderlings ate, drank, danced, and sang, but Cobweb sat silently, twisting her toes.

Gossamer noticed her unease and kissed Cobweb's cheek. "You'll do great," she said. "Just think—tonight you'll be an adult."

"I hope so," Cobweb said and couldn't help but smile. I said that sentence all right, she thought. Somehow, talking to Gossamer always seemed easiest. She even managed a sip of juice.

But soon the sun began to set, and Cobweb's smile vanished. In a few moments the first star would rise, and then the Memory Boulders would glow. Cobweb gulped. The moment of truth.

Indeed, a hush fell over the spiderlings as the elders, holding lanterns, emerged from the forest.

All eyes fell upon them. There were five elders; there had been five for time beyond memory. They were ancient beings of light, maybe centuries old. Their hair was long and white, their skin indigo, their faces cold and unlined. Fireflies haloed around their brows, and they wore robes woven of spiderwebs. Silent, paper lanterns in hand, the clan elders stepped into the meadow.

Cobweb whimpered and clutched Gossamer's hand.

The sunlight fleeing, the elders came to stand before Cobweb, gazing upon her with blue eyes, eyes far too large, deep, and old. Gulping, knees trembling, she stood to face them. The other spiderlings crowded around, holding moonflowers and primroses, the flowers of the night skies. Gossamer held Cobweb's left hand, while her friend Webdew held her right hand, patting it.

Please, spirits of Spidersilk, help me, Cobweb prayed. The elders raised their eyes to the sky. Cobweb and her friends did the same. Everyone held their breath.

For a moment there was silence.

Shy, winking, the first star appeared.

The Memory Boulders that surrounded the meadow, arranged like the planets, collected the starlight. Their runes began to glow with azure light. Everyone exhaled and mumbled blessings and prayers.

"Cobweb of Spidersilk Forest," spoke one elder, her voice so loud and sudden that Cobweb started. "Tonight is your Star Ceremony, your passage into adulthood."

Cobweb nodded, allowing herself a tremulous smile. The light of the runes and fireflies seemed to spin around her, blinding her. It's going to be all right, she told herself, squeezing her friends' hands. I'm going to become a woman tonight.

One elder examined her eyes. "Clear, perfect blue," she announced.

A second elder examined her hair, passing her fingers through it. "Soft, glowing white... pure."

The third elder examined her lips and teeth, deeming the former full and soft, the latter straight and sparkling. The fourth elder praised her purple skin strewn with "perfectly whimsical freckles", while the fifth and final elder deemed her body of "godly proportions."

Cobweb smiled. They like me! The elders, notorious for their sternness, actually smiled back.

"T-tank y-you," Cobweb blurted out, tears of joy in her eyes. "I-I'm weawwy happy."

The elders' smiles vanished.

Oh... damn, Cobweb thought.

One elder scratched her chin, frowning. "Child, will you speak the chant of the forest?"

Cobweb bit her lip and shook her head.

The elder's frown deepened, blue sparks flaring in her eyes. "Speak the chant, child. Every spiderling should know the chant."

Cobweb looked at the elder, trying to make her teary eyes seem pleading.

"You can do it!" Gossamer whispered, squeezing her hand.

Cobweb took a deep breath, her fingers trembling. "F-f-fowevew we f-fwowick among da twees, p-puwe and pwetty."

The elders gasped. "A monstrosity!" one whispered.

Cobweb lowered her head, tears filling her eyes. Monstrosity. There was that word again. I can say it so perfectly in my head, she thought, sniffing. It's not my fault my tongue is so clumsy. Everyone thinks I'm stupid or a monster, but I'm not.

The elders circled her, eyes flashing angry blue, and all around the spiderlings gasped. A few spiderlings covered their mouths, while others covered their eyes or pointy ears. The forest went silent, even the trees ceasing to rustle. Cobweb closed her eyes, crying.

"Cobweb of Spidersilk Forest," she heard an elder saying, "we deem you impure and a danger to the spiderling race. You are banished from Spidersilk Forest."

Around her, the spiderlings erupted in shouts, whimpers, sobs. A few girls laughed. Cobweb dared not open her eyes, and she sobbed into her palms. She felt hands grab her, pulling her away from her friends, tearing her away from her world.

"P-pwease," she whispered, "wet me twy again."

But they were dragging her away from the meadow, pulling her into the darkness of the forest, shoving her, scolding her, spiderlings shouting and crying around her. Cobweb opened her eyes, but the world seemed to spin around her. She saw only darkness, black trees, glowing elders pulling and shoving her, glimpses of spiderlings trying to chase her through the darkness.

How could this have happened? I'm banished. I'll never see my friends again.

"Cobweb!" came the distant cry of Gossamer, but soon her voice vanished in the darkness.

Tears and pain covered Cobweb's world.

* * * * *

Scruff stood on the raft, staring at the rocky island that rose ahead from the lake.

Wind moaned, rippling the water and cutting through Scruff's cloak. He shivered, perhaps more from fear than cold. The lake gurgled, and Scruff could imagine serpents coiling in its depths, ready to leap out and eat him. He leaned over the raft, trying to gaze into the lake, but the water was murky and thick as stew, gray-green under the overcast sky.

When he returned his eyes to the island ahead, the fear only grew colder in his belly. A mile away, Hermit Island looked lifeless and gray, its few trees scraggly. While mallards swam through the lake, and gulls circled the raft cawing for food, no birds seemed to fly over the rocky island ahead. Even they don't want to live there, Scruff thought, lowering his head. Everything about today seemed dismal, from the rotting planks of the raft, to the weather, to the weight on his heart.

The ferryman was humming a tune even older than he was, and he was old indeed, all wrinkly skin and long white hair. As he hummed his song, he rowed the raft as leisurely as a nymph running her toes through a sunny stream. That suited Scruff fine; he was in no rush to reach Hermit Island, his new home. Once he set foot on that rocky shore, who knew if he'd ever leave it?

He turned to look at Jamie. She stood beside him on the raft, the wind ruffling her short black hair. Though she no longer needed a disguise, she still dressed like a boy; boy clothes were all she owned. She wore black leggings, tall leather boots, and a deep green cape clasped around her neck with an iron acorn. Her eyes dark and her lips tightened, she looked like Scruff felt—miserable.

Their only valuables were their weapons and scant armor. Jamie carried Moonclaw over her back, the filigreed sword that once belonged to Father. Scruff kept Norman, his oversized mace, slung over his own back. Both siblings carried wooden shields emblazoned with the Thistle emblem, a cluster of thorns growing around a tower. Dull iron vambraces protected their forearms, and greaves protected their shins. They owned no helmets or breastplates—such armor cost a fortune—and they had left their chain mail behind, for it belonged to Fort Rosethorn. Vambraces and greaves weren't much, but Scruff was grateful for any protection. The world was a dangerous place, swarming with moldmen, grobblers, and God knew what else. Out here in the wilderness, any weapons and armor were worth more than gold.

After what seemed like hours, the raft finally reached Hermit Island, docking at an abandoned pier that seemed comprised of more moss than wood. A sign stood atop the pier, crooked and moldy, the letters so old Scruff could hardly read them. "A home for outcasts; may they live their shunned lives here, hidden from society," he read out loud.

"Not the most hearty of welcomes," Jamie muttered, eyes narrowed.

The siblings stepped off the ferry and paid the ferryman. The graybeard pocketed his penny and rowed away, singing a bawdy old song, leaving Scruff and Jamie on the island.

Rubbing his neck, Scruff looked over his new home. The shore was bleak, and the rocky hills ahead looked even bleaker. Bare trees covered the hills like old, gnarled men who'd wandered outside naked. Otherwise, Scruff saw no sign of life. He heard nothing but the murmuring water, the creaking trees above, and the distant call of a gull. Spring bloomed across the rest of the kingdom, but had not found the island. It was cold. Scruff tightened his cloak around him, shivering.

I should say something, he thought, glancing at his sister. He cleared his throat. "Well, here we are. Hermit Island. Our new home for the rest of our lives." He tried to keep his voice cheery, but heard the gloom in his words.

Jamie covered her face. "Great. Just great."

Scruff sighed. "Let's go explore," he said, clumsily putting a hand on Jamie's shoulder.

She pushed his hand off, muttering. Scruff shrugged and walked away from the shore, Jamie following silently. The trees seemed made of nothing but twigs, and the rocks looked like chipped, rotting teeth. Soon they reached a hill and hiked up, stepping over fallen logs coated with snails. Mushrooms and moss covered the ground, but barely any grass. Scruff hoped to find other hermits who might share some food and a fire, but saw no sign of habitation. It was hard to climb with Norman bouncing over his back, his backpack bulging with pots and pans and a change of clothes. Soon Scruff was out of breath.

Would they find food here? Would the trees give enough firewood to warm them? They were meant to spend the rest of their lives on this forsaken rock of an island. As things were, Scruff didn't know how they'd last a week.

"Look what you did, Scruff," Jamie said, lips twisting bitterly. "Look what you did. Thanks to you, we'll be stuck here forever."

Scruff grunted. "Thanks to me? You're the one who got caught in your undies."

"Actually, I was naked."

"Oh, much better."

She glared at him, eyes aflame. "Well, if you could swing a sword—"

"If you were a boy—"

Jamie punched his head, hard enough to make his ears ring and white light flash. Scruff grunted and hit her back, a blow to the shoulder that nearly knocked her over. She leaped at him, snarling, and soon the two were rolling around on the ground, hitting each other, raising dust. Scruff was thrice her size, but Jamie had thrice his speed; the two were evenly matched, beating each other black and blue.

Somebody cleared her throat above them.

Scruff and Jamie froze.

The siblings raised their eyes, and their breath died. Jamie leaped to her feet, drawing her sword with a hiss. Scruff lifted his mace, tightening his hand around the grip, fear clutching him.

A she-demon stood above.

She wore nothing but tongues of flame that flowed across her red body. Her hair was made of fire, and her fangs and claws glinted. Her eyes glowed like lanterns, the irises rings of flame, and her tail flicked behind her. Scruff had never seen a creature more beautiful, a beauty of cruelty and sin.

"Hellooo," the demon said and waved.

Scruff raised his mace, preparing to strike. Beside him, Jamie raised her sword. They'd been exiled for only a few days, and already they faced a fight for their lives.

Before the battle could commence, Neev emerged from behind a thorny bush, sighing. "Don't worry, she's with me."

Neev! Scruff and Jamie gaped. Scruff's mouth felt so wide, he thought he could swallow the island. He hadn't seen Neev in five years, not since the boy had joined the Coven. The skinny child had become a young man. His face was stubbly now, and he was no longer skinny nor short, but it was Neev all right, with the same roll to his eyes and weary sigh.

"Neev!" Scruff said, rubbing his eyes. "Baby brother! What are you doing here?"

The young, thin warlock buttoned up his fly. "Well, I was going to the bathroom, until you so rudely interrupted. As for the rest, it's a long story. Come, dear siblings. I have embers burning atop the hill and some cooking fish. Let's sit, eat, and tell our stories."

* * * * *

An hour later, they were sitting around the fire, picking their teeth with fish bones, mulling one another's tales.

"Well, if this isn't a pickle," Jamie said, leaning against a boulder, warming her bare feet by the fire. Her sheathed sword lay on her lap, and the sunset twinkled around her. "All three Thistle siblings—banished. We're all failures. And what's with those moldmen we saw?"

At the thought of the creatures, Jamie shivered. She could still smell their stink. She had slain three in Teasle Forest, and Neev had killed one outside the Coven; it seemed moldmen were crawling all over these lands. Jamie patted Moonclaw's pommel. You will shed more blood yet, Moonclaw, she thought with another shiver.

The demon Romy stared into the fire, eyes thoughtful, as if remembering her fiery home underground. "Moldmen are creatures of the underground, like us demons," she said, voice low. "Mostly they just sleep, but sometimes they wake up and go poking around underground, seeking worms, and they are nasty when they're awake. All they do is destroy, destroy, destroy. They live for chaos. But they're too stupid to leave the underground alone; a warlock brought them here."

Slowly, they all turned to stare at Neev.

The young warlock dropped the fish bone he was nibbling and raised an eyebrow. "Don't look at me," he said. The fire painted his face red. "I didn't summon those things."

"You did summon Romy," Scruff said, patting his belly; he had eaten more than the others combined. "You could have summoned them too, by accident."

Neev shook his head. "Impossible. You know how difficult it was to summon Romy? I spent two years preparing that spell. A powerful warlock worked hard to summon these moldmen. You can't just do something like this by accident, no more than you can accidently build a cathedral by kicking stones around."

As if to prove the point, Jamie kicked a heavy stone down the hillside. "I've only known two warlocks to summon creatures of the underground. One is Neev, and he swears he didn't invoke these moldmen. The other is...."

She let her voice die. She could see that her brothers were remembering, thinking the same thing. Goosebumps covering her, Jamie gripped her sword, wishing that warlock stood here today. Five years ago, when the cloaked warlock destroyed Burrfield, Jamie had been only ten. I was too small then to fight, but when I see him again, I'll kill him. Who was that warlock? How had he known Father? Was he back?

She shook her head wildly, clearing her thoughts. "For now, forget moldmen. We have to worry about surviving on this island. What will we do?"

Scruff opened his mouth and seemed about to speak. Before words could leave his throat, an arrow flew into their camp.

Romy reached out and grabbed the arrow in her hand.

At once, the companions scrambled to their feet and stared at the hilltop. The arrow had come from there. As they stood bewildered, a second arrow came whooshing down, and the companions leaped for cover. Jamie ducked behind a boulder, cursing. The arrow slammed into a tree beside her, burying itself in the trunk. Who's shooting at us?

"Damn it!" Scruff said, crouching behind a fallen log. Jamie drew her sword, fear and adrenaline burning through her. Her blade gleamed in the sunset. Rage filled her, spinning her head. What kind of coward fights from afar, shooting arrows instead of rushing into battle? A third arrow flew, grazing her shoulder and tearing her jerkin, and hit the ground an inch from her foot. Jamie's heart froze.

"Weave dis iswand, humans!" came a voice from above. "Weave or y-y-you'ww die!"

Chapter Five

Spiderling Stew

Cobweb stood on the hilltop, an arrow drawn in her bow. Below, the humans and demon hid behind trees and boulders. If they emerge, I'll shoot them, Cobweb thought. They won't make it up the hill alive.

The wind blew, streaming her hair, cold against her cheeks. She took deep breaths, struggling to calm her racing heart. She had never seen humans before, but her fellow spiderlings had told her many tales of them. She knew humans were evil, that they cut down forests, ate baby spiderlings for breakfast, and overall were a rotten bunch. But I have the higher ground and my arrows, and they can't hurt me. Her knees felt weak and her heart raced, and she struggled to keep her fingers steady, holding her bow ready to fire. The naked trees creaked around her in the wind.

The burly, shaggy human peeked from behind a log (at least, Cobweb thought he was human; he was tall enough to be a small giant). Cobweb released her arrow, and it slammed into his shield, piercing a hole through it, nearly hitting his face. Breathing shakily, Cobweb smiled. Her bow was long and powerful, carved from the heart of a yew, its string woven of gossamer; its flint-tipped arrows could punch through armor. And if the humans did make it uphill alive, she had her stone dagger strapped to her thigh, its blade engraved with glowing spider runes. She pulled a new arrow from the ground—she kept them at her feet, feather fletchings sticking up for easy access—and nocked it.

"Weave dis iswand!" she called down. She tried to make her high voice as deep and powerful as possible, though she suspected that she just sounded like a baby as usual. "A hundwed mowe a-awchews wait b-behind me. I wiww s-s-summon dem if you d-d-don't weave."

That was a lie, of course. She had been on this island for a week now, and had not seen another soul. But these humans had just arrived and did not know that.

Cobweb bit her lip. The past couple weeks had been difficult, the hardest in her life. Only two weeks ago, she had lived the good life, frolicking with her fellow spiderlings through the forest. And then her sixteenth birthday had arrived. Her Star Ceremony. Cobweb blinked away a tear, her stomach aching with the memory.

Standing on the hilltop, her arrow drawn, Cobweb shoved that memory aside. She couldn't dwell on the past now, not as humans lurked below, ready to eat her. Everybody knew that spiderlings were humans' favorite meal.

"Hello up there!" came a voice from below. The girl with the short black hair, shield, and sword was yelling. Her name was Jamie, Cobweb remembered; she had heard it spoken as the humans sat around their campfire. "I don't want to hurt you," Jamie called, "but if you keep firing arrows, I'm going to cut off your head. Okay?"

"This island belongs to all outcasts," added Scruff, the warrior who was either a gargantuan human or a compact giant. The arrow still stuck out of his shield. "That's what Hermit Island is for."

Cobweb shivered; their voices sounded demonic to her, so rough compared to the silky voices of spiderlings. She could imagine them trussing her up, placing her into a pot with carrots and turnips, and cooking her into spiderling stew. She yelled down to them: "I-I-I won't wet you e-eat me!"

"Eat you?" Scruff called back, peeking from behind the fallen log. "We don't want to eat you."

"I might," the demon Romy said, peeking from behind a boulder, her eyes afire. "I am a bit peckish, now that you mention it."

Cobweb's fingers trembled, and she worried she wouldn't be able to aim her arrow. "Humans eat spidewwings, d-d-don't dey?" she called down.

Scruff sighed and peeked from behind his shield. "No. Don't worry, we're not planning on eating you."

"Speak for yourself," Romy muttered, her hair of flame crackling. Scruff hushed her.

"I... I just c-can't twust you," Cobweb said, heart racing and fingers trembling. "You stay b-bewow da hiwwside. You stay dewe, I'ww s-stay up hewe. If you c-come up da hiww, I'ww shoot you."

Cobweb turned to leave, walking into the copse of trees that crowned the island, the only trees here with some leaves. From up here, she had a view of the entire island. Let the humans stay there below, she thought. The crest of the island was her territory, and she would defend it. She tried to push aside the thought that she had only seven arrows left. It would have to do. She wouldn't let those creatures eat her.

It was getting dark, the sunset twinkling over the lake. Cobweb found a tall tree and climbed it, then concealed herself behind branches and leaves. Her dagger on her thigh, her bow slung over her shoulder, she drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

The night was rough on Romy. No matter how she tossed and turned, some stone or root poked her back. She was used to sleeping in a big, fluffy bed surrounded by warm fires, miles underground. All this open air was not for her. She missed having stone surrounding her. She missed her teddy bear and her downy blanket. She had been on Earth for only a week or two, but every day seemed more tiring, every night more restless, and Hermit Island was the worst place she'd seen so far.

Romy rolled over again, muttering. She reached under her back and pulled out a pebble, then tossed it aside with a curse. The humans slept around her, Scruff snoring like a drugged Slime Devil. How could they sleep on this rough, cold ground? Romy sighed, opened her eyes, and tried to count the stars, but soon gave up. There were too many. She missed seeing the stone ceilings of Hell, not this endless and distant sky that seemed to swallow her.

Could Neev magically send her back to Hell? She could ask him, but truth be told... she didn't want to go home. Not after her feud with Issa. Hell had become such a bore. Every day, she had to torture more sinners. She had been doing it for almost two centuries, and it was boring by now, so boring. Every day, she used the same whips, hot irons, pitchforks... so repetitive. Earth was new. This was an adventure, she had to admit.

Romy rolled over again and lay on her side, cheek against her hands. All she needed on Earth was some money to buy a house, a downy bed, maybe a servant or two, and she'd be set. And if she ever missed torturing anyone, she'd kick Neev around a bit and get it out of her system. Living on Hermit Island would not do. There was a whole world to explore here aboveground!

Finally morning came, and Romy felt like she had barely slept.

"I want off this island," she announced as the others stretched and yawned. "I want to go someplace with walls, a roof, a fireplace, a soft bed, a kitchen, and servants. I hate it here."

Neev scratched his belly, yawning, his face stubbly. "We all do," he said through his yawn, "but we're outcasts now, Romy. I flunked out of the Coven, and Scruff and Jamie flunked out of knight school. We have no money, no titles, nothing."

Romy blew out her breath in frustration. "Big deal. In the underground, when we want something, we take it."

Neev tossed twigs onto their campfire, took a pan from his backpack, and began to fry sausages. "Are you suggesting we become thieves?" he said.

Romy shrugged, the spicy scent of breakfast tickling her nostrils. "Why not?"

Neev cracked a few eggs onto the pan; he and Romy had found them in a nest just off the island. "It's against our principles."

Romy placed her fists on her hips. "Your principles are to live on an island as hermits?"

Jamie marched up to her, eyes flashing, hair still mussed from sleep. Five feet tall on her tiptoes, maybe a hundred pounds in her armor, she thrust out her chin as if that could make her larger. "Who said you can join us here, anyway? Scruff, Neev, and I are siblings. Why do you tag along?"

The girl with the boyish hair amused Romy. With her diminutive frame and fiery eyes, Jamie reminded Romy of a grombeetle, fuzzy pests who filled the underground, delighting demon children and annoying the adults.

"I'm family too," Romy answered. "Neev summoned me, so he's my mommy."

Flipping the eggs, Neev groaned. "Oh no, no more of that nonsense."

Scruff grinned, pulling on his tunic and slinging his shield over his back. "Mommy Neev. I like it."

Romy was about to reach for a sausage, not caring if they were still cold, when screams came from the hilltop.

The companions froze, staring at one another for a moment, then began to race up the hilltop, breakfast forgotten. Pebbles chinked under Romy's feet as she ran. Her ears picked up grunting from above, and the stench of rot filled her nostrils. When she reached the hilltop, she saw a girl with pointy ears and lavender skin, crocuses strewn through her glowing white hair. A small spiderweb was tattooed onto her shoulder. A spiderling. Romy had heard of these purple woodland creatures, but never seen one. Seven moldmen surrounded the spiderling, mossy and pale, reaching their claws toward her.

Three moldmen lay dead on the ground, pierced with arrows, their bloated tongues hanging from their maws. The spiderling's quiver was now empty, and she was wounded. Moldman claws had scratched her thigh, and blood seeped down her leg. Eyes wide and frightened, she clutched a stone dagger, its blade engraved with glowing runes.

Scruff and Jamie, both screaming, leaped into battle. Scruff wielded Norman, his spiny mace. Jamie swung Moonclaw, her sword. Neev muttered a spell, then tossed black lightning onto the moldmen, burning them. Romy was scared, but if her companions were fighting, so would she. Heart racing, she flapped her wings and swooped onto a moldman, stabbing him with her pitchfork. Its blood splashed onto her hand, black and sticky. Eww.

Within a moment, all the moldmen were dead.

Romy stood panting and couldn't help but grin. She had killed a moldman, all by herself! She puffed out her chest and raised her chin with pride.

"Did you see that, Mommy?" she said, preening.

But Neev wasn't looking at her. He was staring toward the spiderling, and Romy followed his gaze, then gasped. The spiderling had grabbed one of her fired arrows, nocked it, and was pointing the weapon at them.

"B-b-back off!" the spiderling said. "I didn't wet the m-mowdmen eat me, and I won't wet y-you."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Oh, give it a break!" she exclaimed, blowing out her breath in frustration. "Are all spiderlings so dense? We told you already, we don't eat spiderlings! I might stab you if you don't lower your arrow, but I certainly won't eat you."

The spiderling stood panting, and Romy examined her curiously. She had never seen a spiderling before. She could see why some might consider these forest spirits a delicacy. With her lavender skin, glowing hair, and sapphire eyes, the girl looked good enough to eat. She even wore a necklace of apple seeds, no doubt for flavoring. Romy's stomach grumbled.

The spiderling stared at Jamie, fingers trembling. "B-but... my c-cwan t-towd me you do."

Romy scrunched her lips. "You talk funny," she said to the spiderling.

"A-and y-you wook funny," the spiderling replied.

"Agreed!" Scruff said. He slung his mace over his back, wiped his hands on his pants, and pushed back strands of hair from his forehead. "Where is your clan now?" he asked the spiderling.

"Well, dey...." The spiderling lowered her eyes. "Dey b-banished me b-because I c-can't tawk so good."

"And those are the people you believe?" Scruff said. "Trust us, we're your friends. We won't eat you."

Romy sighed. Ohh... but I wanted spiderling stew tonight. Life wasn't fair.

Shakily, the spiderling lowered her bow, taking deep breaths. Jamie sheathed her sword, and with a few handshakes and introductions, all were friends.

Romy watched them all, tapping her foot. "I finally got it," she said.

"Got what?" Jamie demanded, all tiny and cranky like a grombeetle.

Romy shook moldman blood off her hand. "You all think you're failures," she said, "miserable hermits who must live outcast from society. But don't you see? None of you are failures. Scruff, you're deadly with that mace. So what if Knight School can't recognize skill with a mace? Jamie, you're an expert at the sword. It's not your fault girls can't become knights. Neev, you were only outcast for growing rabbit ears. So what? You summoned me, so you must be a great warlock. And Cobweb, who cares if your tongue is twisted, so long as your arrows are straight? We're all deadly in our own way; we just proved that, killing these moldmen. I'm from the underground. I know moldmen. Trust me, killing ten is nothing to sneeze at. Together we're strong. So let's get off this island, then buy a house and big fluffy beds and servants. You don't want to steal money? Fine. We'll earn it. We have something to sell: our deadliness. We'll become bullies. Bullies for hire."

They all stared at her, speechless.

Scruff was the first to break the silence. "Bullies for Bucks," he whispered, nodding. "That can be the name of our business."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Scruff shrugged. "Well, it beats living on this island. And what other skills do we have? We know nothing about farming, trading, or crafts. We know how to fight. We have weapons and armor. Well, not much armor, but still. Why not?"

"And be vigilantes?" Neev said, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't know what that word means," Scruff said, "but I do know how to swing my mace, and I'll swing it for money. God knows the world is full of trouble. What village doesn't suffer from some haunting werewolf or vampire? We'll fight for a living."

Romy nodded and wagged her tail. "Hell yeah. I ain't staying on this island any longer than I have to." She turned to Cobweb. "And you are joining us. We have my pitchfork, Scruff's mace, Jamie's sword, Neev's magic. We need your bow. Are you in?"

Cobweb sighed. "I've b-been on dis iswand fow a week now. I want off dis p-pwace. I'm in."

"Bullies for Bucks!" Scruff cried, holding up his mace. Birds fled into the air. Jamie sighed and rolled her eyes again.

* * * * *

The witch Elizabeth hurried down the Coven's tunnels, her night-blue robes whispering. Her bat, Benedict, sat on her shoulder. He clung to her so hard, Elizabeth thought he might tear her robes. You're not used to me walking this fast, are you, poor Benedict? Elizabeth thought. The bat was lazy, even by bat standards, sleeping whenever he was not enjoying some fruit salad.

"But there's no time to rest today, Benedict," Elizabeth whispered, hurrying around the corner into the library. The library was a vast chamber, among the largest carved into the Coven, miles into Batwog Mountain. Jet statues of griffins frowned upon her, guarding towering shelves of leather-bound books. The statues were so polished, Elizabeth could see her reflection in them. Her long brown hair was ruffled, her robes were wrinkled, and her face seemed pale. It had been a rough night.

Only a handful of people filled the library at this hour. Dawn—for what it was worth in the caverns of Batwog Mountain—was still an hour away. Elizabeth saw an apprentice with red eyes, smudged makeup, and messy hair raise her head from a desk, rub her eyes, and blink; she must have studied late and fallen asleep. Two shadow librarians were moving silently among the shelves, dusting and arranging the volumes. Professor Flemming, 104 years old, was here too, for he always awoke before dawn to read. Otherwise the library was deserted, eerily silent, and Elizabeth's footfalls seemed loud and jarring to her.

But Dry Bones would be awake.

Dry Bones was always awake.

Skeletons didn't sleep.

Elizabeth crossed the library and stepped into another tunnel, leaving the shadow librarians, the sleepy apprentice, and the ancient Flemming to pursue their morning. Busts of old wizards lined this tunnel, their eyes following Elizabeth as she walked, her robes aflutter. Benedict moaned atop her shoulder. "Bekfa!" he demanded.

"Yes, Benedict, soon we'll eat breakfast," Elizabeth murmured to him.

As she walked, she heaved a sigh. She had returned to the Coven last night—back from a journey to Sandoory's Sundry Spellbooks and Scrolls, a shop in the distant city of Queenpool—and learned that Dry Bones had expelled Neev. Since then, she couldn't shake off her indignation. Elizabeth had been a witch for ten years now, since completing her apprenticeship at age twenty-nine, and in these tens years, she had taught many young apprentices. Neev was the brightest one she'd seen. She had taken him under her wing, had taught him all she knew, had gazed with him into the pits of blackness where a warlock's power bubbled. How could Dry Bones have flunked him? So what if Neev occasionally sported donkey ears or horse teeth? Dry Bones should not banish him just for that! Elizabeth had spent all night fuming, then finally rose from bed, put on her robes, and decided to confront the skeleton.

"Bekfa!" Benedict screeched, ruffling his fur.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Neev showed so much promise as a warlock. He could have been High Warlock some day. Did Dry Bones just feel threatened?

"I'll have to convince Dry Bones to reinstate him," she said to Benedict. "Do you think he'll listen?"

Clinging to her shoulder, Benedict shook his head. He feared Dry Bones. Everybody feared the skeleton.

After what seemed like ages, Elizabeth finally reached Dry Bones' antechamber, a room sporting golden columns, a domed ceiling painted with dragons, and a shadow asleep in his seat. Benedict screeched, and the shadow woke up, straightened, and peered at Elizabeth. At least, she thought he peered at her; it was hard to know when looking at a shadow.

"You cannot—" the shadow began, but Elizabeth ignored him, stepping toward the door that led into Dry Bones' chamber.

The shadow rushed to block her.

Elizabeth froze, gasping, staring at the shadow. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered, so angry she couldn't even raise her voice. She was a venerated witch, among the loftiest in the world. How dare a mere shadow, the miserable leftovers of a sinner dragged into Hell, block my way?

"I do beg your pardon," the shadow said, bowing, speaking in a voice like an echo. "But Master Dry Bones was quite clear. He said nobody is to enter his chamber tonight, not even you."

Standing on her shoulder, Benedict hissed at the shadow. Elizabeth felt the bat's claws tighten.

"What is Dry Bones up to?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, peering at the shadow as if she could impale him with her gaze.

"I don't know, mistress," the shadow said, "but...."

Elizabeth stopped listening to the shadow prattling on. She shut her eyes and mumbled a few words of a spell. Like everyone at the Coven, she was a student of the occult, a summoner of spirits, a seeker of invocation, a weaver of all things dark and unholy. But like the best warlocks or witches, she knew some spells from other schools of magic, spells of espionage and learning.

Once she had finished uttering the words, sounds rushed into her ears, pounding into her head.

"Shhh!" she said to the shadow, who was still talking, his voice thunderous. He fell silent, but still the world was so loud. Elizabeth could hear every creak of Benedict's wings, the beating of her heart, even the snoring of a hundred apprentices across the Coven. And she could hear past Dry Bones' door into his chamber.

She heard grunting.

Snorting.

There were beasts in there, five or six by the sound of it.

Suddenly she heard Dry Bones speak, his voice soft, but her spell made it loud as a shout.

"Find Neev Thistle," Dry Bones was saying. "And you better kill him this time. If you don't, I'm going to turn you into dung beetles."

"Not again!" one of the beasts moaned.

"Yes, again. And this time, I won't transform you back after a week."

She had heard enough. Elizabeth opened her eyes, severed her spell, and shoved her way past the shadow. Ignoring the shadow's objections, Elizabeth stepped toward Dry Bones' door, cast a crackling spell to shatter the lock, and stepped inside.

She stood, blinking.

"What are you doing, Dry Bones?" she demanded.

The skeleton was standing by a tunnel, dressed in black robes, several moldmen surrounding him. Elizabeth had never seen moldmen before. She had read about them, of course; what witch did not know about these outlaws buried centuries ago to wither and rot underground, awaiting a warlock to release them? So Dry Bones had found their hiding place, had learned how to control them. And now he wanted to... kill Neev.

Elizabeth mouthed silently, "Oh no."

Dry Bones smiled at her. At least, she thought it was a smile. Dry Bones had no face, only a skull, but he opened his jaw in what looked like a grin. "Hello, Elizabeth," he said.

Benedict screeched and burst into flight, fleeing the room.

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth several times before she could finally speak. "You... you flunked Neev, banished him to die in the wilderness.... Why?"

Sadness and fear roiled her belly. To her apprentices, she knew, she appeared cold, even cruel. To the world outside the Coven, she was a sinner, a witch to be burned at the stake. But deep inside, Elizabeth thought she was a good person. She cared about her apprentices. She cared about Neev, the brightest apprentice she'd taught. That Dry Bones, the High Warlock himself, should try to kill him... it made no sense, and Elizabeth trembled with anger.

Dry Bones shrugged. "Well, I should think it's obvious. I wanted him to suffer before he dies. I wanted to crush his spirits. So when he first arrived at the Coven, I cursed him with his jinx. I then spent five years training him as a warlock, building up his hopes... so that I could crush him at the last moment, at his happiest hour."

Inside the skeleton's ribcage, his snake slithered and hissed, flicking his tongue, his eyes glinting with malevolence. The snake was mocking her, Elizabeth thought.

She shook her head, feeling her face flush. "I mean, why are you trying to kill him in the first place?"

Dry Bones shrugged again. "Oh, nothing personal against Neev. It's Neev's father who wronged me. I killed the old man five years ago, and burned down his town, but it turned out that his children survived. I was shocked when I learned that Neev is a Thistle, that our bright apprentice is the son of my old enemy. A shame that he must die; he showed great talent. But what can you do." He gave that strange, skeletal smile again. "When you wrong me, I don't just go after you... I go after your family, too. Remember that, Elizabeth. Remember that well."

Elizabeth needed no further encouragement. With three brisk words and a thrust of her hands, she summoned a ball of hellfire and tossed it at Dry Bones. The flames howled through the room, riling shadows, tumbling toward the skeleton. But Dry Bones was too quick. With a word of magic, he cast a forcefield. The fireball hit the forcefield and burst, sending flames and sparks in all directions. A rug caught fire.

"Kill her," Dry Bones said to his moldmen.

Elizabeth turned to flee, but the door slammed shut on its own, blocking her way.

She spun around to attack the moldmen.

She was too late.

Their claws dug into her, and Elizabeth screamed. Somewhere in the distance, she heard her bat cry.

Chapter Six

So It's Come to This

The Bullies walked a dirt road, heading toward the village of Perrywine.

They had left Hermit Island only yesterday, and wandered aimlessly through the countryside until they found a trail, saw chimney smoke in the distance, and learned from a sign that Perrywine lay three miles away. These roads were dangerous, rife with outlaws and monsters, and the companions walked warily in single file, trees lining the roadsides. Scruff walked first, large and lumbering, clunky with his armor and backpack, Norman in his hands. Behind him walked Neev, cloaked in black, his hood pulled over his head. Romy skipped along next, tail wagging, hair of fire crackling, tongues of flame racing over her red body. Cobweb walked fourth, her quiver of arrows hanging over her back, her bow in her hands, her glowing white hair blowing in the breeze. Jamie brought up the rear, armor glinting in the sunlight, sword drawn.

Walking last is the most dangerous, Jamie thought, glancing over her shoulder. Outlaws and monsters would burst from behind, attacking Jamie first. Scruff makes a big show out of leading the way, all burly and heroic, but it's much safer up front. I'm the one protecting everyone. She tilted Moonclaw in the sunlight, watching the blade glimmer. Should any beast leap onto the road, she'd cover this blade with blood.

Her boots kicking pebbles, her eyes scanning the trees for danger, Jamie yearned for some monster to attack. It would beat the boredom. She was the daughter of a knight, a mistress of the blade, but walking here, she felt like a penniless pilgrim, not a great warrior. I was born to wield my blade, to fight for honor... yet here I am in the wilderness, following my annoying brothers, an outcast spiderling, and a demon. Jamie sighed.

The road soon led them out of the trees, and the Bullies found themselves walking between two fields, barley growing to their right, oats growing to their left. Farmers watched them suspiciously, and magpies stared from atop pitchforks and haystacks. Soon the Bullies reached a stream lined with rushes, a village nestled behind it.

It's so small. Jamie had spent her life in Burrfield, a town of thousands. This village of Perrywine seemed tiny in comparison, a cluster of twenty-odd cottages around a dirt square, their roofs made of grass. Following the other Bullies, she crossed a stone bridge and entered Perrywine, gazing around with one eyebrow raised. Geese waddled between the houses, a rooster crowed atop a roof, and several children chased a dog around a well. Jamie saw only three stone buildings: a small church, a mossy tower atop a knoll, and a tavern whose sign proclaimed it "the best tavern in Perrywine".

"Seems to also be the only tavern in Perrywine," Jamie muttered, sheathing her sword. She still didn't like this Bullies for Bucks business. She had trained to become a knight, not a mercenary, and she was used to life in large towns like Burrfield, not backwood villages like Perrywine. No, this was not the life Jamie had imagined for herself; she had only tagged along because it beat Hermit Island.

It's all Scruff's fault, she thought, grinding her teeth. If he hadn't run into the forest to mope, she'd never have followed him and dirtied herself with moldman blood. Then she wouldn't have gone to bathe, and Lord Bramblebridge wouldn't have caught her. She nodded. Scruff messed up, as usual. Her older brother was such a knucklehead. She kicked him.

"Ouch," he said, scrunching up his face. "What was that for?"

Jamie ignored him and looked at Romy. The demon had donned Neev's black cloak, hiding herself so as not to alarm the villagers. Still, if Jamie looked closely, she could see fire burning inside that black hood. When she had asked Romy how her hair of flames did not burn the garment, Romy had shrugged and said, "For the same reason it doesn't burn my head, silly," as if Jamie were a toddler. It made little sense, but Jamie had left it at that.

She now sighed. Wandering around like a mercenary, a demon one of her companions... no, this was not how Jamie had imagined her life.

As the Bullies entered the village square, several peasants gathered around, looking intrigued but also fearful, staring at the Bullies' armor and weapons. Jamie supposed they made an odd sight, what with Scruff's towering frame, Cobweb's purple skin and glowing hair, and Romy cloaked all in black.

"Well, we should announce our services," Scruff whispered, cheeks flushing. "Jamie, tell them."

She glared at him. "This wasn't my idea. I'm just here hoping to use my sword. You tell them."

Scruff turned to Neev, who shook his head, and Cobweb, who seemed more shy and frightened than the villagers. He even looked pleadingly at Romy, who raised an eyebrow as if to say, I'd only scare everyone away.

"Fine!" Scruff whispered. "I'll do it." He turned to the villagers and cleared his throat. "Uhm... hi there. Uh, yeah. We're, hmmm... bullies. No, no, wait." The villagers were beginning to flee. "We're not the bad kind of bullies. I mean, we are, but only to your enemies. We're bullies for bucks. You, uhm, got a problem? Cuz you see, we'll, hmmm... we'll bully it away, and—"

Jamie made a sound halfway between sigh and snort. She pushed her brother back and faced the villagers. She drew her sword, which gleamed in the sun, drawing awed whispers.

"Need to hire some brawn?" she announced. She straightened, not even five feet tall, but struggling to appear as large as possible. "We'll fight for you. We do it all, from scaring off troublesome teenagers to slaying dragons. We are your heroes for hire."

"Bullies for bucks," Scruff muttered, "like I said."

One of the villagers—an elderly man in a brown tunic—meekly raised his hand. "Do you take care of dogs?"

"Of course!" Romy said, gaining some of Jamie's confidence. She spoke from the shadows of her hood. "Are packs of wild pitbulls terrorizing your children? Is a neighboring village siccing Rottweilers at you? We deal with all manners of vicious hounds!"

The elderly peasant cleared his throat. "Well, see... it's not quite so bad," he said and straightened his tunic.

Scruff hefted his mace and said, "That's okay. A stray is stealing your chickens? We'll take care of that. After all, you need to protect your livestock, don't you?"

"Actually," the peasant said, "it's my neighbor's poodle. She keeps pooping on my lawn. I talked to my neighbor, but nothing helps. The darn poodle just won't go anywhere else."

The Bullies gaped at him silently, then at one another.

Great, Jamie thought and rolled her eyes. So it's come to this.

"I'll pay you," the peasant offered.

Eyebrows raised, Neev shrugged. "Well, I suppose that for the right amount of coins, no job is too small for Bullies for Bucks."

"I'll give you a sack of turnips," the peasant said.

"A sack of turnips each," Romy demanded from her cloak.

"One sack for the lot of you," the peasant said, "and you get to sleep in my barn tonight."

"Deal!" Romy said and jumped up and down in excitement.

The other Bullies sighed.

Romy shrugged. "Hey, it's a start."

Jamie kicked her.

* * * * *

That evening, Scruff stood in the peasant's yard, hiding behind an oak tree. In the sunset, he watched the grassy lawn, waiting for the poodle to appear.

Hiding is hard when you're so big, Scruff thought, keeping his arms pressed to his sides behind the tree. Romy and Cobweb hid behind a second tree, easily concealed. My tree trunk is wider, and yet I can barely squeeze behind it. Sometimes Scruff wished he could be thin like his siblings. It would make times like these easier.

Scruff sighed. Those thin siblings of his were off at the tavern now, probably drinking themselves into oblivion. The two claimed to be allergic to dogs, refusing to join the gig. They're allergic to dogs like I'm the Queen of England, Scruff thought. He knew his siblings. They just didn't want to admit they'd sink so low as to ambush poodles—not Neev the mighty warlock and Jamie the heroic knight.

At least Cobweb and Romy joined me, Scruff thought, watching the girls hide behind the tree, waiting for the poodle. Romy's hair blazed orange in the darkness, and Cobweb's glowed with white light. Scruff found himself thinking that the spiderling, with her purple skin and sapphire eyes, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He felt his cheeks flush.

If I were a knight, maybe she'd like me, he thought, feeling big and clumsy and stupid. But I failed at being a knight. Hiding behind trees, waiting to scare a poodle.... Is that really my life now? Scruff couldn't remember ever being this depressed, even when first arriving on Hermit Island. He had hoped to be a knight by now, slaying dragons and saving maidens. Scaring poodles was somewhat less glamorous. But we do need those turnips. His stomach rumbled.

"Shh!" Romy whispered. "We can't hide if your tummy keeps growling."

"Okay, okay," Scruff whispered. Norman clutched in his hands, he addressed the girls. "You know the drill. When the poodle shows up, we leap out, waving weapons and screaming."

"And then we catch the poodle and eat it!" Romy said with joy.

Scruff shook his head. "No, Romy, we've gone over this a million times. No eating poodles."

Romy pouted. "But we love poodles in the underground! We eat poodle noodle soup. Pnoodle soup."

"You're making that up," Scruff said, wanting be anywhere else in the world.

Romy shook her head, hair of flame crackling. "Nu uh. It's all true."

"How could you possibly have poodles underground?" he demanded, feeling his face flush.

Romy shrugged. "How could you possibly have poodles over ground?"

"All right, all right, just be quiet," Scruff said, clutching Norman. "I think I hear the poodle."

He peeked from behind the tree. True enough, the fluffy dog came wandering into the yard. She was a tiny dog, no larger than a cat, covered with curly white fur, sporting a pink ribbon on her head.

"Now!" Scruff shouted and leaped out, brandishing his mace, howling. The girls leaped out with him, screaming, waving their arms and jumping up and down. Romy especially looked fearsome, her fangs glinting, her bat wings flapping.

The poodle stared in shock... then fell over and lay still.

Scruff lowered his mace. Oops.

"Oh no!" Cobweb said, eyes widening. She ran forward, knelt by the poodle, then looked up with teary eyes. "She's d-dead. Heawt attack." She covered her eyes, sobbing.

"Yum yum, turnips and pnoodle soup tonight!" Romy said, rubbing her belly. "Mmm mmm."

Cobweb tried to revive the poodle, but to no avail. The spiderling lowered her head, her gossamer hair covering her face. The sight of her crying tore Scruff's heart. Awkwardly, he put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

"She's in a better place now," he said, patting the spiderling's shoulder.

Cobweb raised her teary eyes. "Weawwy?" she asked.

Romy interjected. "She sure is." The demon was stuffing the poodle into a pot.

"Romy!" Scruff growled, snatched the poodle, and gave the demon a withering look. Romy stuck her tongue out at him and turned away, arms crossed.

A door creaked, and the elderly peasant emerged from his house, beaming. "Good job, good job," he said and danced a jig. "Here, have two sacks of turnips."

"Do you have any noodles?" Romy asked him.

"You're not eating the poodle!" Scruff howled. He stared at the dead dog in his arms, forlorn. I can't believe what we've sunk to, he thought and heaved the longest, deepest sigh of his life.

The next morning, the Bullies left the village, carrying two sacks of turnips.

Chapter Seven

Snow and Fire

Jan Rasmussen had been away from Burrfield for six years, and he was scared to return.

As he walked the path through Teasel Forest, boots rustling snow, he thought of Amabel's beauty—her gray eyes, dark blond hair, impish nose. The most beautiful girl I've seen, Jan thought. She had been fourteen when he left Burrfield, and he sixteen.

"Wait for me," he had said and kissed her, but six years had passed. She was probably married by now, raising a family, but still Jan dared to hope. For six years he studied, finally becoming a warlock last week, and for these six years he dreamed.

"Maybe she'll run toward me," he told his pet snake, "kiss me, tell me she waited every day on the outskirts of town."

The familiar—a baby viper named Baumgartner—sat on Jan's shoulder. He hissed as if agreeing. Sometimes it seemed like the snake understood everything Jan said.

During the past six years, studying in the pits of the Coven, he thought about Amabel every day. During the lonely nights, sleeping in mossy caverns between his grimoires, he pretended that she lay beside him. In his mind she never changed, never aged. What would she look like today, six years later?

What about me? Have I changed? Jan examined his reflection in icicles upon birch branches. His hair still boasted the shagginess of youth, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. When he had left Burrfield, he was a dour youth with messy hair and jutting bones. He was wider now, his features harder, but his eyes had remained unchanged—the same strange eyes, midnight black flecked with gold like stars.

"She'll recognize me at once," he said to Baumgartner, crossing a bridge over a frozen stream. The birches shivered at his sides, heavy with snow.

Of course, for a warlock, he was still a kid. At twenty-two, he was the youngest warlock in the world, possibly the youngest in history. The others were stern graybeards with bushy eyebrows, backs bent and eyes squinty from decades of leaning over spellbooks in candlelight. Many had not left the Coven in decades, even centuries, spending their lives underground. Jan did not want to end up like them. Six years in the Coven—weaving black magic underground, never seeing daylight—had placed loneliness and hunger within him. He made no friends in the Coven. The other apprentices feared his powers, and even the old warlocks grumbled about his shifty eyes and frequent snarl. Jan did not care. He had not joined the Coven to find a home, like some of the apprentices who were outcasts in the outside world.

Jan had joined the Coven because he knew he had a gift. He knew—since he was born—that he was made to weave black magic. It was in his bones.

Baumgartner hissed, severing Jan's thoughts.

"What is it, friend?" Jan asked, patting his familiar.

The snake released a strange, high-pitched mewl. Jan's hackles rose; he hadn't known snakes could make such sounds. Most warlocks chose bats, hawks, owls, or other flying beasts to be their familiars, but Jan had chosen a snake. While the other warlocks could spy from above, Jan's familiar would creep below, more dangerous than any winged creature.

"What's wrong?" he asked again. Baumgartner was coiling and hissing.

With snapping twigs and stomping boots, the answer revealed itself.

Ten men emerged from the forest, five behind Jan, five before him, trapping him on the road. They held clubs studded with nails, pointed sticks, and chipped daggers. Unshaven and dirty, they wore random patches of fur and dented armor.

Outlaws, Jan knew, and hungry ones by the looks of it.

"Hello there!" Jan said, amusement tickling him. The road to Burrfield had been long and somber, but this encounter promised some entertainment.

"Good day," said one of the outlaws, stepping forward. He seemed to be their leader, and Jan guessed that he was of noble birth. He was taller and broader than his friends, hinting at a past affluent enough to provide steak dinners, and when he smiled, he revealed no missing teeth, which was more than could be said for the others. His sword was rusty and chipped, and his breastplate dented, but both were made of costly steel; they had once been the weapons of a knight.

"These are hard times," Jan said, "if knights have sunk as low as to wander Teasel Forest with footpads."

The outlaw-knight nodded, his smile vanishing. "You have good eyes, friend, if you could spot my background; my name is Sir Corlin Morno of Queenpool. These are hard times, and they just got harder for you. Empty your cloak's pockets, and we'll let you live."

The outlaws raised their weapons, greed and bloodlust filling their eyes. Jan's smile widened. This would be fun.

"Are you sure, dear Sir Morno?" he said. "The pockets of this cloak contain strange things... marvelous, wondrous things to be sure... but dangerous, friend. Are you sure you want to see them?"

One of the outlaws, a squat man with one eye and a studded club, growled. "I say we kill him."

Jan shrugged, one eyebrow raised. "That's certainly a possibility."

Sir Morno shook his head, eyes dark. "We are not murderers, only hungry men. Empty your pockets."

I like this! Jan thought. "Very well," he said and complied. Out of his pockets, he pulled a bat skull, a ball of cobwebs, and a pickled cow's eye.

"What the—" Sir Morno began when Jan tossed the items into the air.

With a quick spell, the items exploded above, raining ash and sparkling black magic.

"A warlock!" an outlaw cried, but it was too late. The black magic seized them, twisting them, knocking them down. They screamed and writhed as Jan watched with a smile. He uttered a few more words, and the outlaws shrunk, sprouted white fur, and twitched their whiskers.

Within a few moments, it was over.

The outlaws were mice.

Jan moved from one to another, stomping his boots. The mice could not flee; his magic held them in place. Squeak! Squeak! His boots kept stomping, making mice pancakes.

He raised his boot over the last mouse—Sir Morno, the outlaws' leader—then paused when he heard Baumgartner hiss.

"You're right, Baumgartner," Jan said and patted the snake. "You deserve a treat."

He lifted the mouse and held it up. Baumgartner slithered down Jan's arm, gulped down the mouse, and sighed contentedly.

"Yum yum," Jan said and patted the snake. You don't find fun like this in the Coven.

He kept walking. Soon he saw Burrfield ahead.

* * * * *

As he walked down Burrfield's streets, Jan saw that the town had barely changed. Iron lanterns still lined the cobbled roads, smelling of the oil that would light them at nights. Fort Rosethorn still frowned upon a hill in the south, crumbly and overrun with roses. The church still towered behind old pines, spires scratching the sky. Down the road, patrons were entering the Porcupine's Quills, the town's busiest tavern. There were a few more houses, and some of the side streets were now cobbled, but otherwise it was the same old Burrfield, the same old town where Jan had spent his first sixteen years.

Will Amabel be the same too?

Jan walked toward the Porcupine's Quills, which Amabel's father owned. He knew he'd find her there. It was a large tavern, three stories of waddle-and-daub, green tiles covering its roof. Its stained-glass windows sparkled, and its five chimneys pumped smoke into the winter sky. The smell of ale, fresh bread, and beef stew wafted into the street, making Jan's stomach rumble.

He paused outside the tavern to steady himself. More than it ached with hunger, his stomach ached with nervousness, and his fingers trembled. This is stupid, he thought. I'm a warlock now, not an awkward youth; there's no reason to be nervous. And yet his stomach still whirled and his breath was shaky. For years at the Coven, Amabel had filled his dreams. All that time, he'd been waiting for this moment, the moment he'd return to see the only girl he'd ever loved.

She's twenty now, a voice in his mind whispered. She's probably married. She probably forgot you.

And yet he dared to hope, to dream she's run into his arms, that she'd be his wife.

Jan approached the tavern's doors, heavy cherry doors engraved with pomegranates. Once this place had been Jan's home away from home, the place where he spent his happiest hours—his only happy hours.

With a deep breath, Jan stepped inside.

Indoors, the Porcupine's Quills hadn't changed. Fires crackled in two towering fireplaces, lighting the room, casting out the winter cold. The firelight glinted against the stained-glass windows, which depicted scenes of frolicking spiderlings. The smell of beef, bread, and beer filled the room, making Jan's mouth water.

Old Jon Brewer—Amabel's father—stood upon a barrel, a crowd surrounding him. He was speaking to the crowd, a mug of ale in hand, his cheeks rosy.

"Thank you, my friends, for joining us here. The ceremony this morning was beautiful, just beautiful." The beefy man wiped a tear from his eye. "When the happy couple read their vows, I knew it was the happiest day of my life. Now let's drink and celebrate the marriage of Amabel, my beloved daughter!"

The crowd cheered.

Jan stared, mouth opening.

As men and women raised their mugs in blessing, Jan caught sight of his love. Amabel stood among the crowd, wearing an azure gown, her hair strewn with flowers. She held the arm of her new husband, a tall man with a handlebar mustache. The man looked familiar, but Jan did not spare him a second glance; he could think of nothing but his pain.

His heart felt like hellfire, crackling and flaming. He took quick breaths, feeling faint. Head spinning, he marched forward, pushing aside drinking patrons. He wanted to cry, and every breath ached in his lungs. Amabel—married? He had spent years away, and she got married this day of all days? His eyes stung. Had God cursed him? Was this punishment for weaving his dark spells?

Knees shaky, breathing heavily, Jan reached Amabel and stood before her. She looked at him with a smile. At first she did not recognize him, and Jan's head spun. He had dreamed of seeing her for so long, and she looked so much the same. The girl had become a woman, but still had those sparkling gray eyes, that impish nose, that curly hair. She's so beautiful, more than I remembered, a million times more. Jan's chest ached.

Slowly Amabel's smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed."Jan," she whispered, paling.

"Amabel," he said, love for her filling him, flowing through his bones like electricity. God, I love her, more than ever.

She still held her husband's arm, and finally Jan recognized him. The tall, mustached man was Sam Thistle, the son of a knight, probably himself now a knight. He and Jan were the same age, and would play chess as children. Jan had always been a loner, and Sam had been his only childhood friend.

"Amabel," Jan said, voice soft, lips barely moving. "I...."

He could say no more. He saw tears in her eyes. Tears filling his own eyes, Jan fled the tavern, shoving revelers aside.

He walked through the snowy streets, not knowing where he went, tears on his cheeks. Some townsfolk stared, while others pretended not to notice. Those who remembered him from years past knew of his love for Amabel, and they averted their eyes, nodding sadly. Let them see me cry, let them mock me. I don't care. I'm a warlock now. Nothing can hurt me anymore. Nothing.

Yet still his tears fell.

When he could take it no longer, he rushed into an alley, fell to his knees, and wept. Pathetic, he knew, but he could not curb his tears. Shame filled him. The mighty warlock, the youngest of his kind, sobbing in an alley like a child! He clenched his fists. No. No! If I want her, I'll have her. I always get what I want. Always. I won't let her go.

Wiping his eyes, he stood up, fire burning through him. The old anger flared, the anger that could always drive him, the anger that led him to become a warlock, the youngest warlock in the world, maybe the most powerful, too. I will have her. Sam Thistle will not stand in my way. When they had been children, Sam had been a worthy adversary in their chess games, but Jan always ended up defeating him. I will defeat you now too. You have placed me in check, old friend, but you have not yet won the game.

That night, Jan walked up Friar Hill, the grassy knoll in north Burrfield where wandering friars sometimes preached. There he spread ashes around him and lit a ring of fire. Clouds gathering over the stars above, Jan raised his hands, and the ring of fire crackled around him, burning black. Demon ghosts danced around him, eyes red, smiles drooling. Tears on his cheeks, rage burning through him like the fire, Jan Rasmussen reached downward, deep into the hill, deep into the earth, down and down into the pits of Hell.

"Issa!" he shouted, his words shaking the world. "Answer my call."

Around him, Friar Hill disappeared, Burrfield disappeared, the entire world vanished. He could see only the caverns of the underworld, burning with columns of flame and rivers of lava, reverberating with the screams of sinners and the screeches of demons. He sent his power into the bowels of the Ninth Circle, the deepest and hottest level of Hell where demons whipped sinners and pain dwelt.

"Issa!" he cried. "Do you hear me?"

He had discovered the demon Issa three years ago. She was the most powerful demon he'd ever contacted, chief of the torturers of Hell. She oversaw a demon army of fire and malice, an army bred to torment the souls of sinners. Issa was cruel and mighty, a deadly combination.

She was also, Jan knew, madly in love with him.

He could use that now.

As in a feverish dream, he flew through the fire. Jan's spirit roamed the tunnels of Hell, passing over sinners on racks, flying over pools of lava where demons dunked screaming souls, and flew toward the greatest demon there, the cruelest entity of fire.

Issa.

She opened her eyes, irises woven of fire, and they were all Jan could see, two flames gazing into his soul.

"My love," she whispered and licked her lips.

Sam Thistle, spoke whispers around town, was a great knight, a warrior who fought in the Crusades, a deadly enemy. He could be tough to kill, even for a warlock, but Issa knew no bounds. No knight could harm her, not even Sam Thistle. She would do this for him.

"Issa," Jan said, voice traveling from miles away. "I need you to kill someone."

She blazed, unfurling her bat wings. "For you, anyone."

Someone grabbed his shoulder.

Jan screamed in pain.

His physical body, roused from the dream, yanked his soul back in, sucking it up like a noodle. Jan's spirit was pulled away from Issa, shooting up through the tunnels, up through the earth, flying back into his body with a thud. He opened his eyes, his spirit back on Friar Hill, once more inhabiting his physical form. He opened his eyes, enraged, pain filling him. Who had broken his trance, interrupted his spell?

For a moment, he only saw the afterimage of fire. Then his mind cleared, and he saw Sam Thistle.

The man was clutching his shoulder.

"Sam!" Jan whispered. He felt like his own eyes could blaze with fire like the eyes of a demon. "Those who interrupt me during a spell die."

Jan was a tall man, but Sam Thistle was even taller. A scar ran along his cheek, probably acquired during his battles in the Holy Land. But today this knight, the old friend who'd stolen Amabel, did not look fierce, only sad. There was pity in his eyes, and that made Jan even madder.

"Jan," the knight said, "old friend, you cannot cast these spells in Burrfield. We allow no black magic here. Return to your Coven. You will not summon your demons here, not in my town."

Jan barked a laugh. "Your town? Burrfield is as much mine as yours, Thistle. I will summon all the demons I want, and if I want to turn this town into a hive of devilry, I will. Leave now, before I make you bow before me and worship me." He laughed again. "You might have fought barbarians on your Crusades, but you can't intimidate a warlock."

Sam's eyes narrowed, all pity leaving them. "Maybe," he said, eyes cold. "But what is a warlock without his spells?"

As fast as Baumgartner after a mouse, Sam Thistle reached out, grabbed Jan's spellbook, and tossed it into the fire.

For an instant, Jan stared in horror. His heart froze like the moment he saw Amabel married to his old friend. For that instant, pure horror filled him.

"Damn you!" he screamed, shoving Sam back. Not my spells. Not this spellbook. My life's work is in those pages. Tears of fury in his eyes, fingers trembling, Jan had no second to think. He reached into the fire with his bare hand, screamed, and grabbed the book.

He pulled the spellbook out, pain overflowing him. His hand was burnt, badly, and Jan had never felt such agony. He could see nothing but red, and had never imagined pain could be so powerful.

Then he smelled smoke, squinted, and saw that his sleeve had caught fire.

"Jan, roll on the ground!" came Sam's voice, but it sounded miles away, and the pain roared in Jan's ears. His pockets were full of ashes, powders, flammable potions. They caught fire, and the pain bloomed across his body. Jan fell down, screaming. The fire engulfed him. He rolled around, but the fire grew. I'm burning. I'm burning away.

He could no longer hear Sam shouting, and all he heard was the flames.

I'm going to die.

His life ended here.

No.

No!

I will not give up. I will not let Sam Thistle beat me. I will live!

He still knew some magic, even without his spellbook. His body burning, he summoned his power, weaved the strands around him, forcing the pain away. He removed his soul from his body, no longer feeling the pain. His spirit hovered above his physical form, and he watched his body burn. He spun the magic around his body with black crackling power, feverishly creating, inventing this spell on the spot. It was magic no one had ever tried. But I'll make it work. I won't die now. Not now. Never. I won't give up.

With tendrils of magic, he grabbed his life force, pulled it back into his body, kept it there, wrapped it around his bones. I won't let my life escape. His flesh kept burning, smoke flew, fires crackled, and soon Jan Rasmussen was nothing but bones.

But he kept his life.

With his black magic, he clung to his soul, imbuing his bones with its power.

Time passed.

The stars moved.

The sun rose.

They came to bury him, but could not find his bones. Maybe they thought that his bones burned away. But they had not. His skeleton, blackened and ashy, had risen to its feet. It walked now through the forest, still smoking, still hot as fire.

Jan had no lips left to smile with, but his jaw opened.

I'm still alive.

A charred skeleton, he moved between the trees, a trail of ash spreading behind him.

He returned to the Coven. He moved into the deepest tunnels. When he saw himself in a mirror—an animated skeleton, still very much alive—he couldn't help but laugh.

Look at me now. Look at these dry bones.

He grinned at the mirror, his eye sockets empty, black caverns. His laughter echoed through the dark chamber, this chamber miles underground. "Do you see, Sam Thistle? I am still alive. I am still here. I will still kill you." His voice rose, maniacal. He clenched his skeleton fists. "But Sam... now I will do more. I will kill you, and I will kill your wife, I will kill Amabel who betrayed me, Amabel whom you love. I will destroy your town. I will hunt down your children and kill them. Live your life for a few years, Sam Thistle. Raise a family. Pretend that I am dead, pretend that you are happy. And just when you think you've forgotten about me... just when you think your life is good, that you are happy... I will return, Sam Thistle. I will find you at the height of your joy, and then you will realize how much you will lose."

His teeth clacked in his jaw as he laughed. His laughter echoed through the tunnels of the Coven, and even the mightiest warlocks shivered.

Dry Bones sat down in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and opened his jawbone in a skeletal smile.

Chapter Eight

The Spiderweb

Neev regretted throwing away his pointy spellbook.

The day Dry Bones had banished him, the spellbook had settled awkwardly in his backpack, jabbing him. With Romy annoying the hell out of him, he had tossed the book into the forest with rage, and now he cursed himself. That spellbook had contained just the spell he needed now: a mute spell.

The other Bullies were bickering so loudly around him, Neev's ears ached and his nerves frizzled. If only I had the magic to silence their yammering. As the Bullies walked through the countryside, following a dirt road, Romy was singing an annoying song about beer bottles on a wall. Jamie was yelling at her to shut up. Scruff was grumbling about his hunger, and his stomach grumbled just as loudly. Even Cobweb was grating Neev's nerves; she was practicing her talking, babbling an endless string of words like a baby just learning to speak.

"Will you be quiet?" Neev demanded with a scowl. "I'm trying to think here."

With all the noise, nobody heard him. Neev moaned. Why oh why did I toss out the spellbook with the silencing spell....

Perrywine and its dead poodle lay miles south. Even the smoke of its chimneys was too distant to see. Fields of flax rolled to the east, undulating toward distant purple mountains. In the west, a forest of beech, ash, and elm rose, rustling for miles before disappearing into mist. To the north lay grassy hills bristly with pear trees. Even Neev—who preferred dusty dens and basements to the great outdoors—could appreciate the beauty of this landscape. And yet the other Bullies made it impossible to enjoy. Jamie had taken to kicking Romy, grunting like an enraged boar. The demon was squealing and running away, Jamie in hot pursuit, boots flying. To overpower the sounds of the quarrel, Scruff raised the volume of his moaning, while Cobweb practiced her words with new relish. "P-p-petew p-pipew p-p-picked a p-peppew," the spiderling was gleefully announcing to any who'd listen.

"Shut it!" Neev shouted, but nobody heard him. He wanted to figure out a solution to their predicament, but how was that possible in this noise?

When the sun reached its zenith, Scruff stormed off the road, plunked himself down between rows of flax, and announced, "I'm not taking another step until we eat lunch."

"Ooh, lunch!" Romy said, freezing and opening her eyes wide. Jamie managed to kick her, and the demon yelped.

They set camp by a scarecrow sporting a straw hat and a pitchfork. Crows sat upon its arms, watching the Bullies with curious looks; Neev could swear he saw the birds raising their eyebrows, and he wasn't even sure crows had eyebrows. Seeing the birds, Romy whimpered, sucked her thumb, and sat as far as possible from them.

His own stomach suddenly growling, Neev took some firewood out of his backpack, arranged the sticks on a patch of bare earth, and said to Romy, "If you please?"

The demon nodded and snapped her fingers, sending a spark to ignite the campfire.

Within an instant, Scruff had turnips roasting on a couple spits. It was their only food. How many more poodles are we going to have to kill? Neev wondered, watching the fire. This wouldn't work for long. They had food for another day or two. What would happen next? Would they starve? More squealing interrupted his thoughts; Romy had begun to sing again, and Jamie to kick her.

When the turnips were ready, there were finally a few moments of quiet as the Bullies ate. Scruff gobbled noisily, and Romy made an annoying humming as she chewed, but otherwise Neev thanked God for the relative peace. He chewed his turnip thoughtfully, gazing into the misty forests, watching the birds flutter.

As he ate, he found his gaze drawn to Romy. She was busy eating, chewing with her mouth open as usual, and didn't notice his gaze. Neev spent a couple moments watching her. There she is... the one who got me into this mess. He had to admit, when she was quiet, she was rather comely. As soon as she opened her mouth, some annoying song, taunt, or nonsensical string of words drove him crazy. But now, as she chewed her food, her hair of flame crackling, Neev thought her beautiful. She's the most beautiful creature I've seen. True, Cobweb was beautiful too, but her beauty was of innocence, of purity, of nature, of all those things warlocks found boring. Romy, on the other hand, possessed the beauty of fire, of danger, of passion, all the things warlocks loved.

Romy finally seemed to notice he was staring. "Hey, Mommy," she said and gave him a wave.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Neev muttered and looked away, embarrassed that she had caught him staring. I'm a warlock, not some lovelorn farmboy. I shouldn't think these thoughts. With a grunt, he tossed his turnip aside. He had lost his appetite. "Bah! I can't eat this. We don't even have any seasonings."

The others turned to look at him, chewing their meals. Romy was still chewing with her mouth open.

Neev stood up and paced, kicking stones, his black cloak swishing. "Look," he said, speaking as his thoughts formed, "if we're going to be professionals, this won't work. We can't just wander around aimlessly, looking for odd poodles to kill. We need to advertise."

"What does that mean?" Romy asked. The demon twirled a lock of her hair, that hair made of fire. Her eyes too were small flames, watching Neev.

"Well, how do people know of Robin Hood?" Neev said. "Of King Arthur? Of William Tell?"

"I've nevew heawd of dem," Cobweb said. Somehow—Neev couldn't imagine how—the spiderling seemed as clean and fresh as a princess. None of the burrs that clung to Neev's cloak marred Cobweb's gossamer dress, and not a strand of her hair seemed awry. Spiderlings were strange creatures.

"I've never heard of them either," said Romy, starting when a bird fluttered overhead.

Neev brushed pollen off his cloak. "That's because you two have been living under a rock. Literally in your case, Romy. But most people know of heroes because they're promoted. Bards sing of them. Actors play their tales. Scrolls of their legends lie around all over the place. We need to promote ourselves, and work will come to us."

Romy looked at him, frowning. "Explain the part again why looking for poodles is a bad idea."

Jamie sighed and blew out her breath in frustration, blowing back a strand of her hair. The girl was sitting with her sword on her lap, polishing the blade with a handkerchief and oil. "There's a fair at Queenpool coming up," she said. "The city holds the fair every summer solstice. If we walk fast, we can be there in a few days, just on time. They'll have sword tournaments. If I can win a few fights, it will promote our skills as fighters."

Scruff nodded, reaching for the last turnip on the fire. "They have weight lifting tournaments, too. I'm a good weight lifter."

"Do dey have awchery c-competitions?" Cobweb said meekly, lowering her eyes. "I c-couwd do weww at dem."

"And Neev and I can put on a magic show!" Romy said, leaping to her feet, a smile spreading across her face. "Neev, you'll be the magician, and I'll be your sexy assistant." She sketched an elaborate bow. "I am, you know, an artiste."

Neev stiffened and tightened his robes around him. "I'm not some parlor magician, doing tricks at fairs. I'm a serious, dangerous warlock."

"No you're not," Romy corrected him. "You flunked out of the Coven, remember?"

"Thanks to you," Neev said.

"Nu uh."

"Uh huh!"

"Nu uh!"

Scruff slammed down his fist, sending dirt flying. "Look, don't start that again!" he said. "Please. We've heard enough of you two bickering. Neev, you're putting on a magic show with Romy. If you don't, I'll use your head for mace practice."

The crows on the scarecrow leaned forward, as if anticipating an entertaining quarrel.

Neev frowned. "I'd like to see you try, brother." He raised his fingers, letting magic sparks flicker. I won't let my stupid brute of a brother talk this way to me, even if he's older.

"Watch me," Scruff said and began pushing himself up, but Jamie pulled him back.

"Now don't you two start," Jamie said. "I'm tired of you two bickering, too."

"Have you noticed that all the bickering involves Neev?" Scruff said.

"Have you noticed that all the turnips involve your belly?" Neev countered. "I think I ate only one or two bites before you finished them all off."

"Should have taken the poodle instead," Romy muttered, but nobody paid her any attention.

Neev raised his arms to the sky and shouted. "Guys, shut up! All of you. I'm sick of this. I swear I'm going back to Hermit Island if you don't shut up."

"Me too?" Cobweb asked, trembling.

Neev patted the spiderling's shoulder. "No, Cobweb, you're the only good one."

Romy twirled her hair. "I don't like being good. I like being bad."

"That is irrelevant," Neev said to the demon, feeling the urge to summon a fireball and torch the whole field. "You just love hearing yourself talk, don't you?"

She shrugged. "My voice is pretty. I should sing a song when we put on a magic show." She began to sing her bottles-of-beer song again.

Neev rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten, and sighed. "I don't have a choice in the matter, do I?"

Romy shook her head. "You and me, magic show. Cobweb will win the archery contest. Scruff will win the weight lifting, and Jamie the sword fights. When the fair is over, the Bullies will be famous!" She took a big bite of turnip and chewed lustfully.

Neev shoved her. "I told you a million times, chew with your mouth closed."

"Yes, Mommy," she said and stuck out her tongue, showing off her bite of turnip.

* * * * *

Cobweb walked alone through the forest, heart thumping.

She had always had a good nose for berries, and had volunteered to go collect them. She had already picked some into pouch Scruff had given her, and was finding more every few steps. Yet now her heart began to race, her fingers to tremble, and sweat to cover her brow

Why am I so afraid? she asked herself. She did not know, but the same way she could smell berries a mile away, she could smell danger. The forest reeked of it.

Cobweb looked around warily, eyes narrowed, but could see nothing but rustling birch trees, toadstools, and mossy boulders. No moldmen. No grobblers. No warlocks. She would smell those beasts if they were here, and she smelled nothing but flowers, trees, earth, and animals. And yet, beneath all those good scents of the forest, lay something... strange, almost familiar, but dangerous.

"Is a-anyone dewe?" she asked out loud, but nobody answered. Cobweb bit her lip. She suddenly missed her bow and arrows; she had given them to Scruff and Jamie, who had gone hunting. Romy too had made herself useful, gone to collect firewood. Only Neev had stayed behind to guard their camp.

Cobweb wanted to return, but she had promised to fill Scruff's pouch with berries, and it was still half empty. Her nose leading her, she walked until she found a thicket of blueberries.

"Mmm... bwuebewwies," she said and couldn't help eating one. Heavenly. There was no better food in the world, and the sweetness soothed her fear.

Cobweb sighed and lowered her head. Back at Spidersilk Forest, she would eat blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries every day. They grew plentifully between the birches, and the spiderlings never lacked for food. Berries, wine, music, friends... she never wanted for any during her youth.

Maybe I just miss home. She missed living carelessly. She missed her friends Gossamer and Webdew. Out here in the world, it was a struggle to find food, water, or a comfy place to sleep. Her feet always hurt from endless walking, and she couldn't count how many days had passed since she bathed in a stream. Always Cobweb worried about finding the next meal, about the next monster who'd attack, and about her future. With every sunrise, she wondered if it would be her last.

But she had her fellow Bullies. She had her friend Scruff. Cobweb smiled. That counted for something, didn't it?

As she walked through the forest, sniffing for berries, she tried practicing her tongue twisters. "P-petew p-pipew picked a p-p-peppew," she said, her mouth soon aching. Word after word, sentence after sentence, she practiced speaking.

Cobweb sighed, tongue sore. What's wrong with me? All her life, she felt stupid because of how she spoke. She wished she could find a wizard who'd magically cure her, or maybe a sage who knew the secrets of twisted tongues. All her life, she'd been shy, speaking only when necessary, keeping silent in a group, eyes lowered lest somebody asked her a question. I feel like a baby, just a stupid baby with nothing valuable to say.

When she remembered her Star Ceremony, Cobweb lowered her head and felt a tear flow down her cheek. "Monstrous," the elders had called her. Cobweb knew that spiderlings were so beautiful, noble, and wise because the elders accepted no flaws. Only through culling the impure had the race become so perfect. But that knowledge did not make Cobweb forgive, did not curb her tears. Since she'd been a toddler, this pain lived with her, the shame of her stupid, stupid tongue.

And not only spiderlings judge me. Whenever Cobweb spoke, she could see Romy giggle. Romy loves hearing the baby talk, thinking it so cute, but I'm not a baby. I have smart things to say, if only people would listen. Jamie, who was usually nice to her, sometimes rolled her eyes when Cobweb spoke, impatient with her slow and clumsy words. It's not my fault I speak so slowly. I was born this way. It doesn't mean my mind is slow.

Her nose leading her, Cobweb found a blackberry tree, clover growing between its roots, its trunk as twisted as her tongue. She climbed its branches, heart heavy, and began to pick berries into her pouch. Only Scruff, she thought, never raised an eyebrow when she spoke. He always listened attentively, as if she were the world's greatest orator. He made Cobweb feel smart and respected. He was her best friend here in this strange human world. He's like me, Cobweb thought. Whenever people looked at him, they saw a shaggy beast, a brute as dumb as an ox. Certainly his siblings treated him that way. But Cobweb could see past that. She knew that Scruff, like her, could be smart and thoughtful, if only people cared to look deeper. Suddenly Cobweb wanted to hug him. She promised herself she'd do so once she returned to the camp.

"I'm g-going to weawn to s-say his n-n-name," Cobweb vowed. More than anything, she wished she could say his name right. Whenever she spoke it, it sounded funny, like a baby speaking. "Scwuff."

One day I'm going to run up to him, say his name right, and make him smile. Cobweb nodded. "One of dese d-days."

She climbed down the tree, her pouch full of blackberries. Her fingers were stained deep purple, and she licked them. Yum.

Suddenly she heard a delicate song, and she froze, fingers in her mouth.

Who was singing? Cobweb couldn't see anybody. She saw oaks and birches rustling, mushrooms growing between fallen leaves, and cyclamens blooming around mossy boulders... but no people. And yet the song continued, a lilt that wafted like a flute song.

"Hewwo?" Cobweb said. She drew her stone dagger and held it before her, its spider runes glowing. She might be arrowless, but if need be, she could kill with this dagger, too. And yet... this song did not sound evil. She couldn't imagine a moldman singing such a beautiful tune. It sounded, if anything, like the song of a spiderling.

Cobweb walked through the forest, dagger in hand, following the song. It had no words, only a hum like a stream, and Cobweb became certain it was a spiderling song. Human tunes were simple, structured, catchy; this song flowed like wine from a jug, glittering and intoxicating. What spiderling dwelt here, so far from Spidersilk Forest?

The song led her to a bubbly stream lined with rushes, oaks and birches growing alongside it. The song was loud now. Fallow deer drank from the water, raising their eyes to watch Cobweb, but still she could see nobody singing.

"Is a-anyone dewe?" she asked.

The song died, and a voice spoke. "Come forward, spiderling of the wild. Cross the stream. Enter our realm."

Cobweb bit her lip. This was a spiderling speaking. Only spiderlings had voices as pure as diamonds—at least, all spiderlings other than her. Was this a ghost spiderling speaking? Cobweb could still see nobody.

Clutching her dagger, Cobweb stepped into the stream. The water rose to her knees, tickling her. She waded toward the opposite bank and stepped back onto earth, flowers caressing her bare feet.

"Welcome, Cobweb," said the voice.

Cobweb narrowed her eyes, and finally she saw the spiderling. She stood by an almond tree, her dress woven of cobwebs, a golden spider pendant resting upon her breast. Spiderlings were born mauve, turned lavender in youth, and ripened into deep purple as adults. This spiderling was indigo, the color of an elder, maybe centuries old; few spiderlings reached this age. Her face was unlined, and her hair seemed woven of starlight. Her eyes were glowing blue, the largest eyes Cobweb had ever seen.

She's beautiful, Cobweb thought. But she was not flawless. A tear-shaped birthmark lay beneath her left eye. Cobweb had never seen this spiderling, but she knew all about her. Everyone did.

"Tangweweb," she whispered.

The ancient, banished spiderling smiled, teeth large and white. "Hello, Cobweb."

All spiderlings grew up hearing stories of Tangleweb, the spiderling banished a century ago because of her birthmark. The birthmark, shaped like a tear, prophesied her life of sadness. "Be perfect," spiderlings would encourage their children, "or you'll be banished like Tangleweb and humans will eat you." Cobweb shook her head, scarcely believing that this legendary outcast stood before her.

"D-dey towd us dat da humans a-ate you," Cobweb said, placing her dagger back into her belt.

Tangleweb smiled. "I assume you've discovered by now, child, that humans don't eat spiderlings. Many would, however, cage us for our beauty, enslave us, parade us as trophies or circus attractions. Spiderlings are right to fear humans, my child. But you need not fear me."

Cobweb took a step toward her, and it was like seeing a future vision of herself. Will I be like this in a hundred years, an elder with indigo skin, saucer eyes, ethereal white hair? Will I live like her, wandering the forests?

"B-but humans awe n-n-nice," she said. "D-dey awe my fwiends—"

"A flawed spiderling has no friends," Tangleweb interrupted her, eyes glittering. Her silken hair flowed in the breeze, flowers blooming between its strands. "We are your only friends, we banished spiderlings. We are your family, Cobweb, the only ones who understand you, who will care for you."

"How d-do you know my n-name?" she asked, wondering if Tangleweb was right. Were humans truly cruel? Did Tangleweb understand her? Cobweb had never met another spiderling like this, like her, impure.

Tangleweb touched Cobweb's hand. "I know all banished spiderlings, child. Many follow me. I collect them from across the world. I lead them here in these woods, a sanctuary for us poor, flawed, banished beings. Come with me, Cobweb. I will show you our home."

Cobweb hesitated, torn. For the first time, she had met a creature like her, a flawed spiderling. And there were others, many others! One part of Cobweb ached to go with Tangleweb, to see this sanctuary. And yet....

"My fwiends are w-waiting fow me," she said. "I have to g-g-go."

Tangleweb took her hand, and her grasp was strong, not strong enough to hurt Cobweb, but almost. "Don't you want to take a quick look?" the elder spiderling asked. "All your life, Cobweb, you lived judged, a monster in the eyes of fellow spiderlings. But you're not a monster." Tangleweb's huge eyes glittered, endless stars floating inside them. "I know how you lived, how you ached, how still you hurt. We all do, I and the other flawed spiderlings, my followers. Come to us, to our sanctuary of banished spiderlings, to your true home."

Cobweb pursed her lips. Maybe it was the clutching, cold grasp of Tangleweb's hand. Maybe it was the intent, blue look in her eyes. Whatever it was, Cobweb suddenly wanted to flee... but Tangleweb's grasp would not let go.

"I g-guess I can t-t-take a quick wook," she said. I'll go see this spiderling sanctuary, then run back to my friends, to the Bullies, to Scruff. If I don't see these spiderlings now, maybe I'll never meet them again. A tear crept to her eye. After all, here were her true kin, the people who could truly understand her. She needed to see them, if only for a moment.

Holding Cobweb's hand, Tangleweb led her through the forest. They walked between pines, their boughs curved and lumpy, their needles sticky with sap. The forest seemed unnaturally silent. No birds chirped, no squirrels raced across the branches, no ants scuttled across the ground. The air felt cold, glistening with pollen and sun beams. Spiderwebs hung between the trees, glinting.

They walked for a long time; how long, Cobweb did not know, for time seemed to flow strangely in this forest. The pollen swirled around her, glittering in the sunbeams, and Cobweb felt her head spin. She wanted to curl up and sleep, or run through grass and laugh, or spread wings and fly. She felt drunk on the forest's moist, leafy air.

A glitter ahead caught her eyes, and Cobweb frowned. She looked carefully, but saw nothing. Then something sparkled somewhere else in the forest, and before she knew it, everything around her glittered.

"Gems," she whispered.

Tangleweb smiled a small, strange smile, her eyes glittering like the forest. "Gems," she agreed.

Countless gemstones glistened in the trees, growing like fruit. One tree glittered with sapphires. Another sprouted emeralds between its leaves. A third tree's branches hung heavy with clusters of rubies like grapes. All around Cobweb, the forest sparkled.

"This is our home," Tangleweb said, voice soft. "We live in these trees."

When her eyes adjusted to the glitter, Cobweb noticed that scaffolding covered the trees, rising from the ground to the highest boughs, each slat of wood bound with rope. Above in the canopy, rope bridges led from tree to tree, branch to branch. It was a hodgepodge city in the trees, as if some giant, mechanical spider had spun a web of wood and rope. Between the branches and gems high above, Cobweb glimpsed spiderlings scuttling about the rope bridges and ladders.

"It b-beautifuw," Cobweb said.

"And worth a fortune," Tangleweb said, nodding.

Fortune? Oh. Money. Cobweb had only recently learned of money, a human invention. In Spidersilk Forest, spiderlings knew no such concept; they shared everything. To spiderlings, the world belonged to everyone; how could one own something, sell it for a piece of metal or stone? Tangleweb should know better, Cobweb thought.

Four spiderlings came walking forward, dressed in dusty gray robes, their feet bare and silent upon the forest floor. Their faces were dirty, their smiles strange. The four looked exactly alike, skin pale purple, eyes sunken. Cobweb could not tell them apart. They looked like ghosts, their lips blood red.

"Hello, friend," the four spoke to her in unison, eyes unblinking. "Will you join our sanctuary?"

Tangleweb touched Cobweb's hand. "We are happy here. You belong with us."

Cobweb opened her mouth to speak, then noticed that one spiderling was missing an eye. Another was missing two fingers. The third spiderling had a scar along her face, while the fourth was missing an entire arm.

Cobweb's breath died, and she stared wordlessly. These weren't birth defects. These were injuries. Somebody had hurt these spiderlings... deformed them to drive them out of Spidersilk Forest... to bring them here.

"I-I have t-to get g-going," Cobweb said.

Tangleweb held her hand—tightly. Painfully. "Don't you want to be happy with us, to frolic with us among the trees?"

Cobweb looked up to those trees. For the first time, she noticed that the spiderlings above were bound. Ropes were tied around their necks, connecting the workers in chain gangs. The spiderlings were moving along the rope bridges, eyes dead, collecting gems into baskets.

"Y-you did dis!" Cobweb said, eyes widening, taking a step back. "Y-you cowwected dese spidewwings. You h-huwt dem, defowmed dem, so dey'd wowk fow you." Her heart hammered and she panted.

Tangleweb sighed. "Honestly, sweetie, I can't understand a word you say. No matter. So long as you're good at picking treegems."

With that, the spiderlings leaped onto Cobweb, indigo eyes sucking in all light.

Cobweb tried to run, tried to scream, but had no time. One spiderling punched her head, and white light exploded. She felt herself hit the ground, pain bursting.

For a moment she blinked, dizzy, seeing only fuzzy shadows. Am I unconscious? Am I dreaming? She could not tell; her mind was too muzzy. When she came to, a rope was tied around her neck, and she was being hoisted up into the trees.

"Let me g-go," she mumbled, unable to talk any louder, her eyes blurry.

Hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, then splashed water onto her face. She blinked, her eyes finally clearing. She stood high in the boughs, her feet upon a rope bridge, gems glinting around her. Everything hurt, especially her head, and the rope chaffed her neck. When she peeked down, she saw the ground dozens of feet below, so distant her head swirled.

"Here you go, sweetheart," spoke a voice.

"W-wha—" she mumbled, blinking. At least twenty spiderlings stood before her, ropes around their necks. They have us in a chain gang, she realized. "Tangweweb?" she said, tears in her eyes.

The elder spiderling stood by her upon a branch, one fist on her hip. "Yes, darling, I am here." She shoved a basket into Cobweb's hands. "I hit you a little too hard, I think, but things will make sense soon. For now, it's time for you to pick gems."

With that, Tangleweb smiled and leaped onto a rope ladder, soon disappearing behind leaves and branches.

The spiderlings before her, all tied to one another with ropes around their necks, started walking along the rope bridge. Cobweb, the last spiderling in the chain gang, was pulled along. She had no choice but to walk with them; otherwise the rope would choke her.

I'll have to fight my way out of this, Cobweb thought, reaching for her dagger. But the weapon was gone. Tangleweb must have snatched it after punching me. Cobweb felt like crying, screaming, or both. How had she gotten herself into this mess?

"Pick gems," spoke the spiderling before her, her hair long and glowing white. She turned to face Cobweb, revealing a scar that rifted her purple face. "Pick gems for Tangleweb."

The spiderlings all began picking gems into their baskets, branch by branch. All around Cobweb, she saw similar chain gangs, all moving between branches, cleaning out the trees. Cobweb tightened her lips. She would have expected tears to fill her eyes, but instead, she found only anger inside her. How could Tangleweb do this? How could these spiderlings follow her? Rarely given to violence, Cobweb now felt like throttling somebody.

"Why d-do you do dis?" she asked the spiderling before her, fists clenched.

The scarred spiderling was picking sapphires into a basket, her fingers chaffed. She spoke, not turning around to look at Cobweb. "We love our leader. She loves us. We'll do anything for our leader. Pick gems, spiderling. Pick gems for the leader who loves you."

The spiderlings took another step forward, moving in unison like mechanical soldiers. The rope yanked Cobweb's neck, and she had no choice but to step forward with the rest. She shook her head wildly, gasping. "Da weadew? You mean T-t-tangweweb? She d-doesn't wove us! She's e-enswaved us."

The spiderlings all reached out together, hands perfectly timed, and picked more gems from the branches. The rope bridge swung beneath them. "Pick gems," the spiderlings spoke in unison, voices sounding as one. "Pick gems for the leader."

Cobweb couldn't believe it. What had happened to these spiderlings? Would she too turn into a mindless drone? I have to escape. I have to. "You d-don't owe Tangweweb anyting! She's b-bwainwashed you."

The scarred spiderling shook her head, turning to frown at Cobweb. "The leader gave us a home. When the elders banished us, Tangleweb took us in, loved us, gave us a purpose." The spiderling snarled, revealing yellow teeth. "Pick gems, spiderling. Pick gems for the leader who loves you."

Cobweb refused to be cowed. The sight of a snarling spiderling sent ice through her heart; she had never seen a spiderling snarl. Rabid animals snarled, not spiderlings. But Cobweb refused to look away, staring into this scarred spiderling's eyes.

"Who g-gave you that scaw, fwiend?" she asked quietly. "Did Tangweweb sneak into youw c-c-cwan, cut youw face so da eldews wouwd b-banish you?"

The scarred spiderling's eyes widened, filling with pain. I hit a nerve, Cobweb knew. She raised her voice, speaking to all the spiderlings in her chain gang, to all the spiderlings in other trees. She could see at least a hundred. "Who huwt you, fewwow spidewwings? Who cut youw faces, d-d-defowmed you? It was Tangweweb who huwt you, Tangweweb or dose who fowwowed hew." Her tongue ached from so many words, and sweat beaded on her brow, but Cobweb plowed on. "She d-didn't g-give you a home. She huwt you so dat you'd be b-b-banished, so dat she'd enswave you."

Cobweb stood panting, not even caring if Tangleweb would hear. I have to break the spell, to clear their minds. It's the only way.

The spiderlings all turned to stare, pausing from work. Cobweb looked back, moving her gaze from one to another. Her fingers trembled and her heart thrashed. Would they listen? Would they escape with her?

One spiderling—a tall, striking beauty with burn marks across her arm—stepped forward, eyes flashing. "You speak heresy against the leader," she said.

"Heresy is sin," spoke a hundred spiderlings, voices speaking as one, the chant coming from a dozen trees. "We love the leader. We must kill the heretic."

As Cobweb stared, heart galloping, dozens of spiderlings came walking toward her on rope bridges, outstretching their arms. They bared their teeth, reminding Cobweb of rabid wolves.

"Wisten t-to me!" she shouted, clawing at the rope around her neck, but she was trapped. Three spiderlings grabbed her, and the rope bridge swung madly.

"Heresy is sin," spoke a hundred voices, and as the ropes swung, everything seemed to spin around Cobweb. "We love the leader. We must kill the heretic."

Cobweb struggled, but could not free herself. Hands dug into her shoulders, grabbed her kicking legs, pinned her arms behind her back. "Wet me g-go!" she cried, but hands covered her mouth, muffling her words. She tried to bite, but could not open her jaw. She was immobile, held wordless in the spiderlings' grasp.

Silence fell.

For a moment nobody seemed to breathe, and the only sound was Cobweb's whimpers, muffled behind the palms that covered her mouth. Even the trees ceased to rustle, and the gems' glow seemed to fade.

What's going on?

Then Tangleweb emerged.

The spiderling was wearing bloodred robes and a necklace of rubies, and she carried something hidden under a black veil. Robes rustling, Tangleweb paced across the bridge, stoic, approaching Cobweb. A small, mysterious smile curled her lips, and flames blazed inside the rubies of her necklace. All around, the spiderlings bowed their heads, trembling.

"Mhghhuufm!" Cobweb said, spiderling hands still gagging her. I talk even worse than usual.

Tangleweb came to stand before her, still smiling that strange smile. She pulled back the veil she carried, revealing a wavy blade. The light of a million gems glittered against its steel.

Cobweb's eyes widened, and she almost fainted.

Tangleweb lashed her knife, and Cobweb started, sure that Tangleweb had cut her. But no; Tangleweb had merely sliced the rope around Cobweb's neck. She was free from the chain gang, but still clutched in spiderling hands. Cobweb panted, trembling.

Tangleweb kissed her cheek. Her lips were soft and cold. "I gave you a chance, my beloved child," the elder spiderling whispered, her breath upon Cobweb's ear. "I gave you a home. I gave you a purpose. And yet you rebelled against me. You too need a scar."

Cobweb tried to kick, to free her hands, but could not. She managed only a wiggle of her toes. The spiderlings' fingers dug into her, so painful tears budded in her eyes; she thought their fingers could pierce her like that dagger. Looking around feverishly, she saw that many spiderlings bore fresh scars. If they rebel, Tangleweb further deforms them, she realized. By destroying their bodies, their spirits, she convinces them to stay.

Tangleweb tapped the dagger against Cobweb's cheek, not yet drawing blood, but sending shivers through Cobweb. She screamed beneath the palms that gagged her.

"I am thinking," Tangleweb said, "to take one of your eyes. With one eye, you'll never be an archer again. Your friends, the Bullies, will not need you." Tangleweb nodded. "But with one eye, you can still pick my gems."

She even knows about the Bullies! Cobweb wondered if this spiderling was a sorceress. "Please," she tried to say, but it sounded more like, "Mghugguuum."

Tangleweb laughed. "What's that? Did you say you'll be happy to lose an eye for me? Very well."

She began moving her dagger closer to Cobweb's eye, millimeter by millimeter. The blade's glint blinded her.

A tear ran down Cobweb's cheek. I'll never see Scruff again.

Suddenly, in the hush, a voice came from the forest floor below.

"Ooh, lots of firewood!"

Tangleweb lowered the dagger, frowning.

Cobweb whimpered in relief. My eye is still here.

"La la la, lots of firewood to collect," came the voice from below the trees. "Mommy Neev will be so happy."

Romy! Cobweb had never thought she'd be so glad to hear the demon's childlike ramblings. Tears of love for her friend filled her eyes—both her eyes.

"Hey, stop that!" Tangleweb cried, leaning over the rope bridge, shouting down at Romy.

The spiderlings who held Cobweb also looked down, and their grasp loosened just enough for Cobweb to also glance below the bridge. Romy, wagging her tail and singing to herself, was picking slats of wood from the scaffolding that covered the trees.

"Don't you touch that!" Tangleweb screamed, but Romy carried on, oblivious. She was singing too loudly to hear.

The rope bridge dipped a foot.

The spiderlings scrambled about, grasping for support. One of Cobweb's legs came lose.

"Lots and lots and lots of firewood," Romy sang, snapping off wood and rope. The entire scaffolding—the structure that held the bridges and ladders—began to crumble. Spiderlings slid from here to there. The hands that gagged Cobweb slipped off her mouth, and she took a deep breath.

"Womy!" she shouted.

Romy looked up to the canopy, eyes widening. "Oh hi Cobweb! I see you found some friends. Look at all this firewood!" Romy reached to a wide log, ten feet tall, that supported a network of ropes and ladders.

Tangleweb screamed, face flushing. "Don't do it!"

Romy ignored her and pulled the log, growling with effort. Rope ladders fluttered. Bridges flapped. The scaffolding began to snap like twigs.

The rope ladder Cobweb stood on tore, and spiderlings rained around her. She yelped and grabbed for support. Her hands caught a rope, and she held on for dear life, dangling over the forest floor. The ground was so distant, a hundred feet below.

Something grabbed her foot.

A weight tugged her, and Cobweb screamed. Fingers dug into her calf.

She looked down. Tangleweb was clutching her leg, dangling over the forest floor, kicking the air. "Help me, Cobweb," the birthmarked spiderling pleaded. "Please."

"Go to Heww," Cobweb said and kicked. Tangleweb's fingers slid down to her ankle. Cobweb kicked again, and Tangleweb lost her grip. The spiderling fell, screaming, and thudded into a pile of leaves.

Cobweb breathed in relief, her hand sore around the rope she clutched. Her feet dangled.

"Womy!" she cried.

The branches above her creaked and snapped. Ropes slid around. Many spiderlings had fallen from the trees, but others were scurrying about, upsetting what scaffolding still stood. Cobweb looked up. The rope she held was tied to a branch, and that branch was bending and raining splinters. It would snap any instant.

Cobweb kicked and swung, releasing the rope. For an moment she flew through the air. She reached out her hands, aiming to grab a branch three feet away.

Please, spirits, help me.

Her fingers grazed the branch.

She could not grasp it.

Cobweb fell.

It seemed forever that she tumbled through the air. It couldn't have been more than a couple seconds, but it felt like ages. Cobweb had enough time to remember her childhood, her friends in Spidersilk Forest, her new Bully friends, Scruff's smile. Goodbye, world, she thought. Goodbye.

Then she landed into Romy's arms.

"Oh hi again, Cobweb," the demon said, holding her. "God, who knew spiderlings could be so heavy?" She dropped Cobweb at her feet.

Tears filled Cobweb's eyes. She'd never been so happy to see anyone. She leaped to her feet, hugged Romy, and kissed her.

"Oh my," Romy said with a giggle, flustered.

Panting, pushing strands of hair back from her face, Cobweb looked around. Spiderlings were rising from bushes and piles of leaves, blinking, rubbing their eyes. For the first time, Cobweb saw conscious thought in their eyes, not just mindless obedience.

Cobweb jumped onto a fallen log. "Spidewwings!" she cried. "Tangweweb has b-been using you. You awe fwee now."

One spiderling—a skinny thing about four feet tall, no doubt banished for her height—tightened her lips, nodded, and began to run. "I'm out of here!" she cried before disappearing into the forest.

Two other spiderlings—both wearing eye patches—followed suit.

"You'we fwee, you c-can go anywhewe!" Cobweb shouted, excitement making her giddy.

The other spiderlings were looking at one another, slowly nodding, tightening their lips. It was as if a spell had been broken. They're finally listening to me.

"No!" came a shout, and Cobweb turned, heart leaping. Tangleweb was rising from a pile of leaves, white light engulfing her, streaming around her. Her hair pulsated like flames, and her eyes burned blue like forgefire. Lightning crackled around her fingers. She was a sorceress.

"Wun!" Cobweb said and grabbed Romy's hand.

Romy needed no encouragement; she was already running in place, feet kicking up dirt. Holding hands, the two girls raced through the forest, Tangleweb howling behind. When Cobweb glanced over her shoulder, she saw Tangleweb in hot pursuit, racing over the forest floor, white light snaking around her. She shot a bolt of lightning from her fingertips; it missed Cobweb's head by an inch, blinding her, and destroyed an elm before her.

"I'm scared," Romy whimpered, arms pumping.

"Fwy!" Cobweb said, heart racing, breath aching in her lungs. "Cawwy me." She had never run so fast, and Tangleweb's howls filled her ears. Another bolt of lightning flew, just missing them, knocking down an oak.

"Oh yeah," Romy said. "I forgot that I can fly."

The demon wrapped her arms around Cobweb, flapped her wings, and took flight. Cobweb clung to her, arms wrapped around Romy's neck. The two crashed through the canopy and soon were shooting through the sky, the trees distant below.

"Did we lose her?" Romy asked, arms tight around Cobweb's waist.

Cobweb scanned the distance. Tangleweb was no where to be seen. She sighed, tears in her eyes. "We wost hew, Womy."

"Phew. That's good, because my wings hurt and I'm hungry."

As the two descended back to the ground, Cobweb hung her head. I lied, she knew. We didn't lose her. Not me, at least. I think Tangleweb will forever haunt me.

The two crashed onto the forest floor. Romy was never very good at landing, and the girls rolled through mud and leaves. Romy knocked her head against a root, struggled to her feet, then fell onto her backside, blinking. "Ouchy."

Normally Cobweb might have laughed, but not today. The memory of Tangleweb, she knew, wouldn't leave her. That place in the trees, where Tangleweb dwelt, would remain.

"We must nevew g-go back," she whispered.

Romy raised her eyebrows. "But I saw gems. Lots of gems! Pretty gems."

Cobweb rose to her feet and shook her head. "Nevew! Dat p-pwace is cuwsed. We m-m-must nevew go b-back. We m-must nevew teww a-anyone about it. Dose gems awe cuwsed. Pwomise me, Womy. P-pwomise you won't go b-back. Pwomise you won't teww."

Romy shrugged. "Oh all right. I promise. I didn't see any diamonds there anyway, and I'm more of a diamond girl."

Cobweb nodded. For now, Tangleweb's spell was broken. The spiderlings had escaped. May others never find her kingdom among the gem trees.

As the two girls headed back to camp, Romy skipped and sang, but Cobweb only hung her head low, a deep sadness inside her.

"Fow so wong," she said quietly, "I hated how I t-tawk. I hated m-mysewf. B-but I saw t-t-today whewe sewf-hatwed couwd wead, how p-p-peopwe couwd use it. I wiww wove m-mysewf now, Womy."

Romy smiled, teeth glittering. "You hated how you talk? I think it's cute. It makes you special."

Cobweb raised her eyebrows. "Weawwy? I tought you awways m-made fun of me."

Romy snorted. "The only person I make fun of is Neev, but he deserves it. You should make fun of him too. He especially hates when I beat him at chess, then make fun of him for losing. I can beat him every time."

Cobweb smiled, relief sweeping over her. She couldn't remember ever feeling so good. "Wiww you t-teach me how to p-p-pway?"

Romy nodded. "See, there are a few different pieces, black and white ones. The most important is a king. You have to capture him. The other pieces are...."

Cobweb smiled, trying to keep it all in her head. It was confusing, but good to think about. By the time they reached their camp, she thought she knew the game.

She was happy.

Chapter Nine

Skunk Soup and Lollipops

Dry Bones took a stroll through Hell.

He walked down dark tunnels, their walls glittering with diamonds. He hovered over pools of lava where toddler demons swam. He flew across caverns where dragons swooped, shrieking as demon youths tried to tame them with whips, shouts, and delicious dragon biscuits. Finally he reached the Ninth Circle, that pit of pain where demons like Romy tortured dead human sinners.

Countless sinners filled the chambers, tied to racks. Demon girls were busy whipping them, poking them with pitchforks, and stretching them on racks. Some of the demons recognized Dry Bones and waved, while others just rolled their eyes. Male demons were the warriors, those heroes of Hell who guarded its borders and dreamed of the day they'd conquer Heaven. Here in the pits were their sisters and daughters, fiery and cruel. From here had Romy been plucked.

Robes swishing, Dry Bones walked toward Issa's office and stepped in, not bothering to knock.

Issa sat inside on her leather chair, her feet on her desk. Cotton balls peeked between her toes, and she was painting her toenails gold.

"Bonesy!" she said when she saw him. "What are you doing here, you old bag of bones? Miss me too much?"

"Always," he said. She leaped toward him and kissed his cheekbone. He handed her a bouquet—thirteen dead roses, her favorite.

"Aww, you shouldn't have," she said. From outside the office came the screams of sinners, and through the window Dry Bones could see demons dunking the poor souls into lava.

"Issa," he said, "I need something of you."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "Some lovin?"

"Probably, yes, a bit later. But for now, my dear, I want you to kill some people."

She snorted, blowing back a curl of her flaming hair. "I'm your girlfriend, not your assassin."

Dry Bones sighed inwardly. If he had eyes left, he'd roll them. Issa still believed she was his girlfriend, even though he saw her rarely, only when he got lonely and craved a woman's touch, or when he needed somebody tortured. Months could go by between their encounters, yet she insisted they were a couple, that he loved her like she loved him. Let her keep fooling herself, he thought. It keeps her around for when I need her.

"You'll want to kill these people, trust me," he said. "Are you missing a demon? One Romy?"

Issa snarled, eyes flaring. She bared her fangs with a hiss, and her hair crackled, scattering sparks. "You have seen the girl?" she said, flexing her claws.

Dry Bones nodded, twisting his jaw into a smile. Issa's drool dripped down her fangs to hiss against the floor. Her bat wings spread wide, and her eyes crackled with flame. When enraged, she was among the deadliest creatures Dry Bones knew.

"One of my apprentices kidnapped her. His name is Neev Thistle. He and his siblings are traipsing around the world with her, causing me no end of trouble. Go on the hunt, Issa. Kill Neev and his siblings. Then take Romy and deal with her as you like."

Issa grinned, her fangs dripping drool. Her eyes widened with bloodlust, and her hair blazed like a bonfire. "You have a deal, Sexy Bones," she said. "Romy has been driving me crazy for a long time, and finally I got her. Show me the way. I'll kill these humans of yours, then drag back Romy in chains." She snarled, steam leaving her nostrils. "I'll torture her myself. I haven't tortured anyone in a while, and poor Romy will help me get back in shape."

She grabbed her whip from the wall and cracked it.

Dry Bones reached out his hand, and she took it. Her hand felt hot, and she gripped him so hard, he thought she'd break his bones. She kissed his cheekbone again, and Dry Bones touched her flaming hair.

As they left the office, Dry Bones allowed himself a smile. The Thistle Kids could perhaps defeat moldmen... but Issa would hunt them down like Baumgartner gobbling mice.

* * * * *

As they journeyed to Queenpool, Romy moaned. Her feet hurt. She'd never had a blister before, but now she had two, one on each foot. She didn't even know which foot to limp on.

"Mommy, I want to rest," she said and poked Neev's backside with her pitchfork, not enough to hurt him, but enough to incur a growl.

"You'll rest when you're dead," the young warlock said. "And if you poke me again, that won't be too far off."

Romy gave the longest, loudest whine of her life. "Well, I'm not walking anymore," she said and flapped her bat wings, fluttering into the air. Usually flying tired her even more than walking, and she avoided it whenever possible, but at least it would give her blisters a rest.

Thirty feet in the air, she flew above the other Bullies, her wings churning the crisp morning air. From up here, she could see the land clearly. The road snaked for miles between the grassy hills. Blooming dogwood trees, mossy chalk boulders, and the occasional rivulet covered the land. Earth is beautiful, Romy thought. The green of grass and leaves, the white of stone and flowers, the blue of the water glistening in the sunlight—it all looked like a work of art. Poor humans have to walk below and can't enjoy the view. I should pick them up, so that they can see this.

She examined the Bullies who walked beneath her. The smallest was Jamie. She'd be easy to carry. Romy swooped down and grabbed the girl's shoulders.

"Hey, let go!" Jamie demanded, punching.

"I only want to show you the view," Romy said, struggling to lift the girl.

"Leave me alone!" Jamie squealed and freed herself.

Neev turned around to face them, scowling. His eyes blazed as if he too were a demon. "Kids, stop fighting."

Romy pouted. "I'm not a kid, I'm 207."

Neev glowered and raised his hands, black magic sparkling on his fingertips. "If you pick on Jamie again, you won't reach 208."

"Oh, Neev, you're so grouchy," Romy said and flew away, pouting.

They kept traveling down the road, Romy flying above the others. She was bored. At one point, she spotted a crabapple tree. She collected the fruit and spent a while dropping the apples onto the Bullies' heads. She especially tried to hit Jamie, whooping whenever the apples bounced off her. Jamie responded by tossing pebbles at Romy, but Romy evaded them easily, and many fell onto Scruff's head.

Soon Romy began to regret tossing the apples at Jamie. Her stomach was rumbling. I'm hungry. All the Bullies had to eat was skunk soup (courtesy of Scruff's less than impressive hunting skills), which tasted just as bad as it smelled. I didn't leave Hell for this. In Hell, she dined every day on fried mushrooms, spicy tunnelhog chops, and juicy dragon steaks, but on Earth it seemed even turnips were a delicacy, judging by how fast Scruff could gobble them. Man, I wish I had a poodle.

Romy's stomach was grumbling like thunder when finally she spotted chimney smoke ahead. A village! When she strained her eyes, Romy counted ten houses with thatch roofs, their walls made of waddle-and-daub.

"Ooh, look, it's Queenpool!" she said, excitement making her fingers tremble. She fluttered down to stand before the other Bullies. Finally the long journey was over. "I saw a village ahead. We're here!"

Neev shook his head. Dust coated the hems of his black coat, turning them gray. His shoes were frayed, and his hair limp. He's not enjoying this trek any more than me, Romy realized, and suddenly she wanted to hug him, and would have too, were he not so dusty.

"No, Romy, Queenpool is still a couple days away," he said, wiping burrs off his pants. "You probably just saw a backwater village."

"Can we visit, Mommy? Please!" She tugged at his sleeve, making puppydog eyes. They might have poodles.

Scruff approached them, hair shaggy, boots muddy, clothes covered with burrs and dust. "Hey, I'm the oldest brother. I decide what we do."

Neev shook his head. "I'm the smartest brother. I'm the leader."

Jamie grumbled and drew Moonclaw, her sword. The filigreed blade glittered in the sunlight. "I carry Father's blade, which means I make the decisions."

Romy patted her growling stomach. "I'm the oldest and wisest and hungriest, so I'm the leader. And I hate stinky skunk soup. Let's go to that village and steal some real food—fried shrimps, lamb chops with mint, or delicious pnoodle soup."

Cobweb meekly raised her hand, peeking from beneath her eyelashes. She was the only one not disheveled from the journey; her lavender skin was still clean, her hair still glowing, and no dust or thistles marred her gossamer dress. "You mean, wowk for some f-food, wight Womy?"

Romy bit her lip. I can't understand what the Hell she's saying.

Cobweb's cheeks flushed. "You know... cuz we're da Buwwies fow B-bucks, we d-don't steaw."

"Oh yeah... I forgot about that," Romy said. She sighed. "I suppose I wouldn't mind scaring to death a few more defenseless animals, if paid the right sum. Let's go. I'll lead the way."

Before long, the Bullies reached the village, which lay off the road between rustling willows. A wooden sign named the place "King's Crossing", population 54. I can torture more people in a day's work, Romy thought, biting her lip.

Like at Perrywine, Romy borrowed Neev's cloak and hid inside it; most humans would faint at the sight of a demon. She entered the village with the others, and soon stood in its dirt square, gazing around and chewing her lip. She had never imagined humans could live in such small villages; there were only ten houses, squat structures of mud and thatch, and a single stone inn. Gardens surrounded the houses, growing vegetables, oats, wheat, and barely. A dozen chickens pecked for seeds in a weedy yard.

This isn't a village with an inn, Romy realized. It's just a roadside inn with a village. This did not bode well for finding poodles.

The villagers emerged from their homes, dressed in tan tunics and leggings, timid at the sight of five armed Bullies. With a sigh, Jamie repeated her song and dance from Perrywine, bragging about the Bullies' prowess at banishing dragons, werewolves, mothers-in-law, and other such beasts.

When Jamie was done, the villagers stared silently.

Romy shifted uncomfortably.

Finally a peasant girl, no older then six, stepped forward. She wore a yellow dress, sported blue ribbons in her curls, and was sucking a lollipop. "I'll pay you," she said, holding out a piggy bank. "I have five copper pennies. You must only kill an itsy bitsy spider in my room."

That sounds easy enough, Romy thought. Based on what she knew of human currency—admittedly not much—five coppers could buy each Bully hot stew and a cold pint. Romy licked her lips. "We'll do it!" she said.

Cobweb gasped and covered her mouth, eyes wide. "No!" she said, knees trembling.

"Why not?" Romy asked, raising an eyebrow. "You scared of spiders?"

The spiderling shook her head wildly, gossamer hair swaying. Her dress of spiderwebs, the spider runes on her dagger, and her spiderweb tattoo all glowed. "S-s-spidews awe howy animaws. D-dey are magicaw, and sacwed, and-and-and kiwwing one is howwibwe w-w-wuck."

"Horrible what?" Romy asked. The spiderling seemed so distraught, her tongue sounded even more twisted than usual.

Cobweb sniffed and blinked rapidly, as if struggling not to cry. "Just howwibwe, okay? We can't kiww a spidew! We can't!"

Scruff walked up to her, eyes soft and cheeks pink, and patted her shoulder. "Okay, Cobweb, we won't kill the itsy bitsy spider. We'll just catch it, then release it into the forest. That way we're all happy."

Cobweb rubbed her eyes, fingers still shaky. "Okay. But pwomise nobody wiww huwt it." She caressed the spiderweb tattooed onto her shoulder. "Pwomise!"

The Bullies looked at one another, shrugging, and all promised not to harm the spider. The little girl seemed happy too. "So long as you get it out of my room."

Romy smiled. "You have a deal." Her stomach growled again.

* * * * *

An hour later, the Bullies returned from the forest, rubbing their bruises.

"Owwww...," Romy said, her arm in a sling, a doggy cone around her neck. "My whole body is a giant boo boo."

Jamie nodded, limping, her forehead bandaged. "That was one damn big spider."

Even brutish Scruff was covered with bruises and scratches, cobwebs clinging to his legs. "I never knew spiders grew as big as horses." He shrugged. "Live and learn."

Romy shuddered, her wounds aching. She never wanted to see a spider again, a seven-foot-tall one, or a tiny daddy-long-legs. It had taken an hour—an hour of pain and bruising—to truss up this spider, drag it squealing outside, and release it unharmed into the forest. Stupid Cobweb! Would have been easier to roast the damn bug with a fireball, but the spiderling would probably burst into tears; at one point, she had actually started praying to the beast.

Romy sighed. At least we'll get paid now. Though her body ached, the thought of those five coppers made her smile. She could already imagine the taste of hot beef stew and cold beer. Yum.

The little girl came skipping toward them, grinning. "You did it, you kicked out the itsy bitsy spider!"

Romy muttered. "If that's an itsy bitsy spider, I'd hate to see the rain this place gets." Wincing in pain, she reached out her hand. "Now pay up, little human."

The little girl sighed. "Oh, all right. Here you go." She dropped three copper pennies into Romy's hand.

Romy frowned. "Hey, wait a minute, you promised us five coppers." The other Bullies muttered their agreements, each more bruised and battered than the last.

The girl lowered her eyes, twisting her foot around in the dust. "Well... I bought a really big lollipop!" From behind her back, she pulled out a lollipop larger than her head.

Romy raised an eyebrow. She looked over at Neev. He sighed and nodded.

A few moments later, the Bullies sat outside King's Crossing Inn, pints in hands, passing around a giant lollipop.

"Mmmm... so sweet," Romy said when it was her turn, chomping a bite out of the candy.

"Hey!" Jamie said and kicked her. "No biting. Just licking."

Romy rubbed her leg, pouting. She already had several bruises on her leg from Jamie kicks, and her arm was still in a sling from the spider battle. "Fine fine," she said and crunched her bite of lollipop.

"Chew with your mouth closed," Neev said, punching her shoulder.

"Fine, Mommy," she said and stuck her tongue out at him. This sucks, she thought. Candy was good, but she craved bloody prime rib in gravy, plump lobster tails, or at least hot beef stew. Three copper coins had sufficed for beer, but no food. Neev had wanted to spend the money on bread and butter, but Romy had insisted that she needed a drink, badly. To her surprise, Scruff and Jamie had agreed; only Cobweb refused beer and instead ordered apple juice.

Romy took a last gulp, emptying her mug, and wiped suds off her mouth. That feels good. She scratched at her neck, where the doggy cone chaffed her. It was a strange day.

The lollipop made the rounds, then came back to Romy, visibly smaller. She was about to lick it, when she saw something ahead, something moving through the town.

Romy froze. Could it be?

No.

Romy trembled.

God no.

She dropped the lollipop into the dust.

"Oh, great," Jamie said, rolling her eyes. "Good job, Romy. I mean, really, it's our only food, and... Romy? Are you okay?" Jamie touched her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Romy could not answer. Trembling, she shook her head, shoved her thumb into her mouth, and began to suck. No, no! It can't be.

But it was. It was truly happening. She was here, on Earth, in this village.

Romy pointed a trembling finger to the demon who walked ahead, hair crackling, fangs glistening.

Issa had come after her.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "A friend of yours?"

Romy could barely talk. She forced the thumb out of her mouth and spoke in a shaky voice. "My boss."

Issa's hair of flame blazed, her claws glinted, and she held a flaming whip. She looked happy, which was dangerous. The demon was happy only in two situations: when eating puppies, and when about to kill somebody... and Romy didn't see any puppies around.

Romy leaped to her feet, debating whether to fly away, or curl up into a ball and play dead. Neither would help. Issa was fast, and had a history of winning flying races through the caverns of Hell. As for playing dead... that never fooled Issa. Romy knew that from painful experience. Several villagers ambling about saw Issa and fled, pale.

"Uh... hello, Issa," Romy said and waved. Maybe I can talk my way out of this.

The other Bullies rose to their feet, wary. Jamie drew her sword, Scruff raised his mace, Cobweb nocked an arrow, and Neev mumbled spells. But none of that would help, Romy knew. They might be able to defeat moldmen, giant spiders, and frightened poodles... but this enemy was beyond them. Not with an army could we face Issa, probably the meanest, toughest demon in Hell.

"Romy, Romy, Romy," Issa said, tsking. She came to stand before the Bullies, one hand on her hip. With the other hand, she cracked her fiery whip, making Romy start.

"Uh... fancy meeting you here," Romy replied, resisting the urge to suck her thumb. Her head spun. The heat from Issa's fire made her feel faint. Memories of Hell flooded her: the endless hours torturing sinners, the repetitive days, Issa's frowns.... I'm not going back with her, she thought, tightening her lips.

"You're coming back with me," Issa said.

Romy shook her head. "No way. I quit, Issa. I'm not going to work for you anymore, and that's that." She stamped her feet, raising dust.

Issa raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile spreading across her face. "Who said anything about working for me, darling? You're done working for me. I'm bringing you back to torture you." She cracked her whip. "I haven't tortured anyone in a while, and I intend to get back into shape with you. You crossed me, and now you'll pay. You'll suffer what every sinner suffers... but a hundred times worse, for eternity."

"That... is much worse," Romy said.

Neev stepped up, cloak flapping, and pushed Romy behind him. He stood with arms raised, the first sparks of a fireball glinting at his fingertips. "You'll have to get by me first," he said.

He's trying to save me! Romy thought, feeling warmth spread through her. Nobody had ever done anything so heroic for her, and tears gathered in her eyes.

Issa shrugged. "Very well," she said to Neev, bared her fangs, and rushed toward him.

Neev tossed his fireball.

Elk horns sprouted from his head.

Fire exploded.

Romy screamed.

She realized that she had covered her eyes, and peeked between her fingers. A cry fled her lips. The fireball had not harmed Issa; she herself was a fireball, immune to the heat and flames of Hell. The demon grabbed Neev and lifted him above her like a weightlifter.

"Put him down!" Romy screamed.

"As you say," said Issa and tossed Neev. He flew across the village square and crashed, horns first, into a house.

"That's it!" Jamie said, snarling. The diminutive, black-haired girl let out a battle cry and ran toward Issa, her sword glinting. Issa sidestepped, deflected the sword with a blow from her whip, and grabbed Jamie.

"Put me down!" Jamie cried.

Issa lifted the girl over her head, spun her around, and tossed her. Jamie tumbled through the air, a ball of armor and curses, and crashed into a willow. She fell onto the ground, dazed.

Cobweb was firing arrows, but Issa had only to glance at them, eyes fiery, and the arrows caught flame and disintegrated. With a shout, Scruff ran forward, brandishing his mace. He brought Norman down hard, but Issa raised her hands, blocking the blow. Faster than a viper, she grabbed Scruff. He was thrice her size, but she lifted him too over her head.

Oh no! Romy thought, paralyzed with fear. She's going to toss Scruff too.

But Issa only stood, arms trembling, holding Scruff above her head. Her lips tightened and sweat poured down her brow. Her legs began to shake. Her elbows wobbled. Scruff is too fat, Romy thought, gasping. She can't hold him up.

Then, with a whimper, Issa buckled under the weight.

The ground shook.

Dust flew.

Romy coughed and for a moment could see nothing but dust. She sneezed and rubbed her eyes, until finally the dust cleared to reveal Scruff. He sat on the ground, moaning. "I fell on something," he said miserably.

Dusting his pants, Scruff rose to his feet, revealing a very dead, and very flat, demon.

Romy stared at her dead boss, not knowing how to feel. She was surprised to find a tear on her cheek. Looking down at the flat Issa, she was soon sobbing. What's wrong with me? I should be happy Issa is dead. But she couldn't help it. Here at her feet lay her old life, squashed. Her friends in Hell, two centuries of living among the flames, her homeland... just a red patch on the ground.

Neev and Jamie came limping back, shaking their heads, rubbing their wounds. Scrapes and bruises covered them.

"Neev," Romy whimpered, tears on her cheeks.

Limping toward her, his eyes softened. Romy did not think she'd ever seen his eyes look soft. He came to her and took her hands. "What's wrong, Romy?" he asked gently. A scratch ran along the side of his face, and one of his elk horns was bent.

She sniffed, tears falling. "We have to bury her." She rubbed her tears away with her fists, scrunched her lips, and nodded. "We have to give her a funeral. She's my old boss. She might have been a pain in the butt, but I owe her that much at least."

"You can't be serious—" Jamie began, face flushing, but Neev silenced her with a glare. He turned back to Romy.

"Of course, Romy," he said, patting her hand. "We'll bury her."

"Might need to find a huge spatula first," Jamie muttered under her breath.

That evening, the five Bullies stood around a grave, staring down somberly. They had buried Issa outside the village, a barley farm to the west, a copse of pear trees to the east. Goldenrods and dandelions grew from the crumbly earth, and scattered chalk stones speckled the land white. It's a beautiful place, Romy thought. Issa would hate that. Romy couldn't help but smile. Maybe I owe Issa a burial... but at least I'll bury her among flowers.

Romy looked at her fellow Bullies, passing her eyes over one after the other. Scruff towered over the grave, still dusty and bruised. Jamie stood beside him, shorter than his shoulders, hair mussed and lips scrunched. Neev stood beside Romy, more bruised and battered than she'd ever seen him, his eyes lowered. Only Cobweb looked no worse for the wear; her hair was still perfect and glowing, her skin purple and clear, her dress glittering. Thank God I have these friends, Romy thought, a lump in her throat. My old life might be gone, I might be burying it here today, but at least I have the Bullies. I belong somewhere. She sniffed.

Neev gently touched her shoulder. "Would you like to say something, Romy?"

She nodded, cleared her throat, and spoke to the grave. "Issa. You were my boss. You were kind of a pain in the butt. But you did teach me how to torture people, and that'll come in handy if Neev ever annoys me."

Neev shifted uncomfortably and muttered something. Romy took a deep breath and continued, head lowered, staring at the grave. "Being squashed by Scruff... it's no way to go. Nobody deserves that. Not even you, Issa." Romy shook her head sadly. "Why couldn't you just let me be? Now Scruff turned you into a pancake. Amen."

The other Bullies mumbled, "Amen."

"That was beautiful," Scruff said, eyes moist, and blew his nose.

Cobweb nodded and wiped away a tear. "P-poetic."

Jamie and Neev rolled their eyes.

As the Bullies walked into the wilderness, leaving the grave behind, Romy's stomach growled. How she wished she had another lollipop!

Chapter Ten

The Taming of Romy

It took two more days to reach Queenpool—two days of walking, eating wild berries and apples, and sleeping on the hard ground. Romy hated walking, hated fruit, and hated sleeping outdoors. She begged Neev to carry her, but he claimed that she was too heavy. She kept looking for poodles in the wilderness, but found only birds, and their beady eyes and talons made her tremble. At night, she tried to snuggle up against Neev, even lie on top of him, because he was much cozier than the ground. But Neev kept pushing her away, claiming that she snored and drooled in her sleep. When they finally saw the city of Queenpool in the distance, Romy was so relieved, that she whooped and wagged her tail wildly.

"Just in time for the fair," Jamie said, patting the pommel of her sword.

Queenpool was the largest town Romy had seen, and she gaped at it. It still lay a couple miles away, sprawled across hills that rose from golden fields. Even from here, Romy could see a cathedral's spires, so tall they scratched the clouds, and stone buildings that rose three stories tall. Smaller houses lined Queenpool's roads, built of wattle-and-daub, tiled roofs slanting almost to the ground.

A river lay between the Bullies and the city, blooming with lotuses. A stone bridge arched over the water, its mossy towers taller than the tallest trees. Poor humans... have no wings and have to build bridges. A dirt road led toward Queenpool Bridge, packed with travelers. Romy saw peasants pulling carts of goods, merchants driving wagons, pilgrims, soldiers, beggars, knights, and even a troupe of juggling dwarves in motley. Like in Perrywine and King's Crossing, here too did Romy don Neev's black cloak, concealing herself from strangers. Ignorant humans, Romy thought, sure that anyone with fiery hair, horns, and fangs is evil.

When the Bullies reached the bridge, Romy saw three guards in hauberks collecting tolls. A group of pilgrims in white cloaks paid the guards, then were allowed onto the bridge. Several peasants followed, pushing wheelbarrows full of kippers, cured sausages, oats, and parsnips; they too paid the toll, then wheeled their wares onto the bridge. When the Bullies stepped forward, the guards blocked their way.

"Bridge toll is a copper a head," one guard said, helmet hiding his face. He crossed his arms.

In the shadows of her hood, Romy bit her lip. "We have no money. Can you let us in anyway? We'll pay you back later."

The guards reached to their swords. "Toll's a copper. Pay or leave."

The Bullies shifted uncomfortably; they were penniless.

"Please let us in," Romy begged the guards, but they only scowled. My puppydog eyes would work on them, but I'm not allowed to show my face to strangers.

"W-what wiww we d-do?" Cobweb said in a meek voice, trembling. The sight of the city across the river seemed to frighten her, and she twisted her fingers.

A rumbling came from behind, and Romy turned to see a mule pulling a wagon toward the bridge. Old and creaky, the wagon bore pots, pans, kegs of cider, furs, spices, and a hundred other items. Most amazingly, a cage lay atop the wagon, holding a collared leopard. Ooh... pretty animal.

"Move aside, move aside," demanded the peddler who drove the wagon, a ratty man in a patched cloak, his hat pointy and frayed.

Romy stood on the road, beckoning the wagon to stop. With a grunt, the peddler reigned his mule, and the wagon rolled to a standstill. The caged leopard growled.

"What is it, stranger?" the peddler asked Romy, frowning.

Romy reached into the pockets of Neev's cloak. She pulled out his quill and ink bottle, beautiful pieces that glittered with old silver. "Would you like to buy these?" she asked the ratty peddler, holding them out.

"Hey, my grandmother gave me those," Neev said, frowning. "They're not for sale."

Romy scrunched her lips, holding the quill and ink bottle out to the peddler. "Ignore him. I'll sell you these for five coppers." She pointed to the leopard. "And toss in that leopard's collar, too. I need me a good iron collar."

The peddler raised an eyebrow. "Let me see those. Is that real silver?" He stepped off his wagon, examined the pieces, then raised an eyebrow. "You got a deal, girl."

Neev grumbled and tried to object, but Jamie kicked him silent.

Soon the peddler trundled across the bridge, Neev's silver quill and ink bottle in tow, his leopard still caged but collarless. Grinning, Romy brought the collar into the shadows of her hood and placed it around her neck. Fits perfectly.

"W-why awe you cowwawing youwsewf, Womy?" Cobweb asked, voice trembling, glancing nervously at the humans walking about. Many were staring at her; spiderlings, with their purple skin and glowing white hair, were obviously rare here. Scruff too drew stares, what with his shaggy hair, spiny mace, and freakish size.

"The collar will be great for our magic show, when Neev can pretend to tame me," Romy said, the collar heavy around her neck. She held the five coppers the peddler had given her. She paid the guards, who moved aside, letting the Bullies onto the bridge.

"We better win some money here," Neev muttered as they stepped onto the bridge. "We're broke as ever. And now I also need to buy a new quill and ink bottle."

Romy slipped her hand into his. "We'll win the best magic act," she said. "I promise you. You're a great warlock, and I'm a great sexy assistant."

Neev looked like he bit a lemon. "A great warlock? I flunked out of the Coven, remember?"

At a whim, Romy kissed his cheek, his stubble tickling her lips. "Well, for what it's worth, I thought you looked cute with rabbit ears."

Neev smiled wanly. He looked too thin without his cloak, Romy thought. They had all lost weight over the past few weeks; even Scruff was down two notches in his belt.

She scratched at her collar and chain. It made her neck itch, and suddenly she regretted buying it. She'd only removed the dog cone yesterday, after the spider wounds had healed, and now she had to wear this!

Sudden movement below the bridge caught her eye, and Romy winced and clutched Neev's hand so hard, he grunted.

"What's wrong?" he said.

Romy pointed down to the water, finger trembling. "Ducklings," she said. The baby birds were swimming below, quacking.

"So?"

Romy shuddered. "They want to eat me. Quick, let's get off this bridge."

Neev rolled his eyes, and Jamie—who walked behind—snorted a laugh. Romy scrunched her lips. Silly humans. If they ever saw the birds of Hell—putrid, towering vultures of evil—they wouldn't snicker so.

"In all of Heaven, Hell, and Earth," Romy said, sticking up her nose, "there are no creatures as foul as birds. Get it? Foul? Birds?"

The others stared at her silently. Crickets chirped. A tumbleweed rolled. Romy sighed.

Soon the Bullies were walking through Queenpool. As always, they let Scruff take the lead, while Jamie brought up the rear. Romy walked beside Neev, hidden in her cloak, while Cobweb walked behind her, gaping at all the buildings and people. This place is more like it, Romy thought, nodding with approval. Queenpool was a city to her liking. Delicious scents of stew and beer wafted from inns, making her drool so much, she almost slipped in it. People of all shapes and sizes bustled around, from limping old men to scampering children. Several peasant women walked around with baskets, hawking eggs, muffins, or dried fish. The smells and sights made Romy sigh with pleasure. Finally, civilization! In one corner, children gathered around a puppet show. In another corner, a joker juggled torches for coppers, the bells on his hat jingling. The buildings were each unique, some four stories tall, some wooden, some stone. Romy saw a barbershop, a cobbler, a blacksmith, and even a candyshop.

"Can we buy some candy?" she begged Neev, tugging his sleeve.

He shook his head. "We're broke, remember?"

Romy pouted. "I want candy. Let's steal some. That baby over there is eating candy, can I take it from him?"

"No, Romy. You're not in Hell anymore. No stealing."

A few streets more, and they entered the town square, where the main fair would take place. Three hundred yards wide, the square brimmed with people. Romy had never seen so many humans in one place. The square was split into four parts with ribboned ropes, and an event took place in each section, drawing crowds.

In one corner, magicians were performing atop a stage, pulling rabbits from hats. In another section of the square, swordsmen were dueling in a ring before cheering crowds. In a third section, musclemen were competing in Feats of Strength, struggling to lift the heaviest barrels. Finally, the fourth event was an archery contest, where archers lined up before bullseyes. Whenever a rabbit was conjured, a sword landed, a barrel was lifted, or an arrow flew, cheers rose.

Romy, however, was especially smitten not with the acts, but with the maidens who wandered around, selling honeyed cakes. Her stomach growled. She was starving.

"Is your hometown—Burrfield—anything like this?" she asked Neev, trying to take her mind off her hunger.

He shook his head. "Burrfield is smaller, maybe five thousand people. Queenpool is several times the size."

Romy liked it here. Of course, this was a small fair compared to the parties of Hell, where countless demons drank beer, played ear-crushing music, and engaged in all sorts of debauchery. But this place seemed fun enough—for Earth—and Romy couldn't wait to doff her cloak, put on a show, and scare some humans.

She might have liked to sit in an inn first, sip some ale, and plan the day, but they had no money, not even for a sausage. The Bullies huddled together and decided to start competing at once. Jamie would compete at the swordfights, Scruff at the Feats of Strength, and Cobweb at the archery contest. Neev and Romy, meanwhile, would perform a magic show; the crowd would vote for the best act. Winning any event was worth a gold medal—valuable enough to rent an inn room for a week, complete with all the food, ale, and wine they desired.

When the other Bullies headed to their events, Neev gave Romy a stern look.

"I'm going to sign up for the magic contest," he said. "You stay right here and avoid trouble."

Romy nodded. "I'll be good, Mommy."

She waited, hidden in the cloak, as Neev talked to several distinguished looking humans by the magic stage. Her tummy kept growling, and Romy tapped her foot, impatient and famished. She surveyed the crowd. Were there no poodles in this city? Her neck itched, and Romy reached into her hood to scratch around her collar and chain.

A small girl wandered up to her, and Romy leaned down and smiled. The girl glimpsed her face, blanched, and fled. Romy raised her eyebrows. Silly humans. They should fear ducklings, not demons.

Suddenly she noticed something odd, and her smile vanished. Figures moved atop the city rooftops, hidden in black robes and hoods. The figures seemed lumpy, almost inhuman, and Romy sniffed the air. The scent was faint, barely detectable, but Romy recognized it at once.

"Grobblers," she whispered, a chill running from her horns to the tip of her tail.

Like demons, grobblers lived in underground caverns. Romy hated them. Hated them. One grobbler was nastier than twenty moldmen, and almost as nasty as a duckling. A dachshund seemed to smell them too and cowered behind a barrel, whimpering. Romy frowned, watching the cloaked figures move atop the rooftops like assassins. What were they up to?

Somebody grabbed her arm, and Romy started, nearly wetting herself. But it was only Neev, returned from his dealings.

"Come, Romy," he said, pulling her toward the magicians' stage. "The stage is opening in two minutes. I booked us a fifteen minute show."

"But Neev," she said, dragging behind him, "I saw—"

"Not now, Romy! Come."

Romy glanced toward the roofs again, but the bulky, cloaked creatures were gone. Had she imagined the whole thing? She scanned the crowds for the other Bullies, but couldn't see them. Were Jamie, Cobweb, and Scruff okay?

There was no time to think. Neev pulled her onto the stage, where he attached her chain to a post. Romy suddenly felt dizzy. Standing here upon the wooden stage, she saw the fair from a different perspective, thousands of people crammed together below, banners flying from houses and towers around the square. Romy had never performed on stage, and her head spun from all the colors and people.

In alarm, she noticed that only a handful of people bothered to look up. Most were drifting away from the stage, wandering toward the other events, food stalls, and alehouses. The other magicians had worn costumes of gold, purple, and blue, all glittering with jewels. Neev and I look dull. She wore Neev's old cloak and hood, while Neev wore black leggings, worn boots, and a brown tunic, all dusty from their trek through the wilderness. We look like peasants, not magicians, Romy thought, biting her lip. No wonder the crowds are leaving.

"Quick, Neev!" Romy whispered from the shadows of her hood. "Do something."

Neev nodded. He stepped to the edge of the stage and raised his hands. "People of Queenpool!" he said. "You have seen magicians today, but you have not seen a true warlock."

"You can say that again," one man called out. "I see two beggars on stage right now."

As Neev's face flushed, the people laughed, shook their heads, and continued to wander off. A few youths in the crowd were booing, and a couple tossed rotten eggs onto the stage. One egg hit Neev's boot, raising laughs from the crowd.

Romy clenched her fists. I wish I were rich enough to afford expensive clothes. She vowed to buy a resplendent black gown and strings of rubies once she earned some money.

"Hurry up, Neev, do something," she pleaded.

Neev was already summoning a spell, his lips uttering silent words, and Romy saw blue and golden sparks flutter around his fingertips. Neev shouted the last words of the spell, raised his hands, and fireworks shot from his fingertips. Romy and the crowd gasped. The fireworks flew into the sky, twirling in circles like bees making love, then burst with a boom, raining sparks of gold. The crowd oohed. Neev's spell triggered his jinx, giving him hound dog ears, but that only further amazed the crowd.

"Do it again!" somebody cried below, and Neev obliged. His dog ears vanished, and his eyes turned yellow and feline. He shot more fireworks, these ones green and yellow, taking the forms of firebirds who glided through the sky before bursting. When the fireworks burst, gumdrops rained from the sky, and people rushed to collect them. The oohs were even louder this time, and the people regathered before the stage, clapping. Romy felt dizzy. The cheering of the crowd was intoxicating.

Neev smiled thinly. Now that he had their attention, it was time for the act they'd been preparing for the past three days.

"People of Queenpool!" Neev announced, eyes catlike and glowing. "I have before you a creature so dangerous, so fell, so evil, that I caution all women and children to look aside."

This garnered more interest, especially when Neev punctuated his words with flames he raised from his palms. Even more people gathered around, staring.

"Once more," Neev thundered, "I beg you, if you are faint of heart, please look away." This gathered even more interest; the people seemed to hold their breath.

"I display before you," Neev continued, "bound and tamed for your enjoyment, a demon summoned from the depths of Hell!"

He pulled the cloak off Romy. Finally! That cloak had been so heavy and hot, and Romy took a deep breath of fresh air. The crowd gasped before her. Romy spread out her bat wings, incurring another gasp, and growled, showing her fangs. "Roar!" A few children ran away, and a skinny man fainted. Giddy, Romy rolled her head around, roaring like a lion, her hair of flame crackling.

"Do not be afraid!" Neev shouted. "I will, as you watch, use magic to tame this demon of evil." He turned toward her and chanted some meaningless words, then snapped his fingers in a prearranged cue.

Romy dropped to all fours. "Meow," she said, lifted her right hand, and began licking it like a cat. Neev patted her head, and she purred.

As the crowd gasped, Neev unlocked her collar. Romy crawled around the stage on all fours, feline, her tail flicking lazily. Several people in the crowd ran away, but the rest gaped at the tamed devil. Neev snapped his fingers, and Romy took flight, circling around the square, then flying back to the stage. The crowd cheered, and Romy flew again, somersaulting in midair. For their next trick, Neev conjured flaming hoops, and Romy flew through them as the crowd gasped. For every completed trick, Neev pretended to feed her a treat from his palm. Romy wished he had real treats to give her. She was still famished. I'll bug him later about his gumdrop fireworks; he's been holding out on me!

She was juggling torches when, with a chill, she saw the bulky robed figures. They stood at the back of the crowd, hidden in black hoods, sucking in all light. Three stood at one spot, and Romy saw three more moving upon the roofs. Romy almost dropped her torches. What were those beings? She still thought she could smell grobblers.

Romy swallowed, suddenly unable to enjoy the cheers from the crowd. This would not end well.

Chapter Eleven

The Skeletal Hand of Doom

Jamie pushed her way through the crowds, wafer thin and not even five feet tall, but driving forward like a plow, holding her shield before her. Moonclaw clanked across her back, and her vambraces and greaves glimmered despite the dust covering them. Some in the crowds raised eyebrows at her, this slight youth with short black hair, her sword almost as long as she was tall. Most did not spare her a second glance. They think I'm a boy, Jamie knew; her leggings, boots, and armor were squire garb.

She glimpsed the swordfights ahead, still mostly hidden behind the crowd. Knights in plate armor were slamming at each other with swords, their blows ringing and raising sparks. Other knights stood nearby, their armor dented, their faces sweaty; they must have fought already.

For a moment, cold doubt flooded Jamie's belly, and she swallowed. She had never fought a knight in plate armor. She was used to beating boys her age, mere squires wearing cumbersome chain mail, fighting with wooden training swords. That was how she fought at Fort Rosethorn. But here were real knights, burly men covered in impenetrable armor, their blades forged from steel. Jamie looked down at her old armor, random pieces that left most of her unprotected. I look so puny in comparison, she thought.

Then she tightened her lips. But I have my father's blade. Surely that counted for something. Father had been a great knight, and his sword still carried some of his spirit. Father's soul will help my blade land true.

Swallowing her fear, Jamie elbowed her way closer to the ring where the knights fought. It was hard to see; the cheering crowds surrounded her, blocking her view, most a full foot taller than her. Worming and shoving her way forward, Jamie finally reached the ring and stood at the head of the crowd. There she studied the fight, lips scrunched.

The two knights before her were slamming their blades, raising cheers from the crowd. One knight wore white plate armor, a star on his helm, and bore the emblem of a charging boar upon his shield. The second knight wore black armor. His helmet was shaped like a vulture's head, complete with a curved beak, and a swooping vulture adorned his shield. The knights' plate armor covered every inch of them, sword-proof. Jamie saw many sword blows slamming into that armor, raising sparks, sometimes leaving scratches and dents, but not harming the men inside.

They barely know how to parry, Jamie thought. They just rely on their armor to protect them. Could she use this to her advantage?

Finally the white knight grew tired and slow. The black knight's blows kept falling. A few moments more and the white knight fell, exhausted. The crowd went wild. The black knight waved to the crowd, then slammed his sword once more, for good measure, against the white knight's helm. The white knight moaned but could not rise. The fight was over.

As the crowds cheered and pounded their feet, singing praises to the victorious knight, Jamie chewed her lip, thinking. I have no helmet, no breastplate, no gauntlets. Her wooden shield would stop some blows, but wouldn't protect all of her, and would crack after too many hits. But I have something these knights don't—speed.

The black knight roared to the crowd. "I have vanquished all the knights here today! None more dare fight me."

The crowd cheering, an old judge in a crimson cloak stepped into the ring. He held out a gold metal, and the crowd's cheers grew.

"I hereby declare," the gray-haired judge announced, "that Sir Veldor is champion of Queenpool's swordfights!"

Before he could place the medal around the black knight's neck, Jamie rushed into the ring.

"Wait!" she said.

The crowds fell silent.

Everyone stared at her.

Jamie felt her face flush with stage fright, and she raised her chin. "You haven't defeated me yet," she said to Sir Veldor, the black knight.

For a moment everyone just stared silently. Then they began to laugh.

"You?" Sir Veldor said. "You're not a knight. Be gone, pup. Return once you've grown a foot and bought a breastplate."

The crowds laughed harder, and Jamie felt rage filling her. She drew her sword, which was nearly as long as she was tall, and held it high. "Do you see this blade?" she demanded. "It belonged to my father, Sir Sam Thistle of Burrfield. Yes, I am small. No, I am not a knight. But I have the blood of knighthood in me. Fight me, Veldor, or all will know that you feared a fifteen-year-old girl."

The crowd oohed. A challenge—they liked that. Sir Veldor lifted his visor, revealing a leathery face and black mustache. He gave Jamie a hard look, spat, and slammed his visor shut.

"Let us see this blood of knighthood you speak of," he said. "I will spill it for all to see."

The judge backed away, and Jamie tossed aside her cloak. She remained before Veldor wearing only leggings, boots, and a tunic. Other than the vambraces on her forearms and the greaves on her shins, she owned no armor, not even a helmet. The black knight stepped toward her, covered in metal, towering over her. She stood under five feet; Veldor stood almost as tall as Scruff, each of his arms the size of her entire body. Jamie raised her shield, gulping, sudden fear flooding her. Have I made a huge mistake? The other knights were covered in plate armor; she would die of a single sword stroke. Was this suicide?

Before she could collect herself, Veldor rushed at her, swinging down his sword. There was no time for regrets now. Jamie raised her shield.

Veldor's blade slammed into the wooden shield, sending splinters flying. Jamie couldn't help but yelp in pain. Veldor was strong, and his blow against her shield nearly dislocated her shoulder. She had blocked sword blows before, but only from squires using wooden blades, not a burly champion knight. As Veldor slammed his blade down again, Jamie barely blocked the blow, and more splinters flew. Her shield wouldn't survive much more of this punishment. Fear flooded her. Surely they won't let Veldor kill me, she thought. Would they?

Veldor's sword landed a third time, cracking the shield; Jamie saw the tip of the blade emerge near her face, missing her eye by an inch. Now's my chance. The blade was stuck in the shield. Jamie yanked her shield, tugging Veldor aside, then leaped up and swiped her sword.

Her blade clanked against Veldor's breastplate, sending trembles up Jamie's arm. It was the hardest blow she could deal, but it didn't even scratch Veldor's armor. Damn. Was there nothing she could do?

I can't do this, she thought, tears stinging her eyes. I was stupid to think I'm a fighter. I'm too small... just a runt.

Veldor thrust again, and Jamie raised her shield. It was the final straw. Her shield split in half, showering splinters. The crowd cheered, clapping, howling, and stamping their feet. "Veldor, Veldor!" they chanted.

Cursing, Jamie tossed her shattered shield aside. His blade flew. She parried. Sparks rose between the blades, and pain raced up Jamie's arms. Veldor towered over her in his black armor, his vulture helmet monstrous. Suddenly Jamie understood why Romy feared birds. She stood before this beast with nothing but old iron strapped onto her limbs; no shield, no breastplate no helmet. Jamie parried left and right, squinting. More sword blows fell, and it was all Jamie could do to check them. One blow passed her defenses and bit her shoulder, grazing the flesh, shedding blood.

Jamie knew she was going to die.

Not so soon! whispered a voice in her head. Jamie panted, parrying those blows as fast as she could, her arms aching. She could not last much longer. Who had spoken? Was it Father's voice speaking in her mind?

Fight on your own terms—use your speed.

Whether it was Father or her subconscious speaking, it was sound advice. If Jamie wanted to live, she'd have to stop this game of thrust and parry and start tiring Veldor out. Luckily, Veldor had fought a dozen knights today, and had barely caught his breath since defeating the white knight. He can't have much more energy. If Jamie could just keep him moving long enough, sooner or later, he'd slow down.

She ran to the back of the stage.

The crowed booed, but Jamie did not care. Let them call me a coward. Veldor came racing toward her, and Jamie slipped between his legs, emerging behind him. She landed her sword on the back of his helmet.

This the crowd liked. Everyone cheered wildly. "Thistle, Thistle!" a few began to chant.

Grinning, Jamie leaped back as Veldor spun toward her. He swiped his weapon. Instead of parrying—her arms would not survive much more of that—Jamie leaped back. Veldor's blade cut through air.

Jamie moved like a mouse fighting an elephant. Wherever Veldor went, she leaped away, ran around him, and landed her sword on his back. Soon scratches appeared on the back of his helmet, and the blows to his head—while not cutting the metal—were no doubt giving him a whopping headache. The crowd was all chanting for her. "Thistle, Thistle!" they cried, and Jamie had never felt so elevated. It was wonderful. She, little Jamie of Burrfield, was going to beat a seasoned, champion knight! She had never felt such glory.

She slipped around Veldor's feet again, raised her sword, and was about to land it against his helmet.

Then something happened.

It happened so fast, Jamie could hardly believe it was real. No. It couldn't be. But it was. A skeleton's hand, nothing but bones, appeared out of the ground. It grabbed her ankle, and Jamie fell.

The crowd gasped.

Veldor's blade came down.

Jamie checked the blow, screaming in pain. That blow nearly knocked her arms out of their sockets. She scurried up and ran a few paces away, panting. Veldor followed, and she parried again. It was a moment before she regained her stride.

What was that? What had happened? Surely there was no such thing as skeletal hands emerging from the ground. She must have imagined it. Nobody seemed to notice anything other than her falling.

Jamie wanted this fight to end. She snarled, raced around Veldor, and slammed her sword. As he spun toward her, she ran again, emerging behind him. She prepared to land a mighty blow against his helmet, maybe mighty enough to knock him out.

The skeleton's hand appeared again.

It materialized out of the ground and grabbed her foot. She fell, and Veldor's sword came down. Jamie rolled, and the sword bit her arm. Jamie screamed. It wasn't a mortal wound, but enough to hurt and bleed.

The crowd was gasping and shouting. Jamie leaped to her feet and kept parrying. She would not survive much longer. She had to knock out Veldor. What was that hand? What evil warlock was doing this? She remembered the stories of Neev's Coven and the skeleton Dry Bones; could it be him?

She had no time to ponder. Veldor was after her, howling, his sword blows terrible. One hit her arm, denting her vambrace, nearly snapping her bone. Jamie ran back, then around Veldor again. She raised her blade.

Sure enough, the skeletal hand burst from the ground.

Jamie stepped on it, slamming her foot down with all her might. She felt finger bones shatter. The hand vanished.

Before Veldor could thrust his blade, she slammed her sword against the side of his head. Again. A third time. Veldor seemed dazed. He tried to swipe back, but his movements were slow, and she parried, then slammed her sword against his helmet. Again. She kicked him, and he fell.

He fell!

The crowd roared, a sound so loud, it nearly deafened Jamie. She was so weak, she could barely move, but she sucked in her breath and slammed her sword down onto Veldor's helmet. She slammed down again and again, Veldor moaning, until he lay still.

She nudged him with his foot.

He would not move.

The judge counted to three, then announced, "Thistle wins!"

Jamie had never heard cheering so loud. It flowed over her, spinning her head. The world seemed to swirl around her. She wanted to raise her arms to the crowd, but couldn't; they hurt too badly. Panting, she made do with a smile.

She sheathed her sword, and the judge placed the golden medal around her neck. As the crowd cheered, Jamie wanted to bask in her glory, to memorize this moment so that decades later, she could tell the story detail by detail. But she could not. She kept thinking about the skeletal hand.

The grobblers who killed her parents. The moldmen who attacked them. This skeleton underground. Somehow they must be linked, Jamie thought.

Somebody, or something, was out to get them. As the judge extolled her virtues to the multitudes, Jamie shivered.

Chapter Twelve

Dry Bones in Love

Dry Bones stood behind an alehouse, cradling his broken hand.

Ouch.

He had come so close to killing Jamie nicely and discreetly. Then she had stepped on his fingers. For such a diminutive girl, she was surprisingly strong. Two of his fingers had cracked and nearly snapped off.

Cloaked in black, Dry Bones knelt in the dirt, pulled out a spellbook, and began to leaf through it. He was not a great healer. Like all warlocks, he specialized in black magic; he could summon moldmen, grobblers, and the like with ease. When it came to white magic, such as healing, he was a novice. Most warlocks were, for healing spells were the opposite of their dark arts. It was long moments before he found the spell he needed. "Bone Mending", the page was titled.

"There we go," Dry Bones said. The spell was geared toward people with flesh and blood, but Dry Bones figured it would work just as well for a skeleton. He uttered the spell, and his finger bones trembled, flickered with white sparks, and sent warm waves across him, the way wine would when he could still drink it. Before his eyes (or at least, the empty sockets where his eyes once blinked), his finger bones healed.

A useful spell. I should memorize this one.

Dry Bones straightened, leaned against the back of the alehouse, and contemplated his next move. Two days ago, he had picked up the Thistle Kids' trail and had followed them here. To be honest, he had expected to kill them already. His moldmen, Issa, and even his giant spider had failed. The Bullies were lucky, he thought. But no more Mr. Nice Skeleton.

Unfortunately, killing Jamie had failed too, and Dry Bones tapped his chin. Who to go after now? After a moment's contemplation, he decided that killing Scruff should be easy. The brute had signed up for the Feats of Strength, which involved lifting barrels over your head. A barbaric sport, but useful today. Dry Bones would wait until the barrels were over Scruff's head, then cast a spell to make them ten times heavier. They would fall and kill him, much like Scruff himself had killed Issa. Ironic.

"You know, Baumgartner, I really am a genius," he said. "I don't know if you appreciate that."

He opened his cloak and gazed at his pet snake. Baumgartner lay coiled up inside Dry Bones' rib cage, hissing. Dry Bones smiled and patted the snake's head.

"Good boy," he said, pulled a dead mouse from his pocket, and fed it to the snake. Baumgartner bolted it down and licked his chops.

Dry Bones fastened his cloak and pulled his hood over his head. His grobblers too were cloaked and hooded, ten of them spread throughout Queenpool, watching the Bullies, awaiting his command. Dry Bones hoped he wouldn't need them—he preferred to kill the Thistle Kids by staging accidents, which was safer in a city this size—but you never knew when a few grobblers would come in handy.

After making sure that he was fully concealed in his cloak, Dry Bones stepped from behind the alehouse and made his way through the fair. Jesters juggled around him, maidens hawked tankards of ale, and drunk men stumbled about, voices raised in song. Idiots, all of them, Dry Bones thought. Why would anyone want to waste their life drinking and partying? There was so much to study, so much to learn and accomplish. I guess that's what separates me from the commoners.

Dry Bones spotted the Feats of Strength ahead. A group of musclemen stood upon a stage, lifting barrels. Scruff stood among them, tallest and burliest. Dry Bones began to utter a spell that would make Scruff's barrel ten times heavier. That should break his head, nice and easy. Dry Bones had uttered the first few words when something caught his eye, and the spell petered away.

It was a woman. But no ordinary woman—this was a spiderling maiden, her skin lavender and her milky hair glowing, so pure among the rowdy drunkards, a purple flower growing from a field of thorns. Or thistles, Dry Bones thought wryly. This spiderling maiden must be Cobweb, the companion of the Thistle Kids. Several of his crows, spies who had been following the Bullies, had returned news of her.

But they had not told Dry Bones how beautiful she was.

She was so beautiful, that if Dry Bones had lungs, his breath would die. She stood not a hundred yards away, shooting arrows from her bow into targets. She could as well have been cupid, shooting arrows of love into Dry Bones' heart—or at least, into his ribcage where his heart would once beat. Cobweb's hair seemed woven of gossamer, cascading down her back, not a strand out of place. With his hawklike vision, Dry Bones could see that her eyes were blue as sapphires, her ears were pointy, and golden freckles covered her small nose. It had been years since Dry Bones had loved a woman, but Cobweb stirred all those memories in him, raising fire in their ashes. She looked like an angel, he thought, an angel sent from heaven to cure his weary heart.

Nice boobs, too, he thought.

Dry Bones was vaguely aware that in the background, Scruff was winning the Feats of Strength and earning a gold medal, but he didn't care. I'll kill that brute later, he thought, unable to tear his gaze away from Cobweb. She was hitting every bullseye, winning the archery contest. I will have her, Dry Bones thought. It was not every day one found a spiderling maiden. She will be my wife, he decided.

Dry Bones began to move through the crowd, shoving peasants aside, heading toward Cobweb. By the time he reached her, she had hit her last target.

"Winner!" the judge called. "The spiderling wins first place."

Cobweb beamed. "I won!" she said, gazing around with a grin, her teeth sparkling.

Dry Bones nodded to her, keeping his head lowered, careful to keep his skull hidden in the shadows of his hood. "Congratulations, my lady," he said.

"T-tank you," Cobweb said and touched his shoulder, sending pleasure through Dry Bones. Then she was gone, swept forward by the crowd to a podium, where a judge placed a gold medal around her neck.

Dry Bones waited until the medal ceremony was over, then followed Cobweb as she moved through the fair, glowing, an angel among mortals. As Dry Bones walked, he signaled to his grobblers to join him, following Cobweb.

When Cobweb passed by an alley, Dry Bones nodded to a grobbler. The cloaked monster nodded back, grabbed Cobweb, and pulled her into the alley. Dry Bones glanced behind him. Nobody saw a thing. Perfect. Dry Bones nodded, then stepped into the alley.

In the shadows, Cobweb was struggling, but the grobbler held her fast, covering her mouth. Struggling and frightened, she looked more beautiful than ever. Her chest rose and fell, and her cheeks flushed. She kicked wildly, but could not free herself. Grobblers were stronger even than Scruff, and few could escape their clutches.

"Don't be afraid," Dry Bones said and stepped toward her. He pulled back his hood, revealing his skull. Cobweb's eyes widened and she screamed into the grobbler's warty, wrinkled hand. Dry Bones laughed and rummaged through his pockets. He thought he had a love potion lying around; he usually carried one for cases like this. Things would be much easier if Cobweb fell in love with him. He could already imagine her kisses. If he still had a heart, it would skip a beat at the thought.

"Ah! Here we go," he said and produced the potion from his pocket. He took a step closer to Cobweb. "Drink this, my darling."

She kicked. Her foot hit the potion, and it flew from his hands.

"Damn it!" Dry Bones said and knelt to grab the potion. He caught it, and a second later Cobweb's foot kicked his chin, knocking back his skull.

Dry Bones howled and lashed forward, trying to grab Cobweb's foot, but accidentally grabbed the grobbler's leg and tripped her. The grobbler shrieked and fell, crashing against the cobblestones. In the confusion, Cobweb managed to wriggle free and escape the alley, screaming.

Dry Bones turned to watch her disappear into the crowd. He sighed.

He looked back to the grobbler. "I'm having one of those days," he said. The grobbler nodded sympathetically.

Inside his ribcage, Baumgartner hissed a chuckle.

"Oh, shut up," Dry Bones said.

* * * * *

At sunset, the fair ended with a bray of trumpets, the release of a hundred doves, and a closing ceremony atop the central stage. I'm sad to see it over, Scruff thought. It was the first day he'd had fun since, well.... He couldn't even remember the last day he had fun. As he watched the doves flutter against the sunset, he suddenly felt more sad than he'd ever been, though he could not guess why. He looked at Cobweb, standing beautiful in the sunset, her gossamer hair glittering. She caught his glance and smiled back, setting his heart aflutter like the doves. Am I sad because I want to hold her hand, to kiss her, but dare not?

Cobweb's golden medal twinkled against her chest, hanging from a blue ribbon, the medal she won at the archery contest. Scruff wore the medal he won at the strongman competition, while Jamie and Neev wore medals won at their events. I wish we didn't have to sell them, Scruff thought, caressing his medal. But they were strapped for cash. The medals would have to go.

"Why so sad?" Jamie asked, nudging him.

Scruff looked at his feet. "The sunset always makes me feel this way."

Before his sister could answer, the trumpets blared with new vigor, and Scruff raised his eyes to see the Lord of Queenpool step onto the center stage, the same stage where Neev and Romy had performed. Sporting a long beard, a samite cape, and opulent jewels, the lord addressed the crowds.

"Thank you, people of Queenpool, for this tremendous fair...," the lord began, and Scruff quickly stopped listening. As the lord spoke, Scruff preferred to sneak glances at Cobweb and contemplate her snowy hair, her smile, and her blue eyes glistening in the sunset.

His interest perked up when the Lord of Queenpool said his name. Scruff shook his head, clearing it of daydreams, and realized that he was being invited on stage, along with the other medal winners. Running a hand through his shaggy hair, he lumbered onto stage with his fellow Bullies. The crowd was cheering. When Scruff looked down at the thousands of people, he felt dizzy. Queenpool seemed so large from here. A hundred shops surrounded the square, and a hundred oil lanterns blazed, lighting the twilight. Behind the square, he could see the spires of Queenpool Cathedral and, in the distance, soaring mountains that rose like dark shadows beyond the forests. Maybe he was sad because the sun was setting, light leaving the world to the dangers and mysteries of night. Maybe he was sad because he ached for Cobweb. Maybe he was just sad because he felt lost, had been feeling lost since Grobbler Battle killed his parents and tossed his life into a whirlpool. Who'd have thought he'd ever stand here, so many miles from home, thousands of people cheering for him?

If he felt lost and pensive, however, the other Bullies seemed the opposite. Romy flapped her wings and somersaulted for the crowds, soaking up the cheers like a cat soaks up sunlight on a windowsill. Jamie smiled and waved, Neev stood with crossed arms seeming rather pleased with himself, and even Cobweb waved shyly. The Lord of Queenpool introduced them to the crowds and handed each a white jasmine.

Before the lord could wrap things up, sending everyone home to bed, Scruff approached the edge of the stage. He raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent, waiting to hear him.

"Hello, people of Queenpool!" he bellowed, hoping his voice was loud enough for all to hear. Suddenly his ears began to burn, and the sight of so many eyes upon him made him dizzy. Scruff swallowed and continued quickly. "My friends and I are not only champions of the fair. We're also champion monster slayers, and we'll fight for you. Need to hire some brawn? Let us know. We're Bullies for Bucks, and we'll bully your problems away."

"Our prices are so low," Romy added cheerily, leaning against him, "you'll think we're mentally challenged."

"Yeah... not the best slogan," Neev muttered. His eyes were only now returning to normal, losing their catlike glow.

Romy flapped her wings and hovered a foot in the air. "Got a problem with goblins, werewolves, dragons, or tax collectors?" she cried to the crowds. "We take care of 'em all. We're so cheap, you'll be surprised we know what the hell we're doing."

Cobweb put a hand on Romy's shoulder, "Womy, why d-don't we just wet Scwuff d-do da tawking, okay?"

Scruff decided to wrap things up before Romy could say anything more. "Remember, we're Bullies for Bucks, and we'll be staying at the Cantankerous Clam Inn. See us there if you need us. Thank you, people of Queenpool."

The Bullies stepped off the stage to the sound of confused, irregular clapping.

* * * * *

"So," Jamie said, leaning over the table where the Bullies sat, "a skeleton tried to kill me today." She gulped some beer, slammed down her mug, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Me too!" Cobweb said. She tried a sip of beer, wrinkled her nose, and shuddered as she swallowed. "Howwible dwinks you humans have."

"You don't like beer?" Jamie asked, gaping.

"No!"

Jamie slammed her fist against the table. "But it's so good."

Romy slept with her head on the table, her hair of fire spread out, a dozen empty beer mugs around her. "Mmmm... beer...," she mumbled in her sleep, drooling.

Cobweb scrunched her lips, staring distastefully at Jamie. "Whewe I c-c-come fwom, Jamie, k-kids don't dwink awcohow. Onwy aduwts."

Jamie gulped more beer and raised an eyebrow. "So what do kids drink?"

"Watew."

Jamie snorted. "That's ridiculous. Everybody knows water is dirty and makes you sick. Water is for doing laundry. We humans drink milk as babies, and after that—beer!"

"Watew is c-cwean and d-d-dewicious in Spidewsiwk Fowest." The spiderling tried another sip of beer, then wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. "Bwech."

Jamie sighed and shook her head. "You spiderlings are crazy. Even if water were safe to drink, I'd still drink as much beer as I could."

Neev watched the girls in distaste, sitting beside his brother Scruff, nursing his own pint. They were sitting in the Cantankerous Clam, the most expensive inn they could afford, which happened to also be Queenpool's cheapest inn. Neev had taken it upon himself to manage their newfound wealth; he had sold their golden medals for coins and planned a strict budget. The others had complained—especially Romy, who pouted and stamped her feet, whining about how she wanted to dine at the fanciest restaurants, hire a carriage, and buy herself a gown and rubies. But Neev was strict, keeping all the coins in his pockets, slapping Romy's wrist whenever she tried to pickpocket him. This money has to last a while, he thought.

He looked around the Cantankerous Clam. They sat in the common room, which held a dozen scarred tables, a cold hearth, and a chipped bar. The beer was lukewarm, the floor dirty, and the patrons unshaven, slovenly, and more than a little smelly. But it beat sleeping in the wilderness, and the beds upstairs would provide a good night's rest. Neev had booked them a single bedroom with three beds—the five Bullies would have to make do. He wouldn't squander their money the same day they earned it.

The girls were still arguing about beer, and the sound grated Neev's nerves. Romy lay passed out and drooling, and Jamie looked close to joining her, for she seemed determined to prove beer's magnificence by drinking more and more.

He cleared his throat. "Girls, please," he said. "Can you stop arguing about beer, and get back to the skeleton?"

He tried to keep his voice calm, but inside, Neev was worried. A skeleton? Could it be Dry Bones? Neev had never heard of any other living skeleton.

"He tried to trip me!" Jamie said, wiping suds off her mouth.

"He twied to k-kidnap me!" Cobweb said.

Romy suddenly raised her head from the table. "I like turtles!" she announced, then passed out again, banging her head against the tabletop.

Scruff had been silent so far, staring into his mug as if lost in thought. He opened his mouth, closed it, scratched his chin, then finally said, "You don't supposed it could be that Old Bones you've told us about, do you?"

"Of course I've considered that," Neev snapped. "And his name is Dry Bones, not Old Bones. But why would he try to kill us? Is he angry that I summoned Romy?"

Passed out against the tabletop, Romy stirred as if roused by the sound of her name. She mumbled in her sleep. "But all the other girls have ponies, Mommy. Can't I eat one, too?" Her mouth fell open and she began to snore.

The others stared at her for a moment, then shuddered and looked away. Scruff resumed scratching his chin. "Neev," he said, "do you remember Grobbler Battle?"

Neev raised an eyebrow. It was rare for Scruff to mention the battle; it was a night the Thistles were loathe to speak of. "Of course."

Scruff put down his mug and wiped suds off his stubble. "The warlock who led the grobblers into town. The one who murdered Dad. For years one detail about him bothered me."

"A lot of things about him bother me," Neev muttered into his drink, and Jamie nodded her approval.

"But one detail in particular has always seemed off," Scruff insisted. "It was a hot summer night, but the warlock wore a heavy cloak and hood."

"So?" Neev said. "It's summer now, and I'd wear my cloak had Romy not borrowed it. We warlocks like cloaks; it helps us look scary."

"But why did he wear gloves?" Scruff said. The others raised their eyebrows, and Scruff leaned back in his chair.

"I remember that, too," Jamie said. "I remember every detail about that night. I also thought it was strange. Did he want to hide his skeleton hands?" She shuddered.

Cobweb chewed her lip, then meekly leaned forward. "D-did you say dis wawwock who k-kiwwed youw dad was weading gwobbwews?" she asked, voice small and trembling. She had only a sip of beer, but already her purple cheeks were flushed crimson.

Scruff nodded.

Cobweb pursed her lips. "Da skeweton who twied to k-kidnap me today had a gwobbwew wit him."

Jamie leaped to her feet, sending her chair crashing back and knocking over three beer mugs. "Damn it, it's the same warlock!" she shouted, making such a commotion, the entire tavern stared. "We found the bastard who burned Burrfield, he's here in Queenpool, let's go kill him now." She drew Moonclaw, eyes flashing.

"Jamie, please," Neev said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We have no proof yet."

She pushed his hand away, panting, eyes wild. "What more proof do you need? It all matches. We've waited years to find this jerk, and we've got him now. Let's go find him and kill him."

"Jamie!" Neev said, raising his voice just the slightest. "Calm down. We don't know it's Dry Bones for sure. What motivation would he have to burn Burrfield, then try to kill us?"

Jamie looked ready to explode, but found no words. She stared back, silent, face red.

Scruff helped her back into her seat. "I think it has less to do with us," he said, "than with our parents. Dad called him an old friend. I remember that. They must have had some falling out, maybe even before we were born, and Dry Bones still carries some grudge against the Thistles."

"We don't know it's Dry Bones," Neev repeated, but knew he sounded unconvincing. He had to admit—the pieces did fit. It also explained why Dry Bones had expelled him. A moldman was waiting for him outside the Coven that day. If Dry Bones truly wanted to kill all Thistles, Neev's final exam made a perfect excuse. To banish Neev into a moldman ambush would be a nice, quiet way of going about it.

"Oh, you know it's Dry Bones," Jamie said with a grunt. "I can see it in your eyes. Stop being stubborn, Neev."

Neev sighed and took a deep draft of beer. "Fine," he said, slamming down his empty mug. "So Dry Bones is our villain. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Let's kill him." Jamie brandished her sword, causing Scruff and Cobweb to duck.

"Kill him how?" Neev snapped. "He's the best warlock in the kingdom, maybe the world. It would take an army to kill him."

"I can take him." Jamie growled, cheeks flushed, blade glimmering.

"No, Jamie, you can't," Neev said with a sigh. "And that's the end of that. We don't even know where he is."

Jamie opened and closed her mouth several times, lost for words, seeming ready to explode.

Scruff tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "He's going to keep hunting us, you know," he said, still scratching his stubbly chin.

"I realize that," Neev said.

"So what would you have us do?" Jamie demanded, finally finding her voice. She was so angry, that when she tried to pour herself more beer, her fingers trembled and she knocked over her mug.

"I'll tell you," Neev said, feeling more and more certain as he spoke. "We invest our new money in defense. We'll buy you and Scruff some proper armor—a pair of breastplates and helmets. I'll buy a spellbook with some good martial magic. If we find some lucrative Bully gigs, maybe we can hire a couple bodyguards for extra security. Right now we're weak. Let's grow stronger, then worry about killing Dry Bones."

"Unless he kills us first," Jamie muttered into her mug. Cobweb covered her face with her hands, and both Scruff and Neev shuddered.

Romy continued to snore blissfully.

Chapter Thirteen

The Lady Knight

Jamie couldn't sleep.

For the first time in weeks, she lay in a real bed, not on hard earth, but still she found no rest. As she lay in the dark, she kept seeing the skeleton's hand in her mind, clawing at her feet.

Jamie rolled over and looked at Cobweb, who shared her bed. The spiderling slept soundly, her face upon her hand, starlight glistening against her. The room they rented—the last vacant in the Cantankerous Clam—held two other beds. Scruff and Neev shared one (Scruff taking up most of it), sound asleep. Romy lay sprawled upon the third bed, snoring loudly, drool dripping down her chin.

What time is it? Jamie wondered. Moving silently, she stepped out of bed and looked out the window. Orion glittered above, the warrior, her lucky stars. Beneath their glow, the city lay sleeping, dust fluttering across the cobblestones. In the distance, Jamie could see the steeples of the cathedral, a darker black against the sky.

Another day had passed. Another day of wandering the world, seeking... what? Jamie laid her hands upon the windowsill, gazing at the silent city, the cobbled streets lined with oil lanterns. What do I seek? Surely more than the next gig, the next quick buck. Jamie sighed. For the past five years, her goal had been clear—become a knight. When Lord Bramblebridge had crushed that goal, he tossed her life into a whirlpool, leaving her aimless, pointless.

But now she had a new goal.

I will kill Dry Bones.

She looked at the wall where hung Father's sword. I swear to you, Dad, I will avenge your death. Tears filled Jamie's eyes. She missed her parents so badly, her stomach ached.

Romy gave out a loud snore like a saw, startling Jamie out of her thoughts. "No, Issa, please, I'll be a good demon," Romy mumbled in her sleep and began to suck her thumb.

Gingerly, Jamie approached the demon and touched her hair of flames, expecting to pull back her fingers in pain. But Romy's hair was warm and smooth, and the flames caressed Jamie's hand.

"You're not the only one with nightmares, Romy," Jamie whispered, watching the demon sleep. She herself often dreamed of groping grobblers, a dark warlock upon Friar Hill, and a night of fire and blood. Grobbler Battle. That night still haunted her dreams. Scruff and Neev did not know. They thought she had forgotten. But Jamie did not forget. The fire of that battle still burned inside her.

A cat meowed outside, moving through the streets, probably seeking mice. A bat fluttered between two trees. Jamie suddenly felt like walking outside with these night creatures, silent and cold in the darkness. She would find no sleep in this bed, not until she cleared her mind.

"Floofie, are you here?" Romy mumbled, her thumb still in her mouth. "I miss you, my sweet teddy bear."

Jamie pulled on her black leggings, torn at the knees, an undershirt, and her old leather jerkin. Atop her clothes she strapped her meager armor—dusty vambraces over her forearms and greaves over her shins.I wish I had full plate armor like the knights I saw. She didn't even have a shield anymore; Veldor had chopped it up. She slung her sword over her back and, with a deep breath, left the room and stepped downstairs.

A few barflies were passed out in the common room, their heads on tabletops between empty mugs. Jamie stepped past them and into the city, the night air pinching her cheeks. She needed this time alone, her first time alone in weeks. The others did not understand her, not even Scruff. They could not imagine what it was like to be a girl, so young and slight, chasing an impossible dream.

Several others shared the night with her. From a bakery came the lilt of a humming baker, and the scents of breads tickled Jamie's nostrils. From the distant cathedral—charcoal spires that blocked the stars—flowed the chant of monks. A yawning girl stumbled down the cobbled road, a cloak wrapped around her, pushing a cart of apples. And yet, despite these few night souls, the city seemed eerily silent and still. Somewhere out here, in one of these houses, Dry Bones waits, Jamie knew, glad for the weight of her sword over her back.

She found that her feet led her toward the city square, where the fair had taken place. The square, packed with thousands only hours ago, now lay barren like a crater. The light of oil lanterns glittered against the cobblestones. A disheveled child, maybe a beggar, was walking a mutt. An old man hummed in a corner, shucking oysters. Otherwise the place was deserted.

Jamie walked toward where she had defeated Sir Veldor, winning the sword championship. The stage was still there, and Jamie stepped onto it, examining the floor. Solid wood. Yet somehow the skeleton had grabbed her, tried to kill her. Dry Bones, Jamie knew.

"You did well today," came a voice.

Jamie started, drawing Moonclaw with a hiss and glint. She stared around frantically, then blew out a shaky breath.

"I didn't see you," she said in relief, sheathing Moonclaw.

Below the stage stood the white knight, the warrior whom Veldor had defeated before fighting Jamie. He still wore full plate armor, his face hidden behind his helmet's visor. The light of the lanterns glistened against his armor, making him look like some glittering god of steel. His sword hung at his waist, and he held a shield emblazoned with a boar.

"I know how to remain silent," said the white knight, stepping onto the stage to stand before Jamie. "It is a skill I had to learn early." His voice was muffled inside his helmet, echoing.

Jamie nodded, though she did not understand. "You did well, too," she said. "Veldor is a tough bastard, and you lasted long against him." She smiled. "You tired him out for me."

The white knight snorted. "I performed poorly. Thirty years ago, I would have defeated him with two blows. But that was a long time ago, when I was about your age." The knight laughed, his laughter echoing inside his helmet. "You remind me of a young me, Jamie Thistle of Burrfield. I was much like you, two or three decades ago."

Jamie bit her lip. "But... I'm a girl." She mussed her hair. "Don't let my boy hair or clothes fool you. I just pretend to be male."

The white knight opened his visor—her visor!—revealing startling gray eyes, a woman's soft mouth, and long brown hair streaked with white. "Why do you think I wear this armor?" she said.

Jamie gasped, nearly falling over. "Are you... the Great Lenore? The warrior woman?" Her heart thumped and she could barely breathe.

The white knight snorted. "I was great once, years ago. These days... I'm just Lenore."

Jamie couldn't help herself. She ran forward and hugged the older woman. "You are my heroine!" she breathed, tears in her eyes. "I spent countless hours in Burrfield's library reading about you. I know all about how you disguised yourself as a boy, were knighted, went on to slay dragons." She trembled. "I've always dreamed to be like you."

Lenore smiled and patted Jamie's head with her gauntleted hand. "You disguise yourself as a boy to be knighted, too?"

Jamie lowered her head. "I did, but my lord found out that I'm a girl. He kicked me out of town."

Lenore laughed, and for an instant, rage filled Jamie. How dare she mock my tragedy? And yet... Jamie found the laughter contagious. Her anger fled, and she too laughed. "I guess it is a little funny," she said.

Lenore smiled. "Jamie, let me tell you something I've learned, something you must know. You can fight as a knight, slaying dragons, a heroine. You can fight for past glory, to reclaim old days of legend. You can fight as a mercenary, a hired thug always looking for the next gig. But what I've learned is...."

Lenore's voice died off, and she frowned, tensing.

"What is it?" Jamie whispered.

Lenore drew her sword.

Jamie could still see no danger, but she too drew her blade. Then she felt it—a chill in the air, a ripple through her, her hackles rising. Something is here, something scary.

"It's in the alley behind you," Lenore whispered. "In the shadows."

Jamie spun around, stared at the dark alley, and shuddered. Before she could take a breath, five grobblers burst out of the alley, rushing toward her.

Horror flooded Jamie. She hadn't seen grobblers since that day five years ago when Dry Bones led them into Burrfield. They looked just as hideous as Jamie remembered. At least, their left halves were hideous—rotten, warty, maggoty. Their right halves remained as beautiful as nymphs. The pagan gods made sure they'd remain half beautiful, Jamie remembered, so they'll always remember their old beauty.

All this passed through Jamie's mind in a flash, as quick as her blade. The grobblers screeched, and that blade whirred, spilling grobbler blood. Lenore's blade flew with equal skill, and soon two grobblers lay dead. Last time I saw you I was ten and weak, Jamie thought, snarling. A grobbler reached toward her, and she chopped off its hand. I've grown.

"Behind you!" Lenore shouted.

Jamie spun. Three more grobblers emerged from a second alley, fangs bared, drooling. Two wore patches of armor and carried swords. The third grobbler towered a foot taller than the others, cloaked and hooded in black, a staff in its wormy hand.

Jamie ran toward them, screaming. "Watch my back, Lenore!"

"Got it!"

A grobbler hand reached toward her. Jamie hacked it off, but the grobbler seemed not to care. Its hand severed, the grobbler leaned in and bit Jamie's shoulder.

Screaming, Jamie knocked Moonclaw's handguard into the grobbler's head. She heard—and felt—a sickening crack as the metal hit the grobbler's skull. Howling, the grobbler let go. Jamie was free, but not for long. A second grobbler grabbed her leg, and she fell. Claws dug into her arm. Jamie's eyelids fluttered, and she knew not up from down, left from right. Everywhere were fangs and leering eyes, and all she felt was pain. "Sorry, Father," she whispered, vaguely aware of his sword still clutched in her hand. "Sorry I let you down."

The hilt of that sword felt warm—no, burning hot—and Jamie could hear Father's voice in her head. Get up. On your feet! A Thistle does not go down this easily.

Jamie sucked in her breath, then howled and kicked. Her boots hit grobbler faces, and she leaped to her feet, bloodied but waving her blade. That blade swung true, and two grobbler heads rolled. A third grobbler rushed at her, drooling and screeching. Jamie sidestepped and swung Moonclaw. The grobbler fell.

Jamie looked around wildly. "Lenore!"

The white knight lay on her back. Three grobblers leaned over her, biting and clawing, but they could not penetrate her armor. Was Lenore dead? No—Jamie saw her arm move.

The cloaked grobbler, its left half hairy and wormy, began uttering a spell. Grobblers casting magic? Jamie did not pause to contemplate, but rushed forward, sword raised. One of the armored grobblers ran to meet her, wielding its own sword. The blades clanged.

With two parries and a thrust, Jamie killed her opponent. By then, the cloaked grobbler had finished its spell. With a crackle and the smell of fire, the magic turned Lenore's armor to dust. The metal plates blew away in the wind, leaving Lenore defenseless.

"Lenore!" Jamie cried and leaped forward. Two grobblers remained. She ran one through with blind rage, blood splattering her arm. The cloaked, warlock grobbler—the last survivor—left Lenore, fangs stained with her blood, and screeched.

Jamie swung her sword. The grobbler knocked the blade aside with its arm, not even suffering a nick. Damn it, this is some kind of uber-grobbler. Jamie thrust her sword, stabbing the creature, but her blade bounced back as if hitting a breastplate. The grobbler didn't just turn Lenore's armor to dust, Jamie realized, shivering. The magic gave the grobbler the armor's power.

"Lenore!" Jamie shouted, but the knight remained on the ground. Was she dead?

The cloaked grobbler grabbed Jamie's throat and lifted her into the air. Jamie could not even scream. Choking, she kicked the grobbler's face, but it was like kicking metal. Stars floated before Jamie's eyes, and her throat ached with more pain than she'd ever felt.

Suddenly the grobbler howled and dropped Jamie. Jamie hit the cobblestones, bashing her knees. Lenore, dragging herself across the ground, had stabbed the grobbler behind the knee with a dagger.

"I know," Lenore whispered, pale and bloody, "where my armor is weak."

The grobbler was on the ground. Jamie rose to her feet and slammed her sword onto its head, again and again—a dozen times—until the grobbler's magic cracked and it fell over dead.

Bloody and panting, Jamie leaped toward Lenore and knelt beside her. The warrior woman lay on her back, face pale, breath shallow. Blood covered her tunic.

"Lenore," Jamie whispered, tears in her eyes, her fingers trembling. She clutched her heroine's hands. They were icy.

"Jamie," Lenore whispered, her eyes glassy, her hair sticking to her brow. "You fought well." She smiled, a faint smile that soon faded.

Jamie's heart froze, and she could barely breathe. No. I can't lose her. She looked around frantically, seeking help. She saw the old man, his oysters forgotten, staring with wide eyes from the distance.

"Find a doctor!" she called to him. "Hurry."

As the old man rushed off, Jamie turned back to Lenore, leaning over her. Wincing, she examined Lenore's wound, and ice seemed to cover her. She felt the blood leaving her face.

"It's bad," Lenore whispered.

Jamie shook her head, tears falling. "The doctor is coming."

Lenore reached toward her shield, which lay on the ground beside her, dusty, splattered with grobbler blood. "Take my shield," she whispered, pulling it over the cobblestones. "Bear it on your journey. Carry on what I've begun."

Jamie shook her head, sobbing. "You'll bear that shield beside me, fighting with me. You're too strong to die."

Lenore clutched Jamie's hand. "Promise you'll carry my shield, that you'll keep fighting for us."

Jamie nodded, tears on her lips. The scene was too familiar, and she cried not only for Lenore, but for her parents. "I promise." Another promise to bear, another death to carry like her sword and shield. She lifted Lenore's shield and held it, lips tightened. "But tell me, Lenore, what is that thing you learned? The thing I must know?"

Lenore smiled and closed her eyes, her face pale. "You'll find out. Thank you, Jamie. Thank you."

The old man came rushing back, two priests and a physician in tow, their robes fluttering over the cobblestones. By the time they knelt by Lenore, it was too late. Her breath had left her lungs, her eyes had closed, and Jamie remained kneeling by her, Lenore's cold hand in hers, tears on her cheeks.

"Goodbye, the heroine I barely knew," she whispered. "It was an honor to fight by you."

Her lips tight, she clutched Lenore's shield close to her, a white limewood shield emblazoned with a charging boar. I will bear it for you, like I bear my Father's blade. I'll follow in your footsteps.

"She was a great knight," she whispered. "Bury her among heroes."

She looked up into the night sky, a tear trailing down her cheek, and took a deep breath. Orion glittered above, the warrior—her stars. I'll find out, Lenore, Jamie swore, the shield heavy and comforting on her arm. I'll find out what I'm supposed to learn.

As the priests carried Lenore's body away, Jamie walked alone through the night, lips tightened. She couldn't wait to see Dry Bones again. Then he will meet my sword, and he will meet my shield.

Chapter Fourteen

The Merchant of Menace

When Romy woke up, it was dark outside, and she was lying in a bed, a blanket pulled over her. She couldn't remember getting into bed. What's going on? Last thing she remembered, she was sitting at a table with her friends, finishing yet another pint of beer (she'd lost count after ten), and trying to sing a song of the underground. How did I get into bed?

She turned her head to look for Neev, and the movement made pain shoot through her. She moaned, but moaning only made her nauseous. She stumbled out of bed, holding her belly, and managed to reach the window in time. She threw up onto the bushes below. Owie. She felt a little better, but not much. Why do I drink so much? Every time, I swear I'll never drink again. And every time, I end up puking out of some window.

Head aching, she blinked. In the moonlight, she saw the other Bullies asleep around her. The room held three beds. Scruff and Neev shared one bed, while Jamie and Cobweb shared another. Awww... they gave me the third bed, all for me. They do love me. It made her feel all warm and ticklish inside. Oh wait, that's not warmth and tickliness. She stumbled toward the window and threw up some more. Blech. I am never drinking again.

She stumbled toward her bed, but instead of climbing in, she stood for a moment. The bed looked so cold and empty. Suddenly she, too, wanted a bedmate, somebody to keep her warm, to keep her company. She looked at the bed Scruff and Neev were sharing. Both were breathing deeply, fast asleep. There was some empty space between them. Romy tapped her chin, nodded, then climbed in.

Neev mumbled but did not wake. Scruff snored, oblivious. Romy smiled. It felt nice to lie here, two warm bodies at her sides, keeping her safe. Truth be told, Romy was a little scared of the night. It was funny, she supposed, for a demon to be scared. Demons were supposed to be scary, not scared. But sometimes Romy couldn't help it. The sounds of creaking trees, crickets, and especially owls made her shiver. Snuggled between Neev and Scruff, she felt secure.

In his sleep, Scruff tossed an arm over her. His arm was beefy, nearly as big as Romy's entire body, and it almost crushed her to death, but she did not mind. No owls can get me this way.

Scrunching her lips, she closed her eyes and nestled against Neev. "I love you, Mommy," she whispered, kissed his nape, and fell asleep.

She dreamed a strange dream. She was back in Hell and torturing yet another sinner, as she did every day. As she whipped him, she yawned, because she was so bored, so very bored whipping people all day. Finally she hung up her whip, yawned again, and walked through the valleys of Hell, strolling along a river of lava. Suddenly she saw Neev ahead in the shadows.

"Mommy!" she said happily and rushed toward him. "You are here in Hell. Did Dry Bones kill you?"

Neev smiled, the lava painting his face red. "Sorry, Romy," he said. "I'm off to Heaven now. I just came to say goodbye."

"No, Neev!" she said and grabbed him. "Don't leave me."

But he began to ascend, and as hard as Romy tugged, she could not stop him. Finally he broke from her grasp and disappeared, floating up into Heaven, forever gone from her life. Romy began to cry.

"Neev... I don't want you to go. Don't leave me."

"Romy, what the—? I'm not going anywhere, and stop drooling on me."

Romy opened her eyes. It was morning. She was lying in bed, her head against Neev's chest. She blinked feebly, struggling to bring her eyes into focus.

"Neev?" she said, voice weak, the world fuzzy.

He sighed. "Romy, who said you can sneak into bed with me? Now get off. You're making a mess."

Romy noticed that she had drooled all over his shirt. She didn't care. She closed her eyes again; the light seared her. "My brain hurts. Let me sleep some more."

But Neev got out of bed, leaving her cold and lonely. Scruff too, who had lain on her other side, left the bed. Romy heard him stretch and yawn. She opened one eye, saw that Jamie and Cobweb were getting up, then closed her eye.

"Nimugguummmm," she mumbled and began drifting back into sleep.

Neev poked her shoulder. "Romy. Romy, get up. We're getting breakfast."

"Grumblegrumbrmummum," Romy said and hugged a pillow, ignoring him. Everything hurt.

She drifted back into sleep, dreaming of ducklings who chased her, quacking evilly. When she finally woke again, the sun had moved in the sky, and the other Bullies were gone. They left for breakfast without me! How rude.

Blinking, Romy rolled out of bed, falling onto the floor with a thud. Wincing, she struggled to her feet and staggered toward the table. She found a handheld mirror and lifted it, barely able to curl her fingers around it. She rubbed her eyes to clear them from sleep, then examined her reflection. She looked awful. Her hair of flame fizzled, like a fire somebody tossed sand into. Her eyes, normally blazing like two lanterns, now looked like dull embers. Her deep red skin was creased with the lines of her pillow.

Romy stretched and donned Neev's cloak; he had left it upon a chair. She wobbled downstairs, where she found her fellow Bullies at a table, eating bread, cheese, and bacon. They had saved an empty seat for her and a plate of food.

"Morning everyone," she said. "Thanks for saving me some breakfast."

Jamie muttered through a mouthful of bread. "It's two hours past noon. We're eating a late lunch. We just got back from shopping." She swallowed her food. "We visited loads of stores: Arthur's Armor and Arms, Candy Mountain, Sandoory's Sundry Spellbooks and Scrolls (Neev wanted to go there), Cloaks for Less, We R Boots, and even the Perfume Princess for Cobweb."

Romy gasped. She noticed that Jamie and Scruff wore new, silvery breastplates and helmets. Their glitter hurt Romy's eyes, making her squint. Neev wore a new cloak of deep green wool, since Romy normally wore his old black one. He was also leafing through a new spellbook, a tome bound in red leather. Cobweb didn't wear anything new, but Romy smelled frankincense on her; she must have bought perfume. They all wore new leather boots.

"But I didn't get to buy anything," Romy pouted. She especially felt jealous of the boots; she had never owned shoes, and walked everywhere barefoot.

Neev shrugged and closed his spellbook, raising a shower of dust. "Well, that's what happens when you get drunk and sleep until afternoon."

"Boo." Romy stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm going to buy myself a delicious poodle later, and you can't stop me."

Still wobbly, she sat down and made herself a bacon, cheese, and kale sandwich. The food made her stomach whine, but she forced herself to eat it. It ain't pnoodle soup, but it'll help me feel better.

The door to the tavern creaked open, and Romy winced, the sound like a claw in her skull. Eyes narrowed, she turned to see a paunchy, bearded man enter the tavern. Normally Romy wouldn't spare him a glance, but something seemed odd about this man; she couldn't quite pinpoint it. Chewing her sandwich, she examined him. He looked like a nobleman or merchant down on his luck, once wealthy but fallen upon hard times. He wore a costly, embroidered cloak that had seen better days, a hat that was stylish a hundred years ago, and dusty boots. Two ruby rings adorned his fingers, pricey pieces that looked generations old, their gold dull.

Romy's food suddenly felt tasteless. She had spent two hundred years whipping sinners, and she could smell a rotten soul a mile away. This man smelled... maybe not quite rotten, but wrong. Almost as if another's scent had clung to him, invaded him. It makes no sense. I don't get it.

With sinking spirits, Romy saw that the man approached the Bullies' table. He stood by her, removed his plumed hat, and said, "Are you the Bullies? Bullies for Bucks?"

"No," Romy said at once.

"Romy!" Jamie said, kicking her under the table. She turned to the man. "Yes, we're Bullies for Bucks. How can we help you?"

Romy winced and rubbed her leg. This man might be a client, but still, she didn't trust him. She trusted her nose, and her nose told her two things today: bacon was delicious, and this man was trouble.

The man fished five golden coins from his pocket and slammed them onto the table. They gleamed. Romy didn't understand human currency, but judging by how her friends' eyes glowed, she assumed this was a fortune. This much money could buy many poodles. Still, Romy didn't like it; these coins smelled wrong, too.

"There are five more golds once you rescue my daughter," said the man. "Roogs kidnapped her to their cave, where they torment her for fun. My name is Yona. Will you help me?"

Roogs! Romy shuddered. She hated those creatures. Hated them. She would sometimes see them wander the underground. They did not dwell as deep as demons; they lived in tunnels near the First Circle, sometimes foraging for food on Earth, sometimes digging deep to hunt baby demons. They looked like humans, but had milky white skin, no hair, and mouths for eyes, each mouth full of fangs. They were known as thieves and racketeers, not as cruel as grobblers or disgusting as moldmen, but greedy beasts who'd do anything for money.

Yona's voice trembled, but Romy suspected it was all an act; his eyes remained cold. She opened her mouth to refuse him, but Jamie kicked her again, even harder this time, and Romy bit her tongue. Jamie might be just fifteen, five feet in heels, and barely a hundred pounds, but she was a strong little devil. Ouch.

"What does your daughter look like?" Scruff asked the man, brushing crumbs off his tunic.

This time, Jamie kicked her brother. "What does it matter what she looks like?" she demanded. "If she's ugly, you won't save her?"

Scruff sulked. "I need to recognize her if I'm to rescue her."

"The girl who's in the roog cave, tied up, will be her," Jamie said. "I think even you'll manage to pinpoint her."

Yona scratched his beard and launched into a tale, explaining how he was once a wealthy merchant, but fell into trouble with racketeering roogs. The roogs kidnapped his daughter a week ago, and he paid them a high ransom, but they never returned the girl. "There are only three roogs," he assured them, handing them a map leading to their cave. "I'm sure you can kill them easily."

Throughout the speech, Romy kept shaking her head. This is wrong, she thought. She knew roogs; they traveled in clans of dozens, seeking safety in numbers. Three would never operate alone. This merchant was lying. Romy growled at him, but Jamie kicked her again. She opened her mouth and tried to voice her concerns, but Jamie gave her a glower so withering, that Romy closed her mouth and fumed.

"But— but—" she tried to say when Scruff shook Yona's hand, accepting the offer. Neev put a finger to her lips, shutting her up.

"What are you doing, Romy?" Neev hissed into her ear, his hand on her shoulder. "We can't keep scaring poodles for turnips. This is big money. We need this gig."

Romy let her head drop. "I guess so," she said miserably. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was just hung over and sensing evil everywhere. She glanced back at Yona. The bearded merchant smiled at her, but she sensed no warmth in his eyes.

There were five Bullies, and Yona had given them five golds. Scruff handed them around, a coin each. Romy held hers in her palm, watching it gleam. She put it into her pocket, wondering how much poodles cost, and where she could buy one.

"Remember, five more golds when you bring back my daughter," Yona said.

Scruff shook his hand again. "We'll leave at once."

The Bullies shoved last bites of food into their mouths (Scruff also shoved leftover bacon into his pocket), then headed toward the door. Romy walked with her head lowered, feet shuffling.

"Oh, before you leave," the merchant said, and they turned back to face him. He seemed red in the face, as if embarrassed, and looked at Cobweb. "Dear spiderling, what is your name?"

"I'm Cobweb," she said, bowing her head. Her white hair and gossamer dress glowed.

Yona sketched a bow. "My lady Cobweb, would you stay behind as my bodyguard? The roogs are after me; they want to kill me. But roogs fear spiderlings, and would not dare approach if you guard me. Would you stay with me in this tavern? I'll toss in another gold for your bodyguard services."

"No deal," Romy said.

Scruff frowned at her. "Romy, what's gotten into you today?"

"I don't want Cobweb to stay alone," she replied, crossing her arms. "It's not safe. Cobweb, come with us."

Cobweb put a hand on Romy's shoulder. "I'ww be aww wight, Womy," she said. Her blue eyes softened, and a smile touched her lips. She's so pretty, Romy thought, suddenly wishing she too had purple skin and pointy ears. No wonder the merchant wants her to stay with him.

"Are you sure?" she asked, voice weak.

Cobweb nodded. "I have my b-bow and my d-d-daggew, and we'ww stay in dis tavewn da whowe time. Go and save Yona's d-daughtew, Womy. D-don't wowwy about me. We'we doing a g-good ting. We'we hewping p-peopwe in need." Cobweb breathed deeply; struggling with so many words seemed to taken a lot out of her.

"And earning money," Jamie added, hand on her sword's pommel.

Scruff and Jamie left the tavern. Following them, Neev took Romy's arm and led her toward the door. Before she stepped outside, Romy turned and gave Cobweb one last, pleading look. Then Neev dragged her into the street, and they headed off to save Yona's daughter.

* * * * *

The Thistle Kids left the tavern, accompanied by their pet demon, leaving the cute spiderling behind. Looking at Cobweb, all alone with him at the table, Dry Bones smiled. Her beauty still amazed him; the golden freckles speckling her small nose, her glowing white hair, her blue eyes, her lavender skin. Such a marvelous creature deserved better than to tag along with the Thistle Kids, living the rough life of a bully.

"Can I buy you some wine?" he asked.

"Oh no, I'm fine, I shouwdn't dwink on d-duty." Cobweb kept her hand on her bow, taking her job seriously. Adorable. It was so cute, that Dry Bones wanted to have her, right there and then.

He wished he could be himself. He hated dressing in these coarse clothes of a commoner, and he was using lots of energy, maintaining the spells that cloaked his bones with flesh. The magic tired him, requiring constant effort, like keeping one's stomach sucked in. If he dropped his concentration, the spell would dissipate; the flesh, skin, and muscles would melt away, leaving him a skeleton once more.

Still, the effort was worth it. He had duped the Thistle Kids and sent them into a trap. The demon had been suspicious, but nobody took her seriously. Dry Bones had nothing against Romy; she had not wronged him, but she traveled with his enemies, so she too would die.

Dry Bones smiled. When the Thistle Kids reached the cave, they would find no merchant's daughter, of course. What they would find... was death.

"Is someting f-funny?" Cobweb asked, and Dry Bones realized that he was chuckling. I really have to work on getting rid of this evil chuckle, he thought.

"Oh, I was thinking about how happy I'll be when my daughter returns, safe and sound," he said.

Cobweb's eyes softened and she patted his arm. Her hand felt heavenly, so soft and warm. "I'm suwe she'ww be b-back soon," the spiderling said. "My fwiends are gweat at what dey do. Dey'ww save hew. And my b-bow and awwows wiww pwotect you untiw dey come b-back."

So cute. Dry Bones patted her hand. To touch her—heaven! "Thank you, Cobweb," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

As she smiled, he peeked a glance down her neckline. Lovely. Dry Bones had not loved a woman in years. Not since Sam Thistle had burned the flesh off his bones. Since then, he had lived a lonely life, his only companion Baumgartner and, once in a while, Issa. But that was all right. Dry Bones realized that all these years, he had just been waiting to meet the right woman. And that woman was Cobweb. Why settle for a mere human when I can have a spiderling, the most beautiful creature on Earth?

"When your friends come back, I'll take you to a jeweler, and buy you whatever you want," he said. "You deserve it."

"Oh, dat's aww wight," Cobweb said, caressing her necklace of painted apple seeds. "You d-don't need to buy me anyting. I'm n-n-not doing dis for any wewawd. I j-just want to hewp p-peopwe."

She is such a cutie. So pure and trusting. Dry Bones just wanted to pinch her cheeks. He had no illusions about Cobweb loving him back, of course. Without his spell—which would wear off soon—he was just a skeleton. Girls didn't find skeletons attractive. But that's what magic is for, he thought. Cobweb would be his prize. He would slip a love potion into her drink, and then she would be his forever.

Dry Bones sipped his beer, hiding his smile inside his mug. Being a warlock was great.

Chapter Fifteen

The Bully Trap

"We're going in circles," Jamie moaned.

They were walking through the woods, beech and oak trees rustling around them. Beads of sunlight twinkled as the trees moved, logs and acorns lay upon the forest floor, and a stream gurgled beside them. It was a beautiful forest, but Jamie didn't care. She was in the wrong mood for appreciating beauty. Her knucklehead brother had gotten them lost. It was just like him.

Standing by a mossy boulder, Scruff checked the map Yona had given him. "His map is confusing. Look at this north, south, east, west. That's just a matter of perspective, ain't it?"

Jamie sighed. "How is north and south a matter of perspective?"

"Well, it's relative to where you're standing, see?" Scruff jabbed his finger at the map.

"You really are an idiot," Jamie said. It was hard to believe she and Scruff shared the same parents. Surely he was a changeling, an ogre who was swapped with her true brother. She loved Scruff, but sometimes—like now—she just wanted to kick him. She gave into the urge, giving him a good solid kick to his calf.

"Ow!" Scruff's face flushed and he rubbed his leg. He shook the map at her. "Look, say I tell you you've got a stain on the left side of your shirt, it could be my left, could be your left. Same with north and south; it's confusing."

Romy piped up. "To us from the underground, everything in the world is just up."

Jamie ignored her. Why did Romy insist on tagging along anyway? The demon spent her whole time whining. She insisted on walking while holding Neev's hand. Whenever he pulled his hand free, Romy began to pout, until Neev finally held her hand again. Sometimes even that wasn't enough, and Romy began to whine that she wanted a piggyback ride. Jamie had kicked her a couple times too, but nothing could shut her up.

Jamie grabbed the map from Scruff, nearly tearing it. "Let me see that."

"You're holding it wrong," Scruff insisted. "You need to hold it upside down if you're facing south, or it won't be your south."

"There's only one south!" Jamie shouted. "You got us walking in circles, Scruff."

"Did not."

Jamie pointed her sword at an oak. "We passed by that tree three times already."

Scruff grumbled. "All these trees look the same, how do you know?"

"Because I carved something on it last time we passed it." She pointed. Words were carved into the wood: Scruff, you're an idiot.

Scruff growled and clutched his head. "Fine," he said. "You have the map now. Let's see how well you do."

Holding the map, Jamie began to lead the way. The others followed, Scruff sulking, Neev and Romy holding hands.

They walked for a long time.

After a while, Jamie had to admit: the map was confusing. But she would not admit defeat. Her pride would not let her. She continued to lead the others, and whenever anyone piped up, she silenced them with a glower and, if that did not suffice, a good kick.

They must have walked for an hour or two, and it began to grow dark. Romy moaned, and even Neev, who had been mostly silent, spoke up.

"The merchant said the cave is only five miles away," the young warlock said. "How did we get lost in only five miles?"

Jamie sighed. "I did my best, but Scruff got us so lost, even I couldn't get us back on track."

Romy snickered, but Jamie shut her up with a scowl.

The sun setting, they made camp between birch trees, the earth strewn with pebbles and cyclamens. Romy lit a fire—the only thing she was good at, if you asked Jamie—and they curled up in their cloaks. Though it was summer, the night was chilly, and Jamie lay with Scruff on one side, Romy on the other. Scruff was a big brute and blocked the wind, while Romy was always warm, like a living furnace. Jamie slept like a log, cuddling her sheathed sword, too weary to even dream.

When dawn broke, Jamie took a pan and oats from her backpack, and cooked everyone porridge. They kept walking in the morning, dew clinging to the birches, grass, and mushrooms. As she led the way, map in her hand, Jamie thought back to how the skeleton had tripped her. Dry Bones. It had to be him. Why was he after them? Was Dry Bones the warlock who destroyed Burrfield, who murdered their parents? Jamie swallowed, suddenly feeling close to tears. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to avenge your deaths, Mom and Dad. She had spent the past five years studying swordplay, preparing for this moment. For five years, since she was ten, she had thought of nothing but killing that warlock. And now that warlock was hunting her too. Let him come at me again. I crushed his hand last time. Next time, I'll crush his skull. She growled.

She looked at her brothers. She knew they shared the same sentiment. Scruff was a sweetheart and rarely got angry, and Neev was thoughtful and had taught himself to control his anger. But Jamie knew she could count on them. They wanted Dry Bones dead, too. They hate him just as much. Jamie sighed. She often kicked and insulted her big brothers, but suddenly she loved them so much, she wanted to cry. Strangely, she suddenly even loved Romy... kind of.

Finally, Jamie managed to make sense of this blasted map, and at noon, they found the cave.

"At last!" Scruff exclaimed.

They faced a hill covered with trees, pebbles, and mossy boulders. A cliff rose atop the hill like a jutting tooth, drenched in sunlight, bedecked with vines. In the center of the cliff, the roogs' cave gaped.

Jamie nodded. "This is the place." She rolled up the map and stuffed it into her backpack. "Now let's go save Yona's daughter."

They walked up the hill, heading toward the cave, when a stench hit Jamie's nostrils. She looked up, growling, and saw a roog sitting outside the cave.

Jamie shivered. She had seen roogs only in picture books, and they were even uglier in person. The roog ahead was lanky, his skin milky white, his head bald. Worst of all, he had mouths instead of eyes, their fangs dripping drool. When he looked up at the Bullies, he opened and closed those mouths as if blinking.

"Finally," the roog said, voice like cracking wood. "You're late, you are." He blinked at Scruff. "Blimey, you're huge."

Romy scratched her head. "Are you the merchant's daughter?" she asked.

The roog hissed through all three mouths. "What daughter? You were supposed to get here yesterday, you were. That's what Dry Bones said. We were fifty of us waiting for you, but the others gave up and left."

"Well, soooo sorry!" Romy said. "The merchant should have given us a better map."

"Wait, wait!" Neev said, stomping up the slope toward the roog, burrs on his robes. "Dry Bones the warlock? He told you and your friends to wait for us?"

"We've been set up," Jamie said and raised her sword. Beside her, Scruff raised his mace. The sight of this roog disgusted Jamie, and she couldn't wait to kill it.

"Wait one moment," Romy said to the pale roog, frowning. "Do you mean you are not the merchant's daughter?"

Scruff took a menacing step toward the roog, Norman raised, its spikes glinting. "This whole thing was a trap."

The roog sighed. When he spoke again, he no longer spoke from the mouth beneath his nose, but from the mouth that functioned as his left eye. "Well, it should have been, but you got lost and ruined it, you did. It would have been a great surprise... but now only I'm here."

"Cobweb...," Jamie whispered, a sudden chill gripping her, trickling down her spine. She could see that her friends were thinking the same thing.

"We have to get back," Scruff said. He grabbed the roog by the scaly neck, his hand trembling, his face red. "Show us the way back, quick, and we'll let you live."

As they raced through the forest, Jamie tightened her lips, her fist clutching her sword. Her stomach ached with fear. They had not fallen for the trap... but Cobweb was alone, and Dry Bones was after them.

"Damn," Jamie whispered.

* * * * *

Cobweb had never imagined she'd become a bodyguard. Not in a million years. And yet here she was, her bow in her hands and a dagger in her belt, guarding a human from roogs.

It was true. Roogs did fear (and hate) spiderlings. They sometimes stalked the outskirts of Spidersilk Forest, not daring to approach for fear of spiderling arrows. Cobweb had learned to fire her bow from a young age, and had once even joined the adult spiderlings in patrol of their borders.

I'm an adult now, too, Cobweb thought, sitting in this seedy human tavern, keeping her eye on the door for invading roogs. I'm sixteen now, a grown spiderling. After their Star Ceremony, Spiderlings were grown ups; even those banished from Spidersilk Forest. At the thought of her home, of those trees and streams where she grew up, tears filled Cobweb's eyes. She missed home so much, she ached. If not for my clumsy tongue....

Cobweb blinked and wiped her tears away, hoping Yona did not see. But he saw, and he handed her a kerchief. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

She took the kerchief and blotted the last of her tears. "I'm fine, I'm j-j-just... tinking of youw d-daughtew." She hated lying, but how would Yona understand if she spoke of the world she had lost? No human had seen Spidersilk Forest and would not fathom its beauty, a beauty no place in the human world could match.

But there was one thing in this strange human world that comforted her: her friends. Especially Scruff, she thought and felt her face tingle. The Bullies were her new clan. Cobweb had not known them for long, but she loved them wholeheartedly—even the demon Romy.

"You're sad," Yona said. "I'll order you some sweet summer wine. I'll be right back."

The merchant in the dusty cloak went to the bar, and Cobweb watched his back, making sure no roogs could approach without first meeting her arrows. Yona ordered and received her drink, and as Cobweb watched him intently, she narrowed her eyes. A gasp fled her lips. It seemed to her that Yona had—it couldn't be, could it?—pulled a vial from his pocket, then splashed something into her cup.

Cobweb's stomach knotted. Yona had moved fast, like an illusionist performing a slight of hand. Human eyes would never have noticed it, but spiderlings had hawk eyes. Whatever Yona had done to her drink, he had tried to mask it. No doubt he was used to fooling humans, but spiderlings were not easily deceived.

Cobweb missed her friends. Suddenly she felt very alone.

Yona returned to the table and placed the pewter cup before her. "Sweet summer wine!" he said. "As sweet and rosy as you."

She nodded with a slight smile. "T-t-ank you, Yona. You'we vewy gwacious." She looked at the pink drink. "I hope you d-don't mind me pwying, b-but... I was watching fow woogs, and... I saw you p-pouw someting into my dwink. D-do you mind if I ask w-what it is? I hope I'm n-not offending you."

Yona's eyes widened; he seemed shocked that she had noticed. Cobweb wondered if she was just ignorant in humans ways and had insulted him. For an instant, his eyes seemed almost angry... but then he laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Why, you are observant. I hope you don't mind. You see, at these cheap taverns, the bartender often waters down the drinks. I carry around a bottle of spirits to spice things up. I gave your drink an extra kick."

Cobweb was a trusting person. She hated to think that anyone could lie. Surely this poor merchant was telling the truth. Be trusting, Cobweb! she admonished herself. "Tank you," she said with a smile and lowered eyes. "But I'm not g-good with stwong dwinks. Dey m-make me feew siwwy."

Suddenly a voice boomed, making Cobweb start.

"Watering down my drinks?!"

It was the bartender, waddling toward them, cheeks flushed. Cobweb bit her lip. The tavern—the cheapest in Queenpool—was full of slovenly, menacing fellows, and the bartender was the worst among them. His beard was scraggly, his apron stained, and his bare shoulders were as hairy as his head. Cobweb winced, cowering in her chair.

"You think I water down my drinks?" the bartender repeated, slamming his fist against the table, his cheeks flushed. "You don't like 'em, don't buy 'em!"

With that, the bartender lifted Cobweb's drink and downed it.

Yona groaned.

Cobweb watched with wide eyes.

The bartender kept his gaze, fiery, upon Yona. But as Cobweb watched, the fire left his eyes. Like wax melting, the anger melted off the bartender, and became... softness. The bartender blinked, licked his lips, and Cobweb gasped; love filled his eyes!

"Oh... I'm sorry, sweetie," the bartender said to Yona. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. Here, let's kiss and make up."

Yona groaned again, louder this time.

The bartender opened his arms and tried to hug Yona. The merchant squirmed and managed to free himself, knocking back his chair. The bartender was making kissing sounds, reaching out his arms. What's gotten into him? Cobweb wondered, gaping. The tavern's barflies gaped too, rubbing their eyes.

Cobweb understood.

Yona placed a love potion in my drink.

"Stand back!" Yona demanded, but the bartender would not. He tried to hug and kiss Yona again. Cursing, Yona stepped back, knocking over a table. The bartender came after him, eyes full of love, and Yona fled. He ran out the door, the bartender in pursuit, and Cobweb stood frozen. Let him run! she thought. I can't protect him now. Not after what he did, after he tried to enchant me.

She bit her lip, remembering Romy's warning. The demon had been right.

What was going on?

Chapter Sixteen

Bone Hunt

Dry Bones fled town just before his spell died.

The portly bartender chasing him, he raced out the city gates into the forest. He'd have killed the bartender, but he was low on magic; keeping this facade of flesh and hair sucked up more power than he'd expected. He was, after all, a warlock—a master of black magic, an expert of the occult. He could summon demons with the best of them, but spells of disguise, borrowed from other schools of magic, exhausted him.

"Where are you, sweetie?" the bartender was crying out. Dry Bones slipped into the trees surrounding Queenpool. He heard the bartender looking for him, weeping, crunching twigs and leaves. Dry Bones could maintain his spell no longer; he was all out of magic. The disguise flowed off his body like a rain of black sparks. He held out his arms and watched as the skin peeled back, revealing muscles which soon melted, leaving but bleached bones. He felt the flesh melt off the rest of his body, too, and the old chill returned. It was so cold when you were a skeleton.

Baumgartner, who had hid in his pocket, slipped into Dry Bones' ribcage, the snake's favorite perch. There he hissed contentedly, and Dry Bones fed him a dead mouse from another pocket.

"Why do you hide from me?" the bartender cried, but his voice was moving farther away; he was searching among the wrong trees.

Dry Bones sighed. "A warlock shouldn't hide between the trees like a coward, I know, Baumgartner, but I'm tired. Enough magic for a few hours." After casting spells from competing schools of magic, he always needed a while to replenish his reserves.

"Magic is like blood in your body," he'd tell his students. "It gives you life, but every time you use it, you lose that blood. Use enough, and you'll need time to recover. Use too much, you'll die."

"Is that what happened to you?" Neev had asked when he heard this lesson. This had been five years ago, when Neev was just twelve, the youngest apprentice ever admitted to the Coven. "Did you use too much magic, draw so much of this 'blood' until you became a skeleton?"

The other apprentices gasped. A few looked away as if wishing they could disappear, and one student indeed cast an invisibility spell. You never asked Dry Bones about how he became a skeleton. That was an unwritten rule of the Coven—one Neev, a new apprentice, had not yet heard, or perhaps purposefully flaunted.

"Shut up!" hissed the apprentice beside Neev, a black-haired girl with too many earrings. But Dry Bones raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"It's all right, Naya," he said to the girl. "Young Neev has a right to ask. We have no secrets here. We never have secrets when magic is involved. No, Neev. I did not use too much magic. I was, you see... in a fire."

The students leaned forward, gaping, knowing that here was a momentous moment in Coven history. Finally, the mysterious Dry Bones, the High Warlock himself, was opening up! Dry Bones smiled wryly—at least, as much as it was possible for his skull to smile wryly.

"What happened?" Neev whispered, awed.

Your father happened, Dry Bones wanted to say. I killed him for it, and soon I'll kill you and your siblings. But no—not yet. The moment would come in good time.

"A knight burned my grimoire," he said softly. "I was young and foolish. Without thinking, I reached into the fire, and it grabbed me. I'd have died, but I was powerful enough already, powerful enough to defeat death." Dry Bones' bony fists clenched. "I could not stop the fire from taking my flesh, but with magic, my apprentices, I clung to life. Because magic is greater than death. Black magic can tame, enslave, and shape death. Remember that always." He stared at Neev. And remember, too, that wronging a warlock is a terrible mistake. I killed your father, Neev; he was that knight who burned me. And I will destroy all his heirs. That jinx I cursed you with is only the beginning.

He did not speak those last words, of course. When the time was right, just when Neev was happiest, just when he thought death and pain were behind him... he would feel Dry Bones' wrath.

Standing in the forest outside Queenpool, Dry Bones lowered his head, the memories aching. The bartender was gone now, and Dry Bones stepped out of the trees. He stood outside the walls of the city, a dirt road leading north and south. Dry Bones pulled his hood over his head and tightened his cloak around him.

"I know a place where we can recover," he said to Baumgartner. "A place where friends await."

He started to walk, robes rustling. He took deep breaths, the sounds of the city fading behind him, replaced with the rustling of trees and the song of birds.

"Will the bartender suffer a broken heart forever?" he asked Baumgartner and chuckled. "That was funny, wasn't it? I'll get Cobweb to drink the potion yet, don't you worry, and now we have proof it works."

Baumgartner hissed in approval.

Dry Bones sighed. After spending time with Cobweb, he loved her more than ever. He knew women weren't attracted to skinny men—and who was skinnier than a skeleton?—but with the help of the potion, Cobweb would be happy with him.

"We're going to be very happy together, Baumgartner," he said.

The snake hissed again and coughed up some mouse fur.

* * * * *

Scruff raced into the city, panting, heart hammering. He was sweating under his breastplate and felt tempted to discard it for extra speed.

Cobweb is in danger.

If anything happened to her, Scruff would never forgive himself. This merchant—whoever he was—worked for Dry Bones, or was Dry Bones himself cloaked in magic. Scruff had seen what the warlock could do. He had seen Dry Bones' power and wrath. I won't let it happen again, Scruff swore as he ran into Queenpool, kicking up dirt. I let Dry Bones kill my parents. I won't let him harm Cobweb.

Jamie and Neev ran behind him. Romy flew, flapping her bat wings, three feet aboveground. All three looked worried, but Scruff thought he felt the most fear. He loved Cobweb. The spiderling was the most pure, kind being he knew. I have to save her.

The Bullies raced through Queenpool's streets. Townfolk scurried aside to let them pass, chickens fluttered, a fruit stall fell over. Still they ran, up cobbled streets, under awnings, across the bridge, and finally Scruff saw the Cantankerous Clam.

He paused outside the sooty tavern, breathing heavily, his chest aching. Fear flooded him, more icy than ever. When he stepped into this tavern, would he find Cobweb dead? Or would she be gone, kidnapped by Dry Bones? Scruff winced and gripped Norman. If I see Dry Bones in there, his new name will be Broken Bones.

"Ready?" he asked the others. They were out of breath, but nodded. Jamie drew her sword, and Romy hefted her pitchfork. Scruff nodded back, then burst into the tavern.

Cobweb sat inside at a table, eating grapes. "Hewwo!" she said and waved.

For a second, Scruff was confused. What? No Dry Bones? Cobweb was okay? Then he breathed in relief, rushed toward her, and hugged her. She hugged him back, her perfume filling his nostrils, and Scruff suddenly felt his face redden. Hugging Cobweb felt so... wonderful and.... Scruff shook his head.

"Where's Yona?" he asked, reluctantly releasing his embrace. He tightened his fist. I'll beat some answers out of that Yona.

"He fwed da t-tavewn," Cobweb said. "He twied to enchant me, and it went wwong."

Cobweb spent a few moments describing her ordeal, while Scruff described how they got lost and learned about the trap. Who was this Yona? Did he work for Dry Bones? Why did he want to kill them but not Cobweb? Nobody knew for sure.

"We must find him," Scruff said. The Bullies all sat around the table, and a serving wench brought them a tray of beer. Romy gleefully reached out for a pint, but Neev slapped her wrist. She pouted.

"I agree," Neev said. "Whoever this merchant is, he holds the answers. We'll track him down."

Cobweb bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "Maybe I shouwd have fowwowed him. I'm sowwy. I was j-just... scawed of him, I g-guess."

Scruff patted her shoulder. "You did the right thing, staying here. It would be dangerous to go after him alone." He gulped some beer, then slammed down his mug. "From now on, new rule. Nobody is alone. Ever. At the very least, we stay in pairs."

Jamie finished her pint and wiped her mouth. "Who anointed you king, Scruff? You're acting like our leader."

Scruff gritted his teeth. His sister annoyed him like nobody else could, not even Romy. "I'm the oldest brother, and you're only fifteen. So you follow my orders, little sister. Nobody goes anywhere alone."

"You're not as old as me," Romy said, longingly eying the beer. "I'm 207. I'm older than everyone here combined. And I have an order: pass me some beer."

Neev gave her a withering look, and Romy stuck her tongue out at him.

Scruff ignored them. He hated their bickering. Every one of them, other than Cobweb, was a pest. How didn't Cobweb go crazy among them? "All right, enough of this," he said, wiping suds off his stubble. "We need to find this Yona, this merchant, or whoever he is. We gotta comb Queenpool like combing for lice in Jamie's hair."

Jamie tried to kick him, but he had expected that, and shifted aside. Her foot hit the chair, and she glared at him. "I only had lice once, and I got them from you, Stinky."

Just then, the tavern door burst open. The slovenly bartender stumbled in, blubbering. His tears flowed down his cheeks and dampened his beard. "He left town," he wept, rushed up to Scruff, and hugged him. "Yona fled Queenpool, leaving me alone."

Scruff raised his eyebrows. He gingerly patted the weeping man's back.

"Well," Neev said, one eyebrow raised, tapping his cheek, "I guess we won't be combing the town anymore, will we?"

Cobweb took the bartender, patted his shoulder, and gently sat him in a chair. Scruff spent a few moments talking to the man, prying for details, but the bartender just kept weeping.

"And you don't know where he was heading?" Scruff kept asking.

The bartender sobbed. "He left town. I don't know where he's heading. I only know he left me."

I won't get anymore info here, Scruff decided. He rose to his feet and began walking toward the door. "If Yona left town, we better follow fast," he said over his shoulder, addressing the other bullies. "We might still catch him."

He stepped outside, and the others followed. They walked down the cobbled street, children scurrying around them and horses splashing through mud. The town seemed to close in around Scruff, the streets too narrow, the shops' awnings like the wings of circling vultures. They hurried down the streets, stepping past taverns, bakeries, barbershops, homes, and churches. Fear lay in Scruff's belly like sour oysters.

The Bullies walked silently, lips tightened, until they reached the edge of Queenpool. Outside the city walls, they hurried over the bridge, Romy shivering at the sight of ducklings in the water below.

Across the bridge, Scruff paused, standing on the country road. Grass moved in the breeze and crickets chirped.

"The road goes north or south," Scruff said, the breeze in his hair. "We don't know where Yona went, so let's split up. Romy, you have a nose like a bloodhound; you take Neev and Jamie and go south. Cobweb, you're a better tracker than any woodsman; you and I will go north. We'll meet back at the Clam tomorrow. Deal?"

"Why am I not surprised you chose to go alone with Cobweb?" Jamie muttered, and Scruff felt his cheeks burn, but luckily nobody else heard his sister. Scruff told himself he'd clobber her later.

Neev, meanwhile, grumbled about being stuck in Romy's group, but Scruff shot him a warning glance, and the young warlock sighed and shut up.

"Remember, we meet back at the Clam!" Scruff said.

The Bullies split up silently, eyes dour. Scruff was surprised to feel a tinge of sadness. As much as his siblings and Romy annoyed him... he liked having them around, he realized. As he watched them walk south, he was surprised to feel vulnerable, even with his freakish size, new breastplate, and mace.

He looked at Cobweb. She stood at his side, shorter than his shoulders, her gossamer dress glowing, her skin purple. She smiled at him, and Scruff felt his face tingle. "Well," he said, his tongue feeling heavy, "let's get going."

They began walking north, leaving Queenpool behind. The road was dangerous, Scruff knew, swarming with moldmen, grobblers, roogs, and insane skeleton warlocks. Everybody he loved was in danger, and he was homeless and outcast. But when Scruff looked at Cobweb again, warmth filled him. He looked at her sapphire eyes, her glowing white hair, her dress woven of gossamer.

He took a deep breath. Maybe the world wasn't so bad after all.

* * * * *

They were not a mile from Queenpool when it started to rain.

Scruff muttered and tightened his cloak around him. Then he looked at Cobweb, who wore nothing but her dress of cobwebs. The poor thing was soaked.

"Here," he said, removed his cloak, and held it out to her. "Wear this."

"Oh, no t-tanks," she said, smiling. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes and flowed down her hair like waterfalls. "We spidewwings wove da wain." She spread out her arms and twirled around, laughing, sparkling with raindrops.

"Lucky spiderlings," Scruff muttered. The rain was heavy in his clothes and seeped under his new armor. Worst of all, it made the way more difficult to track. If Yona had left footprints, the water would efface them.

Oaks, beeches, and birches lined the roadsides, heavy with water. The road was turning into mud so deep, Scruff's boots sank past his heels. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Cobweb seemed happy as ever, her footfalls barely sinking into the mud. "All tings of natuwe wove da wain," she said. "Pwants, stweams, and spidewwings."

Scruff found himself rather admiring a wet Cobweb, her dress clinging to her; it made his face feel hot. Once, when he slipped in the mud and bumped against her, accidentally touching her body, he stammered his apologies with a tongue thicker than the rain. Stupid, stupid, he told himself. Cobweb is a beautiful, dainty creature of magic. You're an oversized, lumbering nobody. It'll never happen, so put it out of that thick skull of yours.

They kept walking, Scruff trudging through the mud, Cobweb walking with a step light as ever. They passed few people on the road; after walking several hours, they met only a knight and his entourage, a wool trader, a group of nuns, and several pilgrims. They asked everyone about Yona, describing the merchant. The knight did not deign to respond, the wooler saw nobody, and only the nuns reported seeing a spindly, hooded figure heading north.

"It's not much," Scruff said to Cobweb, "but it's something. Let's see if we can find this hooded figure."

Cobweb nodded. "I've been fowwowing the twacks of a wone wawkew since Q-Queenpoow; dat he's hooded might mean he's ouw g-guy, twying to hide."

Scruff looked at the muddy road, brow furrowed. "You can really see tracks here?"

Cobweb nodded. "Of couwse. I'm a spidewwing. We'we g-good at dis stuff."

They dared not stop to eat, though Scruff was bone tired. Instead they ate bread, cheese, and pickles as they walked, a sordid and soggy meal. But their haste proved prudent; an hour later, with the sun low in the sky and the rain but a drizzle, they saw a hooded figure ahead. He moved silently through the mud, gangly and cloaked in black. The sight made Scruff shiver.

"Let's sneak up on him," Scruff whispered. The figure was still distant and had not seen them.

"Into da twees," Cobweb whispered back. "We'ww fowwow him off-woad."

Scruff nodded and joined Cobweb, walking a few feet off the road, trees surrounding him. Cobweb moved as quickly, gracefully, and silently as ever, but Scruff snapped every fallen branch, rustled every patch of leaves, and slid in every puddle of mud. Cobweb took his hand and guided him, and Scruff wondered at how her hand was so small and soft, not half the size of his.

After what seemed like ages, they came close to the hooded traveler. When Scruff peeked between the trees, he saw the mysterious figure several yards away.

He looked at Cobweb.

She nodded.

Scruff burst out from the trees, brandishing Norman. "Halt!" he shouted, and Cobweb popped out beside him, an arrow drawn in her bow.

The first thing Scruff noticed was that, as they had walked between the trees, they had come to a decaying stone tower. It stood by a hill twenty yards ahead, round and mossy, rising from burnt earth. The second thing Scruff noticed was that twenty other robed figures were leaving the tower, walking toward them.

"Ohhhh...," Cobweb said, the air leaving her lungs.

"Uhm, hi there," Scruff said to the robed figures. They stood, black and silent, watching him from the shadows of their hoods. "Sorry to intrude, but...."

The figures pulled back their hoods, and Scruff's voice trailed off. The fear and memories flooded him, washing him with cold sweat, making his knees tremble.

"Gwobbwers...," Cobweb whispered.

Grobblers.

Cobweb released an arrow. It slammed into one grobbler. The creature—half beauty, half crone—pulled it out and tossed it aside, laughing. The other grobblers, their faces half angelic and half monstrous, came stepping toward them.

"Run!" Scruff shouted. He and Cobweb fled. The grobblers followed. Scruff's heart hammered. Behind, the grobblers screeched.

Scruff slipped in the mud. His face hit the ground. He shouted, and an instant later, he felt grobbler claws grab him. He thrashed, blinded with mud, kicking and swinging Norman, struggling to get up. He felt claws wrench his mace away, and the screeches nearly deafened him.

"Take them alive!" one grobbler screamed, voice inhumanly high pitched. "Dry Bones said to take them alive."

"Cobweb!" Scruff tried to scream, but grobbler fists punched him. A few were kicking him; the grobblers' right feet were the dainty feet of young maidens, but their left feet were the clawed, gnarled feet of crones, bruising like clubs. They placed a sack over Scruff's head, tossed chains around him, and kept kicking. Scruff struggled well; he probably killed—or at least knocked out—a few of the monsters. But they were too many. Soon they had him chained up, a sack over his head, and he felt them lifting him.

"Cobweb!" he called again, but heard no response. Had she escaped? Had the grobblers grabbed her too? Had they killed her?

Scruff did not know, and he howled in despair.

Chapter Seventeen

Break Some Bones

Dragging her feet along the forest road, her shoulders slumped, Romy whined. "We've been following the road for hours. I'm tired. I want to rest."

Walking beside the demon, her sword dangling over her back, Jamie rolled her eyes. "What kind of demon gets tired? Aren't demons supposed to be fearsome?"

"I am fearsome," Romy said and gave a tired growl. It didn't even scare the sparrows who chirped in the beech branches. "I'm fearsomely tired."

"That"—Jamie said—"makes no sense."

"It's a pun," said Romy, kicking stones and acorns that littered the dirt road.

Jamie drew her sword and swiped it through the air, making whistling sounds. "No it's not. A pun would be, 'I'm tired as hell'. Just saying you're fearsomely tired is nonsensical."

"I'm devilishly tired."

"That still don't work."

Romy moaned and stamped her feet. "Whatever, can we just rest?"

Neev was walking beside them, wearing his new green cloak, his hood pulled over his head. He himself was tired. His new boots still needed working in, leaving his feet sore. His new spellbook, the one from Sandoory's Sundry Spellbooks and Scrolls, felt heavy in his backpack. He hadn't slept well last night, what with Romy cuddling against him, snoring and drooling on his chest. Worst of all was listening to Jamie and Romy bicker; the girls had been at it all day.

"Girls, knock it off," he said, the first time he'd spoken in a while. His voice sounded hoarse, and he pulled a skin from his belt and sipped some ale. "We'll walk until that hill ahead, then rest."

Romy sighed. She got on all fours in the mud, lowered her head, and sniffed the ground like a bloodhound. Then she rose, brushed mud off her knees and elbows, and nodded. "Yona walked here not an hour ago."

"And you're sure it's him," Neev said.

Romy tossed back her hair of flame and pouted. "Of course I'm sure. I'd recognize his smell anywhere. He smells... wrong."

"So do you, Romy," Jamie said. "You still smell like old beer."

They kept walking, the forest thick around them. The rain, which had drenched them earlier, returned as a drizzle. The branches of the trees hung low with water, and Neev noticed deer running between the trunks. Once he thought he spotted a bear, but it soon vanished. As he walked, he thought about this merchant who sent them into a trap. Yona either worked for Dry Bones, or was Dry Bones in disguise, that much was obvious to Neev. The question remained: Why did he want them dead?

A speck of color tore Neev away from his thoughts. Something blue lay ahead upon the mud. Neev approached the object; it was a frayed, plumed hat. Yona's hat.

Romy sniffed the hat. "It's him." She stiffened and sniffed again. "And I smell fire."

Jamie pointed south. "Look."

Neev followed her gaze and saw smoke, as from a campfire, rising between the trees. It looked less than a mile away. "That might be him," Neev said, feeling a chill. It might be Dry Bones. Suddenly this quest frightened him. Dry Bones was a great warlock; they could not hope to defeat him in battle. Why were they chasing him?

Because chasing is better than running, Neev answered himself. Because, if we run, he'll catch us, he'll kill us. There's no fleeing Dry Bones. But if we chase him, if we get him by surprise... we might just stand a chance. It's a one in a million, but we've got to try.

"We split up," Neev whispered. "Jamie, you sneak up from the left and use your sword. I'll take the right with some fireball magic. Romy, you jump out behind him, and don't hesitate to use your pitchfork. Take position, then wait for my signal. Got it?"

The girls looked frightened. Jamie was pale, and Romy bit her lip to stop it from trembling. But they both nodded. Good. Neev himself felt fear tingle, but he forced it down.

They split up, leaving the road, moving between the trees as silently as possible. Even in her armor, Jamie was surprisingly silent, and Romy sneaked between the trees like a cat.

Neev opened his new spellbook, leafed through the pages, and whispered the words to Sandoory's Silencing Spell. Sparks flew, landing around his feet, encasing them with silence. Though he snapped twigs and scattered leaves, his steps made no sound. Good spell, he thought. It didn't even irritate his jinx too badly; he coughed up a furball, but nothing else happened. I'll use the spell on Romy next time she sings.

But for now he had to focus on the task ahead, not on Romy. As Neev moved, his fear tingled his throat, jerked his heart, and spun his head. He forced it down and kept moving until, after moments that seemed eternal, he saw the campfire between the trees. The fire burned on the roadside, and Neev saw a hunched figure sitting by it, hidden in a cloak.

Neev took three slow breaths, then shouted, "Now!"

He leaped onto the road, a spell on his lips, a fireball forming in his hands, ready to toss. The spell made feathers sprout from his head, but he barely noticed them. His heart hammered and his fingers trembled. He saw Jamie burst from the trees across the road, sword in hand, while Romy swooped down from a treetop ahead, fangs bared and hair flaming.

The cloaked figure looked up, the hood falling from his head.

It was Dry Bones.

Neev stood, legs parted, hands flaming with a fireball. This was a fireball summoned from the depths of Hell, a fire that could burn through anything, white hot.

"Dry Bones!" Neev said, heart racing.

The skeleton warlock smiled—as much as a skull could smile. "Well hello, Neev!" he said. "How have you been? I see your jinx is still bothering you. And if it isn't the demon you summoned!"

Neev remained wary, keeping the fire in his palms, ready to toss the flames should Dry Bones make any sudden moves. Jamie remained with her sword raised, and Romy snarled in the air, wings flapping, fangs and pitchfork glinting.

"What are you doing here?" Neev asked the skeleton, the fireball tingling his fingers.

Dry Bones shrugged as if unperturbed by the sight of the weapons surrounding him. "I'm traveling to Queenpool to visit my favorite shop, Sandoory's Sundry Spellbooks and Scrolls. They sell the best potion ingredients, and I need some badger spleens. Ever been to to Queenpool, Neev?"

Romy frowned and sniffed. "I'm confused," she said. "He smells like the merchant, but he doesn't look like him."

Dry Bones rose to his feet, bones creaking. Neev raised his hands, preparing to toss the fireball. Just give me a reason to roast you, he thought. Make a sudden move, and your bones will burn.

"Neev," Dry Bones said, this time his voice more stern, "you should return the demon to Hell."

A glint caught his eye, and Neev noticed that Dry Bones wore Yona's ruby rings.

It was him.

"You tried to lure us into a trap," Neev said, a snarl finding his lips, the fireball still in his palms. "Why? Talk or I'll kill you."

Dry Bones smiled. "Well, my boy, see—"

Suddenly Dry Bones lashed a fireball at Jamie.

Damn it!

The warlock was fast. Neev hadn't even see him move. As Jamie raised her shield, blocking the fireball, Neev hurled his own fireball at Dry Bones.

Jamie screamed, her shield encased in flame. Growling, she lunged forward with her sword. Neev's fireball slammed into Dry Bones, and the warlock's cloak caught flame. The skeleton howled.

Jamie was on him with her sword, slashing. Romy thrust her pitchfork, screaming, "Take that, Bony!"

The girls kept stabbing, and Dry Bones burned like a torch. The flaming warlock fell to the ground, and the girls began stomping him. They jumped up and down on the flaming robes, howling. From the fire, Dry Bones screamed, his bones cracking.

"Be careful!" Neev shouted to the girls. "Stay away from him!"

But he was too late.

Stomped under the jumping girls, Dry Bones shouted a spell. Magic crackled. Black lightning flew.

The bolt of black power hit Jamie's leg. She screamed, blood gushing on her thigh, and fell.

"Jamie!" Neev screamed. His heart seemed to shatter. He ran forward and began kicking the fallen Dry Bones.

"Bad, bad warlock!" Romy shouted, still jumping on top of Dry Bones. Tears in her eyes, she stabbed her pitchfork down hard, screaming. Dry Bones cried in pain. He shouted more spells, and more magic crackled.

"Jump away!" Neev shouted and grabbed Romy, pulling her off the warlock. He pushed her onto the ground and leaped onto her, shielding the demon with his body. Dry Bones' magic boomed, rustling the leaves in the trees, nearly deafening Neev. For a moment the world seemed black.

When he could see again, he pushed himself off Romy and turned around. Behind him, he couldn't see Dry Bones, only the warlock's smoldering robes. The skeleton was no where to be seen. Jamie lay beside the burning robes, clutching her bleeding leg, her face pale.

"Where is he?" Romy asked, leaping to her feet, her fangs bared and her claws glinting. She breathed heavily, chest rising and falling.

"He teleported away," Neev said, the wind ruffling the feathers that grew from his head. "I've seen him do it the night he burned Burrfield. It's a spell few warlocks know, but Dry Bones has mastered it." He rushed to Jamie and knelt by her. "Jamie. Let me see."

Jamie lay on the ground, trembling, her hands covering her wound. Her face was pale and ashy, and the flames had blackened her armor and boots. "It hurts," she whispered through clenched teeth. Suddenly Neev realized how young she was; only fifteen. She always seemed so mature, like an adult, but now she was but a child, tears in her eyes.

Gently, Neev moved her hands and examined her wound. It was a deep cut, gushing blood; Neev thought an artery might be cut.

"Got a little bump on the leg there," he said.

Jamie moaned. "Am I going to die?" she whispered.

Neev snorted. "Yes, because I'm going to kill you. Jumping on a warlock? You should never get too close to a warlock."

Romy nodded. "But at least we squished him good."

Neev rummaged through his backpack and found his medical kit. Fingers trembling, he bound Jamie's leg in a tourniquet. Next he gave her a stick to bite, wiped sweat off her brow, and splashed her wound with alcohol from a bottle. Jamie screamed, biting her stick, and tried to kick him with her good leg. Struggling to steady his fingers, Neev threaded a needle and tried to ignore Jamie's screams as he stitched her wound. Finally he bandaged her leg, wiped his hands, and took a deep breath.

"How you feeling, sis?" he asked.

"I am going to kill you!" Jamie said, trembling, and tried to kick him again.

He patted her brow with a handkerchief. "Stay off that leg for a while, and you'll be fine," he said. He brushed the damp hair off her forehead. "You fought well, sis. I'm proud of you."

She gave him a faint smile. "Thanks, big bro."

Romy sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. She leaned down and hugged Jamie, who still lay on the ground. "I'm so glad you're alive," the demon said, and Jamie weakly hugged her back.

Neev straightened and sighed. Dry Bones, he knew, could return any moment, or at least send grobblers after them. The warlock was wounded, but far from defeated. And now—with Jamie hurt and Dry Bones aware of their whereabouts—they were in greater danger than ever.

Neev shivered.

"Help me find two strong branches," he said to Romy. "We must build Jamie a litter, then get the hell out of here."

* * * * *

The dungeon was small, round, and moldy. Scruff sat on the stone floor, his wrists chained behind his back and fastened to the wall. Cobweb sat across from him, similarly chained. Spiders crawled in the dark, weaving their webs, oblivious of the two prisoners. The only light came from Cobweb's glowing hair, an angelic gleam.

"Well, at least we're out of the rain," Scruff said, hoping to cheer things up. Cobweb smiled faintly, a smile soon gone. The grobblers had slapped her face, giving her a fat lip, and had torn her dress, leaving one shoulder bare, but she was otherwise unharmed. Scruff himself was bruised and battered, but that bothered him less than his clothes that would not dry, clinging to his skin, clammy.

Worst of all: he knew that Dry Bones was on his way.

He'll kill me and enslave Cobweb, Scruff thought. They had been in this dungeon for hours, and Scruff had time enough to reflect, to figure things out. He was not as clever as his siblings, but when he thought things over, he could often reach the proper conclusions. Yona and Dry Bones were one person; that seemed obvious to Scruff now. The skeleton loved Cobweb and wanted the other Bullies dead. They had escaped until now, but it seemed their luck had run out.

"I wonder if he captured the others," he said. "Jamie and Neev and Romy."

"Wet's hope fow da b-best," Cobweb said. "Jamie has a stwong bwade. Neev is a wawwock himsewf, or awmost a wawwock. And Womy is n-n-nobody to mess wit, what wit hew f-fangs and c-cwaws and p-pitchfowk." Sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled with so many words, but Cobweb plowed on. "As faw as we know, dey'we wooking fow us now and wiww save us." She blew out her breath in exhaustion and smiled.

"Yeah," Scruff said, but didn't feel optimistic. It would take more than his siblings (and Romy) to storm this tower. Scruff lowered his chin to his chest. He had not felt this helpless since five years ago, when he was only thirteen, when Dry Bones burned Burrfield and killed his parents. What does he want from us? Dry Bones had referred to Father as an old friend; the warlock probably had some feud with Father, but it seemed unfair that he should also hunt the next Thistle generation.

Scruff wished he still had Norman. At least he'd be able to fantasize about bashing Dry Bones' skull. But the grobblers had taken the mace, along with his armor, backpack, and Cobweb's weapons.

A spider began crawling across Scruff's shoulder. He shifted in his chains, trying to shake it off. The spider climbed onto his nose. Scruff was about to blow his breath at it, knocking it off, but remembered that Cobweb loved spiders and let it be.

I'm sorry, Mom, Dad, he thought, eyes closed. I promised to avenge your deaths, but I failed. The despair washed over him.

He opened his eyes and looked at Cobweb. Looking at her comforted him. Even in the dark, wet and battered, she looked beautiful, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. It seemed crazy that her elders had banished her, all because of how she spoke. Scruff did not see how that detracted from her purity; she was perfect the way she was.

"My c-cwan wouwd suwe be pwoud of me now," Cobweb said with a sigh. "A fine adventuwe I'm having; I d-didn't wast twee monts away fwom my fowest. If dey saw me now, I'd be da joke of da cwan."

Scruff shifted, the chains chaffing his wrists. "Wouldn't they try to save you?"

Cobweb shook her head. "Oh no. Dey'd tink me weak for getting c-c-caught, and if anyting is wowse den tawking wike a b-b-baby, it's weakness."

"Well, I like how you talk. It's... cute." Scruff felt himself blush. He could imagine Jamie's voice in his head: "Smooth one, Don Juan."

"Tank you," Cobweb said, smiling shyly. "B-b-but I wish I c-couwd tawk pwopewwy."

A second spider climbed onto him, and Scruff tried to ignore it. "Have you ever heard of Moses?" he said.

Cobweb shook her head.

"Well," Scruff said, "he was a human who lived thousands of years ago. When he was a baby, he bit an ember, and it burned his tongue. For the rest of his life, he talked like you. But he became a great leader, despite his clumsy tongue." Scruff smiled. "If any spiderling makes fun of how you talk, just remember that story."

"I wike dis stowy," Cobweb said, smiling and lowering her eyes.

She's so cute, Scruff thought. Just looking at her made him all tingly. He shifted again and cleared his throat. "So... do you have a spiderling boyfriend?" He felt his ears burning, and he bit his lip, cursing himself.

Cobweb laughed. "No... dewe are no b-boy spidewwings. Onwy giwws. We awe bown fwom watewfawws."

"Would your clan ever let a spiderling have a human boyfriend?"

Cobweb shook her head vigorously, her glowing hair swaying. "Oh n-no. Spidewwings hate humans, at weast ouw cwan ewdews d-do."

"But you like me, right? I mean, umm... us humans." His face burned. Stupid, stupid!

"You'we nice," she said, reached out her foot, and patted his foot.

Do you mean me or humans in general? Scruff wanted to ask, but dared not. The touch of her foot sent bolts of lightning through him; he had never felt anything better.

He was about to caress her foot in return when, with a bang and shower of dust, the door burst open.

Three grobblers rushed into the room, screeching. Scruff started and tugged at his chains, fear wrenching his gut. The creatures—half nymphs, half warty crones—grabbed Cobweb. With inhuman strength, they tore her shackles from the wall.

"Scwuff!" she cried.

"Let her go!" Scruff shouted. The grobblers were pulling Cobweb to her feet, gagging her mouth with their palms. Cobweb's hands were still shackled behind her back, and she kicked wildly, but could not free herself. Scruff yanked his chains. "Let go!"

One grobbler looked at him. It walked toward him, smirking. It slapped his face, hard, with its right hand, the soft hand of a maiden, then with its left hand, the withered and clawed hand of a beast. The blows shot white light across Scruff's eyes, and for a moment he could not speak, breathe, or see.

He blinked, clearing his head. When he could see again, the grobblers were dragging Cobweb out of the dungeon, up the staircase. Within a few seconds, they were gone.

"Cobweb!" Scruff screamed at the top of his lungs, but the grobblers only cackled. They slammed the door shut behind them, scattering dust, leaving Scruff alone in the dark.

Why have they taken Cobweb? Are they bringing her to Dry Bones?

In the silence of the dungeon, shadows and dust blinding him, Scruff lowered his chin to his chest, despair overflowing him.

Chapter Eighteen

Stormy Weather

"Well, this'll do," Neev said, examining the litter he and Romy had built. It was a makeshift thing, consisting of Jamie's cape attached to two sturdy branches.

"I don't want to go on there," Jamie said, lying on the road with her leg bandaged. "Give me two minutes and I'll be ready to walk."

"You're not going to be walking for two days," Neev said, "let alone two minutes. Romy, help me lift her onto the litter."

"Okee dokee," Romy said.

Jamie groaned.

Neev slung his hands under Jamie's arms, while Romy grabbed her legs, and they lifted the girl.

"God, you weigh a ton!" Romy said. They placed Jamie on the litter, then straightened and brushed their hands.

"Shut up, Romy, you weight a lot more than me," Jamie said from the litter.

"No way."

"Way."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"You're both equally fat," Neev said, lifting one side of the litter, "especially your fat mouths." That seemed to shut them up.

Romy lifted the other side of the litter, and they began to walk, carrying Jamie through the forest. Romy occasionally moaned about how heavy Jamie was, incurring a string of insults that would make a sailor blush, until Neev cast Sandoory's Silencing Spell on both their mouths. The feathers on his head fell off, replaced with a unicorn horn, but Neev didn't care. The girls tried to shout, but no sound left their lips, and finally Neev could think.

What about Scruff and Cobweb? Had Dry Bones found them? There were so many unknowns that it made Neev dizzy. He was not used to this, wandering the wilderness, hunted, not knowing what was going on. What should they do now?

"We have to find Scruff and Cobweb," he said. "That's the first thing to do. We have to make sure they're okay."

Romy and Jamie, still under the silence spell, nodded. Neev snapped his fingers, releasing the spell, but for once the girls had nothing to say.

It was midnight when they finally returned to Queenpool and entered the Cantankerous Clam. The tavern was dark, only one lamp lighting the common room, casting dancing shadows. Carrying Jamie's litter, Neev and Romy stepped over several barflies who lay, drooling, upon the floor. Moving gingerly in the darkness, they carried Jamie upstairs. The stairs creaked. Neev did not normally pray, but as he walked up these creaking stairs, he prayed to find Scruff and Cobweb waiting there, safe and whole, Scruff with his mace and Cobweb with her arrows. Please, God, just let them be there.

But they were not. When Neev opened the door, he found the room in tatters. The beds were stabbed with swords, the sheets torn, the tables overturned, and the drawers emptied.

"What the—?" Romy said. "Who made this mess? The maid service in this place stinks."

"Somebody was looking for us," Neev said, frowning. He stared at moldy flecks that covered the floor. "Moldmen were here. Dry Bones' moldmen."

Lying on her litter, clutching her sword to her chest, Jamie moaned. "Where are Scruff and Cobweb?"

"I don't know," Neev said, and Romy whimpered. Neev himself felt like whimpering. He was scared. He was not used to being scared—not he, the warlock wunderkind—but lately he seemed scared all the time. With all his magic and wits, he couldn't see a way out of this one. His stomach ached and his hands felt clammy.

"What do we do?" Romy whispered, shivering, and began to suck her thumb.

"We have to get out of here," Neev said. "Now. We're leaving. This place is dangerous."

He began pulling Jamie's litter out of the room, but Romy, who held the other side, would not budge. "We can't leave," the demon said, her flaming eyes haunted. "What if Scruff and Cobweb come back? How will we find them?"

"I don't know!" Neev said, and hated that his voice betrayed his fear. "But Dry Bones knows we're staying here, so we're leaving. Let's go, quick!"

Romy whimpering, they carried Jamie downstairs and out into the night. They stood on the dark street. A wind blew, rain began to fall again, and Neev shivered. This was a poor neighborhood, and the streets were dark, dirty, and dangerous. Any shadows could be hiding a moldman, roog, or grobbler. Any moment could spring an assassin at them. Worst of all was not knowing what happened to Scruff and Cobweb; had Dry Bones killed them?

"Where should we go?" Jamie whispered on her litter. She sounded weak, and the rain streamed down her face. Neev knew she needed rest, water, and food, but they had only a few drops of ale and a few crackers.

"First," Neev said, thinking as he spoke, "we need to find a place for tonight. We need rest. We need food. We need to change your bandages, Jamie. Let's find a dry place, then we'll decide what next."

Romy shivered and nearly dropped the litter. "I'm scared," she said, and a tear flowed down her cheek.

Jamie grunted. "Stop shaking the litter, Romy."

"I can't help it!" Romy began to sob, tears streaming. The rain sizzled against her hair of flame, raising steam.

Neev sighed, the rain soaking his hair and seeping through his clothes. His very bones felt wet, and he felt like crying too. "Let's go," he said. "This way." He began pulling the litter down the alley, and reluctantly, Romy followed.

"Do you know where you're going?" Romy asked, sounding miserable.

"No idea," Neev confessed. "I just know we have to run."

They moved through the alleys of Queenpool's slums. They passed several beggars asleep on the streets, and Neev wondered if anyone would leap up, revealing himself to be Dry Bones. There were few lamps along these streets, merely crooked old lanterns with stubby candles, most of them snuffed. It was so dark, that at times Neev had to walk blindly, hoping he didn't fall into a gutter. He wished he had a lamp. He wished he could at least summon a small fireball to hold in his hands, to light their way, but he dared not spend any more magic. He still felt tired from casting the fireball at Dry Bones that afternoon, then the silencing spell on the bickering girls. Had truly only several hours passed? It seemed a lifetime.

Thunder boomed, the rain intensified, and Romy whimpered. Water flowed around their feet. After what seemed like hours of wandering through the dark, Neev spotted an inn, two stories tall, with stone walls and a tiled roof. The iron sign above its door named it "The Rose's Thorn". A fitting name for Thistles of Burrfield, Neev thought. It looked more pricey than their old inn, and they were low on funds. I hope we can afford this place.

"Let's see if they have a room," he said.

Jamie, soaking wet upon her litter, her bandages red, spoke softly. "Maybe we should leave town. Dry Bones might decide to search every tavern around." The rain pattered upon her face.

Neev kept moving toward the inn, Romy following at the other end of the litter. "I won't leave town without Scruff and Cobweb. How else will we find them? And you're hurt, Jamie. You need a dry place, a change of bandages, some food and drink in you. Let's find shelter first, then decide what to do next. Romy, pull your hood over your head! Nobody will let us in if they see you."

The inn door was locked for the night, and Neev pounded on the knocker, waited a moment, then pounded again. The thunder kept booming, and the rain kept pattering. Some summer this turned out to be. Finally the door creaked open, revealing an old, whiskered man in a sleeping cap.

"What is it?" the old man demanded. "Who knocks at this hour?"

Neev bowed his head, feeling rather conscious of the unicorn horn that still grew from his forehead. "I apologize for the late knocking, innkeeper, but my sister is hurt. Would you have a room to spare, even this late?"

The innkeeper looked at Jamie, who lay wet upon the litter, and his eyes softened. "Come in," he said, a hint of compassion seeping beneath his cranky rasp. "I have a single room to spare, with a single small bed. It's all I can offer."

From the shadows of her hood, Romy breathed out a shaky sob of relief. "Thank you! We'll take it."

Inside, the Rose's Thorn was much nicer than the Clam. Rugs covered the floors, no barflies snored upon the tables, and tapestries bedecked the walls. In the common room, the old innkeeper tossed a fresh log into the fireplace, and the Bullies settled around the hearth to dry. Neev cleaned and rebound Jamie's wound, and they all sat warming their hands around the fire. Gradually Neev's horn shrunk into nothing, the jinx wearing off. The innkeeper brought them barley-and-bacon soup and some ale, and Neev granted him a large tip, painfully aware that their funds were dwindling. Once they were dry and fed, they checked into their room, removed their shoes, and lay Jamie upon the single bed.

"What do we do now?" Jamie asked, tucked in.

Sitting at her bedside, Neev touched her hair. "Go to sleep, Jamie. You're tired. You need rest."

He hadn't finished his sentence before she was snoring.

Sighing, Neev looked over the bed, and his eyes met Romy's. She sat at Jamie's other side, staring at him.

"What do we do now?" the demon asked. She had removed her hood, and Neev spent a moment looking at her. Her bee-stung lips trembled, and tears beaded in her large, flaming eyes. Her hair of fire, normally crackling like a torch, now burned on low flame. Wet and scared like a drowning cat, Romy possessed nothing of her usual flare, but still she seemed beautiful to Neev, maybe more so than ever.

"I have to find Scruff and Cobweb," he said, rising to his feet. "I'm going to look for them."

"I'm coming with you." Romy leaped to her feet, baring her fangs.

Neev shook his head. "No, Romy. You stay and guard Jamie. She's hurt and needs you."

Romy rushed around the bed and hugged Neev, a bear hug that squeezed the air out of him. She sobbed against his shoulder. "I'm scared for you, Neev. You'll be alone out there. What if Dry Bones comes after you? Please, Neev, don't leave me. I love you." She raised her head and kissed his lips.

For hours, Neev had felt cold. Her kiss sent fire through him, and he had never felt more hot. Her kiss was like a jolt of whiskey, shooting across his body, tingling his fingertips. He touched Romy's hair. It was made of flames, but did not burn him. He kissed a tear off her cheek.

"Goodbye, Romy. I'll come back soon. I promise you. I promise."

He left her trembling and crying in the room.

Outside it was still raining, and Neev hurried down the street, his cloak wrapped around him, his hood over his head. It was still dark, but soon dawn would break, he knew. He had no idea where Scruff and Cobweb might be, but decided to leave Queenpool, to head north along the road they had taken. Maybe he should have sent Romy on this quest—she was the better tracker—but he would have gone crazy just waiting at the inn. He had to do something... anything.

Soon he had left Queenpool again, and was walking north along the road, heading the way Scruff and Cobweb had gone. What had happened to them? Had they met Dry Bones too? Had he killed them? The road was black around him, and Neev risked using a little magic, lighting a small fire in his palm. It was too small a spell to trigger his jinx, but that couldn't cheer him up. Every ounce of magic he used weakened his reserves, and every footstep put him in more danger.

We're in trouble, he thought, cursing. Together the Bullies were strong. Now they were split up, in more danger than ever. Scruff and Cobweb were tough, but they had no magic, and would not fare well against Dry Bones. Neev himself was alone, his reserves of magic quickly depleting. Jamie was wounded, with only Romy—who was a child at heart—to guard her. We're all so vulnerable now.

Lightning struck a tree before him, and Neev jumped, his heart racing. He breathed out shakily and kept walking. It reminded him of the black lightning Dry Bones had tossed to hurt Jamie's leg, the lightning he killed Father with. Was Dry Bones lurking in these trees, surrounded by grobblers?

Dry Bones, perhaps the most powerful warlock in the world, wanted him dead, and had managed to split up their group. Things are bad, Neev thought, slushing through the mud. Things are very bad.

Chapter Nineteen

Round Two

Jamie hated being wounded and weak.

Hated it.

Hated it.

All her life, she had relied on her speed and strength. She did not think herself particularly clever, nor particularly pretty, nor particularly pious. All she'd ever been good at was swordplay. When she held a blade, she was happy, powerful, doing what she was born to do.

And now she lay abed, her leg bandaged, the fight taken out of her.

Propped up in bed, she looked out the window. The sunlight sparkled on a soggy world. It had stopped raining several hours ago, the crisp air smelled of wet soil and rainwater, and birds chirped throughout the city. On any other day, Jamie might have thought the day beautiful. But not today. Today fear coiled inside her.

Neev had been gone for hours. When would he return? Worry gnawed at Jamie. Neev was smarter than her, but he was not very good in a fight, and Jamie was used to protecting him. Scruff was strong, but sometimes dense and innocent; Jamie often had to look after him, too. Now both brothers were away, separated, in danger. It was the first time all three Thistles were apart.

And perhaps worst of all, Romy was annoying the hell out of her.

"I'm bored!" Romy whined at her bedside. "Let's play cards."

"I told you, no! You always cheat."

Romy pouted. "I won't cheat this time, I promise."

Jamie tossed the cards at her. "You always promise, then you cheat again."

Romy looked at the fallen cards, dejected. "Well, I'm a demon... that's what we do, cheat at cards. I can't help it."

"So I'm not playing with you."

"But I'm bored."

Jamie turned in bed, facing the other way. "Go take a walk."

"No way," Romy said. "I have to stay and watch over you." To emphasize her point, she walked around the bed until she was facing Jamie again, then sat down and stared.

"You're driving me crazy," Jamie yelled, "not watching over me."

"I'll defend you from Dry Bones if he shows up." Romy straightened, puffed out her chest, and bared her fangs.

Jamie grumbled. "I'm not a damsel in distress. I don't need anyone to defend me, least of all you."

Romy pouted. "You do too. I'm your defender."

"You are not!"

Romy struck a heroic pose. "You might even say, I'm your heroine. Romy, defender of the weak and helpless!"

"Now you're just asking for it." Jamie grabbed the closest thing she could reach—a wooden bowl of porridge—and tossed it at Romy. The demon ducked, and the porridge flew over her head.

Just then the door opened, and a grobbler burst into the room.

The porridge landed on the creature, and it cried out in rage, blinded.

"I told you!" Jamie said, pulled a knife from under her pillow, and tossed it into the grobbler's neck. "I don't need anyone to watch over me!"

The grobbler hit the ground, knife in its throat, legs kicking.

"Wait till you see the others!" Romy said, glancing downstairs, panting. "Five more, rushing upstairs."

The inn shook with grobbler screeches, and the smell of blood filled the air.

* * * * *

Strangely, no fear filled Romy.

She had spent so many days with her fear, trembling in the rain, shivering at nights, so confused in this strange world overground. Used to the cozy, flaming underground, she found Earth the most frightening experience of her life. Earth, it seemed, was full of insane skeleton warlocks, roaming grobblers, and all sorts of horrible, horrible birds on every tree. Since Neev had summoned her from Hell, she had felt fear more often than not.

But now, with Jamie abed, with grobblers rushing upstairs to her room, Romy felt no fear.

She didn't have time for fear. Until now, she had let the responsible Bullies take care of things—Scruff with his mace, Cobweb with her arrows, Neev with his magic, Jamie with her blade. But now Jamie was hurt, and the others gone; it was all up to her, so Romy did not allow herself any fear. She merely snarled, baring her fangs, and shoved the fear down. I'll have to take care of this myself.

The grobblers clanking upstairs, Romy grabbed Jamie and tossed her over her shoulder.

"Hey, put me down!" Jamie demanded. "I'll take them on one foot."

"Not today," Romy said and burst out the window, flapping her wings. "I promised your brother I'd look after you, and that's what I'll do."

"I don't need looking after. PUT ME DOWN!"

Romy flew over the city, leaving the tavern behind. Her heart hammered, and Jamie felt heavy across her shoulder, and the girl's fingers dug into her. Romy was used to flying through the caverns of Hell, and the sight of so many human houses below spun her head. The wind whipped her face, and Jamie was screaming. Flapping her wings with all her might, Romy saw grobblers racing below, tossing fireballs from their palms.

Damn! Romy thought. These were no usual grobblers. Dry Bones must have taught them magic. One fireball flew so close to them, Romy felt the heat against her. The fireball's tail of sparks sizzled against them, and Romy heard Jamie scream.

"You okay, Jamie?" Romy asked.

"Put me down!" The girl was kicking.

"I'm going to have to, soon. You weigh more than a bloody rhinoceros. I think you've gained even more weight from yesterday."

Another fireball came flying their way, and Romy flew sideways, narrowly missing it. The fireball made a sound like a storm, so loud Romy thought it would deafen her. She glanced over her shoulder. The grobblers were far now, running through the streets, and soon Romy flew out of Queenpool and saw trees below.

"I think we shook them off," she said to Jamie, panting. It was hard work, flying so fast, carrying Jamie, dodging fireballs. She had no strength left. "We're going down."

She began to descend into the forest. Romy was too tired and dizzy for a proper landing. She crashed through the forest canopy, then hit the ground, scraping her knees.

"Ouch," she said and placed Jamie down. She stretched and rubbed her muscles.

"Ouch indeed," Jamie said. "You put me down on some rocks, you nitwit."

Romy looked at Jamie, chewing her lip. The girl's face was pale and sweaty. She needed rest and convalescing; fleeing into the forest could not be good for the mortal. In the Rose's Thorn, they had found shelter and could have recuperated. More importantly, Neev knew to find them in the inn. What if Neev returned, Scruff and Cobweb in tow, and met the grobblers?

Romy shook her head. At the beginning, this adventure was carefree, even fun at times, but now things were so horrible. Nobody was around to protect her now—no brutish Scruff with his mace, no Neev with his magic, no Cobweb with her arrows, and even Jamie's blade was out of commission until the girl healed. What would Romy do? She had never been on an adventure until now. Back in Hell, she had spent two centuries torturing sinners, and that was all she knew. How would she survive in this world?

"I don't know what to do," she said to Jamie, voice trembling. The fear had vanished when it was time to act, when the adrenaline had flooded her, but now it returned full force. She felt tears gather in her eyes. "What will we do, Jamie?"

Jamie snorted so loudly, her breath blew back strands of her hair. "Are we going to have a weepy moment here, where we cry and hug, and tell each other it'll be all right? Come on, Romy. You're a demon, for Pete's sake. Try being a little more fierce, a little less weepy. What will we do? We're going to find the other Bullies, that's what. We need to be together now, and we certainly don't want them returning to that inn. So let's track them."

Romy squared her shoulders and wiped her tears with her fists. "How will we find them?"

Jamie sat up, leaning on her elbows, and winced when she moved her wounded leg off some rocks. "Scruff and Cobweb were heading north, and I bet Neev did, too. Let's follow and see if you can pick up the scent."

Romy moaned. "Am I going to have to carry you again? My arms hurt, my wings hurt, and my brain hurts." She was suddenly embarrassed by showing her tears. "I might be weepy, but I'm not the one who got wounded in a fight." It was a mean thing to say, she knew; but hey, she was a demon, she was supposed to be mean.

Jamie's face flushed. "Well, I might have gotten wounded that day, but I broke three of Dry Bones' bones, and you only snapped two."

"I broke three too," Romy lied.

"You liar."

"Not lying." Romy felt it best to change the subject. "When I was flying, I saw a nearby farm. Let's go buy you a wheelbarrow. Then I can wheel you around."

Jamie's face got even redder, and she curled her hands into fists. "I won't be wheeled around like a sack of turnips."

"Well, I'm not carrying you, and you'd use up too much energy limping around. Now I'm going to help you walk a bit, just until we find a wheelbarrow."

Romy helped Jamie to her feet, the girl wincing and cursing. Jamie slung her arms around Romy's neck, and together they walked slowly, Romy grunting, Jamie hopping on her good leg. They moved through the forest, glancing around for grobblers, until they reached the farm Romy had descried from the air. A few wheelbarrows stood in fields of oats, full of sheaves. Sparrows stood atop the wheelbarrows, but Romy forced herself onward, trying to ignore the monstrous birds.

The farmer was plowing the fields with his daughters. Romy paid him a silver coin—their last one—for a wheelbarrow. She helped Jamie sit inside the wheelbarrow, then began to wheel her across the farm. The wheelbarrow creaked and bumped, its wheel rusty and wobbly. The sparrows watched them as if shocked, and Romy supposed they made a comical sight. She had to laugh out loud. Jamie raised an eyebrow, but it felt good to laugh.

Maybe things will be okay, she thought. Maybe I can take care of things. I fled the grobblers, I found a wheelbarrow for Jamie, I'm taking charge. And even the sun is shining today.

Soon Romy wheeled Jamie out of the farm, the wheelbarrow wobbling and creaking like an old man, and Romy found the road through the forest, the road Scruff and Cobweb had taken, the road Neev now followed. I'm going to find them, Romy told herself. Soon we'll be together and safe.

"Is it really wise to take the main road?" Jamie asked as they went along. With every pebble, the wheelbarrow bumped, making her curse. "With all these grobblers about, I wonder if we should travel between the trees."

Romy shook her head. "The wheelbarrow won't roll there, and I might not detect Neev's scent." Romy had to stop every few steps, get on all fours, and sniff the ground like a hound.

Jamie sighed. "This is going to take a while."

They kept moving down the road until evening fell, and Romy shivered. Shadows moved between the trees, the branches creaked, and clouds covered the stars. Monsters might lurk in the dark, and whenever an owl hooted, Romy started.

Once more, she was afraid.

* * * * *

Scruff sat alone in the dungeon, chained to the wall, despair like ice in his belly. He blinked to fight back tears, but one escaped his eye anyway, and he tasted it on his lips. He had not felt such grief since Burrfield burned five years ago.

What were the grobblers doing to Cobweb? Would they take her to Dry Bones? Scruff couldn't stand the thought of the skeleton hurting her, and he howled in the darkness, tugging at his chains. He had never felt like this toward a girl. He loved Cobweb—her eyes, her smile, her kind heart. Damn Dry Bones!

He yanked his chains again. They clasped his wrists behind his back, bound to the wall. No matter how many times he pulled, or how hard, the metal would not break. He lowered his head, wanting to die.

When he heard a distant sound, he perked up. There—he heard it again. It was Cobweb yelping in pain.

Rage filled Scruff, more rage than he'd ever felt, rage he never knew was in him. Cobweb! The sound of her pained cry ached through him. He howled and tugged, and the metal chains creaked. Cobweb yelped again, and Scruff screamed, and with a snap, his chains broke off the stone wall.

His hands were still chained behind his back, but the chains dangled behind him now, instead of connecting to the wall. Scruff crashed into the dungeon door, bursting into the stairwell. The rage burned, and he howled as he raced upstairs, the chains clanking behind him. He was so blinded with fury, he barely noticed the grobblers racing down toward him.

He slammed into the grobblers, knocking them aside, and kept rushing up the spiraling stairwell. The grobblers recovered and tried to follow, but the trailing chains slammed against their legs, tripping them. They fell downstairs, screeching.

Scruff kept running up the stairwell, following Cobweb's cries, traveling farther and farther up the tower. Finally he crashed through a door at the tower top.

He saw Dry Bones inside, dressed in a deep purple robe. Cobweb sat in a chair by the window, her wrists still bound, and Dry Bones was trying to force a potion into her mouth. The label on the vial read "Love Potion". Scruff stood panting, for a second just staring, confused. He didn't know if he should kill Dry Bones, grab Cobweb, or turn to face the grobblers racing behind him. Dry Bones too froze and dropped the potion. It crashed against the floor, splattering pink droplets.

For a moment the three froze, and then Cobweb wiped some of the potion off her lip. Did she swallow anything? Scruff thought. God, did she swallow the love potion? She looked at him with pleading eyes, teary blue eyes, the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

Dry Bones raised his hands and began mumbling a spell.

Scruff spun around, lashing the chains. Dry Bones leaped aside, and the chains missed his skull, but slammed against his shoulder. "Damn you!" the skeleton cried as grobblers burst into the room.

Scruff turned to stare at the grobblers. The creatures stood with claws glinting, drool dripping down their fangs, their eyes red with bloodlust. Scruff stared at them, panting, sweat dripping down his back. Both he and Cobweb still had their hands chained; they could not win this.

"I told you to kill the oaf!" Dry Bones yelled at the grobblers, his shoulder bashed.

"We'll kill him now, Master," said the lead grobbler, its right half a blond woman with pale skin, its left half a twisted creature rotting away. It raised its claws and advanced toward Scruff.

Scruff knew he was going to die. He just wished he could hold Cobweb's hand one more time. The memory of that one time she held his hand, as they walked through the muddy forest, was the best moment of his life. If nothing else, that made my life worthwhile.

The grobblers took another step forward, and Scruff winced.

"Wait!" Cobweb cried, cheeks flushed. "Stop dis."

The grobblers paused, tongues lolling, drool dripping.

Cobweb turned to Dry Bones. "Why awe you d-doing dis?" she asked. Her eyes were haunted, her clothes were torn, and her skin was ashy, but she was so beautiful, Scruff thought he'd die. He stood watching her, his breath aching in his lungs, his skull feeling ready to burst.

The skeleton looked at Cobweb, clutching his crushed shoulder. He shrugged the other shoulder. "Because I like you, Cobweb. You're hot."

Cobweb took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "So t-t-take me. I'ww dwink youw potion. Just wet Scwuff go."

"No!" Scruff cried, his insides twisting, and tried to rush toward her, but the grobblers stepped between them. They grabbed him, their claws digging, and Scruff felt such fury, he wanted to smash the whole tower to the ground.

Dry Bones laughed, a sound like clanking bones. "No deal, Cobweb. I'm going to kill Scruff, and his brother, and his sister. I'm even going to kill that demon girl who tags along with you guys. I vowed long ago to destroy the Thistles. I killed the two parents, and for a long time, I planned my revenge against the children. And soon my revenge against the Thistles, the family that turned me into this skeleton, will be complete. Soon I will destroy the Thistles for good. The whole plan is rather brilliant. Allow me to explain. First I plan to—"

Suddenly, as Dry Bones prattled on, and as everyone was getting rather bored with his speech, a flow of lava burst into the room. The lava slammed into Dry Bones, knocking him against the wall, sizzling against him.

"Will you villains never learn?" Neev said, stepping into the room on goat hoofs, shaking drops of lava off his hands. "Never spend so much time explaining your plans."

Everything started to happen so fast, Scruff barely knew what was going on.

Dry Bones, alive but screaming in pain, pushed himself up. Neev tossed a key toward Scruff, then summoned a fireball. Shaking off the grobblers who clutched him, Scruff twisted around to grab the key.

One grobbler hit him, knocking him back. Scruff cursed. The key clanged against the floor somewhere. For a moment Scruff was dizzy, and he heard spells being cast, felt the heat of fireballs and lightning. The grobbler clawed his arm, and Scruff screamed. Magic crackling around him, he rushed headfirst forward, slamming into the grobbler, knocking it back. Another grobbler reached toward him, and he spun around, slamming his chains against it.

He didn't even have time to look at Cobweb.

"Get the key!" Neev shouted, battling Dry Bones with forcefields and fireballs. His jinxes swapped with each spell—he sprouted monkey ears, then a giraffe's neck, then a lion's mane, then a lemur tail. "Unlock your shackles!" The light and sound filled the tower, shaking it.

Head spinning, arm burning, Scruff spotted the key. He dived down and grabbed it. Got it!

A grobbler punched his face. The key fell.

Scruff howled and kicked, and his leg hit the grobbler's head, snapping its neck. He kicked again, but another grobbler slashed his thigh, and Scruff shouted.

"I got da k-key!" came Cobweb's voice, and Scruff breathed in relief, partly because she caught the key, mostly because she still lived. He felt her hands behind him, unlocking his chains.

His arms were free.

Now Scruff could really fight. Around him, fire burned and lightning flew. He glimpsed Neev and Dry Bones, both encased in glowing forcefields, casting their spells. Scruff spared them only a glance, then began to throw punches. The grobblers lunged at him, and Scruff's fists flew, soon bleeding. Pain filled him, but his fury was so great, it drowned the pain. He felt blood dripping, and knew he couldn't keep this up for long.

Cobweb too was fighting. She had grabbed a candelabrum and was using it as a weapon, smashing grobblers. Luckily, the grobblers did not try to kill her; they still had orders to keep her alive. Nevertheless, a shard of Dry Bones' magical darts flew into her leg, and she cried out.

Dry Bones tossed a fireball at Neev, who now sported elephant ears. The young warlock's forcefield finally failed, sizzling away. A second fireball flew. Neev ducked, and the fireball flew over his head, hitting a tapestry. The tapestry caught fire, and the flames moved to the rug, then consumed the table and chairs.

"Out of the tower!" Scruff cried.

The grobblers were already fleeing downstairs. The others followed, even Dry Bones. As the fire burned, they all clanked round and round the spiraling staircase, fleeing, brushing sparks off their clothes. Scruff could almost laugh. A moment ago, they were fighting; now they were running in circles, Neev's elephant ears flapping, Dry Bones holding up the hems of his robes.

They raced outside the tower, then stood in the forest clearing by the hill. For a moment they all panted, and Scruff looked them over. Cobweb's leg was bleeding. Neev had burn marks on his arm. Dry Bones had a smashed shoulder and some burned bones. The grobblers were bruised and battered. They all stood, breathing heavily, the tower burning behind them. For a moment, the only sound was the fire and their deep breathing.

Then they heard trundling, snapping branches, and a battle cry.

They turned to face the source of the sound. A wheelbarrow came rolling down the hill, fast as a galloping horse, and crashed into the grobblers. Jamie was inside, swinging her sword, knocking grobblers aside.

"Jamie!" Scruff said, shocked, rubbing his eyes.

"And me too," came a cry, and Romy swooped down from the treetops, wings unfurled, pitchfork glinting. She stabbed a grobbler, then stood with eyes blazing, pitchfork raised and bloody.

Scruff grabbed a fallen branch, and Cobweb took a knife from Jamie. The five Bullies were together again, standing back to back, snarling.

Yeah! Scruff thought. A few grobblers remained, but Scruff felt ready to face anything. Right now, we can defeat anyone.

Dry Bones, apparently, reached the same conclusion. With a quick spell, he teleported away.

"Damn it!" Romy said and sighed. "He just keeps doing that."

The last few grobblers fled into the forest. Romy thrust her pitchfork into the ground, Jamie grinned, and Neev sat down with an exhausted grunt.

Scruff looked at Cobweb. She looked back with huge, haunted eyes. For a moment they only stared at each other. Then Scruff rushed toward her and embraced her, and before he knew it, he was kissing her, a deep kiss, his hands in her hair.

It felt even better than the time she held his hand.

Chapter Twenty

Growth Spurt

Romy was looking at Scruff and Cobweb kissing, her eyes wide in wonder, her mouth agape.

"Romy," Jamie said from her wheelbarrow, trying to give her brother some privacy, "can you help me into the tower? There's something I'm looking for." The fire was dying off, and Jamie thought the tower might hold just what she needed.

Romy blinked and shook her head wildly, as if trying to clear it of thoughts. She coughed and looked away from the kissing couple, turning to face Jamie.

"What are you looking for?" Suddenly the demon gasped. "Ooh, are you looking for some cards, so that we can play again?"

Jamie groaned. "No cards. But maybe if you help me, I'll play tic-tac-toe with you later."

Romy nodded excitedly, tail wagging, hair of flame raising sparks. "Deal! Let's go."

Romy helped Jamie to her feet, and the girls entered the tower. The top chamber still burned, but the lower chamber was safe, a shadowy room with brick walls and a dirt floor. Shelves covered the walls, brimming with spellbooks, geodes, crystals, roots, jars, and potions. On one shelf, Jamie saw Scruff's mace and Cobweb's bow and arrows, but she didn't care about those now; she'd come back for them later. As Romy watched, Jamie nodded and began rummaging through the potions, limping, her leg aching.

"Come on, where are you...," she muttered, rifling through the clutter. She found many useless potions: "Invisibility Potion", "Immortality Potion", "Super Strength Potion", and a host of others. Jamie tossed them over her shoulder, muttering. Finally she found what she was looking for, a bottle labeled "Healing Potion".

"Bingo," she said. She uncorked the potion, releasing green smoke, and drank it. The potion tasted awful, like mold and rotten eggs, and Jamie grunted. "Blech!"

She looked at her leg.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, darn," she said. "The potion was a dud."

She sighed, when suddenly she felt a strange tickling, like ducklings racing around her leg. She gasped and pulled off her bandages. Her wound was shrinking and shrinking, the cut flesh mending into pure white skin. It didn't even leave a scar.

"Wow," Romy said, eyes wide. "That was amazing!" The demon wiped her lips and tossed aside an empty vial.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Romy," she said, "what did you drink?"

Romy bit her lip. "Uh... nothing."

Jamie ran, fetched the bottle Romy had drunk, and examined the label. Oh damn, she thought.

"Romy, you idiot!" Jamie said. She grabbed the demon's arm and began pulling her out of the tower. "Why the hell would you drink a growth potion?"

"I was thirsty!" Romy said, already ten feet tall and growing by the second.

Jamie raced out the door, dragging Romy, who banged her head against the lintel. Outside the tower, Romy kept growing and growing, sprouting a foot a second.

Scruff and Cobweb disengaged from each other, gaping. Neev rubbed his eyes, jaw unhinged. Romy kept sprouting. She was as tall as the tower before she stopped growing, a good hundred feet.

"Growth potion," Jamie explained.

"Ah," Neev said.

Romy looked around, confused. Each of her feet was the size of the wheelbarrow. She looked at the tower, looked down at the treetops, and finally looked down at the other Bullies.

"Hi down there, little ants," she said, her voice so loud, the Bullies had to cover their ears.

"Romy," Jamie shouted, "you are the biggest idiot I've seen, and I mean that literally."

Romy plunked herself down, shaking the earth, and bit her lip. "So... uhm... anyone have a shrinking potion?"

The Bullies sighed and rolled their eyes.

* * * * *

Scruff sat by the campfire, crickets chirping in the forest around him. The fire crackled on low flames, and the Milky Way glinted above, both beautiful. But not as beautiful as Cobweb, Scruff thought, surprised and rather proud of producing such a poetic, romantic reflection. She sat beside him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching the flames.

"It's, uhm... a nice night, eh?" Scruff said, instantly regretting it. Such a lame thing to say. He wished he knew how to talk to girls.

"It's beautifuw," Cobweb agreed and smiled.

The other Bullies were off collecting more firewood, and Scruff suspected they all left on purpose, allowing him time alone with Cobweb. It made him feel all hot in the face. Their camp lay several miles away from Dry Bones' tower, and Scruff felt safe among the trees; nobody could find them here.

It's just me and Cobweb here, just us two, alone by the fire, under the starlight. It made Scruff's fingers tingle. He reached toward his skin of ale, which lay on the forest floor. Cobweb reached to it at the same time, and their hands touched. Scruff looked up into her eyes, and she looked back, and before he knew it, he was kissing her again. Her lips were full, soft, and eager. He placed one hand around the small of her back, and the other in her hair, kissing her deeply, marveling at her flowery scent.

Yet as he kissed her, the thought would not leave him, the niggling doubt that had lived inside him all night. Did Cobweb drink the love potion?

Their kiss ended, and Cobweb cuddled against him, but Scruff couldn't help but keep replaying the scene in his mind. He had burst into the tower top. Dry Bones was trying to force the love potion into her mouth. The bottle dropped and shattered, and Cobweb looked straight into Scruff's eyes.

Did she drink that potion before looking at me, or did I arrive just in time? Does she kiss me only because of magic, because the potion made her love me? Or are her feelings true?

Scruff did not know, and it burned inside him, eating him up. He wanted to ask her, but dared not, fearing the answer he might hear. He merely played with her hair, kissed her forehead, and watched her fall asleep against his shoulder. He sighed and returned his eyes to the fire, lost in thought.

* * * * *

Dry Bones walked back toward the Coven, wrapped in his cloak, mist swirling around his feet. Pines soared around him, deep gray in the dawn, and the morning's first ravens circled under the overcast sky. Dry Bones fumed as he walked, fists clenched. He passed by a squirrel and kicked it, sending the poor critter flying with a squeak. That made Dry Bones feel a little better, but not much.

The Bullies had done well. Dry Bones gave them that. They'd caught him by surprise, and they knew a few tricks. The boy Neev was a powerful warlock already, despite never completing his apprenticeship. I should have killed him years ago, Dry Bones thought, grinding his teeth.

He saw Batwog Mountain ahead, rising from the misty pines, a monolith of black stone. Dry Bones remembered the first time he had seen the mount. He had been only sixteen, leaving Burrfield behind, leaving his love Amabel, all for the powers of black magic. Dry Bones had apprenticed under High Warlock Kroh, an ancient warlock who had ruled the Coven for three hundred years.

Three hundred years was too long, Dry Bones thought, remembering how he'd shoved a dagger into the ancient warlock's back. The old warlock knew everything about magic, and could defend himself against any spell, but the betrayal of an apprentice was foreign to him, and Dry Bones had made use of that. Only twenty years after joining the Coven as a fallow apprentice, Dry Bones had become the new High Warlock, ruling the subterranean caverns and tunnels where scores of warlocks gazed into the pits of Hell, weaving their black magic.

But that wasn't enough. Being High Warlock made Dry Bones feel powerful, aloof, in control... but not happy. Never happy. What was the point of ruling the Coven, of being the greatest warlock in the world, if he had no woman to share it with? No love? No wife to warm his old bones? He thought of Cobweb, sadness trickling through those bones like icy water. All he wanted to do was love her, have her love him back. He'd never hurt her, and Dry Bones knew she'd be happy with him.

He climbed Batwog Mountain, stones cascading beneath his feet, and entered the cave that led into the Coven. Bats fluttered around him, and stalagmites and stalactites glistened. He moved into the blackness, traveling down sloping tunnels, some so narrow he needed to crawl. A mile into the mountain, deep in the darkness, he reached the network of chambers and tunnels that was the Coven.

Ignoring the warlocks and apprentices who bowed before him, Dry Bones walked through the tunnels, eye sockets set ahead, until he reached his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, a little too roughly, and sighed.

He had covered his bedroom floor with a plush rug, had bought pillows for the couch, had hung up tapestries and even paintings of landscapes. Dry Bones detested landscapes, but he knew Cobweb would like them. He had made the place beautiful for her, to make her comfortable when she lived with him. If she had swallowed the love potion, she would have felt true love forever, lived with him here with joy. I'd never hurt her. I'd make her so happy.

But those bullies had ruined it for him. They were bullies. And moldmen, roogs, and even grobblers weren't working. I'll have to kick it up a notch. He would have to send a more horrible creature, a creature nobody could face and live, a creature from the lands of flame and fear. This creature made even Issa seem as harmless as a teddy bear.

It was time to summon his greatest champion yet. Dry Bones opened the trapdoor beneath his rug and stepped into his dusty, shadowy laboratory.

Time to cast some serious black magic.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bullies for Beans

In the morning, Neev woke up to find that Romy once more lay with her head on his chest. Once more, she had drooled all over him. Neev grunted. Over the past three weeks, her growth potion had been wearing off. She had gone to bed ten feet tall, down from a hundred at, well, her height. Throughout the night, she had kept shrinking and now finally seemed her normal size, placing her somewhere between Scruff's towering frame and Jamie's minuscule one.

"But I don't like raisins," Romy muttered in her sleep and scrunched her lips. Neev caressed her hair of flames, which felt warm but did not burn him, and gently moved her aside. He sat up in his blankets and raised his eyes to the forest canopy. The leaves rustled and the birds sang. The others were already awake. Scruff was frying eggs and bacon over the embers of their campfire, Jamie was sharpening her sword, and Cobweb was practicing archery by shooting at a tree.

They had found no more healing potions, and so had spent the past three weeks in the forest, waiting for Scruff's wounds to heal, for Romy to shrink, and for all their nerves to unwind. Over those three weeks, however, they had eaten a lot of food (especially the overgrown Romy), and spent a lot of money venturing into nearby villages for supplies. Neev scrunched his lips. As he waited for Scruff to finish cooking, he took stock of their inventory. All together they had five bronze coins and a handful of coppers. Once again they were destitute. Aside from the food now cooking for breakfast, they had only three skins of ale, a string of smoked sausages, and a stale loaf of bread.

"Well," he said, "we're broke."

Jamie looked up from her sword. "What do you mean 'broke'? I thought we won a fortune at Queenpool."

"We did," Neev said. "We spent it all."

Cobweb turned to face him, bow in hand, and Scruff raised his eyes from the breakfast pan. Romy snored blissfully.

"How could it be gone so soon?" Jamie demanded, rising to her feet.

Neev frowned. "Well, for one thing, you and Scruff bought breastplates. Those things are expensive."

Jamie looked down at the breastplate she wore, then back up at Neev, eyes blazing. "And you bought a new cloak, boots, and a silencing spell."

Cobweb bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "I'm sowwy. I b-bought some pewfume. It's aww my fauwt." She covered her eyes.

Neev shook his head. "Actually, Cobweb, you spent the least amount among us. The person who spent the most is... Romy."

They all turned to look at the demon, who was just waking up, rubbing her eyes. "What you talkin' bout, Neev?" she asked groggily, pushed herself up, and stretched. "I didn't buy any armor, any perfume, any clothes. Nothing!"

Neev tapped his chin. "Hmm, let's see. Back in Queenpool, you bought about forty pints, a whole roasted pig on a bed of mushrooms (which you ate only two bites of), three bottles of the oldest wine you could find... and then you lost three silvers in a game of cards."

Romy blinked. "Well, it's not my fault the barflies were cheating."

"Then," Neev continued, "if I recall correctly, you bought rounds of ale for said barflies, and finally spent another three silvers on magic beans."

Romy growled. "Those beans will grow someday, you'll see. And they'll lead to an enchanted land in the clouds, full of treasure."

Neev sighed. "In that case, it's too bad you boiled and ate those beans."

Romy pouted. "I was hungry."

Neev sighed again. "Nevertheless, we have only a few pennies left, not enough food to last a day, and... Romy! Will you stop wolfing down our last loaf of bread?"

Romy guiltily placed the bread aside and wiped crumbs off her face. "But me hungryyy."

Scruff walked toward her and held out his pan of eggs and bacon. "Here you go, Romy, have some breakfast. No— no, wait, Romy, that's for everyone!"

Within three seconds, Romy had gobbled most of the pan, leaving the others to groan and make do with the remainder. Once they had finished eating the leftovers, Neev stuffed his dagger into his boot, clasped his cloak around him, and announced, "We better find some work, or we'll starve to death before Dry Bones can kill us."

Scruff pulled on his boots, grabbed Norman, and started walking. "Queenpool is dangerous; Dry Bones would look for us there. There's a village called Greenford a few hours away. I hear it's a small place, but maybe they'll have a gig for us."

They walked through the forest. As usual, Scruff took the van, Norman in hand. The others walked behind him, Jamie last, her sword drawn. Romy hummed a tune as she walked, holding Neev's hand, and Neev wished he could feel as carefree as she did. He was worried. About Dry Bones. About starving to death. About never becoming a full fledged warlock. Truth is, today there seemed so much to worry about, Neev felt like a brick lay in his stomach, weighing him down. Even the gentle forest sounds—the rustling of leaves and chirping of birds—could not soothe him. The worry made him feel sick.

At least we're all together again, he thought. That's got to count for something. Romy began to skip, still holding his hand, and Neev reflected that despite being annoying, the Bullies were dear to him. It felt good to have friends, especially on dark days like these.

After an hour of walking, they reached a path through the forest, which soon led to a dirt road lined with trees. Neev saw no other travelers, but the road seemed well walked, strewn with tracks of horseshoes, boots, and wagon wheels. A wooden sign was nailed into a tree. It said "Greenford, ten miles" with an arrow pointing north along the road. Beneath the sign, a parchment was nailed to the tree.

Neev walked up and examined the parchment. It bore a drawing of a monstrous vulture, an elephant in its talons, flames rising from its beak.

"Eww, what's that?" Romy asked, walking up beside him.

"It's a roc," Neev said quietly and shuddered. "Giant birds from your homeland."

Words were written beneath the drawing, and Neev read them out loud for the benefit of Cobweb, who could not read. "HEROES WANTED!!! The roc Vanderbeak, risen from Hell, is terrorizing our towns! Bring Vanderbeak's head to Greenford Manor for a sack of gold! Beware—Vanderbeak is DEADLY!!!"

Jamie's eyes widened. "A sack of gold," she breathed. "What do you think, Neev?"

Neev scratched his chin. "I think whoever wrote that poster sure loves exclamation marks."

"Be serious," Jamie said and swiped her sword. "This is the chance we've been looking for. We kill one little birdie, and we'll never have to work again. A sack of gold will last us a lifetime."

Neev examined the parchment again. That roc did look deadly. Its serrated beak breathed a lot of fire, and its talons were the size of tree trunks if they could lift an elephant.

"I don't like this," Neev said, "but let's keep walking. Maybe some heroes killed the roc already, and Greenford will have an easier gig for us."

They kept traveling down the road, and soon the forest gave way to rolling fields of wild grass. Boulders rose like houses around them, and mist hung over valleys of bluebells and goldenrods. They walked for two more hours, found a few apple trees for lunch, and finally reached farmlands of oats and wheat. No farmers worked the fields, plows were rusting outside, and ravens pecked unmolested at seeds.

"Where is everybody?" Cobweb whispered, and Neev thought he knew.

"Look," he said, pointing.

The other Bullies looked, and they froze in their tracks. Not a mile away they saw a silo, cottage, and barn, all burned and broken. The fields surrounding the house were burned, too. Hesitantly, Neev began walking toward the farm, and the others followed.

As they got closer, Neev saw ruts in the ground, ten feet long and three feet deep. Neev was no farmer, but he knew no plow could leave ruts that deep. These were the marks of talons. The same marks were etched into the silo and barn; it looked like a giant bird had smashed them before burning what remained.

"Oh no," Romy said and covered her mouth.

"Vanderbeak was here," Neev said.

The Bullies shuddered, and Romy clasped Neev's hand so hard, it hurt.

They kept traveling toward Greenford, and as they walked through the farmlands, they saw more of Vanderbeak's destruction: burned cottages, trampled barns, and frightened peasants hiding behind boarded windows. Animal bones lay strewn about, and Neev even saw a human skeleton with a broken sword still clutched in its hand. At first he started, sure Dry Bones had caught up with them, but it was only a dead soldier who happened upon Vanderbeak.

They kept walking. Jamie held her sword drawn, Cobweb walked with an arrow nocked in her bow, and Romy sucked her thumb. Once they heard a distant shriek, as of a bird of prey, but when they examined the sky, they saw nothing. The shriek was miles away, but still it made Neev shiver and raised his hackles.

Soon they passed another farmhouse, half toppled by roc talons, the fields around it scorched. As they were walking by, they saw a peasant scurry outside, glance around, then rush to fill water from a well. The Bullies waved to him, and the peasant started, dropping his bucket.

"Hey there!" Neev called to him. "What happened to these lands?"

The peasant stared at them, face pale. He whispered something, but Neev was too far to hear. The Bullies began walking toward the peasant.

"What is it, friend?" Neev asked.

The peasant trembled, face ashy, clothes torn. A bandage covered his left arm, bloody. "Vanderbeak," he whispered, lips trembling. "The roc was here. Run. Leave this place. Run!"

With that, the peasant raced back into his house, bucket forgotten, and slammed the door behind him. The Bullies stared at the shut door, silent and shivering. Romy whimpered.

* * * * *

As they walked through the burned farmlands, Scruff took deep breaths, struggling with fear. He wished they could just meet Vanderbeak already. This anticipation, the slow build up of fear as they walked through burned lands, made his stomach ache. He wanted to find the roc, bash its head with Norman, and be done with.

The other Bullies looked as frightened as he felt. Cobweb's brow was furrowed. Jamie took short, quick breaths. Romy trembled and whimpered, and Neev glanced around nervously, reciting spells under his breath.

As they walked over a grassy hill, Scruff cleared his throat. "Look, guys, I know it looks bad. But hey... these peasants were unarmed. That's why they suffered from Vanderbeak. But we have armor, weapons, spells. We're the Bullies, after all. I bet this Vanderbeak creature will crumble when faced with a group of armed warriors."

The other Bullies looked at him and nodded slightly. Cobweb even smiled shakily.

"I suppose you'we wight," the spiderling began to say. "We have w-weapons, and—"

Just then, a group of knights came fleeing up the hill, faces pale, eyes wide. They wore steel armor and carried axes, but ran as if all the demons of Hell chased them. Their hair and eyebrows were singed, their wounds bandaged.

"Run away! Run away!" said their leader, a burly knight with a bruised face and bashed arm. "That roc is a beast. No weapons can harm him. For God's sake, run!"
With that, the knights fled by them, clutching their wounds, until they disappeared down the hill.

Neev raised an eyebrow and looked at Scruff. "You were saying, brother?"

Scruff sighed. "Never mind. Let's keep going."

He started walking, but the others stood still, arms hanging limp at their sides. Scruff turned around to face them, and signaled them to keep moving, but they stayed still.

"Scwuff, awe you s-s-suwe dis is a g-good idea?" Cobweb asked. "If t-twenty knights c-c-couwdn't beat Vandewbeak, wit aww der weapons and awmow, what chance d-do we have?"

The others nodded their agreements, muttering amongst themselves.

Scruff pulled out his pockets, and a couple moths flew out. "It's not what we've got," he said. "It's what we don't got. Money. We're going to beat Vanderbeak because if we don't, we'll starve."

The others sighed, shrugged, and finally kept walking.

The landscapes became more burned and ruined, talon marks in the barns and fields, and once they passed by a feather that was as long as Scruff was tall. The silence seemed to crawl across Scruff like bugs.

"Where do rocs come from anyway?" he asked, unable to stand the silence much longer.

"They were originally underground creatures," Neev said, the breeze rustling his cloak. "They were bred in the great caverns of Hell, caverns as tall as the sky. On Earth, they're mostly found in caves, which remind them of their underground homes. The first couple of rocs were summoned by a warlock two thousand years ago, and they bred, but I thought they were extinct by now. Armies have been hunting them for centuries."

"Well, they didn't kill this one," Scruff said, the wind in his hair. "We will."

"Still, I wonder if Dry Bones is behind this," Neev said. "Is he luring us toward a trap?"

"What kind of trap?" Scruff said, clutching his mace, thankful for the familiar weight in his hand. "You mean he'll tempt us to come see a roc, and then unleash a vicious killer bunny our way? We're going to fight a roc already. We know what we're getting into. There's no trap, Neev."

Neev tightened his cloak around him. "You might be right, but let's be careful. Dry Bones is still alive, and he might jump out at any moment, and I have a feeling that moment might be when we're all distracted fighting a huge, fire-breathing vulture."

Scruff opened his mouth, but closed it again, and for a moment they all walked in silence. As he walked, Scruff muttered under his breath. Damn it. Neev might be right. Dry Bones might be up to this. Scruff's knuckles whitened around his mace.

Finally, as they walked over a hill of scorched grass, Scruff spoke again. "When we reach the roc, you stay behind, Neev, and watch our backs. You'll have to face Dry Bones if he pops out."

Neev shook his head. "You'll need my spells to defeat the roc."

"And my sword," Jamie said.

"And my mace," Scruff said.

"And my awwows," Cobweb said.

They all turned to look at Romy. The she-devil wasn't even listening, humming a tune to herself, looking in wonder at some ants that raced along the ground. She seemed to notice everyone was staring at her, and looked back with a smile. "What's up, guys?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Why are you all looking at me?"

A moment later, Romy whined. "But I want to fight the roc too."

"No deal," Neev said. "You'll have to wait outside the roc cave, covering us in case of Dry Bones."

She pouted. "I'm a good roc slayer. I killed them for fun when I lived underground. Please let me fight the roc, Mommy! If you do, I'll give you a million kisses."

Jamie groaned. "I thought you were scared of birds, Romy."

Romy shrugged. "I'm scared of little cute birds, goslings and ducklings and chicks. Vanderbeak is a monstrous vulture. That's different."

Neev took Romy's hand and looked into her eyes. "Romy, a roc is nothing compared to Dry Bones. The roc works for Dry Bones; the warlock is much more powerful. I'm asking you to defend us, all by yourself, against our greatest enemy. That's a bigger honor than facing some puny bird. I know only you are strong and brave enough for this task."

Romy bit her lip. "I know what you're doing, Neev. I'm not stupid. But fine." She turned her nose up at him. "I shall abstain from fighting the roc, and watch your butt in case Dry Bones singes it with a fireball."

* * * * *

The sun began to set, and still they had not reached Greenford. Romy suspected that Scruff got them lost again. She looked at a sharp boulder, shaped like a dragon, that rose to her left. I've seen this boulder before, she thought. Scruff is leading us in circles again. It was an impressive feat to get lost here, considering they just had to follow a dirt road, but somehow Scruff had managed to do it. We really ought to stop letting him walk first, Romy thought.

She opened her mouth to scold him, then closed it. Scruff looked so worried, she didn't want to burden him any further. And besides, the longer they walked around the countryside, the longer they lived. Once they reached Vanderbeak, they'd likely die. Romy had seen a roc only once, over a century ago; it had flown through a great cavern in the Ninth Circle of Hell, flapping its wings over a sea of lava. It killed a hundred demons before they shot it down. Romy shuddered at the memory. The other Bullies had never seen a roc, but Romy knew there was little hope of winning this battle.

So why do I go with them? she wondered, walking hand-in-hand with Neev, her feet weary. Why don't I just run away, go live in a cave, maybe even find a warlock who can return me to Hell? She looked at Neev and marveled at the way the wind played with his hair. That's why, she knew. For Neev. She would never leave him.

They were walking down a narrow path overgrown with weeds, the sunset orange around them, when Romy noticed a poster on an oak tree. At first she thought it another poster advertising Vanderbeak's reward—they had passed several in the past few hours—but then Romy noticed it bore a different picture. Releasing Neev's hand, she stepped toward the parchment and gasped.

"Ooh, look, it's a picture of us!" she said.

The others gathered around her, frowning. The parchment showed the five Bullies with mean eyes, their weapons raised. "Dangerous thugs at large!" was written below the portrait. "Bring the Bullies, dead or alive, to Warlock Coven beneath Batwog Mountain. One hundred golden coins reward."

The Bullies stared in silence, breathless.

Romy tapped her cheek, examining her image drawn onto the parchment. "You know, I don't think they really captured my eyes properly. I have way longer lashes than that."

Scruff tore up the parchment and sighed. "I guess this means we stay off the road," he said.

Jamie rolled her eyes and muttered, "Not that it'll slow us down much, what with you getting us lost even on the main path."

Scruff glared at her, and Jamie glared back, and Romy wondered if they'd start fighting again. But the siblings just sighed and Scruff yawned. They were all too tired. Romy yawned too, and then Cobweb yawned, and Jamie yawned too.

"Well, I'm ready for bedtime," Romy said. "Let's go find an inn."

Neev shook his head. His cloak was dusty and his eyes weary. "No inns, Romy. Not when we're wanted for a hundred gold coins. And besides, we're broke. We'll find a clearing between the trees and make camp."

Romy moaned. "But I hate sleeping on the ground. I want to sleep in a big fluffy bed." She pouted.

The other Bullies ignored her and walked off the road, heading into a copse of birches and oaks. Romy sighed and followed, muttering about the hard ground. They found a clearing between the trees, the ground covered with fallen leaves and acorns, and made camp. They boiled some oats they'd collected on the way, but it was a tasteless meal, and Romy only ate a few bites. I wish I had some bacon, beer, and great big honey cakes.

The sun soon disappeared, and Romy curled up on the ground and pulled her cloak over her. The other Bullies were soon sleeping around her, but Romy couldn't fall asleep. She missed sleeping in a bed. Sometimes she thought that she even missed the underground, especially when nights were chilly and the ground was lumpy with rocks and roots. Yet she did not mean that, not really. She had been lonely underground, not knowing truly what loneliness was. True, in Hell she had her teddy bear Floofie. But, bless his heart, he was a poor conversationalist. Hell meant pain and fire to humans; to Romy it meant eternal loneliness.

Here on Earth she had discovered a new emotion: love. She loved her new friends: Scruff with his warm heart, Cobweb with her kindness, even Jamie who hid softness beneath her angry exterior. And especially, she loved Neev—because he summoned her here, because he was so wise, because for nobody else would she sleep here on rocks and roots. She saw him lying beside her, wriggled toward him, and cuddled against him. The ground suddenly did not feel so cold.

* * * * *

Neev was woken by Romy cuddling against him. Her hair of flames crackled softly against his neck and cheek, not burning like earthly flames but warm and soft. He looked at her face, lying against his chest, her eyes shut. She was beautiful, he thought—her skin deep red and smooth, her lips the fullest he'd seen, her eyelashes long and black.

He realized that despite all the times she annoyed him, when she slept like this, cuddled against him, he liked her. Indeed, he realized that he loved her—his little devil that he had summoned into this world. It was his duty to protect her, he thought, caressing her hair of fire. Despite being a demon centuries old, she was kindhearted and innocent, and she was special to him. He kissed her lips as she slept, and he felt her hand in his hair as she kissed him back.

She opened her eyes, and he saw tears in them. "I'm scared of the roc hurting you," she said. "I'm scared of Dry Bones. I love you, Neev, and I don't want anything to happen to you."

He wished he could promise her that everything would be all right, but could make no such guarantee. "I love you too, Romy," was all he could whisper. "And maybe that is stronger than Dry Bones' magic." It was not his most eloquent moment, and he could imagine Jamie punching him for saying something so lame, but it seemed to soothe Romy, and soon they both slept, cuddled together.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Elephants

At dawn, a shriek woke Romy.

She opened her eyes, still lying between the birches, her cloak tossed over her and Neev. She saw a great creature flying overhead, shrieking. A roc! Vanderbeak!

She lay frozen, not daring to move. The roc did not notice the Bullies, for they lay hidden between the trees, and Romy watched him flap by. Even down here, his stench of rot hit Romy's nostrils. He looked like a giant vulture, black and wreathed in flame, shooting fire from his beak. He held an elephant in his talons.

The shrieks had woken the other Bullies, who also stared from their beds, eyes wide.

Vanderbeak disappeared into the distance, his shrieks fading, and for a moment, the Bullies lay in silence.

"Uhh... yeah," Romy finally said. "Nice knowing you guys."

She stood up and started to walk away.

Neev leaped to his feet and grabbed her arm. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Uhm... I just remembered," Romy said, heart hammering. "I forgot something in Queenpool. I'm going to go back and get it."

The Bullies all frowned at her, and Neev would not release her. "What did you forget, Romy?" he said, eyes narrowed.

Romy twiddled her thumbs. "My, uhm... my lucky seashell. Yeah, that's the ticket. I can't go anywhere without me lucky seashell."

Neev raised an eyebrow. "Romy, you spent two hundred years in Hell, and then a couple months on earth far from any sea. You don't have a lucky seashell." He patted her hand. "Come on, Romy. Let's keep going. We'll be all right."

Romy covered her eyes, her knees knocking. "You saw that thing. We can't kill a beast that big and deadly."

Cobweb approached them, bottom lip trembling. "Womy might be wight," she said meekly. "Dis cweatuwe m-might be beyond our p-p-powew. We saw aww dose hewoes fweeing fwom it. I d-d-don't want us to d-die."

Romy nodded vehemently. That bird is death! Cobweb's words seemed to have more affect than her own, Romy noticed. Neev and Scruff were both scrunching their lips, scanning the sky for Vanderbeak's return. They know I'm right, Romy thought. Vanderbeak's wake of smoke and fire still flowed across the sky, and Romy began to suck her thumb, trembling.

"Maybe you girls are right," Scruff said, looking pale, and even Neev tapped his cheek as if reconsidering.

Then Jamie stomped up.

The slight girl drew her sword with a hiss, thrust out her chest, and raised her chin. "Come on, guys!" she said, cheeks flushing. "I can't believe this. We can take him!" She swiped her sword; the steel whistled and gleamed. "Now I know why I spent years training with this blade. It was for this day. To kill this roc and earn a wheelbarrow-full of money!"

Romy tapped her foot and sucked her thumb. The others seemed just as unconvinced, chewing their lips.

"But J-Jamie," Cobweb said, twisting her fingers, "did you see how b-b-big dat woc is?"

Jamie raised her blade, and it glinted in the sunlight. "I saw the roc, but I also saw your arrows fly in battle, Cobweb." Jamie's eyes were moist. "And I saw your mace, Scruff, and your spells, Neev, and your pitchfork, Romy." A tear flowed down her cheek. "But most of all, I saw your hearts, I saw your courage. You are my family, you are my friends. I love all of you. I know that together we can do anything, we can defeat any enemy together." Her tears streamed down her cheeks and her voice trembled. "We can do this. We will do it together."

Romy was crying, lip trembling, tears in her eyes. Cobweb sobbed, and Scruff blew his nose into a handkerchief. Even Neev's eyes were moist.

"We're going to do it," Romy said, sniffing and inspired. "And I don't care if that roc was big enough to carry an elephant."

Jamie dropped her sword, eyes widening. She gaped at Romy. "That was an elephant?" Jamie grabbed her head. "Oh crap. I thought that was a rabbit or something."

For a moment the Bullies just stared in silence, and Romy wasn't sure if Jamie was joking. But Jamie stared back, bewildered. God, she's serious.

Neev grabbed his sister's shoulders and shook her, shouting. "How the hell do you confuse an elephant with a rabbit!"

Jamie shook herself free, face red. "I don't know, I just did! I'd never seen an elephant before! To hell with this, I'm not fighting that roc now."

Everybody groaned.

Romy took a deep breath. She put her hand on Jamie's shoulder and gazed into the shorter girl's eyes. "No, Jamie, you were right. We can do this together. Pick up your sword." She pursed her lips and nodded. "We have a roc to kill."

* * * * *

Vanderbeak's wake of fire still hung in the sky, a smoking serpent. Scruff gazed at it, palm shielding his eyes, and shivered. The creature that left that wake had destroyed miles of farmland, terrorized peasants, even battered a group of armored knights. Did the Bullies really stand a chance?

Scruff looked at Cobweb. She walked beside him, an arrow nocked in her bow, her eyes clouded with worry. Scruff remembered how Dry Bones had hurt her, how her elders had banished her. He tightened his lips. She deserved better. I'm going to kill Vanderbeak so that I can buy her a house, a better life. He remembered kissing her, the best moment in his life, and wished he could kiss her again, a million times, wished he could sleep every night with her in his arms.

They walked through the countryside, staying off the main roads, following Vanderbeak's smoking wake. At noon, they saw a burned town ahead.

Greenford.

From a distance, Greenford looked more black than green, its buildings burned and smoking. When the Bullies entered the town, they saw the extent of Vanderbeak's destruction. The cottages' thatch roofs were burned. Sheep bones lay strewn about, and the silos were smashed. Great marks of talons covered the ground and several buildings. The church's stone tower lay toppled, and giant feathers covered the village square. Atop a grassy hill rose a manor, one of its towers toppled, its gardens torn up.

As the Bullies entered the town square, they saw a group of townsfolk crowded together, muttering. Scruff heard snippets of the conversation: "...the roc will be back..." and "...must flee town..." and "...all the heroes let us down."

It's even worse than I imagined, Scruff thought. Vanderbeak destroyed an entire town. How will we kill him? He sighed. They had to try. If not for the money, then to save these people.

Scruff led the Bullies toward the townsfolk. One girl, a short youth with blond hair, noticed them and pointed. The other townsfolk turned their heads, raised their eyebrows, and soon they were all were walking toward the Bullies. A few had arms in slings. Most had singed clothes, eyebrows, and hair. A dog walked among them, a cone around his neck.

"Hi there," Scruff said and waved.

The townsfolk stared back, silent. In their eyes, even the eyes of the dog, despair covered faint hope, like a slab of ham covering a hint of butter on bread. These people had seen other heroes try to kill Vanderbeak, Scruff guessed, and they doubted anyone could hurt the beast; yet still they dared to hope. They probably had nothing left but hope.

The wounded dog limped up to them, and as Cobweb patted him, Scruff addressed the townsfolk. "We've come to kill the roc. We don't know if we can... but we're going to try."

"You don't stand a chance," said the peasant girl who first spotted them. Scruff noticed that she had a black eye, and that her skirt was burned and tattered.

"Why not?" he asked, bristling, offended that a teenage girl should doubt his strength.

The girl snorted. "You don't even have proper armor, just a cheap, dusty breastplate. Groups of fifty knights tried to kill the roc, but it killed them like a dog bites flees. What chance do you stand? You're just another group of ragtag, down-on-your luck muscles-for-hire. We know your type, and we know that you're useless."

Jamie drew her sword and pointed it at the peasant girl. Both girls were about the same age. "Watch your tongue, sweetheart," Jamie said. "See this blade? It's killed beasts before. I'm going to bring back this blade drenched in roc blood, dragging the beast's head behind me."

Scruff pushed down Jamie's sword. "Look," he said to the peasant girl, and to all the other peasants, "we're not promising anything other than that we'll try. We're good at killing things. We've killed monsters before. Granted, none as big as Vanderbeak, but some nasty ones. We might fail, but you have my word: We're going to give it our best shot. Most heroes just use swords, effective against human warriors; we use a combination of sword, mace, arrows, magic, and pitchfork. It might just do the trick."

The peasants seemed mollified, but not much more hopeful. They glanced at each other with wary eyes, sighing. An old man with a cane stepped forward and gave them a toothless smile. "Come stay at my shop," he said, voice crackly. "My name is Old Julian Glassblower. I'll give you bread and butter and pottage."

The young peasant girl rolled her eyes, "Oh, Grandpa, you give our food to every mercenary who wanders through."

The Bullies, however, were too hungry to turn down the offer. Their stomachs grumbling, they followed Old Julian. He led them down a road to a humble glass shop, its thatch roof burned, its walls blackened. At least the yard was spared Vanderbeak's wrath, and Scruff admired that yard with wide eyes. Countless glass figurines—unicorns, dwarves, fairies, and hundreds of other creatures—stood in the overgrown grass, sparkling in the sunlight.

"I devoted my life to this shop," Old Julian explained, wiping away a tear. "Vanderbeak smashed most of my work. I don't know how I'll save the business. If you don't kill that monster, we won't have a town left."

The Bullies sat in the yard amid the glass statuettes, glad to rest their feet. Romy found a statuette of a lion to hug, and Cobweb played with a few glass dancers. Even Neev couldn't resist touching a glass wizard the size of his finger. Scruff found a glass elephant and shook it before Jamie's face, saying, "This is an elephant, see? Not a rabbit. An elephant."

Julian brought them bread and bowls of pottage. Scruff tried to eat politely, but ended up bolting it down. After a day of barely any food, it tasted heavenly.

"If we kill the roc and win the reward," Scruff said to Old Julian, wiping crumbs off his face, "we'll pay you for the food."

Julian nodded sadly. "I wish I could join you. Forty years ago, I'd have gone with you to kill that beast." He shook his head, a tear in his eye.

Scruff ate another bread roll. "Do you know where Vanderbeak lives?"

Old Julian nodded. "Half a day's walk from here. You must take the road north until you reach the mountains. You'll see on the mountainside a face torn in anguish. Vanderbeak will be inside the mouth."

Scruff wanted to ask what Julian meant. A face in anguish upon the mountainside? But the old man seemed distraught, blinking back tears, and hobbled away, mumbling something about cooking more pottage.

Scruff cleared his throat. "Let's spend the night here in Greenford, then head out tomorrow morning. We could use the rest. Romy, are you listening?"

The demon was busy making two glass lions fight, supplying her own sound effects. She looked up, bit her lip, and nodded. "Got it, boss."

Scruff spent the afternoon polishing his armor with a sock (how dare the peasant girl call it dusty?) and thinking about tomorrow, the day he'd face Vanderbeak. He wasn't sure yet how they'd kill the beast, but imagined it would involve swinging Norman harder than ever before.

At night, the Bullies slept in Julian's yard under the stars. Scruff suffered a restless night, tossing and turning. You'd think I'd be used to sleeping outside by now, he thought. But still he had trouble sleeping on the ground and missed his old bed in Burrfield. Things had been so much simpler then.

He saw that Romy and Neev cuddled together as they slept, and he looked at Cobweb, aching for her. She slept on her side, head on her hands. Scruff shifted toward her, lay behind her, and tossed an arm around her. In her sleep, she placed her hands around his hand, and he lay with his nose buried in her hair. Her hair smelled like a meadow. Cobweb seemed to wake, kissed his fingertips, and fell asleep again.

Scruff lay, eyes open, thinking again about the love potion. Had Cobweb swallowed some of the potion, then looked at him as he burst into the room? Is that why she seemed to like him now? Or did she like him truly—without the aid of magic? Scruff had still not summoned the courage to ask. Finally he fell asleep with his nose in her hair, his arm tossed over her, his body pressed against her.

In the morning, the Bullies packed their things in silence. Scruff's stomach felt like a knot, and he was unable to swallow any of his breakfast, he was so nervous. As he donned his armor and pulled on his boots, Scruff looked over the other Bullies. How many would die today? I love all of them, Scruff realized. Even Romy. The death of any one would destroy him.

Neev was reciting some spells, eyes closed. Scruff remembered growing up with his brother. Neev was a year younger, always so much smarter than Scruff, but smaller and weaker. Scruff would protect him from bullies, while Neev helped Scruff learn to read and write and do numbers. I love you, brother, Scruff thought.

Next Scruff looked at his sister. Only fifteen, Jamie was still so small, a third of his size. Her black hair was growing out, but was still short. Scruff watched her swinging her sword around the yard, practicing those moves Scruff could never master. She acted so tough, but Scruff knew she was only a child, fragile on the inside. I love you, Jamie, even if you annoy the Hell out of me sometimes.

He turned his gaze to Romy. The demon stood, twirling a lock of her fiery hair. Her bat wings spread out behind her, and her claws glistened. Tongues of flame ran across her deep red body, and when she saw him looking at her, she smiled and waved. Scruff couldn't help but smile back. Romy, despite looking like a tempting she-devil of fire and sin, was an innocent, childlike and kind-hearted. Scruff couldn't help but love her. And he knew Romy made his brother happy. Neev often scolded her, rolled his eyes at her, and seemed annoyed with Romy to no end, but that couldn't fool Scruff. He could see the love in Neev's eyes when he looked upon the demon girl. Romy, Scruff thought, I love you too.

Finally Scruff turned to look at Cobweb. She was polishing her bow, humming a tune. Her white hair glowed, and her gossamer dress glistened over her slender, purple body. Scruff took a deep breath, walked up to her, and kissed her. She smiled and kissed him back. Cobweb, I love you like I never loved anyone, he thought.

He stepped back from her, took a deep breath, and announced, "Let's go kill that roc."

They headed out, the morning crisp, the sky veiled with gray clouds. In their backpacks they carried some bread, jam, and apples that Julian gave them. As they moved through Greenford, a few little girls ran up to hand them flowers. A beefy man, wearing a butcher's apron, raced up and handed them a string of sausages. A cheesemaker handed them a wheel of cheese, while a baker gave them each a muffin.

"Thanks, everyone," Scruff said, voice scratchy. "We appreciate it."

"Just don't screw it up," warned the peasant girl, the one who had scolded them yesterday. She glared at them, but then sighed, the fire gone from her eyes. "Please don't screw it up. You really are our last hope, as sad as that sounds."

Soon the Bullies exited Greenford, leaving the townsfolk to wave from their ruined town. The grass rose high around the dirt road, and deer ran in the distance beneath skeins of geese. Scruff kept looking over his shoulder at Greenford, chewing his lip, watching the townsfolk wave. I can't let them down, he thought. I don't even care about the money anymore. I have to save these people.

Romy seemed to reach a similar conclusion. After walking in silence for a while, she burst out, "We have to save those glass statuettes!"

Scruff ahemed. "And, you know... all the people who live around here. Them too."

Romy tapped her cheek. "I haven't thought about that. I suppose that'll be a nice byproduct. But I really love those statuettes." She opened her palm to reveal a tiny glass lion. "Old Julian let me keep it."

They walked throughout the morning, blue mountains rising ahead from the mist. The land was burned for miles around, and Scruff saw smoke rising from distant farms. White boulders rose around the Bullies, and they reminded Scruff of great teeth. He shivered. I wonder if rocs have teeth to chew with, or if they swallow people whole.

The dirt road became more narrow, pebbly, and weedy as they walked, until it dwindled into little more than a hint through wild grass. As they moved closer to the mountains, their size made Scruff feel small. The mountains were the largest he'd seen, rising into the clouds, their tops too tall to see. They seemed to hold the sky. When they got close enough, Scruff saw what Old Julian had described. Upon the mountainside appeared an anguished face. A cave gaped open like a screaming mouth, while two cracks above it looked like eyes narrowed in pain.

"The mountain is hurt," Romy said and began sucking her thumb.

Neev snorted. "That's silly, Romy, mountains can't feel pain."

Cobweb took a step closer to the mountain, bow in hand, the breeze streaming her hair. Her dress of gossamer rustled. "No, she's wight," the spiderling said, voice soft, eyes somber. "Everyting in da natuwal wowld can feew p-p-pain, fwom the smawwest p-pebbwe to da gweatest m-mountain. And dis mountain is huwting, Neev." Her eyes were haunted.

Scruff shuddered, looking back at that anguished face.

"Creepy," Jamie said. Her new breastplate and helmet, which she bought at Queenpool, were already dusty and dented; the Bullies had no money to hire a blacksmith or even buy oil to properly polish their weapons and armor.

If they killed the roc, they'd never have to worry about money again, but Scruff didn't care about money today. If Vanderbeak truly works for Dry Bones, we have to kill him. Dry Bones was after Cobweb; Scruff would not let the skeleton kidnap her again. He looked at the spiderling, how her glowing hair moved in the wind, how golden freckles lay strewn across her lavender nose, how her body moved through the grass. The memory of Cobweb beaten and bruised in the dungeon flashed through Scruff's mind, and he clenched his fist around Norman.

As they walked, the anguished face grew larger, and soon it towered over them, several hundred yards up the mountainside, its mouth gaping. A cold wind blew from the cave, and it seemed like the face was moaning. Scruff shivered for the hundredth time that day. He stopped walking and turned to face the other Bullies. They stood before him, the wind ruffling their hair. Jamie stood with her sword drawn and glinting, Cobweb with her arrow nocked, Neev with his cloak fluttering, Romy with her pitchfork in hand. I couldn't ask for better friends, Scruff thought and had to swallow before addressing them.

"All my life," he said, "I was told I'm a failure. My swordmaster said I'll never be a knight. He said the same to Jamie when he learned she's a girl. Neev was kicked out of the Coven, told he could never be a warlock. Cobweb was banished, told she's a poor excuse for a spiderling, and even Romy is now in exile. I'm tired of being told we're losers. If we can't kill this roc, we'll always be losers. But if we can do this today, we won't just be bullies. We'll be heroes."

Jamie nodded and raised her sword. Scruff hefted his mace. Cobweb drew her bow, arrow ready to fire. Neev's lips moved silently, rehearsing the words of spells. Romy bared her fangs, letting them glint in the sunlight.

"Ready?" Scruff said.

"Ready," they all replied, and they began their climb to the cave, pebbles crackling beneath their feet.

Along the climb, Scruff saw signs of the roc—huge talon marks in the stone, discarded elephant tusks, stones caked with ash and blood, and several feathers as long as Scruff was tall. The place stank like a corpse. Soon Scruff reached the cave and stood before it. He gazed into the darkness but saw nothing. A cold wind blew from the cave, smelling like rotten meat. Scruff swallowed, tightened his grip around Norman, and stepped into the darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I Wanna Roc

Scruff took slow paces into the cave, heart hammering, Norman heavy in his hands. Bats hung upside down around him, and bones—some of them human—littered the cave floor. Roc feathers lay around his feet, and a smell like rotting flesh filled the damp air, so heavy Scruff almost gagged. From ahead in the darkness, he heard distant, echoing grunts. Vanderbeak is home.

"Jamie, you behind me?" he whispered, not daring to look over his shoulder. The tunnel was wide above them, leaving room for a roc to fly, but only three feet wide near the ground. The Bullies had to walk single file.

Jamie whispered behind him. "I'm with you, brother, and so is my sword. Cobweb and Neev are right behind me."

"And I'm guarding the back!" came Romy's voice, as happy and loud as ever.

"Shhh!" Scruff whispered, cursing under his breath. "Be quiet, Romy."

"Ouchy, Jamie!" Romy cried. "Stop kicking me."

"Will you shut it!" Scruff hissed, grinding his teeth.

The grunting ahead, deep in the darkness, died. Damn. Did Vanderbeak hear Romy? Was their surprise ruined? He heard creaking from the depths of the cave. Vanderbeak was moving. Was he coming their way?

Scruff looked at the bones around his feet. Were these the bones of heroes come to slay the beast? Fear, cold and overwhelming, froze every muscle in Scruff's body. His head spun, and he wanted to turn around and run for his life, screaming. He swallowed, forcing down the fear, and it took all his strength to move one foot forward. His fingers trembled around Norman's grip. Just keep walking, he told himself. One step at a time. He forced himself to take another step into the darkness, ignoring the horror that seemed to tug him in the opposite direction. I have to do this. I have to kill that roc—for the people who live in this land, for Cobweb, for my sister and brother, for my mother and father. He took a third step.

The others seemed to suffer the same fear, but kept advancing with him, one step at a time, breathing heavily. After a few more paces, each more difficult than the last, Scruff saw firelight ahead. It danced against the cave walls, coming from somewhere in the depths. The grunting of the creature returned, loud and hoarse. It sounded hungry. Scruff took one more pace, the tunnel sloped down into a cavern, and there he saw him.

Scruff froze outside the cavern, cold sweat drenching him. God he's huge. The beast lay upon a nest of coins and jewels, fire in his nostrils, more fires burning around him in the craggy cavern. Vanderbeak did not seem to notice the Bullies, but was busy picking at an elephant carcass, pieces of flesh dangling from his beak. As Scruff watched, the roc sucked up the elephant's trunk like a man sucking up a noodle. It made a long slurping sound.

Scruff held up his hand, signaling the Bullies to freeze. Keeping one eye on the roc, he whispered from the corner of his mouth. "Guys, let's surprise him as he eats. Jamie and I will attack him from the front. Cobweb, you keep your distance and fire arrows. Neev, you attack from behind. Romy, you stay here to guard the tunnel; join us only if we're in trouble. Now let's surprise him before—"

A boom shook the cave, cutting off Scruff's words.

He looked around wildly, ears aching. The mountain seemed to tremble and stones fell from the ceiling. Scruff spun around and saw that the cave entrance, a hundred yards behind, was collapsing, raining boulders and dust. Boulders came rolling down the tunnel toward them.

"Damn it!" Scruff said. "It's a trap."

The boulders tumbled their way down the tunnel. Scruff ran, vaguely aware of the other Bullies running behind him. There was only one place to run—into Vanderbeak's cavern. Scruff burst into the cavern and found the roc screeching, enraged, blowing fire from his beak.

There goes our element of surprise, Scruff thought. "Attack!" he shouted and rushed forward with his mace.

Vanderbeak thrust his neck down toward him, and Scruff swung his mace, screaming. Norman crashed into Vanderbeak's head, sending rippling pain up Scruff's arms. Scruff screamed and fell. Vanderbeak raised his head to the ceiling and screeched, fire rising from his beak. The sound was so loud, Scruff had to drop his mace and cover his ears.

Get up! he told himself and leaped to his feet. He grabbed his mace and ran toward Vanderbeak. The roc screeched and blew fire toward him. Scruff raised his shield—the old wooden shield he had carried since Burrfield, all scratched and chipped, emblazoned with the Thistle emblem—and the flames flew around him. Scruff shut his eyes, feeling the heat singe his hair, his left arm, his feet. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of Jamie's swinging sword, Cobweb's whooshing arrows, and Neev's spells, but the sounds all seemed distant. The pain and fire drowned out everything.

The flames seemed to die. Maybe Vanderbeak was pausing for breath. Scruff opened his eyes and found his shield aflame. He tossed it aside and saw Vanderbeak screeching, bristly with Cobweb's arrows. Jamie was hacking at the great talons, her left arm bloody. Where were Romy and Neev? Scruff could not see them and had no time to look. Vanderbeak raised his talon and prepared to squash him.

Scruff rolled aside, and the talon, each claw like a sword, hit the ground beside him. Scruff brought down his mace hard, hitting Vanderbeak's foot. The roc screeched.

"Kill him!" he screamed and swung his mace again, hitting Vanderbeak's leg. He heard Neev cast a fireball somewhere behind and felt the heat of flames. He thought he saw Romy flying around the cavern, stabbing Vanderbeak with her pitchfork.

"We can do this," Scruff screamed. "Let's ki—"

Vanderbeak's talon kicked, hitting Scruff in the chest. His breastplate protected him, but the blow tossed Scruff through the air, knocking the breath out of him. He hit the ground, for a moment unable to breathe. The talon came down again, slamming against his chest, and Vanderbeak began to push down. Scruff could not breathe. His armor began to creak and bend, and Scruff opened his mouth to scream, but no sound left it.

"Scwuff!" Cobweb screamed, running forward. Lying under Vanderbeak's talon, Scruff could barely see. Cobweb seemed all fuzzy, and stars floated across the chamber. Scruff felt ready to pass out. Darkness was spreading over his eyes, like curtains being drawn. Stay awake, don't die now, LIVE. Cobweb must have been out of arrows. Scruff saw her draw her dagger, lunge forward, and bury the blade into Vanderbeak's foot.

Vanderbeak screeched and lifted his talon off Scruff. Lying on the ground, Scruff took a huge breath, a breath almost large enough to suck in Vanderbeak himself. The darkness lifted from his eyes. Scruff coughed, blinked, and struggled up.

"Cobweb," he said, every inch of him aching, "are you—"

Vanderbeak lashed his talon, hitting Cobweb in the chest, sending her flying.

"Cobweb!" Scruff screamed, running toward her, Vanderbeak screeching behind him. Cobweb flew through the cavern, hit a stone wall, and fell to the ground. Is she dead? The other Bullies were battling the roc, but Scruff just ran toward Cobweb, tears in his eyes.

He dropped Norman and knelt by Cobweb, eyes blurry with tears. She was lying still on the cave floor, face bloody, eyes shut. "Cobweb," Scruff whispered, tears on his cheeks. Her eyes would not open, and she lay limp. God, is she dead?

An anguished cry filled the cavern. At first Scruff thought it his own cry of anguish, or maybe the sound of his heart renting. But no. This sound came from the shadows in a distant nook, and Dry Bones burst out of the darkness.

"Dry Bones!" Romy said from above, wings flapping, pitchfork bloody. "Where were you hiding all this time?"

The skeleton paid her no heed. He ran, screaming, cloak flapping. He shouted a spell, and lightning flew from his fingertips, hitting Vanderbeak.

The roc howled, sizzling. The black lighting ran across his body, and feathers flew from him.

"I told you not to hurt the spiderling!" Dry Bones screamed, firing more lightning bolts into the towering bird. The roc screeched, burning, eyes blazing, fire leaving his beak. Dry Bones tossed a third volley of lightning, and Vanderbeak fell onto his back. He twitched, raising smoke, kicking his claws. A smell like roast chicken filled the cavern.

Vanderbeak's head fell back, and his tongue hung from his beak.

He's dead, Scruff thought, holding Cobweb in his arms. Is Cobweb dead too?

Dry Bones ran toward him, knelt by Cobweb, and shoved Scruff aside.

"Get back!" Scruff warned, reaching for his mace.

Dry Bones shook his head. "Let me see." He leaned close to Cobweb, placing his ear—or at least, the part of his skull where his ear had been—over Cobweb's mouth.

"Is she dead?" Scruff asked, eyes moist. The other Bullies gathered around them. Jamie was bloody and panting, dripping blade clutched in her hand. Romy was bruised and battered, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Neev stood, face ashy, watching from behind like that day Father died. A tiger tail peeked from under his cloak.

"She's still breathing," Dry Bones said, and Scruff sobbed in relief. "But she's hurt. Badly. She's dying."

"Can you help her?" Jamie asked, face sweaty, and Scruff knew she was remembering the potion that healed her leg.

Dry Bones nodded, rummaged through his robes, and produced a golden vial. He uncorked the vial, releasing a poof of green smoke, and poured purple liquid into Cobweb's mouth.

At first nothing happened, and Scruff held his breath. The purple potion stained Cobweb's lips. Then suddenly she coughed, breathed in deeply, and opened her eyes.

"Cobweb!" Scruff said. He shoved Dry Bones aside and hugged her, weeping, and Cobweb held him. He helped the spiderling to her feet, and she stood beside him, shaky.

The Bullies all turned, bruised and bloody, to face Dry Bones. For a moment they just stared in silence, giving the warlock their sternest glowers.

Dry Bones shrugged. "What?" he said.

"You tried to kill us again!" Jamie said. "Not cool."

"You t-t-twied to kidnap me again!" Cobweb said.

Romy howled, hair crackling, eyes flaming. "And worst of all, you broke my glass lion!" She opened her palm, showing shattered glass.

Neev took a step toward Dry Bones, his fingers smoking and crackling with the first hints of a fireball. "Why are you doing this, Dry Bones? Why are you trying to kill us? We are no threat to you."

Dry Bones sighed. "Oh, all right, all right. Don't get your underpants all in a bundle, kids. I'll explain. See, I have nothing against you personally. Scruff, you're a nice guy. Jamie, you're a cute little hellraiser. Neev, you're a brilliant young man. Romy, you... you...." Dry Bones thought for a moment. "Well, Romy, I'm sure there are some positive sides to you, too."

"So why are you trying to kill us?" Neev demanded.

"Because of this." Dry Bones passed his hands—skeleton hands—over his skeleton body. "Do you know how hard it is to be a skeleton? No woman wants me. That's why I have to enchant them. Kids run away from me in horror. I have no friends. No family. I'm lonely. And it's your father, Neev, who did this to me. Sam Thistle tossed my spellbook into a fire. When I tried to retrieve it, the fire ate my flesh." Dry Bones clenched his bony fists. "I swore vengeance that day... not just against Sam Thistle, but against his entire family. I swore to wipe out the Thistle name. So I killed Sam Thistle and his wife five years ago, on the night I burned Burrfield. And when you showed up at the Coven, Neev, I learned that there were more Thistles in the world, more Thistles to kill. And well, you know the rest."

Romy rolled her eyes. "Bo-ring! God, you talk a lot, Dry Bones. Is your new plot to bore us to death? Your name should be Dull Bones."

"See, Romy?" the skeleton said. "That's why I'm going to kill you too. You're not a Thistle, but you're annoying."

Romy pouted.

Cobweb, her legs still wobbly, took a few hesitant steps toward Dry Bones. Scruff let her go, but kept his hand around his mace, ready to leap forward should Dry Bones try anything funny. The spiderling placed her hand on Dry Bones' shoulder.

"Dwy Bones, pwease," she said, voice soft. "Can you s-stop youw quest against my fwiends? I know y-you awen't a b-b-bad man. You'we just wonewy."

Dry Bones nodded. For a moment, it almost seemed as if the skeleton would cry. "I am lonely, you're right. You can't understand how lonely I am. You can't understand what it's like to be different, to be shunned from society."

Cobweb smiled sadly. "B-but we can. I was b-banished fwom my cwan because I t-tawk funny. Scwuff was banished for b-being b-b-bad at da swowd, Jamie for being a giwl. Even Womy is an outcast in dis wowwd. Dwy Bones, pwease. I wove my fwiends so m-much." Tears appeared in her eyes. "You s-saved me, and I know I'm fowevew in d-debt to you. If you pwomise to stop hunting my fwiends, I... I'ww dwink youw wove potion and b-b-become y-youw w-w-wife."

"No!" Scruff said, horrified, and took a step forward... but Neev placed a hand against his chest, stopping him.

"Let's see what she does," Neev whispered.

"Do you agwee, Dwy Bones?" Cobweb said, tears spiking her eyelashes. "Pwease. Fow me. I'ww be youws f-f-fowevew if you pwomise to wet my fwiends go."

Dry Bones shrugged. "Why don't I just kill them now, then force you to drink the potion?"

"Why don't we kill you now?" Jamie growled, standing by her brothers, raising her bloody sword.

"No!" Cobweb said. "No mowe fighting. Pwease. We've f-f-fought enough." She turned to Dry Bones. "You've twied to k-k-kiww us befowe, but faiwed. We'd aww j-just end up kiwwing one anotew. You've made us misewabwe awweady; you've achieved youw v-vengeance against da Tistwes. We'ww be togeder, Dwy Bones, and wet my fwiends go."

She took a deep breath and wiped sweat off her brow. Scruff knew how hard it was for Cobweb to speak so many words. He was proud of her for speaking so well, so nobly. I love her so much.

Dry Bones tapped his chin, thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Very well, I accept." He pulled a love potion from his pocket and handed it to Cobweb. "Drink"

Scruff tightened his lips. I can't let this happen. He looked at his fellow Bullies, but they just stood bewildered, not knowing what to do.

Cobweb reached toward Dry Bones' love potion, her hand trembling, her eyes teary.

Scruff leaped forward, rolled across the ground, and snatched the fallen healing potion, the potion Dry Bones used for healing Cobweb. Half the bottle remained. Would it be enough?

Scruff glanced at Cobweb. She had taken Dry Bones' love potion and was holding it, eyes closed and teary. Don't drink it, Cobweb, please.

Clutching the healing potion, Scruff rushed toward Vanderbeak. The roc lay on his back, smoking, one talon twitching. He's still alive, but barely.

Glancing back at Cobweb, he saw her hesitate, tears flowing as she brought the love potion close to her lips. Not wasting an instant, Scruff shoved the healing potion into Vanderbeak's beak and spilled it onto his tongue.

The roc swallowed, coughed, and ruffled his feathers.

Cobweb brought the love potion to her lips. She was about to drink.

Vanderbeak rose to his feet, dozens of feet tall.

"Kill Dry Bones!" Scruff screamed at Vanderbeak, pointing at the skeleton. "He tried to kill you. Get him!"

Screeching, the roc leaped forward, fire blowing from his beak.

Cobweb leaped aside, the love potion falling to smash against the ground. Thank God, Scruff thought. "Sic him, Vanderbeak," he shouted. "Kill Dry Bones! He tried to kill you, get him!"

The roc jumped onto Dry Bones, clutched him with his talons, and tossed the warlock into his beak.

"Scruff, damn you!" the skeleton screamed.

"Eat him!" Scruff shouted at the top of his lungs.

Vanderbeak tossed his head back, gulping Dry Bones down.

"Mmm mmm, crunchy," Romy said and patted the roc.

From inside the roc, came the sounds of Dry Bones screaming and casting spells. The roc's belly bulged, and electricity flowed across him. The screams were horrible, both Vanderbeak's screeches and Dry Bones howling in his belly. The chamber trembled and fires burned. The Bullies rushed back and flattened themselves against the wall, watching the scene.

Dry Bones was shouting spells inside the roc, and the great bird burst into flames, lightning crackling across him. Smoke and fire flowed. The screams swirled in the air. The cave trembled. Boulders fell from the cave ceiling, crashing against Vanderbeak. Even the boulders that had trapped the bullies came loose, tumbling into the chamber, hitting Vanderbeak.

The great vulture fell over, crushed with stones, burned with fire, crackling with electricity. His screeches turned into a whimper, then died.

Inside his belly, Dry Bones fell silent.

The fires died.

Silence filled the chamber.

The Bullies stood still, ash on their faces, blood on their weapons. Scruff clutched Cobweb's hand. Jamie grabbed his other hand. Neev and Romy held each other. For a moment nobody dared move.

Finally Romy broke the silence. "Are they dead?"

Neev shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and muttered a spell. It must have been a simple spell; his jinx didn't act up, and he sighed in relief, his breath shaky. "I sense no life from them. They're dead, Romy." For the first time in his life, Scruff saw tears in his brother's eyes. "They're dead," the young warlock whispered.

Romy cried too, embracing Neev. Then the demon turned to Jamie and embraced her, both crying.

Scruff stood still, looking at Cobweb. She gazed back, lips trembling, tears drawing purple lines through the ash on her cheeks. For a moment they just stood still, staring at each other.

Then Scruff felt tears in his eyes and embraced her.

"I love you, Cobweb," he whispered.

She kissed his lips. "I wove you too," she said.

Scruff smiled and laughed through his tears. "You said that so well. You're getting better." But then his smile vanished. He touched Cobweb's cheek, his fingers trembling. "Did you drink it, Cobweb?" He didn't even care that she saw him crying.

"No, it f-feww from my hand befowe I c-couwd," she said, holding him, tears in her eyes.

"Not that one," Scruff said, tears blurring his vision. "I mean the love potion Dry Bones tried to force into you, back at his tower in the forest. You had the bottle to your lips, and then looked at me. Do you love me because of the love potion, Cobweb? Did you drink it before looking at me? Is that why you kissed me?"

Cobweb laughed as she cried. "Is dat what's b-been botewing you aww dis time? Of course I didn't dwink it, Scwuff! I wove you fow weal, and vewy much, not because of some p-potion." She kissed him. "I woved you fwom the moment we met."

Scruff stared at her, confounded, then laughed. Then he kissed her again, hands in her hair.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bullies for Ever

When the Bullies dragged Vanderbeak's head into Greenford, the townsfolk gaped, too shocked to speak.

"Well, here you go," Scruff said, pulling the rope tied around the roc's head. With the other Bullies' help, he dragged the head into town square. The head was the size of a wagon, dusty and very very dead.

The townsfolk just stared silently, and Scruff bit his lip and twisted his toes. Did we do something wrong? he wondered. Did we kill the wrong beast?

Finally one peasant broke the silence.

"That's gross," said the blond girl, the one who'd first doubted them. "That head stinks."

The other townsfolk gaped, then one—Old Julian Glassblower—laughed. The others soon joined the laughter, and the Bullies laughed too. The townsfolk ran toward them, patted their backs, and embraced them with tears and more laughter.

"To hell with this," Romy said and tossed aside her cloak and hood. "I'm sick of hiding who I am. Look everyone, I'm a scary demon! Look!"

Scruff winced, knowing how people hated demons, and he prepared to flee with Romy. But the townsfolk didn't seem to mind. They hoisted Romy onto their shoulders and carried her around, cheering for "the benevolent demon" as she squealed in delight.

The party lasted all day. The townsfolk danced and drank. Somebody cleaned and stuffed Vanderbeak's head, and the townsfolk mounted it in town square. As evening fell, lanterns were lit, more wine was passed around, and musicians played fiddles and flutes. Romy danced and drank so much, that she soon passed out and lay sleeping under a tree, Neev sitting beside her and caressing her hair.

The Lord of Greenford rode out of his manor atop the hill, bearing a chest of gold. The townsfolk fell silent as the lord presented the gold to Scruff.

"Five hundred golden coins," said the lord, an apple-cheeked man in a purple cape. "Every one well spent."

The lord opened the chest, and Scruff was nearly blinded. He had never seen so much money, and probably never would again. The golden coins glinted like stars. Their very presence seemed to wake up Romy, who wobbled toward the chest, gazed in, and promptly passed out again.

"So much money," Jamie whispered, the golden light upon her face, her eyes wide. "We could buy a castle with this."

Scruff took a deep breath. He thought of all the things he could buy with this money. Not just a castle, but horses, gowns for Cobweb, a future.

Then Scruff looked around at the town. He saw burned silos. He saw a toppled church. He saw poor, ashy peasants, their farms burned. He saw bedraggled tradesmen, their shops destroyed. Even the manor atop the hill was half smashed.

Scruff looked at his fellow bullies. Cobweb knew what he was thinking; Scruff could see that. She looked at him, love in her eyes, and nodded. Neev heaved a deep sigh, the deepest Scruff had ever seen him sigh, and nodded too. Jamie opened her mouth, eyes shocked, then closed her mouth, opened it again, bit her lip, then finally sighed. Eyes lowered, she grumbled something and nodded curtly.

Romy, meanwhile, snored upon the ground.

Scruff looked at the apple-faced lord, closed the chest, and pushed it back.

"Thank you, my lord," he said. "But we can't accept this reward. You need the money more than we do. Use this gold to rebuild this town and the farms that Vanderbeak destroyed."

Romy had woken up, caught his last words, and passed out a third time.

The lord raised his eyebrows. "You are very noble, sir," he said to Scruff.

Scruff smiled. "I'm not a sir. I'm just a Bully."

The lord whistled and shook his head. "Is there nothing we can offer you?"

Scruff looked at Cobweb. She smiled at him, blue eyes sparkling in the light of lanterns, her skin glowing. As usual, she seemed to know what he was thinking. She nodded and smiled, dimples in her cheeks.

Scruff turned back to the lord. "There's just one thing I'd like. Do you have a priest around?"

As it happened, they did. Scruff was only eighteen, Cobweb only sixteen; they were young, but they didn't care. They knew they'd love each other forever.

That Sunday, the peasants all gathered in the town square as Scruff and Cobweb got married. Flowers were set across the square, the cobbled streets were swept, and ribbons adorned the lantern poles. The peasants wore their Sunday best, white tunics and garlands of flowers in their hair. Musicians played wooden flutes, girls walked around with trays of honey cakes, and a puppet show was set up in a corner to entertain bored children (and, for an hour, Scruff).

Cobweb wore her gossamer dress and a garland of wheat. She had braided strands of her hair, weaving sweet-scented jasmines into the braid. She was so beautiful, that everyone who approached her stuttered so badly, they talked just as clumsily as she.

Scruff himself wore a white tunic the lord of Greenford gave him. He had polished his breastplate and helmet and wore them too; they glittered in the sunlight like Cobweb's eyes. It was the best day of his life. We did it, Father, Mother, he thought. We got the guy who killed you. Maybe I didn't become a knight, but I think I became somebody. And I know you'd have loved Cobweb. Together we'll carry on the Thistle name.

Scruff and Cobweb held hands as the priest, an old white-haired man, blessed them. Jamie stood to one side. She refused to wear a dress, and instead wore her armor, Moonclaw slung over her back. She smiled—a rare event—teeth glittering. Neev and Romy stood to the other side, holding hands, exchanging secret glances. Scruff smiled when he saw them, for he knew their secret. They might not be getting married today, but I think they're going to be together forever, too.

"You may now exchange rings," the priest said, smiling a toothless smile.

Scruff handed Cobweb her ring, which he had bought secretly yesterday. It was made of white gold and shaped like a garland of cyclamens. It suited a spiderling of the forest, he thought. He placed it onto her finger. Wiping away tears, Cobweb handed him a ring of polished wood engraved with a pattern of ivy.

"I c-cawved it fow you mysewf," she said.

"It's beautiful," he said, admiring it, and kissed her cheek.

The priest raised his eyebrow. "What's this?" he demanded. "This will not do!"

Scruff looked at him, suddenly worried. Did the priest not allow wooden rings? "What's wrong?" he asked.

The priest shook his head. "A kiss on the cheek? What kind of kiss is that? Go on, kiss her properly!"

Scruff smiled. "Yes, sir."

And he did.

Romy let out a huge sob and blew her nose loudly, her handkerchief fluttering.

* * * * *

The night after the wedding, Neev lay in bed at the local inn, staring at the ceiling. Crickets chirped outside the window, and moonlight fell onto Neev's eyes, glinting. Hyacinth flowers hung on the wall, filling the room with sweet scent.

The innkeeper had given the Bullies three rooms for free—one for Jamie, the other for the newlyweds, and a third room for Neev and Romy.

The demon girl sat by the window now, staring outside, the moonlight glowing upon her. Neev lay in bed, silently admiring her. She looked beautiful, her hair of flame flowing, a blanket draped over her nude body. Neev thought that he had never seen a woman so beautiful.

He rose from bed and walked up to her, then stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her neck. "Are you coming to bed?" he asked.

She turned to look at him, and Neev was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "Neev," she said, "do you love me?"

"Very much," he said.

"I know I'm childish."

Neev kissed her. "That's okay."

Romy shook her head, hair of fire crackling. "No. It's not." She rose to her feet and stood before him. "You think I'm cute now. Maybe you love me because Scruff found Cobweb, and you feel lonely. But in a few years, you'll grow tired of my childish ways, you'll get bored with me, and you'll break my heart."

He touched her hair, marveling at how the fire felt soft and did not burn him. "I won't do that, Romy."

She took his hands, a tear streaming down her cheek. "I love you so much, Neev. With all my heart. I never had a boyfriend before, not in two hundred years, because you're the only boy I fell in love with." She brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them. "I know I'm like a little girl. Everyone says so. But I'm not like a child in every way. I can be a woman, too. Let me show you."

She kissed him deeply, her hands in his hair, her body pressed against him. When I summoned you, I thought you ruined my life, he thought, kissing her. I was banished from the Coven that day. But Romy... summoning you was the best thing I ever did.

As the moon moved across the sky, they made love with fire, the first time either one of them had made love. Then they were so exhausted, that they slept until morning, holding each other.

* * * * *

As the Bullies left Greenford, the townsfolk cheering behind them, Jamie took a deep breath. She looked over the landscape, the rolling farmlands already regrowing, the blue mountains that rose from mist ahead, the green forests in the distance. The air smelled fresh and the only birds in the sky were sparrows, no rocs.

And no Dry Bones. It was over.

Jamie patted Moonclaw's pommel. Five years of pain ended when Dry Bones died, five years since the warlock burned Burrfield and killed their parents. I swore to become a knight, I swore to avenge Mom and Dad, Jamie thought. I didn't become a knight, but I hope Mom and Dad are still proud of me.

She looked at Scruff and Cobweb, who walked hand in hand along the dirt road. Then she looked at Neev and Romy, who also held hands, laughing softly at some private joke. Hey, wait a minute, Jamie thought. All the other Bullies found love. What about me? What about poor little Jamie?

For a moment Jamie felt jealous, but then she shrugged. So what? The others were older. She was only fifteen. There was time before she'd need a boyfriend. She had something just as good: her siblings with her, and two new girlfriends, Romy and Cobweb. Jamie had never had female friends before, and wasn't sure how to deal with it. But I'll give it a try. Maybe I'll even kick people less often.

Walking through the farmlands, the sun on her head, Jamie opened her pockets and glanced inside. Diamonds and emeralds filled her pockets, treasures grabbed from Vanderbeak's lair. The other Bullies, she knew, also carried treasure in their pockets. Scruff even carried a sack over his back, full of more Vanderbeak jewels. The rest of the treasure remained buried in the mountain, where Dry Bones lay dead inside of Vanderbeak, but not for long. We'll be back with a wagon soon enough. Jamie smiled. We didn't take the reward from Greenford, but I don't think we'll be worried about money for a while.

Romy walked up to her, smiling, dimples in her cheeks. "Hey, Jamie, want to play with glass lions?" Romy opened her palms, beaming, revealing two new glass lions. "Old Julian gave them to me! I named one Jamie and the other Romy. We can make them fight." Romy moved them around, making them roar.

Normally Jamie would kick Romy for being such a baby, but today she only smiled. "I don't want them to fight. Maybe they can be friends."

Romy bit her lip, tapped her cheek, then nodded with a smile. "Okay!"

The Bullies kept walking through the farmlands, and for several days, they traveled across farms, forests, and grassy hills. After ten days of walking and sleeping under the stars, they finally saw Burrfield ahead, chimney smoke rising behind its walls. The town lay nestled by Teasel Forest, and Jamie felt a lump in her throat. Home.

Since leaving Greenford, the Bullies had been talking about returning to Burrfield and building a house there, a house large enough for the Bullies to live in together, a house where they could retire early. They would have horses, a garden, a vineyard, and a few extra rooms for future generations of Bullies. At first Jamie thought the plan wonderful, but now she worried.

Would Lord Bramblebridge let us back in? He banished Scruff and me, after all, told us never to return. She had tried voicing her concern to her brothers, but they seemed less worried. "I'll talk to the old man," Neev had assured her. "He'll let you and Scruff back in."

Jamie wasn't as optimistic. She remembered how mad the portly, bald lord had been. He had insisted Scruff and Jamie stay away forever, and she wasn't sure what to expect. When she entered Burrfield again, she glanced around nervously.

It had been a few months since she'd seen Burrfield, and the sight of her home brought tears to her eyes. There was the old well where she would spend time reading scrolls of epic adventures. There was the Porcupine's Quills, the tavern where she, Scruff, and other squires would drink and sometimes fight. And there... behind some trees... was the home where she was born, where she grew up. Jamie felt a lump in her throat.

A few kids saw the Bullies enter, whispered to each other, and ran away.

"Oh no," Jamie said. "They're going to call Bramblebridge to kick us out."

Even Neev looked worried, pursing his lips. Scruff and Cobweb held each other, looking around nervously. Only Romy didn't seem to notice; she was busy making her toy lions dance.

Soon enough, Lord Bramblebridge indeed came marching toward them, arms pumping, gut sucked in and chest thrust out. His mustache bristled and sweat glistened on his bald head. Jamie winced, and even Scruff—who stood a foot or two taller than Bramblebridge—took a step back.

"Well, well, if it isn't Bullies for Bucks," said Lord Bramblebridge, voice disgusted.

"You... you know of Bullies for Bucks?" Jamie asked, raising her eyebrows.

Bramblebridge marched up toward her, frowning, cheeks red. "Who doesn't? The whole kingdom is talking about you rascals. Now tell me—how dare you come back into Burrfield?" His eyes blazed.

Jamie bit her lip. "I'm sorry, my lord. I know you banished us. We'll be on our way now, and—"

Suddenly Lord Bramblebridge bellowed a laugh, clutching his gut. "Jamie!" he said, grabbed her, and hugged her. Then he pulled Scruff, who looked very confused indeed, into the embrace. "Scruff! Listen, you two, I'm sorry I lost my temper that day. I realized my mistake the next morning, and sent out men to find you, but you were already gone. But hey. It seems the adventure did you well." He released the two and took a step back, nodding in approval.

Jamie opened and closed her mouth a few times before finding her voice. "You shouldn't have kicked us out."

Lord Bramblebridge nodded, wiping sweat off his brow. "Aye. I'm a grumpy old man, Jamie, and I'm set in my ways. But tell you what. Come back to the fort. I'm going to knight both you and Scruff on the spot. You two have earned it."

Jamie's eyes widened and she gasped. "Knighted," she breathed. She turned to Scruff. "Did you hear that, Scruff? We're going to be knighted!"

But Scruff only looked at her solemnly, no joy in his eyes. Cobweb stood by him, one hand on Scruff's shoulder, giving Jamie the same solemn look.

Jamie understood. She nodded slowly.

With a sigh, she turned back to Bramblebridge. "I'm sorry, my lord. But I don't think we want to be knights anymore." She looked back at her brother, and the two exchanged a smile. "We're Bullies."

Bramblebridge stared at her, blinking, then turned to walk away, muttering to himself. "Damn Thistle kids... always have been crazy. I'll be darned if I ever understood them." Soon he vanished around a corner, muttering under his breath.

The Bullies looked at each other, waiting until Lord Bramblebridge was out of earshot, then burst out laughing.

Romy was the only one who seemed to miss the joke. She looked at the others in confusion, then shrugged. She looked up to Friar Hill, that hill where Dry Bones had commanded his grobblers years ago, the hill where Father died.

"Can we build our house there?" the demon asked, pointing at the hilltop.

Our house on Friar Hill? Jamie thought, sucking in her breath. She looked at her brothers. They looked back, raising their eyebrows, and Jamie knew what they were thinking. The place Dad died?

Jamie shrugged. "It would be a great tribute," she whispered. "I think Dad would like to look down upon this place, see you raise your kids there. What do you think?"

Scruff blew out his breath slowly, then nodded. He put his arm around Cobweb's waist, pulling her close. "Let's do it."

Neev smiled and patted Romy's hand. "Romy," he said, "that is a perfect place."

The Bullies walked down the street, then climbed the hill together, hand in hand. Only Jamie remained below, standing at the foothill, staring at some dry leaves that fluttered around her boots. She took a deep breath. For a long time, anger lived inside me, she thought. Anger about my parents dying. Anger that I'm a girl, that I couldn't become a knight. She remembered meeting Lenore, her heroine, a woman who spent decades hiding in her armor, still fighting alone at fairs for fleeting glory or gold. Lenore had once been a great dragonslayer and knight of legend; she died obscure, lonely, nobody but Jamie at her side.

Jamie looked at her shield, the shield Lenore had given her. Before Lenore had died, she had tried to teach Jamie something, something she had learned, a lesson for Jamie. The warrior woman had died before passing on that knowledge, but Jamie finally thought she understood what Lenore wanted her to learn.

I'm not going to fight forever, Lenore, she thought. I won't try to forever hide inside armor, behind this shield, lying about who I am. I'll build a house here, and maybe sometimes I can hang up this sword and this shield.

"Hey, Jamie," Romy called from the hilltop, waving. "Hurry up."

Jamie shook her head, clearing it of thoughts, and smiled. "Wait up!" she called and ran up the hill, laughing.

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

Standalones:

Firefly Island (2007)

The Gods of Dream (2010)

Flaming Dove (2010)

Eye of the Wizard (2011)

Song of Dragons:

Blood of Requiem (2011)

Tears of Requiem (forthcoming)

Light of Requiem (forthcoming)

BLOOD OF REQUIEM

SONG OF DRAGONS, BOOK ONE

by

Daniel Arenson

Song of Dragons, a new fantasy series by Daniel Arenson, tells a story of blood, steel, and dragonfire.

BOOK ONE: BLOOD OF REQUIEM

Long ago stood the kingdom of Requiem, a land of men who could grow wings and scales, breathe fire, and take flight as dragons. Requiem ruled the sky.

But Dies Irae, a tyrant leading an army of griffins, hunted Requiem's people, burned their forests, and shattered their temples. Requiem fell. This ancient land now lies in ruin, its halls crumbled, its cries silenced, its skeletons littering the burned earth.

In the wilderness, a scattering of survivors lives in hiding. The griffins still hunt them, and every day promises death. Will Requiem's last children perish in exile... or once more become dragons and fly to war?

Here's an excerpt from Blood of Requiem:

War.

War rolled over the world with fire and wings.

The Vir Requis marched. Men. Women. Children. Their clothes were tattered, their faces ashy, their bellies tight. As their cities burned behind them, they marched with cold eyes. All had come to fight this day: the young and the old, the strong and the wounded, the brave and the frightened. They were five thousand. They had no more places to hide.

The dying sun blazed red against them. The wind keened. Five thousand. The last of their race.

We will stand, we will fly, we will perish with fire and tooth, Benedictus thought, jaw clenched. Men will say: Requiem did not fade with a whimper, but fell with a thunder that shook the mountains.

And so he marched, and behind him his people followed, banners red and gold, thudding in the wind. Last stand of Requiem.

It was strange, he thought, that five thousand should move together so silently. Benedictus heard only thumping boots. No whispers. No sobs. No whimpers even from the children who marched, their eyes too large in their gaunt faces. The Vir Requis were silent today, silent for the million of their kin already dead, for this day when their race would perish, enter the realm of memory, then legend, then myth. Nothing but thudding boots, a keening wind, and a grumbling sky. Silence before the roar of fire.

Then Benedictus saw the enemy ahead.

The scourge of Requiem. Their end.

Benedictus let out his breath slowly. Here was his death. The death of these hunted, haunted remains of his kind, the Vir Requis who had once covered the world and now stood, still and silent, behind him.

A tear streamed down Benedictus's cheek. He tasted it on his lips—salty, ashy.

His brother's host dwarfed his own. Fifty thousand men stood ahead: swordsmen, horsemen, archers, all bedecked in the white and gold that Dies Irae took for his colors. They carried torches, thousands of fires that raised smoky pillars. Countless griffins flew over these soldiers, shrieking, their wings churning the clouds. The army shimmered like a foul tapestry woven with images of the Abyss.

Benedictus smiled grimly. They burned our forests. They toppled our cities. They chased us to every corner of the earth. If they force us to fight here, then we will die fighting well.

He clenched his fists.

War.

War crashed with blood and screams and smoke.

Benedictus, King of Requiem, drew his magic with a howl. Black wings sprouted from his back, unfurling and creaking. Black scales rippled across him, glinting red in the firelight. Fangs sprang from his mouth, dripping drool, and talons grew from his fingers. Soon he was fifty feet long, a black dragon breathing fire. Requiem's magic filled him, the magic of wings and scales and flame, the magic that Dies Irae lacked and loathed. Benedictus took flight, claws tearing the earth. His roar shook the battlefield.

Let them see me. Let them see Benedictus the Black, for one final time under the sky, spreading wings and roaring flame.

Behind him, the Vir Requis he led changed form too. The solemn men, women, and children drew the ancient magic of their race, grew wings, scales, and claws. They too became dragons, as cruel and beautiful as the true dragons of old. Some became elder beasts missing scales, their fangs long fallen. Others were young, supple, their scales still soft, barely old enough to fly. A few were green, others blue, and some blazed red. A handful, like Benedictus, bore the rare black scales of old noble blood. Once the different colors, the different families and noble lines, would fight one another, would mistrust and kill and hate. Today they banded here, joined to fight Dies Irae—the young, the old, the noble and the common.

This night they fought with one roar.

The last Vir Requis, Benedictus thought. Not humans. Not dragons. Weredragons, the humans call us. Shunned. Today is our last flight.

War. With steel and flame.

Arrows pelted Benedictus, jabs of agony. Most shattered against his scales, but some sank into his flesh. Their tips were serrated, coated with poison that burned through his veins. He roared and blew fire at the men below, the soldiers his brother tricked or forced into battle today. They screamed, cursed him, feared him; the Vir Requis were monsters to them. Benedictus swooped, lifted several soldiers in his claws, and tossed them onto their comrades. Spears flew. Flaming arrows whistled. Everywhere was blood, fire, and screaming.

War. With poison and pain.

Around him, the Vir Requis flew as dragons, the forms they always took in battle. They breathed fire and roared. Spears and arrows plucked the young from the skies. Their scales were too soft, their wings too small. They hit the ground, screaming, soon overcome with swordsmen who hacked them. Blood splashed. In death they resumed human forms; battered, bloodied, butchered children.

They take our youth first, Benedictus thought. He slammed into soldiers below, biting, clawing, lashing his tail, ignoring the pain of swordbites. They let us, the old, see the death of our future before they fell us too from the skies.

These older Vir Requis—the warriors—fought with fire, claw, and fang. These ones had seen much war, had killed too many, bore too many scars. Soon mounds of bodies covered the battlefield. The Vir Requis howled as they killed and died.

Our race will fall here today, Benedictus thought as spears flew and shattered against his scales. But we will make a last stand for poets to sing of.

And then shrieks tore the air, and the griffins were upon him.

They were cruel beasts, as large as dragons, their bodies like great lions, their heads the heads of eagles, their beaks and talons sharp. In the books of men they were noble, warriors of light and righteousness, sent by the Sun God to fight the curse of Requiem, the wickedness of scales and leathery wings. To Requiem they were monsters.

Today Benedictus saw thousands of them, swooping beasts of feathers and talons. Two crashed into him, scratching and biting. One talon lashed his front leg, and Benedictus roared. He swung his tail, hit one's head, and cracked its skull. It tumbled. Benedictus blew fire onto the second. Its fur and feathers burst into flame. Its shrieks nearly deafened him, and it too fell, blazing, to crash into men below.

Panting and grunting with pain, sluggish with poison, Benedictus glanced around. The griffins were swarming; they outnumbered the Vir Requis five to one. Most Vir Requis lay dead upon the bloody field, pierced with arrows and spears and talons. And then more griffins were upon Benedictus, and he could see only their shrieking beaks, their flashing talons. Flaming arrows filled the air.

Has it truly been only five years? Benedictus thought as talons tore into him, shedding blood. Haze covered his thoughts, and the battle almost seemed silent around him. Five years since my father banished my brother, since a million of us filled the sky? Yes, only five years. Look at us now. Dragons fell around him like rain, maws open, tears in their eyes.

"No!" Benedictus howled, voice thundering. He blew fire, forcing the haze of death off him. He was not dead yet. He still had some killing in him, some blood to shed, some fire to breathe. Not until I've killed more. Not until I find the man who destroyed us. Dies Irae. My brother.

He clawed, bit, and burned as his comrades fell around him, as the tears and blood of Requiem filled the air and earth.

He fought all night, a night of fire, and all next day, fought until the sun again began to set. Its dying rays painted the world red.

Pierced by a hundred arrows, weary and bloody, Benedictus looked around and knew: The others were gone.

He, Benedictus, was the last.

He flew between griffins and spears and arrows. His brethren lay slain all around. In death, they lay as humans. Men. Women. Children. All those he had led to battle; all lay cut and broken, mouths open, limbs strewn, eyes haunted and still.

Benedictus raised his eyes. He stared at the army ahead, the army he now faced alone. Thousands of soldiers and griffins faced him under the roiling clouds. The army of Dies Irae.

He saw his brother there, not a mile away, clad in white and gold. Victorious.

Bleeding, tears in his eyes, Benedictus flew toward him.

Spears clanged against Benedictus. Arrows pierced him. Griffins clawed him. Still he swooped toward Dies Irae. Fire and screams flowed around him, and Benedictus shot like an arrow, roaring, wreathed in flame.

Dies Irae rose from the battlefield upon a griffin, bearing a lance of silver and steel. Gold glistened upon his armor and samite robes. He appeared to Benedictus like a seraph, a figure of light, ablaze like a sun.

Benedictus, of black scales and blood and fire, and Dies Irae, of gold and white upon his griffin. They flew toward each other over the mounds of dead.

Benedictus was hurt and weary. The world blurred. He could barely fly. He was too hurt, too torn, too haunted. Dies Irae crashed into him, a blaze like a comet, so white and righteous and golden. Benedictus howled, hoarse. He felt Dies Irae's silver spear pierce his wing. He heard that wing tearing, a sound like ripping leather. It was the most terrifying sound Benedictus had ever heard, and the pain seemed unreal, too great to truly fill him. He crashed into the griffin that bore his brother. Screaming, mouth bloody, he bit down. His jaws severed Dies Irae's arm. He felt the arm in his mouth, clad in armor, and he spat it out, saw it tumble to the ground.

Dies Irae screamed, cried, and clutched the stump of his arm. Blood covered him. His griffin clawed Benedictus's side, pain blazed, and Benedictus kicked. He hit the griffin's head, crushing it. The griffin fell. Dies Irae fell. His brother hit the ground, screaming. His griffin lay dead beside him.

Benedictus landed on the ground above his brother.

The battle froze.

The soldiers, knights, and griffins all stood still and stared, as if in shock. Benedictus stood panting, blood in his mouth, blood on his scales, and gazed down at his brother. Dies Irae looked so pale. Blood covered his golden armor and samite robe.

"My daughter," Benedictus said, voice low. "Where is Gloriae?"

"Please," Dies Irae whispered, lips pale, face sweaty. "Please, Benedictus. My brother. Please."

Benedictus growled. He spoke through the blood in his maw, voice hoarse and torn. "You destroyed us. You butchered a million souls. How dare you ask for mercy now? Return me my daughter."

Dies Irae trembled. Suddenly he looked so much as he did years ago, a timid and angry child, a scorned brother cast away from his father's court. "Please," he whispered, clutching his stump. "Please."

Benedictus raised a clawed foot, prepared to strike down, to kill the man who had hunted his race to near extinction. Dies Irae shut his eyes and whimpered. His lips prayed silently and his blood flowed.

Benedictus paused.

He looked around him. No more Vir Requis flew. They covered the battlefield, dead. Their war had ended. The time of Requiem had ended.

It is over, Benedictus knew. No. I will not end it this way, not with killing my brother. It is over already.

With a grunt, Benedictus kicked off the ground, flapped his wings, and rose into the air.

Men and griffins screamed around him.

"Kill him!" Dies Irae shouted below. "Don't let him flee! I want him dead!"

Benedictus would not look back. He could see only the thousands of bodies below. I will find you, Gloriae. I won't forget you.

His wings roiled ash and smoke. Arrows whistled around him, and he rose into the clouds. He flew in darkness. Soon the screams of men and griffins faded into the distance.

Benedictus the Black, King of Requiem, disappeared into the night.

BLOOD OF REQUIEM

Available in the Kindle store for $2.99.

KEEP IN TOUCH

www.DanielArenson.com

[email protected]

Facebook.com/DanielArenson

Twitter.com/DanielArenson.com