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Chapter 1
Mountain Trolls
“Hey, Blacknail—are we there yet?” Molly the gorgon called. She was tall and thin, dressed in a grey robe with a heavy shawl around her shoulders. Curly black hair protruded from under her floppy wide-brimmed hat. A veil hung in front of her face, masking her features.
Blacknail, the grumpy goblin driver, shot her a withering glare and returned his attention to the front. Eleven passengers grinned behind his back—nine children and two adults, all of them shapeshifters.
Twelve-year-old Hal and his classmates had gotten to know Molly quite well recently, but they hadn’t spent a lot of time with Blair. He was a plain-looking man with a thin face and pointed nose. His rather birdlike profile matched that of his alternate phoenix form.
Technically speaking, Blacknail was also a shapeshifter, though he remained a goblin at all times. It suited his dour personality.
A steep, rocky cliff loomed over them as they followed the meandering trail along the foot of the mountains. The giant, six-wheeled, steam-driven buggy rumbled along effortlessly, towing a covered wagon behind. Before long, they reached a gap in the cliff, and the goblin eased up on the levers. He wrenched the vehicle around to the right, turning almost ninety degrees to face the gap. It was a pass that led uphill then turned sharply to the left. Blacknail expertly steered the giant vehicle up the slope and around the corner, taking care to allow for the trailing wagon.
“Eastward Pass, I presume?” Molly declared.
Blacknail grunted in agreement. This was, he’d told them earlier, the only place to cut through the mountains. Abigail had immediately jumped in and questioned what people on the other side of the mountains called it. “Do they say Westward Pass?” she’d asked over and over. Finally, Blacknail had snapped at her to sit down and shut up.
They’d left the village of Carter a few hours ago, crossing open fields, endless rolling hills, some marshland, and eventually rocky, uneven plains. Now they faced a line of mountains running north to south, broken only by this narrow passage.
“I should have flown,” Hal mumbled to Abigail. “Could have been there in no time.”
“When will we be near Bad Rock Gulch?” Molly asked from behind her veil. She didn’t need to wear a veil at the moment but kept it on just in case her magic returned unexpectedly.
“When we get there,” the goblin snapped. “Look out for trolls.”
Everyone leaned toward the nearest window. Thanks to the buggy’s recent upgrades, it now had a leather canopy stretched over a metal frame, plus an actual door along with the windows. The new roof sheltered the passengers from the sun and rain but made it a little difficult to see out.
The buggy was now traversing a narrow ravine. Most of it was natural, but parts had been cut away or blown to bits with explosives to complete the route through to the other side. Blacknail had grudgingly explained that Eastward Pass was used by travelers of all kinds. Unfortunately, the popularity of the pass was bound to attract trolls.
Hal and his friends had never seen a troll before but had heard a tale or two about them. He watched anxiously, peering along the peaks of the craggy walls and into every shadowed nook and cranny. The pass was barely wide enough to fit the buggy through, but Blacknail drove fast, tearing along with only a few feet on either side. Dust and small rocks kicked up, showering the rickety wagon that bounced and rattled behind.
Once in a while, Hal spared half a thought for the wagon’s occupant: another shapeshifter, seventeen-year-old Jolie. The jengu was literally half the woman she was, normally confined to a wheelchair but at the moment manacled to a bunk within her makeshift mobile prison. Nobody wanted to look upon her creepy face, nor hear what she had to say.
“Hey,” Robbie said. “If we run into trolls, I’ll let you take them on, seeing as how you’re the dragon and all. Okay?”
Hal frowned. “Why? I thought you’d love a chance to bash a few trolls and impress Lauren with your ogre strength.”
Lauren giggled, and Robbie scowled. “It’s kinda awkward these days,” he said, fingering his shirt. “I’d have to take my clothes off first, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know,” Hal complained. “We all have the exact same problem.”
“I don’t have a problem,” Abigail bragged. “I cut holes in the back of my shirt for my wings, so I just need to take my coat off before I shift.”
“Well, lucky you,” Robbie grumbled.
It had been a week since the phoenix rebirth event had nullified magic in the region. Since the spectacular regeneration, the village and surrounding area had lost its vibrancy. The winter trees had never looked so drab. Even the air smelled stale.
Hal, Robbie, Abigail, and Emily had been in Old Earth when the phoenix had gone up in flames. They’d lost their magic like everyone else, but the effect on them had been temporary, and they’d regained their shapeshifting powers a few days later—unlike the rest of the shapeshifters. Smart clothes, too, had been drained of their magical charge. It was really inconvenient having to undress before shapeshifting.
The effects were widespread. Dryads suddenly became visible in the woods. Large flying creatures like griffins found themselves floundering on the ground, their wings too small for their bodies. This also affected dragons to some extent, proving that magic was required to get these beasts airborne. The phoenix had, in one fell swoop, brought disarray to the land. Geo-rocks had been snuffed out, too.
However, Miss Simone’s concerns were a little more practical. “We can all survive without geo-rocks for light and heat,” she’d told worried villagers. “It’s how we used to live, after all. But there’s an easy solution. We’ll fetch new geo-rocks from outside the blast zone.”
So she and Blacknail had made a scouting trip to Bad Rock Gulch, the geo-rock mines in the east. They’d brought back a small supply of working rocks for the laboratory, thus restoring emergency power. But that supply was running low, and Blacknail was once more making the journey east to bring back a more substantial load.
But that wasn’t why Hal and his friends, along with Molly and Blair, were riding with the goblin. “Concentrate on your own mission,” Miss Simone had told them. “Drain what you need out of the glowing walls in the mines. Get your shapeshifting powers back, persuade Jolie to take Emily’s sickness away, and come home safe and sound.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Lauren had asked.
Miss Simone had smiled. “I actually like being plain and ordinary. People don’t pester me as much. Oh, please say hello to Lucas for me while you’re in Landis. It’s a new moon, and the lycans are at their most human, so you’ll be fine. Just don’t stick around too long. No more than a few days. They start getting wolfish as the month goes on.”
Wolfish, Hal thought for the umpteenth time, burning with curiosity.
When Blacknail announced they were halfway through the pass, he put on a bit of extra speed, and at one point the vehicle scraped noisily against the sloping rock wall to the left. More repair work later, Hal thought.
Blacknail suddenly grunted and pulled back on the levers. The buggy lurched to a halt, throwing everyone forward out of their seats.
“Trolls,” he growled, sounding really fed up. He slumped in his seat for a moment, then sighed and leaned sideways to open a slim compartment under the windshield to his right. He dragged out a bulky sack and headed for the door. “Stay put. Gonna buy our way through.”
As he pushed open the door and climbed down the ladder, all the passengers stampeded to the front.
“There they are,” Darcy exclaimed in a hushed tone.
Lauren let out a squeak, and Thomas said something under his breath.
“They look mean,” Fenton said simply.
“And big,” Dewey added in a small voice.
Hal, on tiptoes to see over his friends’ heads, caught a glimpse of four gangly monsters slithering down the sloping walls just ahead of the buggy. They were vaguely similar to ogres only much thinner and a little shorter—but still enormous compared to Hal and his friends, at least twice their height. They had coarse grey hair and strangely oversized hands and feet that had clearly evolved to clamber up and down steep mountains. Ogres were dimwitted giants, whereas trolls radiated cunning intelligence. Fangs stuck up out of the corners of their mouths, and their eyes were so deeply sunken, their brows so heavy, that each of the four trolls appeared to be wearing a permanent grimace.
“Oh my,” Emily said softly over the rumbling engine.
“Can’t we just keep moving?” Fenton asked nobody in particular.
Darcy pointed high above, and everyone inched forward, jostling one another to press themselves against the windshield and look up. On the craggy peaks of the rocky walls to both sides, more trolls loitered—ready to lob boulders that would punch holes right through the roof.
“It’s an ambush,” Robbie said plaintively.
Down below, Blacknail walked around to the front of the buggy, dragging his heavy sack. A troll came to meet him. Now Hal saw just how monstrous these creatures were. Ogres were friendly, if a little clumsy. These trolls, on the other hand, seemed willing and able to pick up the stout goblin and smash him against a wall. Three of them spread out across the pass and planted their feet, clenching and unclenching their fists over and over, while the fourth stood over Blacknail and scowled down at him.
The goblin said nothing. He simply dragged the sack forward, then stepped back. The troll tilted its head as if calculating the weight of whatever was inside. It bent, plucked the loaded sack effortlessly into the air, dangled it in front of its face, turned it upside down, and shook it violently. Ten dead chickens fell out, all fat and limp, feathers fluttering loose as they toppled onto the dusty ground.
High above, the trolls let out a curious moan as if what they saw excited them. Even above the noise of the idling engine, the moan filled Hal with dread.
The leader seemed unimpressed. It stared at the lifeless chickens for a long time, glared at Blacknail, and snarled something that Hal couldn’t hear. He wished he could turn the engine off so he could listen to the conversation, but he dared not touch the controls.
Blacknail spread his hands and seemed to be arguing. Even though he was less than half the height of the troll, he didn’t seem to care about his irritable personality coming through in his jerky hand movements.
The troll shook its head firmly, then pointed at the buggy and said something else. The goblin paused and craned his head upward to where the ambushers were ready to throw down a barrage of boulders. After a while, Blacknail returned to the buggy. He was out of sight for a moment before reappearing at the top of the ladder and entering with a terrible scowl on his face.
“Problems, Riley?” Molly inquired.
Normally, Blacknail would admonish her for using his old human name, but right now he was more concerned about the situation. “They ain’t happy with ten chickens, especially as they’re dead already. It was eight the other day, and they told me it would be ten next time I came through. So I brought ten. And now they’ve upped the price again. They want twelve now.”
“They can’t do that,” Blair said shortly. “It’s one thing to charge for passage, but to keep changing the price when they feel like it? That’s not right.”
“How do they have a right to charge us at all?” Abigail demanded.
“Because they live here,” Blacknail snapped. “Think about trolls taking a shortcut through our village. After a while we’d want to charge them for it.”
Abigail frowned. “Would we?”
“Never mind,” Molly said, absently pulling at her hair. In her gorgon form, that hair turned into a mass of writhing snakes. “So what can we do? Do you have any spare chickens lying around?”
Blacknail barked a short, sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I keep dead chickens stuffed in my pockets.” He sighed heavily. “We either turn back, or . . .”
He looked squarely at Hal, then shifted his gaze to Robbie.
Robbie was quick to raise his hands. “Hal’s got this.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Hal said. “I’ll take care of it all on my own.”
Abigail slipped her arm through his. “You don’t need a giant moronic ogre. You can deal with these nasty trolls yourself. Fly around and breathe fire on them while Blacknail drives on.”
There was a murmur of agreement. Hal looked around at a sea of faces that included one veil and a gnarled, grumpy goblin. Normally it would be very easy for an army of shapeshifters to chase the trolls away, but only four of them had magic right now. He threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine. When all else fails, send the dragon in. I see how it is.”
“Attaboy,” Blair said cheerfully. “Show ’em who’s boss.”
Fenton was a little more grudging. “If I could transform, I’d be out there myself dealing with them. But I can’t, and you can, so quit moaning.”
There wasn’t much more to be said on the matter. Hal moved up the aisle and across to the open doorway, fingering his shirt and wondering where to undress in private—and also to dress again afterward. Not having working smart clothes was a real problem. He stood on the top rung of the ladder looking all around, aware that the trolls had now spotted him and were staring at him intently.
In the end, he clambered onto the buggy’s roof. The leather canopy sagged under his weight.
“Watch it!” Blacknail yelled from below.
Hal pulled a face at him as he wobbled precariously on his perch. He couldn’t figure out how this was going to work but started removing his shirt anyway. He flung it down on the roof and awkwardly pulled off his shoes and pants. As he was doing so, the trolls stood there like statues, staring at him with obvious amazement and suspicion. The leader looked down at the ten dead chickens, then back up at Hal as if wondering if there was some kind of sacrifice on offer.
How many chickens am I worth? Hal asked himself as he slipped out of his shorts. He bundled the clothes neatly on the roof, grateful there was no wind within the narrow ravine. Feeling extremely vulnerable and embarrassed even in front of these shaggy, monstrous trolls, and praying that his friends wouldn’t come to the open doorway and peer over the roof at him, he knelt in position and prepared to transform.
When he did so, the roof’s metal frame buckled even though he tried to perform his dragon transformation in time with a leap into the air. It simply didn’t work out well, and as he pushed off into the sky, wings beating hard, he looked down to see that he’d left a large dent and gash in the front, through which Blacknail shook a fist at him. Hal’s clothes had tumbled in through the gap.
One thing at a time, Hal thought. Trolls first, clothes later.
The trolls barked madly. It was the only way to describe their strange, frantic yells. Whether they were shouting at each other or simply screaming with fright, they certainly made a lot of noise. Hal leaned into a dive that would take him straight toward the trolls atop the cliff.
Some of them scattered immediately, springing with amazing agility over the rocks and into narrow crevices. As they abandoned their posts, a few boulders toppled and bounced into the pass. Blacknail had stopped short earlier; if the buggy had been directly underneath, those boulders would have crushed a passenger or two.
This angered Hal. How dare these ugly brutes threaten his friends this way? What right did they have to demand payment for passage through what was the only direct route through the mountains? Whether the trolls called these rocks their home or not, travelers weren’t bothering anyone by passing through.
He swooped around for another attack. This time he made sure to breathe a little fire toward the remaining trolls so they had no choice but to retreat. When the tops of the cliffs were clear, Hal landed on one side and folded his wings. He would stay right here and guard the ravine from above to make sure the trolls stayed away. The opposite side was only a short hop away; in fact, if any creatures reappeared, he could probably breathe fire across that distance without even moving. Eastward Pass was safe.
Blacknail had already started moving forward. The four trolls blocking his way had no choice but to move aside, and they were angry about it—and even more angry when the buggy’s great iron wheels squashed some of the chickens into the dirt. Hal chuckled to himself. That’s where greed gets you, trolls—with less than you had to start with.
At first it seemed his guard duty would be simple. All that changed when the leader troll leapt for the buggy’s ladder and hung on. The creature reached through the open door and felt around, and several screams came from inside.
“Aw, heck, here we go,” Hal muttered to himself, his words emerging as a guttural dragon grunt. He spread his wings and flexed his leg muscles, preparing to drop down on the moving buggy and deal with the troll.
He didn’t need to because, at that moment, an ogre burst out of the buggy’s roof, greatly widening the hole Hal had made earlier. Blacknail’s wail of anguish was audible over the yells of the others. Robbie’s roar then drowned out all other noise as he grappled with the surprised troll.
Robbie was bigger and stronger, but the troll was wily and fast. And there were three others rushing in to help. Their hoots and barks seemed to indicate excitement rather than fear—cries of joy as they leapt aboard to tangle with the ogre. Robbie, poking out of the fabric roof and balancing precariously, punched and kicked while the buggy bounced and jiggled under the enormous weight.
Trolls appeared on the clifftop on the opposite side of the ravine, popping up out of the crevices with a hungry look in their wild eyes. Hal realized immediately that he needed to stay right where he was, high above the battle, to keep his friends safe from boulders being tossed down—and to keep these trolls from joining in the fray.
He let out a savage burst of flames, letting the trolls know he was there and willing to burn them if they came too close. They barked and ducked. Others appeared behind Hal, and he swung around to deal with them, too. He could do this all day long if needed, but the trolls were already concocting another plan. They vanished, and Hal spotted them slithering through fissures, probably aiming to emerge farther along the slopes or within the ravine itself.
Hal hopped from perch to perch, following the buggy’s progress through the pass. High up above like this was still the best way to guard his friends. He just had to trust that Robbie could take care of the invading trolls.
Abigail shot out from the hole in the buggy’s roof, buzzing up and away. She’d thrown off her coat, and her faerie wings protruded through the back of her shirt. Hal breathed a sigh of relief for her but feared for the safety of the others.
Robbie held his position on one side of the buggy, but only two trolls were interested in him; the other two clambered around and tried to rip another hole in the roof at the back corner.
As Abigail buzzed near Hal’s ear, he spread his wings and launched off his perch, catching Abigail’s shouted “Go help them!” before he left her behind.
He plummeted into the ravine and was on the buggy in seconds, his first target being the two trolls on the back corner. He snared one with his front paws, dragged it roughly off the roof, landed heavily on the dusty ground behind the moving vehicle, and catapulted back into the air, frantically beating his wings as he carried the howling troll upward.
Hal soared out of the ravine and looked for a decent place to drop the troll far enough away that its return to the battle would be seriously delayed. In the end, he simply dumped his unwilling passenger on a random slippery slope, and the shaggy creature went skidding down out of sight.
One down, three to go.
Chapter 2
East of the Pass
There were still two trolls grappling with Robbie, and as Hal approached, the ogre toppled over the side and took the creatures and part of the roof with him. All three rolled in the dirt as the buggy rumbled onward. Jolie’s lightweight covered wagon bumped past next, dragged roughly on its spindly wheels and just missing the scrapping trio.
That left one on the buggy, and it was busy clawing its way through the remaining piece of canopy at the rear, sending the passengers scuttling to the front. Hal thumped down on the ground and, as the buggy passed, he snapped at the troll’s leg, catching it by the ankle.
The shaggy monster barked angrily—and began hollering in fright as Hal yanked it backward and took off with his prey dangling upside down. Once again he soared high above the ravine and the surrounding hills. He slung the troll in an arc, and the creature spun through the air and hit a cliff face with a nasty thud. It fell away and landed on a rounded outcrop below, winded and barely moving as Hal swooped around and away.
To Hal’s horror, three more trolls had appeared on the craggy peaks and were sneaking up on Abigail as she watched the fight below. He roared for all he was worth, and her eyes opened wide. She must have sensed something behind her because she spun and screamed as a troll leapt for her. She shot straight up, and the troll, finding nothing but air, almost ran off the edge.
Hal heated things up a little as he passed by, sending an arc of flames all around. The trolls scooted out of the way and snarled.
Robbie, left alone with the two remaining trolls—one of them the leader—seemed to be enjoying himself. Two trolls rolling about on the ground with even a young ogre stood little chance of success. And as Hal hovered overhead, the trolls spotted him and seemed to realize the game was up. They grunted and squirmed out of Robbie’s fierce grip, then hurried away, one of them limping.
Hal resumed his guard duty above, hopping from one rocky outcrop to the next as the buggy sped through Eastward Pass. Jolie’s wagon hopped and bounced behind, its occupant no doubt thrown all over the place.
Abigail buzzed around Hal’s head, sounding like a giant hummingbird as she bobbed up and down. “I think we’re being watched,” she said.
Hal swung around to look. He sensed movement but was too slow to focus on it. Whatever it was ducked into a vertical crack in the side of a high-rising tower of rock. Another movement caught Hal’s attention, and he scanned the slopes and peaks. There were clusters of boulders large and small that trolls could be hiding behind. Massive cracks laced the mountainside, most of which were deep and wide enough to squeeze into. Numerous tunnels, caves, and shadowed overhangs pockmarked the region, all potential hidey-holes for wary natives.
Hal left his perch and stomped over to a particularly deep-looking cave entrance where he’d seen movement a few seconds earlier. It was pitch-black in there and smelled weird, a bit like fruit that had gone bad. A long burst of flame lit his way, but he stopped short when he saw dozens of trolls cowering in the darkness.
As his flames flickered bright and hot, most of the shaggy creatures shrank back into the shadows, but some of the smallest—clearly very young children—came forward to greet him with raised hands, apparently unaware of the potential danger of an invading fire-breathing dragon. But they were snatched back by snarling, protective adults and shoved into the darkest recesses.
Hal’s breath ran out, and everything went black again. He breathed another long blast of fire and saw maybe ten or fifteen adults, more slender in the limbs and with much longer body hair than the brutes he’d seen outside. Were all these females? Mothers? There were at least twenty infant trolls behind them, each with remarkably short fuzzy hair and big bright eyes.
With his nostrils wrinkling in disgust, Hal backed out of the cave. Something bothered him more than the smell, though—something he’d seen in the eyes of the young trolls in that brief instant when they’d rushed forward to greet him. Hope? Eagerness? They’d held out their hands toward him as if expecting food.
“What were you doing in there?” Abigail exclaimed, appearing nearby. She batted him lightly on the snout.
Hal gave a grunt and shrugged helplessly. Why did she ask him questions knowing full well he couldn’t answer in his dragon form?
“Come on,” Abigail said, buzzing around behind his head and dropping onto his back. “Catch up with the others.”
More trolls peered at them from behind rocks as Hal soared into the sky and surveyed the area. Eastward Pass was a long, jagged crack through the otherwise unbroken line of mountains, probably the result of an earthquake that had ruptured the land long ago. The buggy was two thirds of the way through by now. Hal scanned the area, seeing occasional trolls scampering about on the cliffs. He flew low and bellowed to make it clear he was still around.
His bellow was half-hearted, though. As fearsome as these trolls were, Hal realized they weren’t so much greedy as hungry. The males were always out and about hunting for food, but feeding such a large clan—or perhaps several clans—must be tough. What did they feed on when they weren’t negotiating with passers-by for a relatively small payment of chickens?
And straight away the answer literally jumped out at him. A brown sheep with curved horns leapt in fright as he swooped low over a rocky slope. As he circled around to study it, more sheep darted away with sure-footed agility. So there was food in these mountains. It was just hard for trolls to get hold of.
A sudden, powerful urge took over Hal. If he’d thought about it for longer than half a second, he probably would have changed his mind and left the sheep alone. But dragons were hunters, after all. Sheep, goats, boar, deer, wildebeest—he was supposed to hunt these animals. Abigail screamed at him to stop, but he was already on top of the creature, his claws digging into its torso and eliciting a strange cry as he lifted it into the air.
A second later, he felt a jolt of shock at what he had done.
He flew with the animal dangling and squirming while his passenger yelled in his ear to let the poor thing go. He didn’t, though. He was certain the sheep was already mortally injured from his powerful claws. It would probably die slowly even if he returned it carefully to the slopes and let it stagger away. Since it was already too late, Hal stuck to his plan, though he felt awful about it.
He returned to the cave of trolls and hovered a few dozen feet above, beating his wings furiously to stay in one place as the sheep hung limply from the grip of his hind feet. Trolls crept out of hiding places and stared up at him.
Hal dropped his kill. It bounced on the slopes and wriggled feebly. Seconds later, at least fifteen male trolls rushed in and leapt on it, working together to put the poor sheep down quickly and efficiently.
It was both horrifying and gratifying to see this violent frenzy. There was nothing pretty about surviving in the wild, whether it was trolls leaping on an injured sheep or a dragon plucking one from a mountainside—or even a human catching a rabbit in a snare and cooking it over a fire. But it was necessary, and when the death of one innocent sheep meant feeding a family of starving trolls . . . well, there was something gratifying about that. It was certainly no worse than sitting down to a meal of beef or pork at home.
Hal told himself this as the males dragged the carcass into the cave without sparing him another glance. The trolls’ ambush had failed, but they appeared reasonably satisfied with their gift. A big fat sheep would go a long way.
With no desire to wait around, Hal left them behind with their fresh dinner.
* * *
He flew out of the mountains to the east just in time to find Blacknail’s buggy trundling from the pass onto a flat, open plain. They had made it through with no further trouble from the trolls. Robbie, in his ogre form, was gamboling alongside the buggy, keeping pace with Jolie’s trailing wagon.
The scenery had changed. The rocky mountains were behind them, and Blacknail headed across the plain toward a nearby forest and the glittering ocean beyond. The trees would be bright green and vibrant in the summertime, but in the winter, what leaves remained were brown and brittle. Still, it was all far more cheerful than the desolate region and craggy mountains they’d just passed through.
The sea sparkled brightly when the sun popped out from behind ominous clouds. It was a breathtaking sight, and Hal felt a thrill of excitement—but half a minute later the clouds shifted again and a shadow fell, and suddenly everything was drab and depressing. What a difference a bit of sunshine made!
When they left the plain behind, the road meandered through increasingly grassy hills on its way down the slopes to the forest. There was no sign of a village, but Hal caught sight of several trails of smoke rising up through the trees. Chimneys? If those trails of smoke pinpointed the lycan village, Hal estimated another twenty or thirty minutes of travel for the giant six-wheeled buggy.
Astride his back, Abigail was silent. Hal could almost feel her simmering anger. Or perhaps he was imagining it. In any case, he remained in flight for the rest of the journey, circling around and around and taking in the scenery while Blacknail and his friends headed down the road toward the forest.
Just before they disappeared from view among the trees, Hal decided to join them. It was hard work trying to land in dense woodland, and besides, he didn’t want to drop into the lycan village unannounced.
The clothing problem came up as he landed on the side of the road just ahead of the buggy. Hopefully his friends would throw his clothes down to him so he could change in private. He waited there as the steam-huffing vehicle rumbled closer. Blacknail’s small goblin face peered out the front window, surly and scowling as usual. What was left of the fabric roofing flapped around in the breeze, with various structural supports sticking upward at weird angles where Robbie, still in oversized ogre form, stuck out.
The buggy slowed and stopped, its engine grumbling as a hiss of white steam puffed out from underneath. Faces appeared in the windows. The door opened, and Molly leaned out. “Are you joining us?” she yelled. “Want your clothes?”
Hal gave a frantic nod. Robbie grunted in agreement and jumped down with a thud.
“I’ll get them,” Abigail said, and she rose off Hal’s back and flew to the buggy. She eventually emerged with a bundle of clothes in her arms. To Hal’s surprise, she buzzed off with them into the woods. When she returned again, she grinned and pointed. “I’ve dropped them on the road ahead. Go get ’em, boys. If you hurry, you’ll have time to get dressed before we catch up.”
With a giggle, Abigail zipped back inside the buggy. The door closed, and a second or two later the vehicle began moving again.
Hal and Robbie hurried along the curving road into the trees. They found their clothes piled on a tree stump to one side. Rather self-consciously, they reverted to human forms and dressed quickly.
When the buggy caught up, the boys clambered inside and gaped at the damage to the roof, which hung in tatters. Blacknail gave them both a long, heated glare before turning to the front and shoving the levers forward. The buggy lurched, and Hal almost fell down in the aisle. He found his seat next to Abigail as Robbie happily began to explain what it was like fighting trolls.
“They’re so weedy,” he said with a sneer. “But when there’s a few of them, they cling on like . . . like clinging things, and they’re hard to shake loose. But I had them under control. I didn’t need Hal’s help.”
“You’re welcome,” Hal said.
“It was yanking on your ear,” Darcy said with a giggle. “You looked so annoyed, like you were about to blow.”
“It was a good scrap, though. Did you see how . . .”
As he rambled on, Abigail turned to Hal. “Why, Hal? That poor sheep!”
He sighed. “I don’t really know. I just had an urge. I’m a dragon, remember? Normally I don’t give in to those urges, but seeing those sheep like that . . . And I wanted to feed the trolls. I wouldn’t have grabbed the sheep otherwise. I just thought the trolls would like it.”
“You thought the trolls would like it?” she said incredulously. “After they attacked us? You wanted to give them a little treat for being so mean?”
“That cave on the mountain was full of starving kids,” he protested. Seeing the slight change in her expression, he laid it on a little thicker. “Little baby trolls, Abi, all fluffy and cute, with big round eyes, holding their hands out to me as if I had some food for them. It was pitiful.”
Abigail chewed her lip and frowned, and Hal knew he’d won her over. He returned his attention to Robbie, who was just finishing his tale of heroism.
“. . . and I threw it off like it was a rag doll. They’re really pathetic. They think they’re tough, but trust me, they’re not. They’re like ogre wannabes.”
“You’re so brave,” Lauren said, batting her eyelashes. She giggled and whispered in Darcy’s ear, who laughed out loud.
Robbie’s face reddened. He clammed up and stared out the window.
“Not far now,” Molly called from the front, where she sat with Blair. “Listen up, guys. Lucas will be our guide. If Lucas wasn’t here, we wouldn’t be either. The village of Landis is not one most people dare to visit. The people are kind of . . . well, angry is putting it mildly.”
“Angry?” Fenton repeated. “What about?”
Molly reached up to scratch her nose behind her veil. “Maybe not angry so much as hostile. They just don’t like visitors. They don’t like themselves all that much, quite honestly. And this is a good time of the month. The moon is new. We’ll stay a few days at most, then head home. We don’t want to be here when the moon waxes. The fuller the moon, the meaner these people get.”
Abigail’s hand slipped into Hal’s. When he looked at her, she was wide-eyed and tense. Everyone else had gone quiet, too.
“So why are we visiting them?” Emily asked, her voice sounding scratchy. She was beginning to look pale again, her sickness never-ending. “Why can’t we just go on to Bad Rock Gulch and ignore the lycans?”
“Because, my dear, the lycans own the mines. Or rather, they own the land the mines are on. The lycans have lived in these parts for centuries. It was only a couple of decades ago that the goblins gained permission to start mining. This area is rich with energy, one of the richest spots in the world, so naturally Bad Rock Gulch has become one of the primary mines for geo-rocks. But since it’s on the lycans’ land, we have to ask their permission before visiting, and especially before taking away a large supply of rocks.”
Blair nodded furiously. “Goblins mine there all the time, but that’s a standing arrangement. Even so, extracted material is checked by the lycans as it leaves the mine to make sure it’s within the maximum allowance. So—”
“Maximum allowance?” Abigail blurted. “Why on earth is there a maximum allowance? Don’t we all want the same thing? Don’t we all want powered lighting and heating in our homes?”
With a snort, Blair said, “Believe it or not, young lady, the answer is no. Although the lycans look human, they’re really not, and they have no interest in powered lighting or heating like you and I. They’d prefer to close the mines and send everyone on their way, and live their lives without outsiders traipsing around their land. But there’s too much pressure from other communities, so rather than risk a war, they allow the mining but insist on certain rules—the main one being a limitation on the mining output.”
Molly nodded. “They’re protective of their resources. You’d have to be a lycan to understand why. Mostly it’s superstitious nonsense. They’re rather like the centaurs in that respect. But we’re not just here to take home a wagonload of geo-rocks. Our mission is much more important. We need to regain our magic, and being in close proximity with the source of the energy should help us achieve just that. With luck, Jolie will get her healing powers back, and Emily will be cured once and for all.” She reached out and patted Blair’s hand. “And you, my friend, are going to help me with my experiment.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Blair muttered.
Hal and Abigail glanced at each other with excitement. Recently, Fenton had fallen victim to Molly’s gorgon death-gaze, and he’d turned to stone. But, shortly after, he’d come back to life thanks to the thousand-year-old phoenix’s rebirth, which had somehow nullified the gorgon’s spell. And if it could be done once, it could be done again—by Blair, the resident phoenix shapeshifter. “Think of all my accidental victims!” Molly had exclaimed. “You can wake them all!”
Blair wasn’t convinced, though. He’d said several times that he would never possess the kind of power needed to revive calcified people.
The way ahead grew darker as the canopy of trees thickened. There were dead leaves everywhere, in some places almost completely covering the road, and many of the trees were bare. The long summer season had given way to a very fast and sudden fall, and a bleak winter was upon them.
“I’m hungry,” Robbie said.
Abigail groaned. “What is it with you being hungry all the time? We just had lunch a few hours ago!”
“We’ll eat later,” Molly said. “Maybe we’ll be invited to supper. In any case, we’ll be heading over to the mines in Bad Rock Gulch this evening.”
“Tonight?” Darcy said.
“In the dark?” Lauren added.
Robbie leaned forward. “I’ve got news for you, Lauren: it’s dark in the mines all the time.”
She shot him a hurt look, but Robbie scowled and shook his head.
Hal whispered to Abigail, “What’s going on with those two?”
“Girls,” Abigail said mysteriously, and left it at that.
Hal wasn’t done. “Come on, Abi, shed some light here. Does she like him or not? What’s her deal? He doesn’t say much, but he’s pretty fed up.”
Robbie chose that moment to sigh deeply and look down at the floor.
“Lauren’s confused,” Abigail said finally. “She likes Robbie until he puts his foot in it and says something really dumb or acts like an idiot. He’s kind of thoughtless sometimes, and that puts her off.” She grinned at him. “See, you’re cool and smart and nice, and when you mess up, well, it’s sort of cute.”
“Cute?” Hal repeated, appalled.
“When Robbie messes up, he’s kind of embarrassing. Lauren likes him when he’s sweet and nerdy—her words, not mine—but can do without the times when he turns into a moron.”
Hal frowned. “You mean when he turns into an ogre?”
“No, when he turns into a moron. This has nothing to do with him being an ogre. He’s fine when he’s an ogre. It’s when he turns into a moron that she has trouble with.”
Hal pondered that for a moment. He had to admit that Robbie had moments when it seemed like he’d left his brain and manners at home. At times like that, even Hal got annoyed with him. Still, he was who he was. “He’s a good guy. He’s saved my life a few times. I don’t care if he acts like a moron sometimes.”
Abigail squeezed his hand. “And that’s why I like you, Hal. You just seem to have a way of knowing what’s right. You’re loyal and brave. A little clueless sometimes, but you get there in the end. I’m way smarter than you, but I’m sure you know that already.”
Hal loved that they could talk to each other this way without awkwardness. They were comfortable simply being together. One thing nagged at him, though. Holding hands was commonplace between them, as was hugging. But there was something Hal had yet to do, something he felt sure Abigail wanted from him and had resigned herself to waiting on.
Why couldn’t he kiss her?
It was like he had some kind of hang-up over it, and worrying about it only made it worse. If he could only break through his invisible barrier and kiss her, just once, without thinking about it, without making a big deal out of it . . .
As the darkness of the woods pressed in, Hal steeled himself, thinking that this was it, this was really it, he was going to do it. Her face was right there by his. It would be so easy to snatch a kiss. He just had to do it.
He swallowed. His lips were suddenly bone-dry. He licked at them, certain that Abigail was aware of what he was building up to do. Do it, he told himself furiously. Right now! Kiss her! NOW!
Abigail sat up straight and looked at him with a frown. “Are you all right?”
“W-what?” he sputtered. “Why?”
“You look pale. And you’re licking your lips. Are you ill?”
The moment fled, and Hal nodded weakly, his breath escaping with a long, shuddering sigh. “Feel a bit sick, yeah.”
“Okay, people,” Molly called. “We’re here.”
Flickering lights appeared in the gloom ahead, and all thoughts of smooching fled Hal’s mind as a new sense of anxiety crept over him. They were really here in Landis, the village of the lycans.
The village of werewolves.
Chapter 3
Lucas and the Lycans
Although it was still mid-afternoon, everything was so dark in the forest that it might as well have been dusk already. As Blacknail drove into the village, the trees thinned to reveal the gloomy daylight and its oppressive clouds above, yet there were lamps lit everywhere, hanging from posts.
An enormous fire burned brightly in the center of the village. Stone-walled cottages with straw-thatched roofs were crammed closely together, with no obvious routes between them. The ground was somewhat muddy and covered with orange and brown leaves.
Blacknail slowed. The road ended at a sign that read LANDIS in sprawling handwriting. Rather than standing by the side of the road and inviting visitors in with a welcoming arrow, or hanging overhead as part of a grand, impressive entranceway, this particular sign literally stood in their path and seemed to indicate the end of the trail.
Hal imagined a hidden meaning: Stop. Turn around and go away. This is our place, not yours. “Nice,” he murmured as the engines died.
After several hours of constant rattling, rumbling din, the sudden silence was almost eerie.
“There are people by the fire,” Abigail said, peering through the mud-flecked glass. “Is there a party or something? Why are they staring at us like that?”
The public bonfire in the middle of the village was surrounded by men, women, and children, all silent and staring, obviously distracted from whatever festivities they were involved in.
Molly cleared her throat and stood. “I see Lucas. He’s coming to meet us. Let’s step down and wait outside. Stay together, okay?”
One by one, they descended from the vehicle amid a cloud of white steam that drifted in the dusky breeze. Half-bare trees loomed over them, their leaves blanketing the otherwise muddy ground. The silence was eerie.
A very tall man limped toward them. He wore a drab grey shirt tucked into dark, baggy pants. His scruffy boots were caked in wet mud. “Molly,” he called, and Hal was instantly struck by how deep his voice was.
The man was immense, easily six and a half feet tall. He was long-haired and unshaven, and his eyebrows needed a trim. When he reached Molly, the two embraced tightly and stayed that way for several seconds without moving or speaking. After they separated, the man turned to shake Blair’s hand.
“Been a long time,” he rumbled.
Blair nodded, looking up at the man with obvious respect. “I don’t know how many years. You look . . . hardy.”
Lucas raised a bushy eyebrow. “Hardy? You mean ugly?”
“No. Weathered.” Blair pulled himself loose from the man’s grip. “Strong grip, calloused hands, terrible body odor. I see they’ve been working you hard.”
“Nothing like a good day’s work,” Lucas said, a grin forcing its way across his face. He slapped his thigh. “Even with a busted leg.”
Hal wondered why the man didn’t just transform and heal himself . . . and then remembered how, when shapeshifters grew older, serious injuries failed to mend properly. Felipe the dragon was the same, with severe burns along his flank.
“As for you, my friend,” Lucas went on, looking Blair up and down, “a weak grip and soft, delicate hands as always.” He sniffed sharply. “And you say I have a terrible body odor? Have you smelled yourself lately?”
When he turned to look down at Blacknail, the goblin screwed up his face in what appeared to be a grin. Lucas reached out, and the two grasped hands with obvious warmth. Neither said a word even though it was clear they were good friends. Or had been once upon a time.
A second later, Lucas turned again to Molly and studied her veiled face. She reached out and touched his cheek, then patted one of his broad shoulders before gesturing toward the village. “How’s the mood around here today?”
Lucas shrugged. “Fair. There’s a party tonight.”
“For our benefit?”
Again, Lucas raised a bushy eyebrow. “Seriously? Nah, a couple of young ’uns got married earlier.”
Molly clapped her hands together. “Oh, so this is a wedding reception! How nice.” Her tone changed suddenly. “We’re not intruding, are we?”
“Nah. Well, yeah, but that’s nothing new. It’ll be all right. Just get the chief’s blessing and hightail it outta here.”
“We can’t stay for supper?”
Lucas looked pained. “You want to eat? Here?”
Molly sighed. “Well, if not, at least get us something to take with us to the mines. We plan to stay all night.”
He considered this for a moment. “I might be able to pilfer a few things for you. Let’s head over and see the chief. Don’t invite yourself to the party, though. It’d be bad enough without ale and wine flowing. You know how it is.”
Molly nodded. “Maybe the children should stay here. I’ll speak to your chief alone, and we’ll head to the gulch after you’ve nabbed us some nibbles.”
Surprisingly, Lucas shook his head. “Chief wants to see all of you. Well, he doesn’t want to see any of you. He just needs to. For his peace of mind.”
With that, he turned and limped back toward the village, gesturing for them all to keep up.
Molly started to follow, but Blair caught her arm. “What about Jolie?” he asked, jabbing his thumb toward the covered wagon.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Molly said. “She’ll be fine.”
“But the chief wants to see all of us.”
“Jolie doesn’t count. Come on.”
She and Blair hurried after Lucas, and the rest shuffled along in single file with Blacknail bringing up the rear.
“What’s with the limp?” Fenton called to Molly.
She turned and, even through her veil, it was obvious she was giving him a withering look. “Lucas got into a fight years ago.”
“With werewolves?” Fenton asked—apparently too loudly, for Lucas halted and swung around. The man’s face quickly darkened.
“Never say that around here. These people are lycans. Werewolves are shapeshifters, and these people aren’t shapeshifters. Not in the way you think, anyway. Calling them shapeshifters to their faces will get you killed.”
“Sorry, I just meant—”
“Fenton, shh,” Darcy hissed at him.
Everyone lapsed into silence, and Lucas resumed his awkward march into the village. Toward the center, there were fewer trees and more open sky, and the field ahead was thick with lush grass. The bonfire raged twenty feet tall, and Hal could feel the heat coming off it before he got anywhere close.
Just about every man, woman, and child was lean and mean with an unusual amount of hair on their faces. The men especially had thick, shaggy eyebrows and impressively long manes as well as excessive hair on their forearms. Many had beards to complete the picture. Even the women seemed unable or unwilling to keep their eyebrows trimmed.
Rather stiffly, Lucas led the group around the perimeter of the field while the party remained on pause. Heads swiveled, brows furrowed, and lips drew back. Hal couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so unwelcome.
As if the world had come to an abrupt halt, a musician waited with his fiddle raised to his chin and his bow resting on the strings. Numerous couples were frozen like statues in mid-dance, clasping hands and waists. Many were sitting on the grass with plates of finger food, all of them glaring at the visitors. Apart from the crackling of the enormous bonfire, the silence and tension was palpable, and Hal felt that his every grassy footstep could be heard across the village.
Once they were out of the field, Lucas turned into what might be called a street between several small cottages. Behind them, the sudden squeak of the fiddle marked the end of the hostile pause, and suddenly there was noise all around as people resumed their dancing, eating, and talking.
A cottage loomed ahead. It stood out among the rest—larger and grander, with five burly men loitering outside. They closed in as Lucas approached, their faces showing distaste.
“Chief wants to see ’em,” Lucas barked.
The guards, if that’s what they were, growled and grudgingly moved aside. But they barely left room for Lucas to pass between and thrust their faces toward him as he turned sideways and slipped through the gap. Then they snarled at Molly, Blair, and everyone else that filed past.
When it was Hal’s turn, they looked down on him from what seemed an incredible height—easily seven feet—and sniffed continuously as if they detected a really nasty smell in the air. They’re like dogs, he thought. Wait, no—I mean wolves.
Lucas rapped noisily on the cottage door. It opened seconds later, and Hal heard mutterings from within as the group waited. Lucas stepped inside, followed by Molly and Blair. We’ll never fit in the living room, Hal thought as he watched his friends enter.
As it turned out, the living room was huge. The wooden floor was dark and stout, filthy from years of grime and dirt. The room smelled of sweat. As his friends fanned out, Hal pushed forward to see a man sitting in a rocking chair, using a shiny knife to whittle away at a wooden object.
The only sounds in the room were the crackling of a fire in the hearth and the continuous scraping of a sharp blade on wood. Tiny slivers fluttered down to the floor, amassing in a pile at the man’s feet. When he shifted in his seat, it creaked under his massive frame. His dark-brown hair was long and tied into a ponytail. His beard was overgrown and shaggy, his eyebrows thick and black.
Eventually, he looked up. Unlike most of the other lycans so far, this one’s eyes were pale-green and startling. “So,” he rumbled.
Lucas gestured first to Molly, then everyone else. “So, here they are. You wanted to see ’em. A couple of old friends, a bunch of kids, and a goblin.”
Hal had forgotten about Blacknail. The goblin stood to one side, his grumpy expression rivaling the lycan chief’s.
Molly nudged Lucas and cleared her throat. He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then his puzzled expression cleared. “Oh, right. Molly, this is the chief of the village, Nathaniel. Chief, this is Molly. She’s a gorgon.”
“I guessed,” the chief growled, studying her veil with obvious suspicion. “So you’re in charge, gorgon?”
“Molly,” she said firmly. “And yes, I suppose I am.”
“Well, gorgon, do I need to explain the rules?”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, lycan, I suppose you’d better.”
Next to her, Blair sighed and covered his face with one hand.
“Molly,” Lucas warned quietly.
Nathaniel stared at Molly for a long period, his eyes narrowed. His knife glinted as he slowly turned it in his hands. He took it by the handle and pointed its sharp end toward her. “You’ll address me as Chief. Any more attitude from you, lady, and I’ll throw you on the fire. Are we clear?”
If Hal could see Molly’s face, he would expect that she was slowly turning purple with rage. Luckily, her veil merely quivered. After a long, drawn-out pause, her hands dropped to her sides. “Clear,” she said quietly. “Chief.”
Nathaniel gave the smallest of nods and eased back in his rocking chair. It creaked noisily again. “The rules are simple. You want extra rocks from our land? Fine—you get one wagon. But only because of this problem you have.” He sneered at them all, showing surprisingly even white teeth. “Get this straight. One wagon is a three-month supply. I’m giving you a whole extra wagon’s worth out of the goodness of my heart. That’s your lot. If you haven’t got your sparkle back by the time that lot runs down, that’s your problem, not mine.”
“Did he say sparkle?” Abigail whispered in Hal’s ear.
“Understood,” Molly said dully. “But I feel I should point out—”
“She understands,” Lucas interrupted loudly. He shot her a sideways glare. “She’s spent so long on her own that she’s forgotten her manners. What she means to say is thank you, Chief, for your generosity. Right, Molly?”
Molly simply sighed heavily.
Nathaniel leaned forward in his chair and waved his knife at them all. “I don’t like outsiders. If it weren’t for the mines, you wouldn’t be allowed on our land. But here you are, traipsing around our woods, stinking up the village . . .”
He sniffed the air in a slow, deliberate way, and grimaced.
“Get out of my house. I don’t want to see any of you again. And be warned. Make yourselves scarce before the half-moon. That’s when we start hunting. Don’t be anywhere close.”
Lucas turned and began ushering everyone from the living room.
Outside, the guards stood quietly, leering at them. They said nothing at first, but then one of them made a comment that stopped Lucas in his tracks. “Why don’t you go with them, shapeshifter? You’re not one of us. You never were.”
Lucas stepped up to the man and shoved his face close. He was a few inches shorter than the brutish guard and had to peer up at him. “I’m more lycan than you’ll ever be, Wesley. Do I need to remind you again?”
Something was happening to Lucas. His shoulders were bulging under his shirt, his hair growing longer. Tufts sprouted from his face as his nose and jaw began to stretch forward into a blunt point. The deep, rumbling growl that emitted from his throat caused Molly and Blair to step back in a hurry. Likewise, Hal and his friends shuffled sideways in case a fight broke out.
The one called Wesley refused to budge, but he visibly trembled with anger. He couldn’t change at will the way Lucas could. “Two weeks,” Wesley hissed. “Full moon. You and me, shapeshifter.”
“Suits me,” Lucas snapped. His transformation had now halted, but his furry face was decidedly inhuman, and his ears quite a bit longer than before. And he was now taller by at least three inches, suddenly looking down on his opponent. “You want to wait for the full moon? Fine—but you know I’ll still be bigger than you. You know it, and they know it.” He jabbed his finger at the other guards, who quietly looked away. “You want to tangle with me, Wesley? Wait for the full moon if you need to, when you’re big and tough, but I’ll still pound you into the ground and tear you to shreds.”
Lucas slowly shrank back down to size. Then Wesley was able to look down on his enemy one last time before uttering a snarl and turning away in disgust.
The tension lifted immediately, and Lucas led the group away.
They headed back through the village the way they had come in, around the field where lycans again paused to stare at them. Hal decided he hated this place and all the people in it. What an unfriendly lot they were.
Molly wasn’t impressed either. “If I’d had my powers,” she said, walking alongside Lucas, “that chief of yours would be a statue by now.”
“If you’d had your powers, we wouldn’t be here,” the man retorted.
“Are the women just as hot headed as the men?” she asked. “Honestly, I don’t recall your people ever being quite this hostile.”
The enormous buggy lurked in the trees ahead, and Lucas limped toward it. “This is a bad week,” he admitted. “You think you’re the only village to come here asking for extra geo-rocks? You’re not. When you get your sparkle back, things’ll settle down. Until then, the chief is just trying to limit the output from the mines. If he let you go in and take whatever you want whenever you want it, there’d be nothing left in no time. It has to be taken in moderation.”
“Why?” Abigail suddenly asked.
Lucas ignored her. “Hey, goblin—get that machine fired up and wait while I go grab some food.” He abruptly turned and disappeared into the trees.
Blair looked bemused. “Where’s he going? To kill a sheep or something?”
He winked at Hal as they all continued on to the buggy. Once aboard, they waited a minute until Blacknail climbed in after them and stomped to the front. He lifted the lid of a large container and peered inside—then slammed it shut. “All dead,” he muttered. He glared suspiciously at the shapeshifters. “There were brand new rocks in here. Got ’em just the other day. Shoulda lasted weeks. Them rocks are dead, and the one powering the starter underneath is dead as well. You shapeshifters are sucking the life out of ’em. Especially with all the dragon and ogre transformations.”
“Now, hold on a minute,” Emily exclaimed, and promptly started coughing.
Darcy took over. “First of all, we can’t help it. If we’re really ‘sucking the life’ out of your geo-rocks, well, it’s just meant to be. If we had more rocks with us, maybe we’d all have enough energy to transform. Second, don’t forget you’re a shapeshifter too, Blacknail.”
“Yes, Riley,” Molly said with a sudden laugh. “Nice one, Darcy.”
Blacknail drew himself up, his face reddening. “Me ’n Simone brought a bunch back the other day without a problem. We didn’t absorb the magic. All you young ’uns, though, are like a giant sponge.” He grimaced and headed for the exit. “I’ll be back. Gonna have to start this contraption the hard way.”
Everyone pondered the problem while he was gone. Hal couldn’t help remembering the small geo-rock he’d carried around in his pocket when he’d been stuck in Old Earth with Robbie, Abigail, and Emily. They’d all lost their powers, but only temporarily, like a brief short in their magical circuitry rather than a complete drain. They’d soon recovered with the help of bundles of fresh, magical smart clothes in the lighthouse, some of which they’d brought back with them. But whereas the rock had rekindled its energy, the enchantment in the smart clothes had died, their life ‘sucked out’ as Blacknail would say.
“I wonder if we have our powers back,” Dewey said. He looked like he was contemplating the idea of shifting into his centaur form—which would be a mistake. Even if he’d absorbed enough energy from the geo-rocks to shift, his former smart clothes would still be ordinary and easily ripped apart.
“I don’t feel any different,” Darcy said. She stared at her hands, turning them over and over as if trying to make them invisible.
“Nor me,” Lauren said. “Except maybe . . . a tingle?”
“That’s pins and needles,” Abigail said.
Lauren shook her head. “No, I feel a little tingling in my toes. I wonder if it’s magic? Maybe not enough to transform with, but something.”
Steam suddenly began puffing out from under the buggy, and the engine rattled while they all sat there waiting for Blacknail’s return. He eventually climbed the ladder—with Lucas right behind him.
“Got some food here for you,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go.”
Blacknail turned the buggy around and started off through the woods as everyone marveled at the amount of fresh-baked rolls Lucas had stuffed into a single sack. In the very bottom was a massive hunk of cheese, easily as big as Hal’s head.
“I love bread and cheese,” Robbie said happily, practically salivating.
“What a tremendous spread you’ve laid on for us,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “Really, Lucas, you shouldn’t have gone to all this bother. Your chief was so pleasant to us, and here we are leaving the village half an hour after we got here, with a lovely meal of bread and cheese for us to eat later in a cold, dark cave. I feel so . . . welcome.”
“It’s your lucky day,” Lucas said, a grin working its way onto his face.
The lycan seemed impressed by Blacknail’s vehicle, and before long the two of them were deep in conversation. It was hard to tell who scowled the most.
They headed back the way they had come and turned onto an equally narrow road that cut through the trees. Branches hung low, often scraping along what was left of the roof and sometimes catching under the framework so that it pulled and twisted further. Much of the material snagged and ripped free, and Blacknail’s bitter complaining increased tenfold.
Soon, though, they left the dense woods, exiting at the coast. Conversation halted while they all stared out the windows at the sea. The buggy trundled down a slope, and cliffs rose all around. The beach was just a narrow strip of sand running alongside endless jagged rocks. None of it was very pretty, but Hal realized this was the first time they’d visited the coast in Miss Simone’s world.
He had a vision of virus survivors—scrags—hiding among the rocks. He shook his head and asked Lucas a question while he had the chance. “So was that your full transformation back there?”
Lucas raised one of those bushy eyebrows. “Nowhere near it, kid.”
There was silence. Then red-headed Thomas spoke up. “So how come you can transform and they can’t?”
“Because I’m a shapeshifter,” Lucas said, and glanced toward Molly. He seemed oddly uncomfortable with the questions.
“But they’re all werewolves, aren’t they?” Fenton blurted. He reddened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just . . . well, I don’t understand why—”
Lucas gave a grunt. “Explain to them, Molly.”
“You explain,” she protested.
With another grunt, Lucas stared out the window at the sea. “Lycans are in a constant state of change. They’re recognizable as human during a new moon—when the moon is barely a crescent, like now,” he added, glancing around. “As the month goes on, the moon waxes.” He pursed his lips and spoke more slowly. “That means the moon gets bigger and fatter and—”
“They’re kids,” Molly told him. “Not imbeciles.”
“Ah, right.” Lucas cleared his throat. “Well, the moon gets bigger, and the lycans change. They slowly turn into something far more than human—huge creatures, seven feet tall, part human and part wolf, very big and strong, and really, really vicious. You don’t want to be around during their full-moon phase two weeks from now. In fact it’s best to stay away even at the half-moon phase when the urge is too strong and they start hunting. If they don’t go out hunting, they’ll turn on each other. By the full moon, they often do turn on each other. Many a savage death can be attributed to that wild phase.” He shrugged. “As the moon wanes, they slowly revert to human.”
“But you can change instantly?” Thomas persisted.
Lucas nodded. “I’m a shapeshifter. I can be entirely human, or I can be a lycan. I tend to stay in my lycan form, which at the moment is—” He spread his hands. “Well, you can see for yourself. See, when I’m in lycan form, the phase of the moon determines what I look like. But unlike all the others in the village, I can advance to full-on wolf anytime I want, which makes me a werewolf. Or, during a full moon, I can switch to a gentler phase if I prefer . . . but it’s really difficult. The full moon is a powerful thing. It’s like being swept along by a tide; you just kind of go with it unless you struggle really hard and break free.”
“A werewolf,” Fenton repeated, his eyes shining. Lucas glared at him, but this time Fenton didn’t bother retracting his use of the forbidden word. He simply blathered on without pause. “There are so many legends of werewolves, but the stories must be based on shapeshifters like you, not the lycans themselves.”
Lucas nodded. “Lycans would never leave their packs and go off to another world. Not alone, anyway. Shapeshifters would, though. I’ve heard about the early shapeshifter programs where men bred dragons and monsters as pet bodyguards. The lycans were a pretty desirable choice back then.”
Molly snorted.
“They were,” Lucas snapped. “Lycan shapeshifters—werewolves—were common. And some of them escaped into the other world, which is why there are legends there. The pull of the moon is hard to resist. As much as the shapeshifters tried to be normal people, they couldn’t help turning once a month.”
“So technically you’re a werewolf,” Fenton persisted. “Not a lycan. Miss Simone called you a lycan, but actually—”
With a snort of exasperation, Lucas threw up his hands. “Call me what you want. People are always getting it wrong anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad we don’t have to be around them anymore,” Lauren said. “We don’t, do we, Molly? We don’t have to go back to Landis, do we?”
Molly shook her head, her hat bouncing. “No. We’re done with Landis now. Now it’s on to Bad Rock Gulch. We need to stay long enough to get our powers back and force Jolie to cure Emily. Then we’ll head home with our geo-rocks.”
Sounds easy, Hal thought.
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