Foxheart (12 page)

Anastazia shoved her way between them.

“One moment, please,” she said through gritted teeth. “I need to speak with my
student
.”

Anastazia guided Quicksilver toward the fence at the meadow's edge. Then she bent down to meet Quicksilver's eyes, her joints popping. “What do you think you're doing?” she whispered. “You've never known witches as I have, we can't trust—”

“What we can't do,” said Quicksilver, talking over her, “is practice in this field forever.”
Even if we want to,
she added silently.
Even if we're afraid.

Fox sent her a wave of encouragement through their heart link.
We've markets to rob and coin to steal, eh, master?

Indeed we do, Fox.
Quicksilver stood tall, forcing Anastazia to take a step back.

“You don't understand—” Anastazia began, shaking her head.

“I understand perfectly,” said Quicksilver. “I'm the one with the magic now, so you can either come with us, or you can stay here.”

Then, before Anastazia had the chance to reply, Quicksilver marched back over to where Olli stood waiting and held out her hand once more.

He grinned and lightly slapped her palm. “Welcome to the coven, Quicksilver.”

F
or the next two days, Olli and his coven led Quicksilver, Fox, Anastazia, and Sly Boots through the meadows and woods west of Willow-on-the-River, staying clear of the road.

They were a large group—Olli's coven consisted of fifteen witches and their monsters—and they moved slowly, but no one seemed to mind the frequent stops to rest, talk, and eat. The sun was high but gentle, the wind soft; the cows grazing in field after field were placid and calm. The warm weather lulled everyone into a sense of peaceful contentment—everyone but Anastazia.

She refused to speak to any of them, instead choosing to
read a leather-bound journal she pulled from a large pocket inside her cloak and to communicate only through nasty faces or rude gestures.

At first Quicksilver enjoyed the respite from Anastazia's constant harping about magic, and how Quicksilver wasn't doing it right. She and Fox worked without the old witch, practicing glamours, cloaking, and shifting under the guidance of Olli and his friends Lukaas and Freja.

“Now, try it again, but this time, try to look like Freja,” instructed Olli on their second afternoon of traveling together. They had stopped for the night, to pitch their patched tents and start cooking fires. The smell of smoking sausages filled the air. Olli took a bite of a crisp red apple. “And remember—concentrate on the details. The slightest inaccuracy can ruin the whole illusion.”

Quicksilver closed her eyes and pictured Freja—a witch around twenty years of age who sported a purple birthstone on her neck and wore her vivid fire-orange hair short and spiky. She had fifty-three freckles on her cheeks, and her left eye was slightly smaller than her right one.

Change me,
Quicksilver thought, keeping the image of Freja firmly in her mind and pushing the image toward Fox. Instantly
she felt Fox receive the image, acknowledge it, and obey. He shifted into a shimmering gray swirl of fog, wrapped himself around her, and settled over her like a cool invisible cloak. And all of this happened in the time it took Olli to finish his apple and toss the core into the field for the cows.

Quicksilver grinned, her body tingling with happiness. Fox was beginning to understand what she wanted before she had even finished forming an image herself. They were getting better, and faster. Why, they'd be seamlessly thieving together in no time at all!

When Quicksilver opened her eyes, she looked down at her arms and saw Freja's arms instead, freckled and strong.

Olli applauded. Lukaas, his dark face framed with bouncing bright green curls, gave a sharp whistle and waved his faded patchwork cap like a flag. Freja admitted grudgingly, “Not bad.”

“Not bad? It's a job well done,
very
well done!” Olli chuffed Quicksilver on the shoulder. “You're a natural at glamours, Quix.”

Quicksilver grinned.

Fox made a gagging sound in her head.
Tell him to stop calling you that or I'll mutiny.

But Quicksilver would do nothing of the sort. So what if Olli
had given her a nickname? It was only practical. Her full name was something of a mouthful. And she
liked
having a nickname. It meant that she was important to Olli and his coven, and well liked.

Which meant they would never guess that she would rob them and abandon them, and the whole job would go off easy as stormberry pie.

Fox reappeared, panting. He rolled over and showed the world his belly. “Please, oh please, can we be finished now? I'm absolutely starving and can't possibly go on until I've had a sausage or twelve.”

“Oh, you can do one more, can't you, Fox?” said Quicksilver, scratching his tummy. “I'd like to try making an Olli glamour next.”

“But could you ever hope to truly capture my magnificent physique?” Olli posed in the sunlight, flexing his muscles. Lukaas threw an apple at him.

Quicksilver looked away, her cheeks burning, although she didn't understand why. Olli's smooth brown skin and bright smile were no concern of hers. He was a mark, not a friend.

But a pleasing-to-look-at mark,
Fox thought mischievously.
Eh, master?

Shut it, Fox!

“Quicksilver!” called Anastazia, her voice crackling with impatience. “Come here at once.”

Anastazia sat beneath a cluster of towering trees some distance away, thumbing through her journal. When Quicksilver stalked over to her, Anastazia didn't even look up.

“Have you finished playing games with your little friends?” Anastazia asked.

“We weren't playing games,” said Quicksilver. “We were practicing magic. They're helping me, which is more than I can say about
some
people.”

Sly Boots lay on the ground beside Anastazia, sniffing the air longingly. “I've been reading to you for hours, Anastazia. Can I go get lunch now,
please
?”

“Go get lunch for all eternity, if you wish,” Anastazia snapped. “I've had enough of your whining.”

Sly Boots sprang to his feet. “And I've had enough of your
everything
,” he grumbled, storming off to the cooking fire.

Quicksilver smirked as she watched him leave. “What do you want, then?” she asked Anastazia.

“Your help.” Anastazia patted the ground beside her. “Sit and look at this with me.”

Reluctantly, Quicksilver joined Anastazia in the grass and looked at the map she'd unfolded from her journal. It was a map of the Star Lands, so covered with scribbled notes that Quicksilver could barely see the original lines marking the borders of the seven kingdoms.

“We'll have to head north soon,” muttered Anastazia. “I can't believe I've let us linger for so long with these people. Must be losing hold of my senses at last.” She pointed at a black star in the kingdom of Menettsk. “That's where I found the first skeleton when I was young—in the Burren Bogs of Menettsk. It's as good a place as any to start.”

Quicksilver crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm not doing that.”

Anastazia glared at Quicksilver, her eyes burning. “Have you forgotten why I brought you here, child? Oh, forgive me—
Quix
?”

Fox trotted over, his mouth full of food. “If there has ever been a more repulsive nickname, I can't imagine it,” he snorted.

Fox, you're not helping.

Pardon me, O master Quix.

“You brought me here to fight the Wolf King,” Quicksilver recited, “and to find the skeletons of the First Monsters, so that
we can destroy them, because if the Wolf King finds them first, the First Ones will come back to life and kill everyone. And if we don't find the skeletons, we'll never be able to defeat the Wolf King, because the First Ones are working through him, and they're too powerful. But if we destroy them, then we can destroy the Wolf King, and everyone will be saved, and the witches will not be hunted away into memory and nothingness.” Quicksilver glared back at Anastazia. “Have I got that all right?”

Anastazia chewed expressionlessly on her candy—a fresh bag of her beloved mint-and-chocolate stars that Olli had given her as a peace offering, to no avail. “You're remarkably flippant,” she said, “considering how serious the situation is.”

“And you're remarkably . . . annoying!” Quicksilver barely resisted the urge to knock the journal out of Anastazia's hands. “I don't know why you think I want to take part in any of this. Just because
you
did when you were my age doesn't mean
I
want to. I'm different from you. We may be the same person, but we're not the
same
person.”

Anastazia lifted an eyebrow. “I've noticed as much.”

Sly Boots stomped back and threw himself onto the ground with a half-eaten sausage in his hand. “Those monsters make my skin crawl. Animals aren't supposed to look so smart.”

“I'd take offense at that remark,” mumbled Fox, “if I weren't enjoying my lunch so terribly much.”

“I think they're wonderful,” said Quicksilver. “They're funny, and they like me.”

“Are you talking about the monsters, or your precious
Olli
?” muttered Sly Boots.

Quicksilver bristled. “I mean
all
of them. They're certainly more pleasant to talk to than either of you.”

“The Wolf King is pleasant too, if you catch him on a good day,” grumbled Anastazia. “But if you're not careful, before you know it he's talked you into a trance and slit your throat, and you're left wondering what happened as you lie dying in the dirt.”

“Such a cheerful person you are,” said Sly Boots. “I can see where Quixxy here gets her temper.”

“Listen,
Boots
—” Quicksilver rolled up her sleeves.

Then Anastazia began coughing—a terrible dry, hacking cough that made Quicksilver's throat hurt just to hear it.

Quicksilver and Sly Boots watched in horrified silence as Anastazia's body spasmed. Black flecks flew out of her mouth, dotting her lips in slimy clumps.

“What do we do?” Sly Boots whispered, his face pale.

Quicksilver did not know how to answer him. She sat frozen
in shock until Anastazia's breathing turned steady again.

“Anastazia?” Fox asked, his whiskers full of crumbs. He curled up beside her, put his snout in her lap. “What is it?”

“Everything all right over there?” called Olli from the cooking fire.

“Splendid,” Sly Boots answered. “Just leave us be for once in your life.”

“As if we've been traveling with them for our entire lives,” spat Quicksilver.

“Well, that's certainly what it feels like!”

“We don't . . . have much time,” said Anastazia, her breath rattling like teeth in a cup. “I won't . . . be here forever.”

Quicksilver shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“It's what happens when . . . you spend your life . . . fighting a mad king.” Anastazia closed her eyes. “This old body's full of holes and curses like you wouldn't believe. Should've died long ago, but he won't beat me that easily.”

Quicksilver settled quietly beside her. “The Wolf King?”

Anastazia nodded and handed Quicksilver her journal. “Boots has been reading to me, helping me remember. Now it's your turn. Someday this will be yours, after all.”

“What is it, exactly?” Quicksilver turned page after page. The
paper was old and stained, filled with maps, charts, drawings, and notes—all written in variations of the same scribbled handwriting. Sly Boots read over her shoulder.

“It's us, isn't it?” asked Quicksilver. “It's all the yous and mes. We kept notes.”

“Yes,” whispered Anastazia, absently stroking Fox's head. He remained perfectly still, his eyes closed in happiness. “Everything we've discovered, in all our lives—all the important clues and locations. All our battles. All the spells we've designed to extend our lives past their natural boundaries. It's all there.”

“Not much of it makes sense,” Sly Boots observed, crumbs flying onto Quicksilver's arm. “At least not to me. At one point I got lost and just started reading nonsense to her—blah-blee-bloo, hoo-diddy-day—and she nodded as though I was quoting poetry.”

“Some of it's a bit . . .” Anastazia murmered, and then fell silent.

Fox lifted his head, and Quicksilver's heart went cold with fear.

“Anastazia?” Quicksilver shook her older self. “Anastazia, wake up!”

Anastazia's eyes fluttered open. “Sorry, sorry. I'm just a bit tired, that's all.”

Quicksilver shared a glance with Sly Boots, who looked as uneasy as she felt.

“As I was saying, some of these notes are rather patchy,” said Anastazia. “Sometimes I wrote in code when I was in the more dangerous parts of the Star Lands. Sometimes . . . well, the longer you live, the more your mind fades. Not even magic can prevent that. But I'll help you through it. As much as I can remember, anyway.”