Of Witches and Wind (16 page)

“Nah, the branches are made of iron,” said Chase. “The Fey can't touch iron. A witch clan set these up to annoy the Fey. We just had the bad luck to find a new one. We'll tell Ellie to move the entrance to Atlantis when this is all over.”

“Do you really think it was a coincidence?” I said. “Maybe Kezelda told someone to plant one here. Maybe she knew we'd come to Atlantis for a cure.”

Chase just shrugged, but he looked a little worried.

“Witch forests.” Ben sat on a German shepherd–size boulder. “Great.”

“You need to buck up, man,” Kenneth said. “We're going to see a lot worse here in Atlantis.”

“Give me a break,” Ben snapped. “Four days ago I had no idea magic was real. Since then, griffins attacked me, someone poisoned my mom, and now freaking trees are coming to life. I am not used to stuff trying to kill me all the time. As long as I can still move, I'd say I'm coping pretty well.”

I grimaced sympathetically, but Chase said, “I guess I shouldn't tell you trolls set up traps in chair-shaped rocks, right?”

Ben tumbled out of his seat, and Chase and Kenneth both laughed.

“Everybody knows that trolls are too stupid to set up traps,” Kenneth said.

Normally, I would've told Chase this wasn't the time for teasing, but Ben laughed too. “Geez, Mia. Stop being so calm. You came to EAS after me, and I didn't hear you scream once.”

Mia smiled and tucked some hair behind her ear. She was either really shy or not very smart, but Ben smiled back in a gooey sort of way.

“What time is it here?” I asked, mainly because I was wondering what we should do next.

“A few hours before sunrise,” Chase said, so quickly that I wondered if he'd just made an answer up.

“Now, I understand that hundreds of lives are in danger, but I'm going to suggest that we stop for the rest of the night,” said Ben. “I could use some R and R.”

Chase slung off his pack. “You're in charge.”

But Kenneth didn't think we'd had enough adventures yet. “What's the point in sleeping if we'll need to be up in a few hours anyway?”

“If we keep traveling west, we'll get caught smack-dab in Morgian's Glen in the dark,” Chase said.

“So?” said Kenneth.

“So, Morgian's Glen is a big pile of moss-covered rocks. If we can't see where we're going, we could easily break a leg.” Chase unzipped his bag and rummaged inside.

“Unless you want to get hurt and use your ring of return?” I said. “I'm sure Rapunzel would be happy to swap you out.”

“No more of that,” Ben told me, as pompously as my school principal. “We're a team. We're never going to survive Atlantis if we fight each other.”

“Besides, we have much bigger problems than Morgian's Glen.” Chase had been searching our carryalls with growing horror. “I'm pretty sure that Rapunzel forgot to pack us any food.”

I found the Lunch Box of Plenty in my bag and handed it over.

“This has to be some sort of sick joke. There can't possibly be enough food in here for five,” Chase said.

“It's a Lunch Box of Plenty,” I told him. “Lena said she put instructions in it.”

“Oooooh.” The boys crowded around.

Chase unsnapped the latches and grabbed the folded paper inside. “ ‘Lunch Box, fill yourself,' ” he read. “With a double-bacon cheeseburger.”

A paper-wrapped, sandwich-size circle appeared in the lunch box—smelling of beef and bacon and grease. Chase picked the burger up and unwrapped it, barely noticing when Kenneth snatched the lunch box out of his hands. “I take back every mean thing I said about Lena being a mad scientist. This is the best invention ever.”

We passed the Lunch Box of Plenty around. Then we set up camp, stretched our sleeping bags out side by side, and flopped on top of them. It still felt too early for bedtime, but considering how little rest we'd gotten the night before, it was also kind of necessary.

“Who's going to take first watch?” Chase said. “I'm gonna go out on a limb and suggest it shouldn't be Kenneth.”

Kenneth couldn't keep his eyes open. He had pretty much fallen asleep sitting up.

“I'll take it.” I probably couldn't sleep anyway. I was too busy trying to figure out whether Kezelda had dumped the poison before or after I'd entered the kitchen.

So I sat down on the rock and nibbled on my grilled cheese.

“I'll help you,” Chase said, ordering himself a second burger from the Lunch Box of Plenty. I wondered how many meals he planned on eating. “We should probably have two guards on the first watch tonight. Until we're sure the witches' forest won't pick up their roots and ambush us in our sleep.”

Ben laughed briefly—until he saw Chase's face. “Oh. You're not joking.”

Kenneth crawled into his sleeping bag. “Fantastic,” he said, his sarcasm slurred with drowsiness.

Chase found a seat beside me, and we ate in silence. I thought about EAS, and if Lena was about ready to go to sleep too, and if Jenny was driving her crazy yet. I wondered if getting poisoned was painful, and if it was, whether or not the witches regretted the suicide mission. I wondered if I could have done anything to stop them. I would have loved to distract myself and interrogate Chase, but even though I had a few thousand questions about his mom, I didn't ask. He was too touchy about being half Fey.

For a while the only noise I heard was Kenneth's snores and an owl hooting.

“Chase—” I wanted to know if he needed anything else from the Lunch Box before I packed it up.

“Ben's still awake,” he whispered back. Clearly, he thought I wanted to ask something a lot more important.

I glanced over to the sleeping bags. Ben was lying down, but his eyes glinted in the dark, glassy with far-off thoughts.

Chase crossed over to the others and snapped his fingers in Ben's face to get his attention. “You've got to stop worrying, man. It'll be fine. We'll save your mom. You won't lose both of them.”

My best friend wasn't exactly known to be sensitive. So I didn't figure out he really meant Ben's father until Ben asked, “Who did you lose?”

Chase hesitated. He knew I was listening. “My older brother.
Half
brother.”

If I'd had any grilled cheese left, I would have choked on it.

I'd never even suspected Chase had any siblings.

Family tragedies turned up a lot at EAS. One fifth grader's father had Failed his Tale late—right after she was born.
He hadn't made it. But usually, the death of a Character's parents didn't have anything to do with a Tale. Tina had lost her mom to cancer, and Vicky's dad had broken his neck skiing.

I'd learned about Lena's parents in September when someone's father had showed up in a lab coat, and Lena had watched him cross the courtyard with tears in her eyes. “My parents used to wear those.” She had been four when they'd died in a car accident and her gran had taken over.

Chase didn't look at me when he came back, and I was kind of glad. I didn't know if I was supposed to say something, especially since he hadn't been talking to me. Especially since he had never even hinted about it before.

After a few minutes, Ben's low breathing joined Kenneth's snores. They were all asleep.

“So.” Chase sounded extra hearty. Even he knew this wasn't a normal conversation starter. “What was it like, growing up human?”

I snorted. “Is this supposed to be a philosophical question?”

“No. It was what Ben said.” He examined his hands. “I don't remember not knowing somebody might try to kill me. Dad has a great story about convincing a giant to stop halfway down a beanstalk so that he could change my diaper.”

Chase had never had a normal kid life. The list of things I didn't know about my best friend just kept growing.

After an awkward silence, Chase said, kind of put out, “Aren't you going to ask me anything?”

“I didn't think you would answer.”

“Rapunzel said I shouldn't keep secrets anymore, so . . .” He shrugged.

I dredged up the memory.
Secrecy can be a shield, but it can
also slow the arrival of help—and healing,
she'd told Chase.

Ice washed down my spine. I was supposed to help him? But this was too big for me.

I had to say something. I decided to start with the easiest, least emotional question. “Okay, what was this favor the prince dude owed you?”

I expected Chase to get all smug and tell me about the time that he had saved the prince from drowning in an enchanted pool or something, but Chase just got even more uncomfortable.

“Prince Fael locked me in the Unseelie crypt. When they found me, days later, the king—Fael's father—asked me if he had done it. I'd watched Fael literally throw away the key, but I said no. Fael had been in and out of trouble all year. One more thing and he would've either lost his crown prince title, gotten banished, or been turned into a tree. That same night, Iron Hans escaped and stole the scepter of the Birch clan from the mirror vault, so everybody assumed he'd done it. Nobody even suspected Fael. I could be beheaded for lying to a Fey monarch, so they get out of the habit of being suspicious. And since the Fey can't lie, it's usually not an issue. But . . .”

But he wasn't totally a fairy—and now Fael was in his debt. “But why would he mess with you in the first place?” I asked. “Just general evilness?”

Chase scratched the back of his head. “When he turned the lock, he said something about his sister. I was the last one to see her before the Snow Queen killed her and my brother, Cal. They were betrothed.”

A memory lurked in the back of my brain. Something about Solange and the Unseelie princess. Lena would have already figured it out. “His sister,” I repeated slowly.

An instant later the puzzle clicked into place. Lena had told this story too: The Snow Queen had killed the princess and her betrothed. Their death had angered the Fey so much that they had joined the fight. It had turned the tide of the war.

Lena had told me this last year. Chase had
been
there when she told me.

“You never said anything,” I whispered. “You didn't even flinch when Lena was telling the story.”

He shrugged again, leaning back slightly, like he was shrinking away from all the emotion in my voice. “I grew up in the Unseelie Court. If you can't hide your emotions, you don't survive.”

Lady Aspenwind wasn't just borderline nuts. She was grieving. She was afraid that Chase would die too—

I shoved my sympathy away. Chase didn't want me to make a big deal over it.

I focused on some pretty obvious math. Chase had just turned thirteen, and the war had been a couple decades ago. I was about to ask if his brother had been a time-traveling fairy, but Chase rambled off an explanation. He sounded so matter-of-fact he reminded me of Lena when she recited something from her photographic memory:

“Halflings age like whichever parent they live with. Fey children age whenever their parents decide it's okay. If they cast a certain spell at dawn, the Fey child grows for the next twenty-four hours. If the spell isn't cast, they don't age at all.

“Babyhood and toddlerhood usually go by pretty fast for Fey kids, because even fairies don't like dirty diapers or temper tantrums. Ages four and five last longer.

“Amya really loved five. I turned five the year before Cal died,” Chase added, “and Amya had parties for my fifth birthday
every year until I lived with Dad. It all kind of blurs together. You don't remember things as well when you don't grow.”

I didn't know what bothered me more: the fact that turning a year older every 365 days was apparently a luxury, or that one of my best friends was an old man. Definitely more of a shock than finding out he was half fairy.

If Lena had been here, she could have smoothed this over by asking about all these details: what the components of the aging spell were, if his fingernails grew when he didn't turn a day older. But Chase would have hated that. He would have felt like one of her experiments.

Chase would want me to treat him exactly the same. “If you're so old,” I asked, “how come you're so immature?”

When Chase laughed, I felt like I'd won a prize. I'd said the right thing again. Maybe I
could
handle this.

“Thanks, Rory,” he said in the voice he used when he was trying to sound sarcastic but he really wasn't.

I didn't tell Chase I was sorry about his brother, but I really wanted to.

So instead I answered his earlier question, the one about growing up human. The story Mom always told about when I was four: She put me down for a nap when I wanted to go to the park, so as soon as she was asleep, I opened the front door and walked five blocks to the nearest playground. On the first day of kindergarten, I was extremely jealous of a little girl with long braided pigtails because she could tie her shoes all by herself and I couldn't. But then she showed me how, by the swings during recess, and Marta and I were best friends for the next four years. How Marta fell out of a tree and broke her arm in second grade, and how I made a pretend bandage out of paper towels when
she came back to school, so we could both have casts. How in third grade Mom and Dad couldn't talk to each other at all unless they were arguing. How after they decided they needed a divorce, our house turned as quiet and polite as a museum, where no one spoke at all unless they had a question: “Have you seen my car keys?” or “Will you sign this permission slip?”

It wasn't anything particularly meaningful, just some random memories, but Chase stared out into the witch forest, eyebrows pinched together, even after my voice drifted off. The moon had risen higher while we'd been talking, casting strange shadows, making his face seem more angular, less familiar, less human. It was like—