“Stay here. Don’t move.” Gareth sets me down hard, then takes off with his sword in one hand.
He stops and spins, pointing at my feet. “I mean it, Beth. Don’t. Move.” He turns away again.
My ears still ring from his vicious old-language curses as I watch him dash toward something shiny.
“What is—” I gasp when I see a golden goblet scooting across the ground.
“Drop it!” Gareth bellows and points his blade at … nothing. He’s pointing it at nothing.
But the goblet stops moving.
I can’t seem to understand what I’m seeing—or not seeing.
“Was there more?” He steps forward, his blade unwavering. “Was there?” he bellows.
The air before his blade flickers, and in the dim light, a furry gray form appears.
“Spires.” I put a hand to my mouth. “Is this real?”
It looks at me, its purple eyes huge in its fluffy head. “The gold is mine.” It bares its cute little fangs.
Gareth presses his blade to the creature’s throat. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. Was there more gold?”
“What if there was?” It spits.
I step toward Gareth.
“Stop.” He holds his other hand out toward me. “It’s a gremel.”
“I’m looking down. No holes.” I pick my way carefully until I’m at his side, then kneel. “It doesn’t look like a gremel. It’s not a gremel.”
The creature watches me, its purple eyes beguiling, and it looks like the softest, furriest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I want to pet it. Can I pet it?”
“Beth—”
“Standing right here.” It crosses its arms and glares at me, the gold it was dragging across the rocks forgotten. “And no, you can’t pet me. Come any closer, and I’ll bite!” It bares its adorable fangs again.
“Beth, please get up.” Gareth doesn’t move his sword. “It’s a gremel. It’s not—”
“He won’t hurt us. Look at him!” I reach out slowly. “What about a tummy rub?” The fur on his stomach is lighter, almost a cream color—a round patch of furry goodness. “Would you like that? I bet your little tummy is the softest thing in the world.”
It cuts a calculating glance at Gareth, then blinks beguilingly and moves just a tiny bit closer to me. “It is softer than even a unicorn’s mane. And mine? Mine is the softest of all.”
“Beth!” Gareth leans down and grabs my wrist.
The furball darts for the gold cup and grabs it with one furry paw, then tries to run toward the lichen-covered wall to our right.
I reach for it. “Don’t go!”
Gareth yanks me to my feet, then grabs the fluffy darling by the scruff of his neck.
“It’s mine!” The cutie fights, his little fangs showing and his white whiskers sticking straight out, and he drops the goblet. It tings as it hits the stone and rolls away.
I put my hands to my cheeks. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Stop looking in its eyes.” Gareth grips my shirt and spins me around so I’m facing away.
