I smother a laugh, but then I too hear a strange noise. Hopefully, this is not the sign of a smart mind, because it’s annoying.
Charming spins to face us and his eyes flick to the sky before going wide. His mouth drops open, and he points. Everyone turns. Above us is an army of giant butterflies and bees, and they seem pissed.
“What do we do?” I ask as my heart flutters in my chest.
“Act casual,” Malachi decides. “Like we had nothing to do with the destruction.”
“It was them,” a flower shouts. Them? That could be anyone. “The group with the two females, a gang of men, and a strange floating being with a murderous broom.”
I scratch my forehead. Again, there could be two... nope.
We break into a run for the second time, and while it’s not easier than the first, I’m finding that being chased by giant insects is a great motivator for enforced exercise.
The first bee dive bombs Nash and he punches its face, causing the huge bumbling thing to go careening into the flowers who are busy pointing out where we are. Rude. They could at least give us a head start.
A butterfly skims the top of my head, and its legs get tangled in my hair, yanking on the wild curls. I slam my hand down to stop my scalp from being torn off.
Gwyneth gasps in horror as the butterfly breaks free and loses one of its legs in the process.
“She’s a monster, delegging one of our warriors,” one of the flowers shouts.
Delegging? One, I don’t think that’s a word, although it could be. Two, it suggests premeditation, when it was, in fact, self defense.
“Stop attacking us, and no one else has to get hurt,” Theo roars. A bellow of smoke pours from his nostrils, causing the horde of insects to back off.
I point ahead. “There’s the end,” I shout. A stone archway appears up ahead, leading into a dense forest. Instinctively, I know they won’t follow us once we are in there, because their bodies are too big. Charming falls over and slams to the ground. Eugene picks him up with her beak without breaking stride. It’s strange how I’m managing to remain upright. All these fastmovements aren’t normally conducive to me conquering gravity. But these are strange times.
As we approach the arch, I notice the words etched into the stone. “Abandon sense, all who enter.” Well, I never had any sense anyway, so there’s nothing to abandon.
We dive under the archway and into the darker forest, the angry buzzing lessening behind us as we stop to catch our breath.
Hart bends over, placing his hands on his knees and laughs. I follow, and the rest join in until we’re all howling.
“Giant talking flowers that get insulted,” Gwyneth says as she wheezes.
“Huge murderous insects.” Theo chuckles.
“And Charming being protected by capons,” I finish.
Charming snorts as Eugene pecks his shoulder like she’s checking him for injuries. I laugh harder, my head a little woozy. Must be from all the exercise. It’s more than I do in an annus.
Laughter, not our own, filters through the trees. Our group quiets as I pass a look from Nash to Gwyneth. Where is it coming from? I frown as my feet move of their own volition through the thick, lush grass and over gnarly tree roots.
The sound of clattering pots reaches us, and Malachi puts an arm out to stop me. “Daphne, let me go first.”
I shake my head and push forward, stepping out into a chaotic scene, even by my standards.
A long table sits beneath a sprawling oak, draped in a crisp white cloth that billows gently in the breeze. Its surface holds a chaotic feast, with vibrant platters piled high with an array of delightful delicacies—towering stacks of fluffy scones, glazed pastries glimmering like jewels, and teetering towers of savory finger sandwiches. An assortment of delicate teacups, some adorned with swirling patterns of blues and golds, sit askew amid the culinary disorder, each one filled to the brimwith steaming tea that releases fragrant wisps of rosemary and lavender.
From one end of the table, a jovial hare with a pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat erupts into such raucous laughter that he tumbles sideways off his chair, sending a plate of tarts skidding across the grass. His merry guffaws send tremors through the tabletop, causing a teacup to wobble precariously. The White Rabbit, whom we’ve been trailing, blinks in disbelief and shakes his head, his ears twitching.
“You’re late,” he huffs, indignation rippling in his voice.
“How could we possibly be late when we had no inkling we were expected?” I point out, arching an eyebrow.
The rabbit narrows his eyes, his little nose quivering. “That’s exactly what she always claims,” he mutters.
“I assure you, I’ve never once uttered those words,” I retort, glancing around at the peculiar scene.
