On that note, I yank my cloak open and shove Sir Sweeps-A-Lot inside. A beat passes, and then the broom violently erupts out of the bottom of my hem like a deranged woodland creature and takes Malachi’s legs out from under him.
“By all the Blazes?—”
“Shhh!” I kick Sir Sweeps-A-Lot back into hiding.
Theo rolls his eyes, and a golden sheen flickers across them.
I narrow mine right back at him. “Ooh. Does that enhance your vision?”
Why is everyone hiding stuff from me? When we get a tempo, everyone is going to have a heart to heart and reveal all their secrets to me. I don’t have any. My head is cluttered enough without trying to figure out who knows what.
A shadow shifts in the trees. “They’re here,” a grumbly voice shouts from up ahead.
“Shush, Mr. Fox, you’ll draw attention from her majesty,” a soft feminine voice chastises.
A pair of bright orange, furred creatures step out from the trees. Black, beady, but kind eyes take in our group.
“Foxes,” Gwyneth says in wonder. She’s right, they are foxes, but not like the ones back in our realm. These appear to be more lithe and delicate.
“There are too many of them,” the male mutters.
“Maybe they sent spares?” the female muses.
“The law calls for five, but at least this way we have our pick.”
“They do have a short shelf life,” the male responds.
I barely suppress a laugh when Charming’s entire face contorts. “Who are you calling short?” Charming growls.
Everyone stares at him.
“Probably best to discount that one,” the female says flatly. I clap a hand over my mouth.
Charming’s nostrils flare. “I am not short.”
“Oh, no, dear,” the female soothes. “Just... disposable.”
Gwyneth cackles, and Charming huffs.
“Jealous of a furry creature?” I ask. “How fragile is your ego?”
Charming grabs Gwyneth’s hand and tilts his nose in the air. “I am not threatened, merely infuriated.”
I shake my head at Charming and start after the strange pair as they motion for us to follow deeper into the frozen forest, with Theo and Nash flanking my sides. My ears pick up the scurry of wildlife scattering at our approach.
A quaint cottage emerges in the distance, nestled among the shadows of ancient trees. Wisps of smoke swirl from its tiny chimney, curling into the velvety embrace of the night sky. Warm, inviting light spills from the windows, casting a golden glow on the surrounding landscape, beckoning weary travelers to step inside and embrace the comfort within.
“We will never all fit,” Malachi says.
I frown and tilt my head at the dwelling. “Looks can be deceiving. One summer solstice, Gwyneth and I fit an entire gang of?—”
Nash slaps a hand over my mouth. “Do not finish that sentence.”
“Knitters,” Gwyneth says. “It was a bootie charity contest to see how many booties they could knit in a turn.”
I pull my mouth free from Nash’s hand. “I took part, which is why we hosted.”
Gwyneth raises a brow at me. “That’s not the reason.”
