Arthur hadn’t reached the opposite shore when the water upstream bubbled. He froze. Wide-eyed, Freya leaped from a final rock and landed on the opposite bank. She glared, tail twitching.
A maiden arose from depths the stream did not have. She stood forlornly with water trailing from her white frock andgolden hair and ashen skin. Arthur didn’t know what she was, but he knew enough about fairy stories to take a step back. His chest heaved. Back beyond the brambles, Ira was still calling for him.
The maiden’s voice burbled like water running over rocks. “Help me.”
“How?” Arthur asked cautiously.
She held out her arms. “Carry me across.”
That seemed an odd request, given her circumstances, but it also seemed like a bad idea to refuse.
“Why?”
“Carry me across.”
The cat hissed. Arthur felt she probably had the right idea of things.
“With all due respect—”
The maiden stepped closer without a splash. Arthur didn’t like that.
“Carry me across.”
“I’m—I’m likely to drop you.” One could not be rude to fairies, or things like fairies, but by God he didn’t want to find out what would happen if he touched her. “I’m not very strong.”
She closed the gap between them, much less sickly than her ashen skin had made her appear. She wore a forlorn expression, but her dark, sad eyes gleamed hungrily.
Her voice shifted, no longer burbling but thundering like water over a cliffside, sudden and deadly. “Carry me across.”
“No—no, that’s all right, you don’t want me to—”
Her eyes flashed red. “Carry me across!”
She plunged a hand to his chest, her fingernails sharp as talons. Arthur cried out, struggling, but her nails clawed into him.
Freya launched herself at the maiden. The maiden stumbled, releasing Arthur, but she threw the cat off. Her red eyes glinted.
“Oh no.” Arthur splashed away from her, but the bank didn’t seem any closer. “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh—”
She yanked him back. He fell with a splash, sputtering, with water up his nose. Baring too many, too sharp teeth, she grabbed his collar, pulled him to his knees—
A raven burst over the brambles. It swooped at the maiden, grabbing her hair in its talons. Shrieking, she released Arthur.
The raven pulled away, circled briefly, and dove. Its talons raked the maiden’s face, drawing greenish blood. She screeched.
With a splash, the raven shivered into an antlered man. Ira stumbled as he landed, leg buckling, but he righted himself and shoved Arthur toward the bank.
“Get to shore.”
The maiden lunged toward Ira. He shivered into a wolf and stood, growling, between her and Arthur.
Arthur stared. Knowing Ira could shape-shift was one thing; seeing it was another. George had only said he turned into a stag.
And despite his refusal to leave the vale before, Ira was here. Just because Arthur needed him.
Something tugged at Arthur’s trousers. He flinched, then saw the cat on the nearest rock, batting at his leg.
“Quite right.”
