The Borderkind

CHAPTER 4

The tavern was on the first floor. When they’d arrived, Oliver had had other things to distract him, but as he descended the stairs he was extremely conscious of the fact that the whole building hung suspended above the river. The inn was old-a century at least from the look of it, and probably more-but if it had lasted this long, he told himself, it would survive another night.

Outside the windows, in the gorge, the shadows were growing long. Evening was not far off. After a bath, and clad in the new clothes Coyote had brought by only ten minutes ago, his exhaustion had subsided to a dull heaviness. He needed sleep, but he could propel himself forward another hour or two, however long it took for this meeting, and a meal.

The shirt was a rough tan cotton, long-sleeved and open at the collar, and the pants might have been denim, but dyed black. They were a bit long, so that when he put on the new boots Coyote had brought, they dragged underfoot, but Oliver was so impressed with the fit in general that he would not have complained, even if he dared.

The best thing about his new clothes was the thick, soft cotton socks and the light undershorts, which were woven from a fabric unfamiliar to him. Putting them on was almost as soothing as his bath.

His hunger, as he entered the tavern, was a ravenous beast, growling in his belly. The smells that wafted along the corridor only made it worse. But once inside, he forgot about food for several moments.

“Apparently, I’m the last to arrive.”

Frost looked up from the gathering. Several dark wooden tables had been pushed together to make one long enough to rival the conference room at Bascombe amp; Cox. Blue Jay was beside him, dressed almost identically to Oliver, though his jeans were blue and he still wore feathers in his hair. Kitsune was next to him, her hood back, her fur cloak gleaming luxuriously in the fading afternoon light. Her raven-black hair framed her face severely, and when she glanced at him he expected a smile but found only a grimness of purpose.

It was the time for plans to be laid and companionship to be abandoned. Oliver felt strangely cold and isolated. This gathering had so very little to do with him now that he wondered if he ought to have been there at all. But there was food to be had-barbecued beef and poultry and boiled potatoes and vegetables, from what he could see-and he knew that he would need at least advice from this assemblage before they parted ways.

“Please, Oliver, come in. Sit down,” said Coyote, standing up from the darkest corner of the table. He wore his thief’s grin, as Oliver’s father would have called it. Oliver would not have disagreed.

There were others there, of course. Coyote had gathered a group that seemed just as odd as Oliver’s traveling companions. More so, in fact, given that one of them was an enormous frog-thing that sat on the ground instead of a chair, legs up beside it as though it might leap at any moment. Its bulbous eyes were a putrid yellow, its skin a pale greenish-brown, ridged, mottled, and slick.

“Oliver?” Frost said sharply.

The frog-thing muttered something in a guttural language he could not understand.

“Excuse me?” Oliver said.

Coyote leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Tlatecuhtli says it’s not polite to stare.”

“Ah, yeah. Right. I’m sorry about that,” he said sheepishly, going over to take the empty seat beside Blue Jay. “Just takes some getting used to. All of this.”

The frog spoke again, its voice vaguely disgusting, like a series of belches. Oliver looked to Coyote for help.

“He forgives you,” Coyote said. “You’re an outsider. You don’t know any better.”

Oliver smiled at the frog, whose name he could not even begin to pronounce. Cuhtli-something. “Thank you.”

All of the Borderkind at the table were staring at him. Oliver wondered what would happen were he to remind them that it was not polite. He glanced at Kitsune, then at Frost.

The winter man raised his chin and shifted in his chair. His sharp, icy fingers scratched the table as he moved. This alone was enough to draw all of the attention in the room. Oliver was grateful. It was also clear that all of those gathered were willing to defer to Frost.

Mist steamed from his eyes. The afternoon light played a myriad of colors off of the angles of his frigid features. Frost gestured toward Coyote.

“Oliver, you already know Coyote.”

“Yes. Thank you for the clothes.”

Coyote touched two fingers to his forehead, almost as though he were tipping a hat, though he wasn’t wearing one.

“You have just met Tlatecuhtli. He hails from Yucatazca, where he is still worshipped by some of the descendants of the original Aztec people.”

The frog-thing let out a long, low noise and blinked once at Oliver.

The introductions continued. At the far end of the table, opposite Frost, was a monstrous, savage-looking creature from whom Oliver would have run screaming once upon a time. But his time in the world of the legendary had taught him not to judge so quickly.

The thing-called Chorti-was covered in shaggy gray-and-black hair. Though it was seated, Oliver figured it must have been nine feet tall at least, and it was twice as broad across as the table. Its hands were crossed over its chest as though it might be sleeping, and the long claws that jutted from its fingers were made of metal. Oliver had to look twice to confirm that.

Chorti smiled a mouthful of razors and offered him a little wave of greeting. A creature as frightening and imposing as this would make one hell of an ally in a fight. Oliver nodded to the beast and silently wished that it could come along with him to rescue Collette.

Beside Chorti, seated close enough to indicate that they were together, sat a coldly imperious woman with hair so white it looked almost silver. She wore a white dress, cotton and lace, and other than her hair she seemed entirely too proper and ordinary to be one of the Borderkind. Frost introduced her as Cheval Bayard, and Oliver took it from the accent in her quiet hello that she was of French origin.

Cheval leaned over to whisper something to Chorti and the beast-man grunted in amusement, a soft, chuffing laughter coming from his chest. She stroked the thick fur at the back of his head. Apparently, she was not nearly as cold as he had imagined. He liked her better for her easy way with the beast-man.

Oliver studied them a moment out of the corner of his eye. The way Cheval had whispered to Chorti gave the pair the air of lovers, but as she stroked him, it was almost as though he were her pet. Yet, when he saw the way they looked at one another-the knowing humor there-neither of those theories seemed correct, and he was left wondering about the relationship between the strange pair.

The last of the gathering was a seven-foot, broad-shouldered man with a gray-streaked, rust-colored beard. When the man looked up from beneath a wide-brimmed hat with stone-gray eyes, Oliver knew he’d met him before.

“And this is-” Frost began when he came to the man, the last introduction.

“Wayland Smith,” Oliver interrupted. “I remember you from Amelia’s.”

“Yes,” Smith replied. “That was…regrettable.”

The man was a weaponsmaster and forger, as well as a magician. And as far as Oliver was concerned, he could not be trusted. Smith toyed briefly with the fox-head of his cane, then rested it against the table.

After the introductions, that odd convocation began to eat. The beef had been marinated in some exotic spice, and Oliver thought it was among the most delicious things he had ever tasted. The boiled potatoes likewise surprised him. They had clearly been boiled as part of some other recipe, simmering with herbs and spices, and the flavor was rich, the potatoes creamy.

Several minutes passed in relative silence as the travelers began to sate their hunger. Low conversation went on amongst the local Borderkind. Frost was deep in thought and whispered several times to Blue Jay. Kitsune watched them, and Oliver thought she was irked to be left out of whatever scheme they were hatching.

His attention returned every few moments to Cheval Bayard and Chorti. The pair were such an unlikely duo-this beautiful, distant woman and her hirsute companion with his metal fangs and claws-that Oliver found himself unable to stop puzzling over them.

“Do you find her beautiful?” Kitsune whispered to him as the others continued their meal.

Oliver frowned and glanced at her, startled by the intensity of her eyes as she searched his own for the answer to that question.

“I suppose she is,” he admitted, “but I was just curious. They make a strange pair.”

Kitsune’s expression softened. “Sometimes the most opposite people make the closest friends. That’s true on both sides of the Veil.”

Oliver nodded, unconvinced.

She leaned in and lowered her voice further. “Cheval and her husband were traveling in Yucatazca. They were set upon in the jungle by bandits. Chorti came to their aid. He saved Cheval’s life but was too late to stop her husband from being murdered. The two of them fought the bandits together. None of the bandits survived. Cheval and Chorti have been inseparable since. Neither ever goes anywhere without the other.”

Oliver glanced around the room as Kitsune told this story, not wishing to be caught staring at the beast-man and the silver-haired woman as they ate. The tragic story touched him, but it also reinforced the melancholy he was feeling at the prospect of setting off on his own to find Collette. Loyalty like that which Cheval Bayard and Chorti shared was precious.

“All right, my friends,” Kitsune said when much of the meal had been consumed and the sharpest edge of their hunger blunted. She met Oliver’s gaze across the table, then opened her hands to include them all. “Shall we get on with this? We are all, each of us at this table, in danger. But the stakes are much higher than our own lives.”

She glared at Coyote, who only raised an eyebrow.

Frost tapped his fingers on the table again to get their attention. “Someone has set the Hunters after the Borderkind. All the Borderkind. Or nearly all. We have learned firsthand that some are collaborating with the Hunters, presumably to spare their own lives. Jenny Greenteeth was a traitor. She helped the Hunters track us, and for that, she died with them.”

“Not Jenny,” said Cheval Bayard. A tear slid down her cheek and she turned from them as she wiped it away.

“The bitch,” Coyote said, his voice flat.

Oliver studied him, wondering if any of this was news. Coyote seemed to know much more than someone who had been in hiding ought to be privy to. Either that, or it was simply the arrogant air about him.

“We prevailed, but not without losses. Gong Gong is dead.”

Chorti growled deep in his chest and his upper lip curled back from those razor-blade teeth. The frog-thing muttered something in his guttural tongue.

“He will be missed,” Wayland Smith said. The old man reached up to tip his hat back, golden afternoon sunshine lighting his face. There was a kindness there that Oliver had not seen before. And now a sadness as well.

“This conspiracy against us must have been brewing for some time. First quietly, with a few killings scattered around the Two Kingdoms, and then more, until they had us all on guard or on the run,” Frost continued. “If we had acted more swiftly, gathered together, we would have had a better chance of fighting back. But we are too solitary, all of us. Those who learned of the threat looked to their own safety without considering the danger to their kin.”

At this, Frost glanced pointedly at Coyote.

Kitsune and Blue Jay nodded slowly.

Coyote slapped the table, sneering. His eyes were still crazy, twitchy, but now there was a bestial cast to his features that had not been there before.

“You’ll watch your tone and insinuations, Frost. What could I have done to save Gong Gong and the others who’ve died? Me alone? The Hunters would have roasted me on a spit.”

“Perhaps it’s not too late,” Kitsune snarled.

“Enough,” Blue Jay said. His tone was quiet, but with an edge that calmed them all. “We are all kin, and there are many more of us who are in danger. The river flows, and we cannot concern ourselves with what is already past, only with what comes next.”

Wayland Smith smoothed his unruly beard. “I expect Frost has a plan.”

The winter man cocked his head slightly as though searching for some insult hidden in Smith’s words. After a moment, he nodded.

“I do, though it isn’t much of one, I’m afraid. The Falconer died by my hand. Before he did, he revealed the name of the one who had set the Hunters after the Borderkind. Our enemy is Ty’Lis, an Atlantean sorcerer who advises in the court of Yucatazca’s king.”

Chorti sat up abruptly and shook his shaggy head.

“I’m sorry, Chorti, but I speak truth. It would be dangerous to presume that Ty’Lis is acting on instructions from the king, but we must at least consider the possibility. The probability, really.”

“He must be taking orders from the king,” Coyote sniffed. “Atlanteans have been neutral since the creation of the Veil. That is why both kingdoms use them as advisors. Hell, it’s the Atlanteans who created the truce to begin with. Without them, there’d be no Two Kingdoms at all.”

Blue Jay glanced at Frost and Kitsune. “He’s right, you know.”

“I only mean that we must consider both possibilities,” Frost replied.

Kitsune pushed a curtain of silken black hair away from her face and scanned the Borderkind around the table. She barely seemed to notice Oliver at all, and he wondered if he had somehow upset her.

“Whoever it is, they are powerful. The Hunters have used Doors through the Veil with unrestrained freedom. The sentries at the Doors have either been disposed of and replaced, paid for their cooperation, or are following orders. Influence is the key here. We could question the sentries, trace the influence back to the snake giving orders.

“But, really, king or sorcerer, what does it matter?” the fox-woman asked. “What we need to discover is what our enemy hopes to gain by destroying the Borderkind.”

Cheval Bayard raised her chin. She inclined her head respectfully toward Kitsune. “I would like the answer to that question as well. But is it really vital? The enemy must be stopped. It would be difficult to combat the Hunters, but if we directly attack the one who commands them, surely that will end the threat?”

“I agree,” Frost said. “With time against us, and more of our number dying by the day, the swiftest course is our only choice. We must travel back through Euphrasia and into Yucatazca, gathering as many Borderkind as we can along the way, find Ty’Lis, and force the truth from him. When he is dead, the Hunters will stop.”

“You hope,” Oliver said, surprised at the sound of his own voice.

All of the Borderkind turned to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Blue Jay asked.

Oliver shrugged. “Just that you’d better be sure he’s the only one giving orders before you kill him. And even with him dead, if the Hunters have agreed to do the job, who’s to say if they’ll be willing to quit?”

Wayland Smith waved a hand. “Regardless, the task is the same. The only sensible course is to reach Ty’Lis, find the truth, and if he is our enemy, destroy him. But I won’t be coming with you, I’m afraid.”

Frost frowned, icy brow crinkling. “Why not?”

“You will gather only a handful of Borderkind on your journey. Someone must try to get the word out to others, bring them together, so better to defend ourselves.”

“Where will you bring them?” asked Cheval.

“Why, here, of course,” Smith said. He lowered his gaze and the brim of his hat cast his face in shadow. “The people of the Gorge may not like it, but this is the safest place. The Hunters will come eventually, as has already been stated, but if ever there was a place to stand and fight, this is it.”

Coyote uttered a dry laugh. “In that case, I’ll be leaving.”

Kitsune sniffed. “Coward.”

“I prefer the term ‘survivor,’ if you don’t mind.”

“But I do mind,” she said.

“Nevertheless, I’ll be taking my leave. My path is not with you. With any of you.”

For a moment they all looked at him. Even Blue Jay seemed disgusted by Coyote’s cowardice, and he had been quick to embrace his cousin before.

“So be it,” Frost said, glancing around. “What of the rest of you? Will you join us?”

Chorti sat up straighter, his spine popping loudly. He glanced at Cheval Bayard, who nodded, and then both of them faced the winter man again. Chorti’s black eyes gleamed as he uncrossed his arms and placed his massive hands on the table, knife-claws clicking on the wood.

“I stand with you, Frost,” he said, his voice a slow rumble.

Oliver flinched. He hadn’t thought the beast-man capable of speech.

“As do I,” Cheval agreed. She touched two fingers to her forehead, dipping her chin. “The bond is forged, my friends. The Borderkind will live or die, but we are with you until fate decides.”

Tlatecuhtli shifted wetly and a loud croak issued from his mouth. It sounded nothing like either English or the tongue he’d spoken before, but Frost only nodded his head in understanding.

“Your aid would be most welcome,” the winter man told him, before surveying the others gathered round the table again. “It will be the six of us, then.”

A tremor went through Oliver. Here it was, the end of things.

Kitsune raised an eyebrow. “Five, actually.”

Frost turned to her, his confusion evident.

“What are you saying, Kit?” Blue Jay asked.

“I’m going with Oliver.”

They all stared at her, none more so than Oliver. All through the conversation, Kitsune had worn a grave expression. She had barely looked at him. Now she smiled at him across the table and gave a tiny shrug, as if she had no real explanation for her actions. He felt absurdly grateful.

Coyote laughed. “You mean you’re committing suicide.”

With surprising speed, Cheval Bayard slipped from her chair and kicked Coyote with such force that he spilled from his seat onto the ground, his bastard’s grin gone.

“You embarrass us all with your infantile behavior,” Cheval said, the softness gone from her voice and face, a terrible wrath in their place. “Keep quiet, now, or you may find yourself bait for the Hunters.”

Coyote rose, staring at Cheval with death in his eyes.

Blue Jay sighed at his cousin’s behavior and then turned to Kitsune, his wild eyes warm with affection. “You’re certain?”

“I can’t let him go alone.”

Oliver put his palm against his forehead. “Listen, Kit, you’ve done enough. I appreciate it, really, but Frost said he’d get me to Professor Koenig. You guys did that. I know you’ve got more important things to worry about now…”

Kitsune gave a gentle laugh. “If you go back to the Sandman’s castle alone, you’ll die.”

“Don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you?” he said, the jest in his voice strained. What are you doing, trying to talk her out of coming along? he thought. Don’t be an idiot.

Her expression turned uncertain. “I don’t want you to die, Oliver.”

“That makes two of us.”

In the moment of silence that followed, he realized it had been decided. Kitsune would stay with him. He glanced at Cheval and Chorti, feeling as though he now understood them perfectly well.

Wayland Smith cleared his throat. “Still suicide. Coyote’s a fool and a coward, but that doesn’t make him wrong. The two of you haven’t a chance of defeating the Sandman on your own. You’re going to need help.”

Oliver opened his hands, at a loss. “Any suggestions?”

“I have one,” Frost said.

Once again, he claimed all of the attention in the room simply with the tone of his voice. All eyes upon him, Frost turned to Oliver.

“You know some of us have many aspects, different legends from around the world. We are separate beings, and yet aspects of the same legend. Kin in far more than blood.”

Blue Jay snapped his fingers. As he shifted in his chair, the air around him blurred blue and there came the sound of rustling feathers. “I see where you’re going.”

“As do I,” Cheval said, delicate fingers playing with the lace collar of her dress. “The Dustman.”

Oliver frowned. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Nor I,” Kitsune said.

Frost nodded, his enthusiasm for the idea increasing. “The legend is English, I believe. Not as well known in modern times as the Sandman. But the Dustman is Borderkind as well, and just as powerful.”

“But he doesn’t go around murdering children and ripping out their eyes?” Oliver ventured.

“No, he doesn’t.” Wayland Smith smiled. “That’s an excellent idea, Frost. If the Dustman could be convinced to help-”

“Yeah,” Oliver interrupted, “but how do I do that? How do I even find him?”

Blue Jay put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “You sleep, my friend.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“According to the legend, the Dustman is a nursery spirit. Which means you’d need to be in a nursery, with a child,” Wayland Smith said.

Cheval Bayard seemed to notice Oliver for the very first time. There was something odd about her long face, almost equine.

“You might want to be in England at the time,” she suggested.

“Why not?” Oliver said. “It’s on the way. I just wish there was a quicker way to get to Collette. It’s a long trip back to the Truce Road.”

Wayland Smith leaned over the table, staring at them intently. “But of course there’s a quicker way. The Sandman’s castle doesn’t exist in only one location. It’s in many places at once, all of the time. In Euphrasia, both east and west, in Yucatazca, and beyond the Two Kingdoms as well. There is a nearer Sandcastle, to the east, and a Winding Way that will take you there even more swiftly than an ordinary road.”

Kitsune shifted in her chair, studying Smith. “Lost Ones can’t travel the Winding Way. Ordinary men-”

Wayland Smith arched an eyebrow. “You’ve seen this with your own eyes, little cousin?”

“No. But I have heard-”

“It is your best and fastest course, whether the Winding Way will take you there or not. You know how to reach it, from the Orient Road?”

Kitsune nodded, brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“Well, then,” Smith said, as though the matter was settled. And apparently it was, for Kitsune did not argue further.

Oliver sat back and glanced around, pleased to have a plan, and to know that he was not going to be traveling alone after all. He could not recall ever feeling as grateful to anyone as he did to Kitsune at that moment. Yet when he looked at Blue Jay, and then at Frost, he felt a terrible loss.

Frost had brought him into this, but purely by accident. They had relied upon one another, entrusted each other with their lives. They had become, Oliver believed, friends. It was going to be difficult to say good-bye.

“I just wanted to say-” he began.

Coyote shouted and leaped onto the table. The Borderkind were all in motion at once. Chairs crashed over as they stood, ready to defend themselves. Oliver pushed himself away from the table, chair legs scraping the floor, and he reached to his waist, only to find that he’d left the sword in his room.

At the end of the table, Chorti threw his arms up and bared his razor-blade teeth in a snarl as he flashed his claws, ready.

But it wasn’t the wild man that Coyote was after. The only one of them who had barely moved was Tlatecuhtli. The frog-thing began to chatter in his terrible, guttural tongue. The rangy Coyote dove at the frog, fur growing on the back of his neck, bristling along his arms. His jaw elongated, bones cracking as it became a snout filled with wicked teeth.

The frog-thing tensed as though it was about to leap.

Coyote struck it with his body, drove it down to the floor, and then thrust his snout into its fleshy neck. He tore Tlatecuhtli’s throat out, spilling bright green ichor onto the floor, spraying his muzzle with the swamp-stinking stuff.

“What are you doing?” Blue Jay cried.

“Take him!” Frost snapped.

Chorti was already moving. The massive beast-man grabbed Coyote by the arms in an iron grip. Coyote thrashed but could not free himself.

“You idiots! Don’t you pay attention?” Coyote howled. “The frogs. Stop them!”

Oliver moved toward Cheval, thinking to pull her away from danger. As he darted forward, he saw the slit in the frog-thing’s sickly pale belly-vertical lips that disgorged a small frog, no larger than his hand. And then another. And a third.

They were headed for the door, others for the windows. Several hopped toward the darkening corners of the room, searching for an exit that way.

“It’s a spy!” Oliver shouted. “Don’t you understand? You can’t let them get away! He heard everything!”

It was chaos. Utter, disgusting chaos.

In the end, they thought they had managed to destroy all of the traitorous Borderkind’s spawn, but they were not certain. Not certain at all. Even if the Nagas had not ordered them to leave in the morning, they would not have been able to risk remaining in Twillig’s Gorge longer.

At dawn, they had to leave.

Though he had slain Tlatecuhtli for them, and in doing might well have spared them a confrontation with the Hunters, the rest of the Borderkind shunned Coyote as the meeting drew to a close. He bid a somber farewell to Blue Jay, ignoring the others, and was the first to leave the tavern.

Chorti and Cheval agreed to meet Frost and Blue Jay in the foyer of the inn at sunup, then departed. Wayland Smith promised Kitsune and Oliver that he would return an hour before dawn to see them off, and then he also took his leave.

At the bottom of the stairs, Oliver and his companions gathered, perhaps for the last time.

“I want to thank you all,” he began.

Frost tilted his head, a smile on his sharply angled features. Outside, dusk had arrived, and it was a fading light that gleamed on his icy form now.

“I believe we’re beyond debt or gratitude now, Oliver,” Frost said, and his blue-white, frozen diamond eyes narrowed. “We are comrades now, aren’t we? After all we’ve been through. Comrades, come what may. We will be parted for a time, but wherever we may go, we are brothers in arms.”

Oliver could not speak. The winter man was not one for sentiment, and he found himself absurdly touched by Frost’s words.

Blue Jay clapped him on the shoulder. “Until dawn, Oliver. Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

“Blue Jay, a word, if you will,” Frost said.

“About our recruits, I assume,” the trickster said.

Frost nodded and the two of them drifted back toward the tavern. Others had begun to enter the inn and head in that direction. There might not be many visitors in Twillig’s Gorge, but that did not translate into a shortage of patrons for the tavern.

“Shall we?” Kitsune said, gesturing toward the stairs.

“Absolutely,” Oliver said. “I’m tired enough to just go to sleep right on the steps.”

“I think that might be frowned upon.”

They smiled at one another and started up the stairs. As they reached the landing on the third floor, Oliver reached out to take her hand.

“Kit, wait.”

One eyebrow raised, she turned to face him, jade eyes flashing with curiosity. Her cloak swayed around her, soft copper fur brushing his arm.

“I just wanted to say…I mean, you don’t know how much it means-”

Kitsune reached up to touch his face, then darted her head in and kissed him once, quickly, on the mouth. He’d never felt lips so soft, never smelled anything as wonderful as her scent.

She pulled back and watched him, one corner of her mouth lifted.

For several seconds, he only stood there stupidly. Then he shook his head. “Kit, you know…when this is all over, I’m going home. This isn’t my world. Julianna’s waiting for me. She is home, for me.”

A glimpse of sadness flashed in her eyes, but her smile never wavered.

“Go to bed, Oliver,” she said.

Kitsune walked down the hall and disappeared into her room, leaving him standing by himself in the corridor.

His skin prickled as though he was surrounded by static electricity. When she had kissed him, and stood so near, the temptation had been powerful. Oliver could not deny that Kitsune stirred desire in him. She would have had such an effect on any man. Everything about her was magical; but, in the world of the legendary, everything was magical. He reminded himself of that now.

All his life, Oliver had believed in magic, in things beyond the scope of human understanding. No matter what peril it had brought him, he reveled in the discovery that he had been right all along. And yet the more he saw of magical creatures and enchanted lands, the more he longed for the simpler magics of the mundane world.

A small smile touched his lips as his mind flooded with memories and images of Julianna: the music of her laughter; the knowing, indulgent look in her eyes; the way her fingers slid into his on sheer instinct; and how perfectly their bodies molded together as they curled together, whether on the sofa to watch a movie or in bed after making love.

Simple magic.

They both loved the ocean best in winter, and at night. They shared a hatred of bars and a passion for bad Chinese food, and they were endlessly amused by each other’s taste in music. One of the few times they had found themselves in musical agreement was a Saturday afternoon in September, their senior year in high school, when they’d driven down to Portland to see James Taylor at an outdoor music festival. Julianna rarely enjoyed older music, but had fallen under the sway of Taylor’s sweet voice and acoustic guitar.

Sitting on a blanket on the grass, she had leaned in close to him, Oliver’s arm around her, and they had just soaked it all in-four generations sprawled around the park with their picnic baskets and beach chairs, the beer and wine flowing, dancing and singing along.

Oliver had kissed her head, breathing in the scent of her.

“They’re all about you, Jules.”

She had looked up at him, confused. “What?”

“The songs. They’re all about you.”

James Taylor had launched into “Something in the Way She Moves” right then, and Julianna-eyes wide open, shivering just a little-had kissed him like he had never been kissed before.

That was magic.

Kitsune stirred something primal in Oliver; he could not deny that. But he could never have the intimacy with her that he shared with Julianna, and he would never sacrifice that simple magic.

Jules, he thought. You’d hardly recognize me now.

The night was long for Kitsune. The legend of Twillig’s Gorge established it as a safe haven, a sanctuary for anyone who wished to escape the rest of the world and live peacefully. Yet there were enemies here. Worse, though there might well be spies amongst the Lost Ones and the legendary, they had found treachery amongst the Borderkind. It was appalling enough that some, like Coyote, were too frightened and selfish to stand with their kin and fight, but the idea that there were turncoats among the Borderkind was especially difficult to bear.

Jenny Greenteeth had been her friend. But now it had become distinctly clear that Kitsune could trust only herself, Oliver, Blue Jay, and Frost. They had fought side by side and would have given their lives for one another.

How much simpler it would have been never to have left the Oldwood, to have just waited for the Hunters to come after her. Yet she pushed such thoughts away. This conspiracy against the Borderkind could not be allowed to go without reprisal.

Until then, however…she would take care, and watch her back.

That night, she slept as a fox, curled up beneath the bed in her room at the inn. Anyone who entered thinking to do her harm would find rumpled blankets but no one in bed. Yet though Kitsune had slept through storms and blizzards, in bramble patches and underground dens, and despite her exhaustion, she did not sleep well.

At night, the inn was cold, and she wound more tightly in upon herself. Voices in the corridor or from out the window, down in the gorge below, carried to her and her ears pricked. Kitsune knew she had made the right choice, going with Oliver. Frost had promised only to see him safely to Professor Koenig, but to let him go off on his own now…Well, they might as well kill him themselves. He’d proven surprisingly courageous and resilient for an ordinary man, but he was still just human. Not that she blamed Frost. The threat to the Borderkind far outweighed the potential loss of one human life.

But she had spoken truly. She did not want Oliver to die. Her pulse raced at the nearness of him. The fox in her desired him. It confused Kitsune horribly. How could she have such yearning for a fragile, mundane man?

Yet there was no denying it.

He was promised to another, and loved her. But Kitsune hungered for him, and she would see him safely on his journey or die herself.

All through the night she drifted in and out of sleep. It lasted an eternity, and each time she peeked out from beneath the bed to see that the sky beyond her window was still the rich black velvet of night, she was newly astonished. It seemed morning would never come.

When, at last, she opened her eyes to see that the darkness had taken on a golden glow, the first hint of impending sunrise, she was still exhausted, but she could not close her eyes again. Dawn approached, and they were to leave.

She stretched, tail twitching behind her. The floor was dusty and her eyes began to water. The fox sneezed, then shook her whole body before slipping out from beneath the bed. Kitsune glanced around the room, still anxious, and at last she began to stretch again. This time the motion did not stop, and her muscles lengthened, smooth as liquid, bones shifting.

In the midst of her room, she reached up and pulled back her hood. She had bathed before retiring the night before. Now she went into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and ran her fingers through her long hair to straighten it.

Kitsune yawned and met the gaze of her reflection. She ought to go and wake Oliver, but somewhere in the inn, there was breakfast cooking. Her stomach grumbled. Greasy bacon would be wonderful. Eggs as well. Raw if she could find them. She wondered if there would be coffee. If she hurried, she could bring breakfast up to Oliver and they could be gone within an hour after sunup. That ought to be near enough to dawn to satisfy the sentries.

She left the room, locking the door behind her. Her tread silent upon the stairs, she descended to the first floor. In the foyer, the smell of breakfast cooking was powerful and merely inhaling it filled her with renewed vigor.

But there was another scent there, one that she recognized.

Wayland Smith had said he would be there to see them off at dawn, but his scent lingered. He had already arrived. Kitsune sniffed again, nostrils flaring, to be certain she was not mistaken. No, he was here. Had passed by only moments before.

Breakfast was served in a small room at the front of the inn, almost diagonally opposite the tavern where they had met the previous evening. The tavern would be closed now, the stink of stale ale remaining no matter how many times the tables had been scrubbed. It would be dark, and empty.

Or it ought to have been. But this morning, the tavern was not entirely unoccupied.

This early in the morning, she saw only the innkeeper as she walked noiselessly toward the tavern. Soon the few other guests at the inn would begin to rise to make their way down for breakfast, at least if the aroma of food was any indication. It occurred to her that the innkeeper and his wife might be feeding themselves now so that they could attend to their handful of guests when they rose. That was sensible.

But even as such thoughts crossed her mind, she was following Wayland Smith’s scent and listening to the low drone of voices coming from the tavern. Kitsune narrowed her eyes and raised her hood, resisting the urge to transform. She did not need to be in the form of a fox to have a fox’s hearing. Even before she reached the open arched entrance to the tavern, she could make out the voices well enough, and knew to whom they belonged.

Wayland Smith and Frost.

At first this set her at ease. She had been growing more and more distrustful, and was suspicious of Smith to begin with. He had been there at Amelia’s the night they were betrayed, after all. But if he was with Frost, that was to be expected. They would be discussing the Borderkind, what message Smith ought to be conveying, and which of their kin Frost and his coterie might be likely to encounter on their way to Yucatazca.

But that was not the subject of their conversation.

“You’re taking a great risk with the Bascombes,” Smith said.

Kitsune froze, then slipped into the shadows just outside the entrance to the room. Frost and Smith both had keen senses, but nothing like a fox. They would not notice her as long as she did nothing foolish.

“It cannot be helped,” Frost replied. “Whoever is behind the Hunters-whether it be Ty’Lis or some unknown enemy-they must be destroyed. I do not wish Oliver and his sister ill, but the needs of the Borderkind take precedence.”

Wayland Smith laughed softly, bitterly. “When it comes to the Bascombes, how can you know what the Borderkind need?”

“I do not claim to. I only know that attacking our enemies directly will at least mean the deadliest creatures in the Two Kingdoms are too busy to chase them.”

Kitsune frowned. All of this was gibberish to her. It did not seem that they meant Oliver harm, but there were secrets here, most certainly.

“You hope,” Smith replied. “Why not just trumpet his presence, then? The Lost Ones would rush to his aid if they understood who he was. He and his sister.”

“Oh, yes, excellent plan,” Frost said. “At the moment, only a very few know who the Bascombes are, and what their presence could mean. If everyone knew, there would be far more who would try to kill them than protect them. Oliver is in enough danger as an Intruder, but he has a small chance of gaining a reprieve if he is clever. Why have every legend in the Two Kingdoms after his blood?

“No, there’s nothing more that can be done. I must see to my kin first. His fate is in his own hands. And Kitsune’s. Much as we could use her, I’m glad she is going with him. He stands a chance, with her.”

From within the tavern came the sound of a match being lit, and then the smell of Smith’s pipe, the tobacco rich and earthy. He spoke between puffs.

“You’ve really made a mess of this, haven’t you, Frost?” he said grimly.

There was a moment of pause. From within the tavern came the tinkling sound of ice crystals as Frost moved.

“You’d do well to watch your tone with me, sir.”

“Of course,” Wayland Smith replied.

The fear in his voice made Kitsune shiver.

“It was bad enough when I began to hear of Hunters preying upon Borderkind, murdering our cousins. I knew right away something had to be done, that some dark power saw us as a threat and wanted to eradicate us. But when I heard whispers that they had been sent after the Bascombes, I knew I had to protect them. Had I time, I would have brought others. It would have been so much simpler. But the Falconer surprised me. He was faster than I expected. I was wounded.”

Smith puffed on his pipe, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough from smoke. “You had no choice.”

“None. I was too weak to spirit them away. Oliver helped me get to a place where I could cross through the Veil. The only way to save him was to take him through with me.”

“Putting a death warrant on his head for trespassing?”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Frost said, his tone as crisp and cold as his skin. “Just as I had no choice but to leave Collette behind. I couldn’t take them both-”

“But you only needed one to survive. So you sacrificed the sister.”

“No,” Frost snapped. “I was…fairly sure that the Falconer would pursue us. He could have found the sister at any time in the mundane world. But with Oliver in our world, that was trickier. It was a risk, I admit. But even now, they haven’t killed Collette.”

“They’re keeping her as bait,” Smith said darkly.

“But she’s alive.”

Kitsune shuddered. Once again she had misjudged who she could and could not trust. How many secrets was Frost keeping from her? From Oliver? There was more to this, and she would have answers, but this concerned Oliver more than it did her and he ought to be with her when she confronted Frost.

In swift silence she raced into the foyer. As she went up the stairs she caught new scents. Chorti and Cheval Bayard were about to arrive, ready to ally themselves with Frost. That was fine with Kitsune. It was time that secrets were exposed and true loyalties revealed.

No matter the consequences.