Chapter 17

By the Green Mother,that werewolf was fast. It was only from the light of the moon reflecting off his golden-white fur that I’d been able to follow him without casting a spell. Under my feet, the hearth continued to pulse in alarm. Its flames, while flaring red, hadn’t been the dark red of a powerful enemy. Just clearly a persistent one given all the pulses.

“Coyotes, again?” Sawyer cried, scrambling up the nearest tree. “I am so sick of this!”

I was too, and these beasts needed to learn to fear me, not just the werewolf currently terrorizing them. This pack was massive, dozens of adults, all of them surrounding Grumpy. They were worse than hyenas, nipping at his ankles, snatching fur from his long tail, going for his neck when he turned to engage one of the myriad threats that were trying to sink their teeth into him.

This was a bid for territory, and they weren’t going to leave him alive.

“Grumpy!” I shouted, more so he knew he wasn’t alone than to coordinate an attack with him.

At the sound of my voice, three of the nearest coyotes broke away to confront me, teeth bared and barking.

I screamed right back at them, plunging glowing green hands into the soil.

Beneath their charging feet, a chasm split the earth in half, swallowing them whole. As they yelped and tumbled into the pit, I surged upright and grabbed the nearest piece of deadwood. A burst of magic lengthen it into a staff, and then I started swinging.

“Get away from him!” Thwack, thwack, thwack went the staff.

The moment I swatted one away from the pack, the roots of the nearest apple tree sprang from the ground to snatch it and drag it away, screaming in terror, into the pit with the others. Good. If they were scared of coming here, then they could leave with their lives to establish their pack elsewhere.

Yet for every one the pit claimed, three attacked Grumpy from all sides. Teeth and claws, one set of each was guaranteed to hit while two other sets distracted. And yet, he wasn’t bleeding. Maybe his fur was just really thick?

And then he struck.

He was lightning fast, white fangs flashing in the moonlight before latching on to a coyote’s tail. With a snap of Grumpy’s neck, the werewolf not only hurled the coyote over the fence, but into the forest beyond. It landed in the leaf mold, squealing like a pig as it scrambled to its feet and bolted away into the night.

Then he reset, teeth bared, enduring nips and scrapes until he got another coyote by its front leg and repeated the discus-like ejection from the farm. He was patient, methodical, and seemingly impervious to pain. The coyote numbers began to dwindle quickly.

Then the coyote in front of his face feinted, four surging in from behind in a coordinated attack.

What the?

The werewolf let out a strangled cry as all those teeth dug into his rear legs and yanked, pulling him down.

“Grumpy!” Sawyer cried, leaping into the air.

The tabby tomcat landed right on the lead coyote’s head just as it lunged for Grumpy’s throat, clawing madly. Not necessarily to do damage, but to find purchase so he wouldn’t fall to the ground and get pinned beneath enemy paws. The coyote howled as Sawyer used its ear and cheek as a ladder to climb onto its head, clamping down hard before he sank his tiny white teeth into the coyote’s fulvous neck.

“Grumpy, Sawyer! I’m coming!” I smacked aside another coyote for the apple tree to drag into the pit, funneling magic down the length of the staff until its end branched into half a dozen saplings. They swung like willow branches and stung like a flail, lashing shallow red wounds across the backs of the coyotes clinging to Grumpy’s legs.

The coyotes released the werewolf to turn on me with snapping jaws.

Then I noticed something I hadn’t before. These coyotes’ eyes flashed blue, as if will-o’-the-wisps had taken up residence in their sockets.

Faelight! The mark of Fair Folk magic.

Disbelieving, I blinked, and the strange color of their eyes vanished. They were closer now, too, crouching low to pounce.

“How many times do I need to tell you this is my farm?” I shouted. “Get out! And leave my cat alone!”

Bringing a knee up to my chest, I stomped down hard, a pillar of earth jutting upwards under the lead coyote’s belly. Two apple trees came to life and lurched forward, one plucking Sawyer out of the air and cradling him gently in its branches, the second tree swatted the coyote over the fence like a baseball clearing a park for a grand slam. The other four coyotes followed the first, soaring over the fence with smarting fannies and rolling to their feet to run away whimpering.

When I whirled around, searching for my next victim, I found Grumpy pouncing down on the coyote who’d crept up behind me. This one he gripped by the neck and dragged all the way to the fence, prolonging the pain as punishment for trying to attack me when my back was turned. After flinging that one into the woods, he chased the remaining two coyotes away from Sawyer’s tree, mercilessly snapping at their heels as they wormed through the rails in the… dethorned fence.

“What?” I ran my hand along the planks. They were smooth. As if the thorns had been shorn off in one seamless stroke.

Magic.

But who—

Suddenly Grumpy reared up beside me, placing his front feet on the top rail and releasing a roar to rival Arthur’s.

There was an answering hiss deep in the woods then the scurrying of feet as something ran off.

The fiáin.

“Yeah, beat it!” Sawyer shouted from where he clung to an apple branch.

That creature had removed the thorns and then goaded those coyotes into attacking, even controlling some with magic. It had gotten quite a show of my power, but nothing—I hoped—that had shown it I was more powerful than what I was letting on. I was almost afraid to look down at my parasite bracelet, but when I did, the rainbow tourmaline crystals were their usual green-purple selves. I hadn’t overexerted myself, or the three of them had siphoned off my power quick enough that they didn’t turn white.

Pitiful whimpers dragged my attention away from the fence and to the pit in the ground where the trapped coyotes were desperate to climb out. Grumpy just snarled at them.

After getting a good look at their eyes, none of them flashing blue this time, I slammed the butt of the staff against the ground. There was a flash of green light, and the earth sealed as if the pit had never been. On the other side of the fence, another hole opened—an exit to the tunnel I’d created that connected to the pit, now a cave. If the coyotes were smart enough, they could leave that way. Or not. After tonight, I was feeling less inclined to curb my fighting techniques, even if the attack really had been the fiáin’s fault. The orchard could always use fertilizer.

When it was clear the farm was safe from immediate attack, Sawyer climbed out of his tree as I turned to examine the werewolf.

“Grumpy.” I dropped to my knees. My hands felt him all over—the thick mane at his shoulders, the feathered edges of his elbows, his pointy ears. I even lifted his tail to check his haunches where those four coyotes had bitten him. “Are you hurt? Let me see if there’s any blood.”

The werewolf wiggled away from me with a sound that only could be likened to that of a toddler whining about his overprotective mother.

I planted my hands on my hips. “Well excuse me for worrying! I saw them bite you. How are you not bleeding?”

He wouldn’t acknowledge the question, looking away. Pretended to notice something in the eastern woods.

Liar.

I pushed upright onto my feet and began collecting all the tufts of coyote fur he’d ripped free.

“Uh, Misty, what are you doing?” Sawyer asked.

Waving a fistful of fur at him, I answered, “Waste not, want not. This solves the pixies’ hibernation problem, doesn’t it?”

His amber eyes brightened, and he pounced from tuft to tuft, snatching them up in his mouth before the wind could pluck them away. Grumpy didn’t help but stood watch, giving Sawyer little yips when he missed a tuft.

With my pockets full of coyote fur, I began the long walk back to the farmhouse with Sawyer at my side. When he was sure we weren’t being followed, Grumpy trailed after us at a trot. There were no pulses from the hearth; all was well now.

“Lass?” came Roland’s worried voice out of the gloom. Most of the hobs were with him, all of them stepping into the moonlight with makeshift clubs.

“Grumpy did his job,” I told them, taking no credit for myself. After watching him fight, it was clear he would’ve outlasted them all, especially since he seemed to have some kind of anti-bleeding or accelerated healing ability. I’d just sped up their defeat. “We’re safe. Everybody okay at the barn?”

“Rhett and the hens are in a tizzy, but Dale stayed behind to keep them calm. Ricky and Joe went to the mill to protect the wassail. And the hob grog.”

“Priorities are important,” I said wryly, diverting to the birdhouse to unload my pockets. The pixies roused, their sleepy, low-octave flute noises becoming more animated and bright at the fur I was poking into each nesting box.

“So… you say Grumpy fought them off?” Walt asked.

“Yes, he d—” I fell silent as the hobs all clustered together, whispering. I glanced down at Sawyer, who shrugged, then at Grumpy, who hunched his shoulders into a defensive position.

“It’s decided,” Roland said as the hobs dispersed from their cluster. “Wait here.”

“Um, okay.”

It took only a minute or two for them to return, forming a line so each could not necessarily pet, but pat or touch Grumpy on the shoulder. The werewolf looked supremely uncomfortable but remained seated, his ears pricking when Roland brought up the rear, a single egg in his hand. Since the chickens didn’t lay many eggs in the cold months, each one was prized.

This was a gift.

“Hey,” Sawyer protested. “Is that my egg for—”

Swooping down, I plucked the tabby tomcat from the ground and smothered a hand over his face.

Grumpy’s lips peeled back to reveal his fangs, and he ever so gently used his teeth and tongue to lift the egg from the hob’s hand. The ripple of relief was visible as it passed through Roland’s whole body, obviously thankful that the werewolf hadn’t taken his hand along with the egg.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” I told them solemnly.

We skirted around the fence for the rear gate into the farmhouse’s lawn as the hobs returned to their barn, a spring in Grumpy’s step.

“I still expect an egg if they’re going to tie that lure to my tail next Saturday,” Sawyer groused.

“I don’t suppose you want to eat that raw, do you?” I asked the werewolf. After depositing the now-slimy egg into my hand, he shook his head. “So, scrambled?”

“You’re cooking for him now?” the tabby cat exclaimed.

“What? He’s earned it. Grumpy? You want a scrambled egg?”

Another shake of his head.

“Soft-boiled?”

The werewolf spun an excited circle like he was chasing his tail.

“Soft-boiled it is,” I said, climbing the porch steps.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the werewolf lean down and nibble at Sawyer’s scruff, the gesture identical to an older brother shoving a younger brother simply to be a brat. Sawyer replied with his claws and a hiss, but the werewolf just gave a teasing yap and continued to bully him all the way onto the porch.

“Misty, he won’t leave me alone!”

“Just accept it, Sawyer,” I called through the kitchen window. “If you hadn’t wanted to become Grumpy’s brother-in-arms, then you shouldn’t have interfered.”

Sawyer had saved Grumpy, I’d saved Sawyer and Grumpy, and he’d saved us even more. Though I hadn’t thought to earn the werewolf’s trust this way, maybe it was working. Maybe, when he was finally healed and could shift back, he’d actually train me to fight, not because he owed me. But because he wanted to.

As a friend.