CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE（Untitled）Grace

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Grace

I leap to my feet, determined to make another gun. Closing my eyes, I reach for my magic. Please work this time. Please. My crystal warms between my breasts and the slick feel of plastic weighs down my hands. Yes!

I open my eyes.

No. It's another bubble shooter, perfectly matching the one at my feet.

"I need the other net gun and net cartridges."

Branikk stands. "I'll get it."

"Take these with you?" I scoop up the original bubbler and shove both into his hands. "If proximity affects my magic, I need the things I want to make near me."

He nods and strides off, crouching to enter the tunnel that leads to our den. Even though he's a foot taller than me, he's still faster at getting around. His eyes see hella better in the dark than mine.

"Alas, we will also be unable to work the toy once you're gone." Rune stares at his paws. "I've never known what it is to have hands. My people lost the ability to shift before I was born, but this is the first time I've wanted them."

"We'll come up with something," I say, longing to fix the problem.

Branikk returns and hands me the net gun. I don't know what he reads in my expression, but he grips my shoulder and says, "You can do this. I know you can."

I nod and close my eyes. Holding the gun in my left, I extend my right hand palm up and wish for another net gun.

Weight, even heavier than the bubbler, lands in my empty hand. My eyes snap open to see the second net gun right as Branikk whoops, "See! I knew you could do it!"

I smile, my own happiness and his admiration warming me through and through. "Now for more nets."

He takes the guns from me and hands me a cartridge. I repeat the process over and over until there's a mound of them a good two feet high. I keep pushing and pushing, getting a little woozy.

Then Branikk's hands are on my shoulders. "Stop, Grace. You need to rest."

I open my eyes, blinking up at him.

He drops the two cartridges I hold on to the stack and wraps an arm around my shoulders to lead me over to the shade of the trees. After settling me on a log, he returns with a waterskin and makes me drink.

Rune trots over to rest his head on my lap. "That was truly a sight to behold, my lady."

"What did I tell you about calling me that?"

"I cannot help it. It seems quite apt when you do great feats of magic."

I scratch around his ears. "Great feats, huh?"

"The greatest," Branikk says, his gaze full of admiration. He picks up my right hand and kisses my palm, right where I made everything appear. "You were amazing."

My heart skips. A gal sure could get used to this!

Since we need to shoot a net gun to free the nets we want to turn into bags, Branikk decides the perfect way to do this is to have me do target practice. We try to do it in front of the dens, but the puppies won't stop chasing after the flying nets, and I don't want to accidentally hurt one of them. So Branikk takes me to a small clearing not that far away and sets up a target by shoving a toadstool onto a tall stake.

Unfortunately, all my skills still fall off at any distance greater than six feet.

"I don't understand why you can only fire successfully at such close range," he says when I miss the target… again.

"I told you. Carnival games are all fairly small and contained. There isn't room to make the games bigger, and it makes people feel like the games will be easier to win." I heft the empty net gun. "And this thing is harder than something that shoots a small, hard projectile. The nets are too heavy to fly straight. They start to drop pretty quickly after they leave the nozzle."

"Which is why you account for it when you angle the gun."

"Yeah, well, that's easier said than done."

Though you wouldn't know it watching him shoot. He hits the target perfectly, over and over, his net wrapping around the toadstool every damned time. Branikk likes to say his wood magic helps his arrows fly true, and maybe it does. But these nets have no wood in them, so he's also good at doing all the physics calculations of angles and things on the fly.

"Come. I'll show you how it feels." He slots a new net cartridge into my gun, then steps around behind me. He wraps around my back, pulling me to him until our bodies mold together. "Feel what I do."

"Okay." It comes out as a whisper.

"Point the gun like you think will work," he says, his breath hot on my ear.

I try. I really, really try, wanting him to be proud of me.

"That's good. That's better than before." His hands close over mine, his arms changing the angle. "Just a little bit more, though. Can you feel that?"

I swallow and nod, not trusting myself to speak. I'm feeling alright, but it sure doesn't have anything to do with guns. My skin tingles everywhere we touch, my pulse humming, sending blood rushing straight to my core.

"Now shoot."

I pull the trigger, the gun kicking in my hands as the net goes sailing upward in an arc that comes down right on top of the toadstool, the white strands wrapping around its bright red cap.

Then he spins us around in a circle, bringing us back to facing the target before stepping away. "Now, I want you to repeat it for yourself."

I miss the feel of him, so strong and sure at my back. But he's right. I need to be able to do this. With a new cartridge in place, I lift and point, then make the adjustment he showed me. My net sails through the air to add another layer to the toadstool.

"You did it!" Branikk swoops me into his arms, spinning us until I'm laughing with him.

I've never had anyone believe in me like this and cheer me on. My parents always assumed I'd do things competently—homework, housework, my job. It's how they moved through life. Nothing else was acceptable, so doing the same was nothing to be praised. Even at the carnival, I was "dependable Grace," with a boss who'd grunt when I got the job done.

I don't quite know what to do with Branikk's joy at my achievements.

But maybe I don't have to do anything. Maybe for once in my life I can just let myself enjoy.

We gather up all the nets and head back to the dens. After lunch, Branikk and I settle on our log seat in the shade of an apple tree. Aurora salutes us with her horn from the top of the hill and goes back to grazing. Rune comes out to watch.

As the only two people with hands, making bags is up to us. I cannibalize a few of the nets to get strings to weave around the edges of the other nets, pulling them tight enough to create a circle of an opening. I leave one end of the string dangling so that once a bird is inside, one quick pull will close the mouth of the bag.

"This is genius," Branikk says. "It will be a lot faster than the way I did it."

"You're the better shot. So I should be the one on bag duty." I turn to Rune. "If the cu sith get really good at catching birds from the air, they can bring them to me, and I'll bag them."

"There is no if," Rune says, amber eyes serious. "We will master how to catch them without killing."

"It would also be faster for me if someone picks up the birds I catch in nets so I can keep shooting," Branikk says. "But I don't know if that's possible."

"Let me try." Rune hops up and gathers a few pinecones.

I lay a regular net over each.

It takes some doing to figure out a system, but he does, using paws and teeth. Then he calls more of the wolves over to practice trapping the downed "birds."

Others practice catching things gently from the air, with Branikk throwing pinecones. All of the first ones break apart with loud crunches—these canine fae have seriously strong bites—but eventually some catch the pinecones softly enough not to damage them.

Rune breaks everyone up into two separate groups, depending on which thing they're best at, either gathering downed birds or snatching active ones from the air. Then they all practice bringing me their trapped birds to bag. We decide not to take the time or the risk of unwrapping the sluagh caught in one of Branikk's shot nets, instead having the wolves shove the bird, net and all, into the bag I hold open.

Soon, everything turns into a game. Branikk hurls pinecones into the air, and the wolves leap after them with all the vigor of dogs catching Frisbees. The puppies pour from the dens, demanding to play, too. The pinecones are too big and hard for their little mouths, so I grip my crystal and imagine the squishy balls used in one of the carnival games. Their high yips of excitement join with Branikk's laughter as he throws balls for them to chase. They wear out quickly, and Riselda sends them back into the den for a nap while the adults continue to practice.

By early evening, they've all gotten so good that they're lined up five deep, waiting for me to bag. My fingers begin to cramp, and I have to keep stopping to shake them out. "Sure could use more people with hands."

"Then it's a good thing I'm back," Mist says, her bright grin hanging in the air for several seconds before the rest of her appears. "I've brought you the aid you seek."

Branikk's eyes scan the woods behind her. "Who did you bring? Is it Krivoth and Taylor?"

"With the doors to Faerie closed, I can't bring anyone with me on the shadow roads who's not cat sith." The end of her bushy tail flicks from side to side. "How many times must I say this?"

"So how?" Branikk asks. "Even a unicorn can't run fast enough to get here in anything under several days."

"Who said anything about a unicorn?" Mist smiles extra wide.

A loud yell comes from above, and I jolt, adrenaline making my heart race. The only things coming from the sky so far have been sluagh.

But Branikk's grinning and waving his arms, and the winged shape above is far bigger than any bird.

When it spirals in for a landing, another person comes into view, silhouetted against the evening sky. Is that a woman… on a broomstick ?

As if that's not weird enough, the winged creature lands, and it's a dragon!

My mouth falls open. Hearing the others talk about them is one thing, but seeing one…

It's green and stands about six-feet tall, with a big crest of feathers on top of its head making it look even taller.

An orc rolls off it to stand, his hands braced on his lower back as he bends backward in a stretch. He's tall and heavily muscled, with a beard and long black hair bound in a braid. He's dressed like Branikk in brown leather pants and boots, and a dark-green linen shirt stretches tight across his wide shoulders. A huge sword rides at his hip, and he scowls as he adjusts its position. "That was unpleasant."

"Tell me about it!" The dragon says in a clear tenor. "I might have had a recent growth spurt, but you're horribly heavy."

"Now you know how I feel," Aurora trots over, having descended the hill. "Try carrying an orc around for days ."

"No, thank you." The dragon settles his wings on his back and gyrates his head in little circles.

The woman lands, letting her broomstick fall, the backend weighed down with a pack and lots of things that look like butterfly nets. Even though dressed like the orcs, she's clearly human. Short and plump, she has wavy, fire-red hair, and a ton of freckles dot the light skin of her pretty face, which breaks into the sweetest smile when she sees me. "I'm Ashley. You must be Grace!"

Before I can even say yes, she trots over and throws her arms around me. I haven't been hugged a whole lot in my life, but I can still tell this is a really good one. Ashley hugs like she means it, putting her whole body into it.

The awkward stiffness I inherited from my uptight parents melts in the face of the happiness radiating from her, and I hug her back.

When we break apart, she pulls a necklace from inside the collar of her pink linen shirt, showing off a crystal that looks like mine. "I'm a witch, like you!"

"I haven't really been thinking of myself that way."

"Didn't your family tell stories about it? Or were there clues in your family history that you're all witches?"

"No. My parents don't like anything they consider weird or odd. And witches in the family would definitely count." I snort. "They wouldn't even let me be a witch for Halloween as a kid. When I asked, my mom marched me right past all the cool costumes and made me go as Hello Kitty."

"That sounds sensible," Mist says. "Cats are always good."

"Sure, when you're five." I meet Ashley's eyes. "But not when you're thirteen."

She winces. "Maybe it was a defensive measure. From what I can tell, witch families became even more heavily persecuted when the doors to Faerie closed and they lost access to magic. Maybe they were trying to protect you."

"Maybe." Shit. Am I going to have to rethink everything about my parents? Are they uptight for a good reason, or at least what they consider a good reason? All their lectures about being quiet and normal and not standing out feel kind of different now, yet I still hated those lectures. Being with Branikk, finding happiness and doing big magic like the Ferris wheel—it's the most alive I've ever felt. I scrub at my face, confused by too many conflicting emotions.

"Anyway, this is my husband, Dravarr." She gestures toward the new orc.

"He's warlord of Moon Blade Village," Branikk adds, clapping the other man on the shoulder.

In contrast to our outgoing partners, the big orc and I exchange much more restrained hellos. But I like his quiet strength. Dravarr feels dependable.

"And I'm Drake!" the dragon says. "Actually, my name's Drakonisrevener, Third of His Line and Son of Sheevora the Magnificent, but humans find that difficult to say."

" Everyone finds that difficult to say." Aurora whinnies a laugh.

"Dragons don't!" Drake lifts his wings and bobs his head. "Dragons are superior beings."

Mist, Aurora, and Ashley all echo his final words, so that must be a popular refrain of his.

"I'm Grace."

Branikk wraps his arm around my shoulder, his face beaming. "She's my moon bound bride!"

Shock ripples through me. I'm not something he hides or speaks of begrudgingly. He's so happy to call me his bride in front of other people, and these aren't strangers like the wolves. These are people he knows, people who mean something in his life—his warlord, even.

My heart gives a little skip as the wall around it cracks open, and I can't deny it any longer.

I love him.