Chapter 9

B etsy

Betsy stood in the middle of a small clearing, hands on her hips, glaring at the towering figure of Chase with all the ferocity of a particularly miffed kitten. The morning sun filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with spots of golden light that danced across Chase's fur, making him look even more majestic and infuriatingly mysterious than usual.

"Okay," Betsy said, her voice a mixture of exasperation and determination. "Let's try this again. What, exactly, is that?" She pointed to a nearby bush, its leaves shimmering with an iridescent glow that was decidedly un-bush-like. There wasn't anything like it in any of her grandmother's books.

Chase's brow furrowed, his dark eyes reflecting a struggle between his desire to share and his instinct to protect. "It is a plant," he rumbled, his deep voice sending a shiver down Betsy's spine that she promptly ignored.

"A plant," Betsy repeated flatly. "Wow. Thanks, David Attenborough. Really clearing things up there."

She stepped closer to the bush, reaching out to touch one of its glowing leaves. Just before her fingers made contact, Chase's massive hand gently but firmly caught her wrist.

"Do not touch," he warned, his voice low and urgent. "It is sensitive."

Betsy raised an eyebrow. "Sensitive? What, does it have feelings? Will it cry if I hurt its leafy little feelings?"

As if in response, the bush suddenly shuddered, its leaves rustling in a nonexistent breeze. A moment later, it let out a sound that could only be described as a petulant sneeze, showering Betsy with a cloud of glittering pollen.

"Oh, for the love of—" Betsy spluttered, waving her hands in front of her face. "Great. Just great. Now I'm covered in magical plant snot. This is exactly how I wanted to start my day."

Chase's lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement breaking through his stoic facade. "Perhaps it did not appreciate your tone," he suggested.

Betsy shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "Oh, so now you're taking the bush's side? Traitor."

She brushed ineffectually at her clothes, succeeding only in smearing the glittery pollen further. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to Chase. "Look, big guy. I get that you're trying to protect me, or the forest, or whatever. But I can't learn if you don't teach me. And in case you haven't noticed, weird stuff is happening all over the place."

As if to emphasize her point, a nearby tree suddenly sprouted a bunch of bananas. Actual bananas. In Connecticut.

"See?" Betsy gestured wildly at the fruit. "That's not normal! Unless we've somehow teleported to the tropics, in which case I am woefully underdressed and in desperate need of a pi?a colada."

Chase's expression darkened, his massive shoulders tensing. "The forest is unsettled," he admitted reluctantly.

"Unsettled?" Betsy echoed. "Chase, honey, 'unsettled' is what happens when you eat gas station sushi. This is full-on chaos." She took a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration bubbling up inside her. "I want to help," she said, her voice softening. "I need to help. But I can't do that if you keep me in the dark."

For a moment, it seemed like Chase might actually open up. But then his expression closed off again, like shutters slamming shut over a window. "It is not safe for you to know everything," he said firmly. "Not yet."

Betsy threw her hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I'll figure it out on my own."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off towards the cabin, leaving a troubled-looking Chase behind. As she walked, she could have sworn she heard the sneeze-bush giggling.

Back at the cabin, Betsy channeled her frustration into cleaning. She attacked the mud and endless leaves that got tracked in with a vengeance, muttering under her breath about stubborn Sasquatches and their ridiculous need for secrecy.

"I mean, honestly," she grumbled, vigorously sweeping under an old armchair. "What does he think I'm going to do? Sell forest secrets to the highest bidder? Start a magical petting zoo?"

The broom hit something solid under the chair with a dull thud. Frowning, Betsy knelt down to investigate. Her fingers closed around a leather-bound book, its cover worn soft with age.

"Hello, what's this?" she murmured, pulling it out. As she brushed off the dust, her eyes widened in recognition. "Grandma Francine's journal."

Excitement bubbling up inside her, Betsy plopped down on the freshly swept floor and opened the journal. The pages were filled with her grandmother's flowing script, interspersed with drawings of plants and what looked like magical symbols.

"Jackpot," Betsy grinned, settling in to read. "Take that, Chewbacca. Who needs a furry tour guide when I've got Grandma's magical diary?"

As she flipped through the pages, absorbing her grandmother's wisdom about herbs and forest lore, Betsy stumbled upon an entry that made her pause. The handwriting here was different, more hurried and urgent than the neat script in the rest of the journal.

"The true nature of the forest guardians is far more complex than I ever imagined ," the entry read. "They are not just protectors, but conduits. The very essence of the forest flows through them, binding them to this land in ways I'm only beginning to understand. The mate bond... it's not just about love or companionship. It's a vital part of maintaining the balance. Without it, the guardians might... No, I can't even consider that possibility. I must find a way to ensure the continuation of the bond, for the sake of the forest and all who dwell within it."

Betsy's brow furrowed as she read and reread the cryptic passage. Conduits? Mate bonds? And what was this about maintaining balance? Her mind raced, trying to connect these mysterious words to what she knew about Chase and the strange, magical occurrences in the forest.

"Oh, Grandma," Betsy sighed, running her fingers over the faded ink. "What were you mixed up in? And more importantly, what am I mixed up in now?"

As she delved deeper into the journal, Betsy's initial excitement gave way to a mix of awe and trepidation. The forest, it seemed, was far more complex and magical than she had ever imagined. And her grandmother? She hadn't been just a random herbalist who'd stumbled into a magical wood. She had been a steward, a protector of the balance between the human world and the ancient magics that pulsed through the very earth beneath their feet.

"Holy guacamole," Betsy breathed, her mind reeling. "I'm like a magical forest princess. Or maybe just a really underprepared park ranger. Either way, this is not what I signed up for when I decided to become an herbalist."

Her eyes fell on a particularly intriguing passage. "Ooh, spells! Now we're talking. Let's see... 'To commune with the spirits of the trees, speak these words while touching the bark of an oak...'"

Betsy squinted at the handwriting, trying to make out the incantation. "Ar... arbor... sentient? No, that can't be right. Arbor... something... communicus? Eh, close enough."

Determined to try out her newfound magical knowledge, Betsy marched out to the nearest oak tree. She placed her hand on the rough bark, took a deep breath, and spoke the words she thought she'd read.

"Arbor sentient communicus!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sound like a giant yawning, the tree's bark began to ripple under her palm. Betsy watched, wide-eyed, as a face formed in the wood, its features gnarled and knotted.

"WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?" the tree boomed, its voice like creaking branches in a storm.

Betsy yelped, jumping back. "Oh, shit. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I was just trying to, you know, commune. In a nice, non-disturbing way."

The tree's eyes, dark hollows in the bark, narrowed. "YOU ARE NOT FRANCINE," it observed grumpily.

"No, no I am not," Betsy agreed quickly. "I'm her granddaughter, Betsy. Nice to, uh, meet you? I love what you've done with your leaves. Very green. Super photosynthesis-y."

The tree huffed, a sound like rustling leaves. "FRANCINE NEVER WOKE US FOR IDLE CHIT-CHAT," it grumbled. "SHE KNEW THE PROPER RITUALS. THE RESPECT DUE TO BEINGS OF OUR AGE AND WISDOM."

Betsy winced. "Right, of course. Totally my bad. I'm new at this whole magical forest steward thing. Still learning the ropes, you know?"

The tree's expression softened slightly, or at least became less knotted. "AH, A NOVICE. THAT EXPLAINS THE BUTCHERY OF THE SACRED TONGUE. VERY WELL, YOUNG ONE. WHAT WISDOM DO YOU SEEK FROM THE ANCIENT OAKS?"

Betsy's mind raced. What did she want to know? There were so many questions, so many mysteries surrounding the forest and her role in it. But one thing stood out above all others.

"Oh wise and, uh, leafy one," she began, trying to sound appropriately reverent. "I seek to understand the nature of the forest's magic. It seems unstable. Chaotic. Is there a way to restore balance?"

The tree was silent for a long moment, its wooden features creaking as it considered her question. Finally, it spoke, its voice like wind through hollow branches.

"THE BALANCE IS DELICATE, YOUNG STEWARD. IT REQUIRES THE UNION OF HUMAN WISDOM AND FOREST MAGIC. FRANCINE UNDERSTOOD THIS. SHE WORKED IN HARMONY WITH THE GUARDIAN, MAINTAINING THE EQUILIbrIUM. BUT SINCE HER PASSING, THE SCALES HAVE TIPPED. THE MAGIC GROWS WILD, UNTAMED."

Betsy's heart sank. "So it's my fault," she said quietly. "Because I'm not her, not doing whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing."

The tree's bark-brow furrowed. "NOT FAULT, YOUNG ONE. RESPONSIBILITY. YOU HAVE INHERITED A GREAT DUTY. BUT BE WARNED—KNOWLEDGE WITHOUT UNDERSTANDING IS DANGEROUS. POWER WITHOUT CONTROL, CATASTROPHIC."

"Great," Betsy muttered. "No pressure or anything. Just the fate of an entire magical ecosystem resting on my woefully unprepared shoulders. Piece of cake."

She was about to ask another question when a deafening crack split the air. Betsy whirled around to see a nearby pine tree suddenly sprout arms and legs, uprooting itself from the ground.

"Oh, come on," Betsy groaned. "Now the trees are going for walks? What's next, singing flowers? Dancing mushrooms?"

As if on cue, a patch of toadstools near her feet began to do a jaunty little jig.

The oak tree's face creaked back into expressionless bark. "GOOD LUCK, YOUNG STEWARD," it rumbled. "YOU'RE GOING TO NEED IT."

With that parting shot, the face disappeared, leaving Betsy alone with the increasingly chaotic forest.

"Right," she said, watching the pine tree lumber off into the woods. "Magical crisis. I can handle this. I am woman, hear me cast spells, I guess?"

She hurried back to the cabin, snatching up Francine's journal. There had to be something in here about controlling rogue magic, right? As she flipped through the pages, her eyes fell on a promising-looking incantation.

"'To calm wild magics and restore order,'" Betsy read aloud. "Perfect! Okay, let's see... 'Speak these words while focusing your intent on harmony and balance...'"

She squinted at the handwriting, trying to decipher the spell. "Magicus... calmicus... wait, no, that can't be right. Magicus... harmonious? Eh, close enough."

Taking a deep breath, Betsy raised her hands dramatically and spoke the words she thought she'd read. "Magicus harmonious calmicus!"

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a sound like a thousand wind chimes all ringing at once, the air around her shimmered. Betsy felt a surge of triumph... right up until she noticed the change spreading through the forest.

The trees, once a lush green, were now a vibrant, almost neon pink. The grass beneath her feet had turned a shimmering silver. And in the distance, she could hear what sounded suspiciously like a barbershop quartet of squirrels.

"Oh, shitsky," Betsy groaned. "This is not what I meant by harmony."

As she stood there, surveying the now psychedelic landscape, a low growl came from behind her. Betsy turned slowly, a sense of dread creeping up her spine.

There stood Chase, his usual impressive figure somewhat diminished by the fact that his fur was now a brilliant, cotton-candy pink.

"Betsy," he rumbled, his voice a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "What have you done?"

Betsy offered him a weak smile. "Would you believe me if I said I was trying to help?"

Chase's pink eyebrows drew together in a furry frown. "This is why I did not want to tell you everything," he said. "The magic of this place is not a toy. It is ancient, powerful, and dangerous in inexperienced hands."

Betsy felt a flare of indignation. "Well, maybe if you'd actually taught me instead of being all mysterious and evasive, I wouldn't have had to resort to guesswork and badly translated spells."

For a moment, they glared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension and residual magic. Then, without warning, a rain of acorns began to fall from the candy floss-pink trees.

"Ow! Ow! Okay, okay," Betsy yelped, covering her head with her arms. "I get it, forest. We need to work together. Message received."

Chase moved swiftly, shielding Betsy with his massive body. Despite her frustration, she couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his protective gesture.

As the acorn deluge subsided, Chase looked down at Betsy, his expression softening slightly. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "I have been overly cautious. You are right. You cannot learn if I do not teach."

Betsy's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow. That must have hurt to admit. Are you feeling okay? The pink fur isn't affecting your brain, is it?"

Chase's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "My mind is clear, little one. Though I would appreciate it if you could return my fur to its natural color."

Betsy grinned up at him. "I don't know. I think pink rather suits you. Very spring collection, very now."

"Betsy," Chase growled warningly, but there was a warmth in his eyes that belied his stern tone.

"All right, all right," Betsy laughed. "I'll fix it. Just as soon as I figure out how. And maybe after we deal with the barbershop squirrels. Is it just me, or are they getting better at harmonizing?"

As if in answer, a particularly rousing chorus of "Acorn to Be Wild" drifted through the air.

Chase sighed, a sound like wind through pine needles. "Come," he said, taking Betsy's hand in his massive one. "We have much to discuss, and much to undo. The forest's magic is more unstable than I feared, and it seems it has chosen you as its new steward."

Betsy gulped, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. "Me? But I'm just... I mean, I can barely identify plants without poisoning myself. How am I supposed to be a magical forest steward?"

Chase's gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of concern and something deeper, something that made Betsy's heart skip a beat. "You are more capable than you know, little one. And you will not face this alone. We will learn together, you and me. As partners."

The last word seemed to cost him some effort, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

Betsy felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a feeling of rightness that went beyond the craziness of the situation. "Partners," she repeated softly. "I like the sound of that."

Chase's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "The magic of this place runs deeper than you can imagine. And we—you and I—are bound to it in ways I have not fully explained."

As Chase began to speak, revealing the ancient pact that tied the Sasquatches to the land, Betsy felt her world tilt on its axis once again. The enormity of what she was facing—of what they were facing—threatened to overwhelm her.

But then a commotion from the forest caught their attention. A deer burst into the clearing, its eyes wild with panic and glowing an unnatural blue. Magic crackled around it like lightning, causing the nearby plants to writhe and twist.

Without thinking, Betsy stepped forward, her hand outstretched. "Hey there," she said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you."

Chase moved to her side, his presence a solid comfort. "Be careful," he murmured. "The magic has driven it mad with fear."

Betsy nodded, not taking her eyes off the frightened animal. "I know. But we can't just leave it like this. We have to help."

As if understanding her words, the deer's gaze locked onto Betsy. For a moment, time stood still. Then, with a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, the animal charged.

Betsy's mind went blank with panic, but her body moved on instinct. Her hand shot out, palm facing the oncoming deer. At the same time, she felt Chase's arms wrap around her, his chest pressed against her back. Energy surged between them, through them, a current of magic more powerful than anything Betsy had felt before.

A beam of pure light erupted from Betsy's palm, enveloping the deer in a cocoon of calm. The animal's mad dash slowed, then stopped altogether. As Betsy and Chase watched, the unnatural glow faded from its eyes, the crackling energy dispersing like mist in the morning sun.

With a soft snort, the deer shook itself, then trotted peacefully back into the woods.

Betsy sagged against Chase, her legs suddenly weak. "Did we just do that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chase's arms tightened around her. "We did," he confirmed, a note of wonder in his deep voice. "Together."

As the adrenaline faded, leaving her shaky and spent, the full weight of what had happened—what was still happening—crashed down on Betsy. She turned in Chase's arms, burying her face in his pink fur.

"Chase," she said, her voice muffled. "I don't know if I can do this. I'm not my grandmother. I'm just me. Clumsy, clueless me. What if I make things worse? What if I can't fix what I've done?"

Chase was silent for a long moment, his hand gently stroking Betsy's hair. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than she'd ever heard it.

"You are more than you know, Betsy Ferris," he said. "You are my mate, chosen by the forest itself. And together, we will face whatever comes."

As they stood there, surrounded by pink trees and serenaded by surprisingly talented squirrels, Betsy couldn't help but laugh. This was not how she had imagined her life going when she decided to become an herbalist. It was crazier, more dangerous, and infinitely more magical than anything she could have dreamed up.

But looking up at Chase, seeing the mix of determination and tenderness in his eyes, Betsy knew one thing for certain: whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever magical mayhem they had to face, how bad could it be? She'd already turned a Sasquatch pink. Surely it was all uphill from here.

Right?