Chapter 10

"Misty, I can't breathe,"Sawyer's muffled voice rose from my foraging bag.

"Hold on, we're almost there," I whispered back, glancing furtively to the left and right before muttering the incantation that was the "Marco" to my rune's "Polo." A muted green flash visible only to my eyes adjusted my course, revealing that the warlock's wagon had indeed moved sometime after the carnival visitors had left last night.

The wagon, now glamoured to appear brick red and tarnished gold, was near where the Lumberjack Trials would be held, the competition itself soon to begin. From the roar of the crowd, it seemed everyone was already packed in the stands, leaving only a few stragglers like me wandering the grounds, and the gypsies.

I was sprinkling masking sand like it was holy water on cursed ground, having replenished my supply earlier today, and I had white Caer powder on hand to blow into the eyes of any who saw me and alter their memories. They would forget they'd even seen me, or at least think I wasn't a threat and let me go.

"Misty," Sawyer whined.

Ducking out of sight behind the warlock's wagon, I yanked open my foraging bag. Sawyer's head popped out, white teeth flashing as he opened his mouth wide to suck in a gasp.

"I get why it smells like the forest floor in there, but why is it sticky?"

That could've come from any one of the myriad berries I'd collected, the weeping juice of bruised mushrooms, powdered sugar from the funnel cake last night that might have fallen in. "Never mind that. And keep your voice down."

"I thought you said the warlock was at the Trials," the tomcat whispered.

"I said he's supposed to be at the Trials. He's announced every other event, but you never know."

Crouched low, I gave the area another furtive sweep, but there were no approaching feet, nor others standing sentry. Sneaking up the few steps to the Dutch door—which was firmly locked this time—I shifted the foraging bag on top of my bent knee and said to the tomcat huddled within, "I need the matches."

I supposed I could've used a selenite crystal, now that I knew looking through them revealed the truth of things, but I needed both hands free for this. Besides, the Illuminate matches were longer-lasting.

Sawyer rooted around and reappeared a second later, a wooden box of matches in his mouth. Sliding the lid aside, I extracted one of the yellow-tipped matches, held the end pinched between thumb and forefinger, and whispered, "Flash of light, reveal to my sight."

The matchhead ignited, flaring sulfuric yellow, and the wards the warlock had placed on the door illuminated like opossum eyes in the night when startled with a flashlight. They resembled white gossamer strings, nothing like the intricate filigree designs of the wards my mother had placed on her bookcase that held all her rare texts.

This warlock was an amateur. Or, I realized suddenly, these wards were simple because he wanted to catch whoever might be snooping, not dismember them.

"Misty?" Sawyer asked nervously. This was taking too much time.

"Standby." I popped the cork stopper on the vial of Caer powder and poured a little into my hand. With a mighty exhale, I blew the white powder all over the door. Not only could it wipe or alter memories, it could befuddle wards as simple as these.

Another vial yielded an apple seed into my palm, and a spurt of green magic made it grow. The sapling, as thin as a needle, slipped into the lock and worked the tumblers. There was click, and the padlock released. Wiggling it loose, I freed the bolt latch and opened the top half of the Dutch door open a fraction of an inch. The powder-befuddled alarm wards bent and stretched, but held.

Lifting another Illuminate match in front of my eyes, I peered inside.

"There are protection spells," I whispered down to Sawyer, "but they're white, not yellow."

"What does that mean?"

I grinned. "They'll string up anything human or supe, but an animal won't trip them. Can't have an errant roach tripping a whole host of booby traps and setting off the alarms for nothing."

"I don't appreciate the analogy." Climbing out of the foraging bag, he made sure to stick me a few times with his claws as he worked his way to my shoulder. Tail swinging to keep his balance as he perched, he whispered, "You're sure?"

"Positive. You'll be absolutely fine."

"Okaaay."

I swung the door open a little wider, the alarm wards on the door stretching and straining like overtightened guitar strings. "Be quick, I'm not sure how long the Caer powder will hold."

Sawyer slipped down to the wagon floor as silent as a bead of sweat slithering down the nape of a neck. Hunched low, he slunk to the vanity and carefully climbed into the chair. "What am I looking for?"

My reply was cut off as the raspy voice of Jakob Tabrass thundered, "The final night of the Carnival Cauchemar is upon you, ladies and gentlemen. Only the most daring of souls brave the harrowing trials of the forest!"

A canon fired next, smothering my surprised scream and signaling the start of the Lumberjack Trials, and I sagged against the wagon steps to let my soul return to my body.

"Misty!" Sawyer snapped.

Scrambling upright, I poked my head through the crack in the door. "It'll be a powder. Or a gel. Maybe a liquid. Something shimmery."

I'd spent the whole of last night after returning from the carnival reliving every detail of the scene I'd seen in the wagon, and then the whole of the morning convincing Sawyer to be my accomplice. The ruby on top of the cane hadn't been its normal smooth self. It had shimmered as if topped with glitter, that glitter disappearing as whatever inside consumed it, absorbing it into the ruby. It could've been any number of things—food, a calming spell, a protection barrier, something that had kept the shadowman docile enough for Jakob Tabrass to have a conversation with it.

"Oh yes, I love working without specifics," Sawyer whisper-hissed at me, pawing at all the containers on the vanity. "There are only a bazillion bottles here!"

"Some of those are actual makeup and moisturizers. I think. Stay away from anything that smells floral or perfumy."

Wrinkling his nose, Sawyer sat back on the chair and declared, "Daemonum fulgor revelare!"

Every bottle and porcelain container was suddenly engulfed with white flame. With a yowl, the young tabby tomcat fell off his chair, landing on all four paws and spitting in fright.

"Thistle thorns! What did you do?" I realized I was actually shouting, not whisper-shouting, and whirled around, fearful someone might have heard me. But the crowd at the Lumberjack Trials had drowned me out. Or so I hoped.

Leaping back into the chair, Sawyer cried, "Sisto," and the white flames vanished. Not a jar or bottle was even scorched, let alone cracked. He visibly relaxed, his bushy fur flattening against his body, though his tail remained quite poofy as it flicked from side to side.

"I was just trying to locate it," he whined. "I guess my spell wasn't specific enough. It targeted everything the warlock touched, probably because his soul's contaminated and my spell couldn't differentiate between—"

"We can analyze why it failed later. This is taking too long. Get sniffing!" Despite my brusque dismissal, I really was impressed. That Sawyer was quite talented.

Frantically, the young tomcat started lifting lids and stoppers and squirting sprayers. "Ugh! This one smells like rotting eggs."

That had to be it. No one in their right cosmetic mind would ever make their skin product smell like sulfur, much less wear it. "Does it shimmer?"

"Yeah!"

"Bring it here, quick as you can!"

As Sawyer obeyed, I stole another look around, but there was nothing around except the phantoms of my own fear. I mentally harangued myself for not taking the time to set a proximity alert spell and almost yelped again when Sawyer suddenly appeared on the ledge of the lower door, a crystal bottle in his mouth.

"Quit freaking me out," I hissed.

Ears flattening, he glared, clearly feeling the same way about me. He made to jump on my shoulder, but I flung up my hand.

"No, no, you can't go yet."

His amber eyes widened, panicked. "Wut?" he asked behind a mouthful of crystal.

I plucked the bottle from his mouth, unstoppered it, and poured a fraction of it into a spare vial. Then I shoved the bottle back into his surprised mouth. "Now put it back."

"But—"

"Otherwise he'll know we were here. Shoo! Do it quickly."

Growling, Sawyer retraced his steps and replaced the bottle, practically scratching up the lacquered floorboards as he raced back to the door. Still grumbling, he hopped onto my shoulder and climbed down my body to disappear into my foraging back once more. Ignoring the sting of his claws, I closed the wagon door, latched it, replaced the padlock, then sprinkled the area liberally with masking sand. The white Caer powder would dissipate on its own.

But I didn't leave right away. I yanked the headscarf from my head, stuffing it on top of Sawyer, and quickly inverted my jacket so the suede was on the inside and the plaid flannel on the outside. I curled my customary ponytail into a big bun on top of my head and carefully strode out from behind the wagon, sprinkling my steps with masking sand until I joined the stragglers heading in late to the Lumberjack Trials.

When the gypsy at the ticket counter handed me my ticket with a disinterested sigh, I finally allowed myself to relax. No one had stopped me, no one had seen me—for I would have surely been detained—and now all I had to do was act naturally. Until it was time to possibly interfere with the outcome of the Lumberjack Trials.

Skirting around the bleachers and shielding my head from the intermittent rain of popcorn and spilled candy, I wormed my way to the waist-high fence of chain link where the overflow of the crowd who hadn't gotten bleacher seats crushed forward to watch the competition. While I might be in the direct line of sight of anyone in the stands, my change in outfit and the sea of people provided the perfect camouflage, preventing any Crafting Circle lady or friendly old man acquaintance from recognizing me.

Hiding in plain sight, yet again.

Clutching my foraging bag to my chest so Sawyer wouldn't get crushed by the crowd, I waited for the last heat of the Lumberjack Trials to begin.