Page 31 of Muddled Magic

Roland gave me a brief side-eye, probably a silent prompt to keep my priorities straight, then in a loud voice, said, “Lads, the farm has been invaded.”

“You don’t say,” Ricky snarked. “And here I was mistaking the earthquake tremors her hearth’s been spitting out as a sign of celebration.”

“We’re not fighters,” Joe said more seriously, “but we protect what’s ours. What do we need to do?”

“The lass needs to get to the moonflower grove in the forest,” Roland began.

The hobs all nodded, obviously knowing the location well.

“Me and Walt are gonna take her and Sawyer there. The rest of you are diversions. Keep them away from the forest.”

“Who’re they?” Dale asked, screwing on the lid to one of the jars of pickled eggs. He’d been using a slotted spoon to retrieve an egg and a round of beet for each hob, using yesterday’s leftover bread slices as trenchers to catch the juice.

“Unknown,” Roland answered, adjusting his belt, “but her hearth doesn’t like them, so we don’t like them. Everybody’s to stay in groups, alright? Distract and get away. The lass is gonna sort things out on her end, and then we’ll all meet back up for some grog and put this unpleasantness behind us. Dismissed!”

Those hobs who’d received eggs and beets quickly shoved their food into their mouths as those hobs without led the charge out through both doors. Roland waited an impatient beat for those heading out the door by the copper still to leave, then followed suit, Sawyer and me hot on his heels. Walt brought up the rear to watch our backs.

The leader of the hobs moved with the same relentless efficiency before, leading us through a dizzying maze of a tunnel network that eventually had my head spinning and my whole sense of direction tied up in knots.

Then I felt it.

A ping.

Someone had sent a Scouting Spell after me!

It was so gentle, just a feather-like touch to my senses that I would have missed at any other time, but I was so hyped up on adrenaline and paranoia and a whole host of other sense-enhancing brain chemicals that it felt like coarse-grain sandpaper being dragged across my skin.

My magic flared, catching the ping before it could dissipate. Then I amplified it and flung it back towards its source as hard as I could. If I was lucky, my quick action would momentarily blind the witch who’d cast the spell, whiting out his or her mind’s eye and blotting out my location long enough to put more distance between us.

“Misty?” Sawyer whispered, the enlarged pupils of his amber eyes slitting in the blinding white light of my parasite bracelet.

“Someone tried to use a Scouting Spell on me,” I replied, stuffing that hand and wrist into my dress pocket to dampen the light. “I may have bought us some time, but we need to hurry.”

“Almost there,” Roland said.

In just a turn or two, we were. Walt remained farther back in the tunnel to keep watch as Roland trudged up an incline to the surface, doing his best to quietly slide back the bolts and shoulder open the trapdoor. It was heavy from the moss that had chosen it for its home, but when it wouldn’t rise any higher, we knew there was something blocking it.

In the gap provided by the trapdoor, I could see over the frost-edged leaves of the forest floor the shifting thermals in the air that told me the anti-frost wards of the moonflower grove were close. Close enough to risk a little magic.

Taking a grounding breath, I sent out a tendril of green magic from each hand, directing them to spread out in a web and find the obstruction.

A log.

Recently fallen, given the weight, probably from one of the wind storms brought on by the change in seasons. The magic condensed once again into tendrils, wrapping around each end of the log and dragging it off the back end of the trapdoor. It made an impressive thump as it hit the ground, one that would surely raise the suspicions of anyone nearby.

It was now or never.

“Thanks, fellas,” I whispered, dashing out of the tunnel and sprinting for the moonflower grove.

Behind me, still far away but too close for comfort, came a startled cry that turned into a shout of alarm.

I’d been spotted.

“Run, Misty!” Sawyer, who had been leading the way to the grove, wrenched around, fur rising as he sprinted back the way we had come.

“Sawyer! What are you—”

“I’ve got a spell I can try. Don’t waste my distraction. Finish this!”

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