warm embrace by Mireille and Baltis kissed Arabel’s cheek.
“Travel safely,” Baltis said, slipping a string of cold red stones into Arabel’s left hand and closing her fingers into a fist around the jewels. “For protection,” he added lightly.
Mireille handed Arabel a flask, still warm from the stove. “One spoonful a night, you’ll sleep, untroubled by demons,” she kissed Arabel’s other cheek. “We’ll see you both soon.”
Rushing back to their horse, Arabel and Eli didn’t dare speak, for both were aware that all around them lurked an energetic throng of heady, intense danger threaded through with a sick excitement. Eli took hold of Arabel’s hand.
Arabel could feel the chalk in her mouth and she knew the grey swirling energy was nearby. The Gypsies were all being infected. One they had called their own had been accused of murder; one they had called their own was being hunted down right now. Where had he been since last summer? Where would he go? Would he come back to the Copse? Who would be the one to find him? And what would they do with him?
Arabel shuddered. Poor girl, she thought now. Poor Klara, and poor Klara’s family.
“I can’t feel Klara. I hope she’s gone to another plane.”
Arabel nodded. She liked the feel of his hand in her hand.
“It’s her sister who’ll do the grieving now,” she said.
They quickly rode in silence back to Arabel’s township, Crow’s Nest Pass, where the Great Torch lay with another dead girl’s body draped boldly across its base. One dead girl they already knew the identity of; poor missing Klara, found too late to save.
Arabel clutched the stones in her hand. They were now warm. She could feel them buzzing, almost like they were charging her up with some energy, infusing her with their flickering beam of buzzing. It was a sensation she’d never experienced before. It was incredibly odd but not negative in any way. Arabel leaned her head down onto Eli’s back. She breathed deeply of the night air; the pines, the fading scent of incense, the various bright green mosses, and the faint horsey smell of Eli’s jacket filled her nostrils. It was not an unpleasant combination.
They made good time despite the mud and it seemed as if everyone from The Corvids, with the exception of Eli’s parents, had come to see the spectacle of poor Klara’s demise. The crowd jostled and shoved for a better eyeline position.
Eli was tall, especially seated on horseback as they were now, so they moved off to the side where they could see clearly but were not affecting anyone else nor in earshot of anyone else. Eli wanted to keep their observations to themselves. Who knew who or where the spies were, or indeed, if they could even be seen with the naked eye.
A crow landed upon Arabel’s shoulder, much to her delight. It poked its beak into the curtain of her shiny black hair and gave her a loving coo-like sound, as if the clever bird was imitating a lovebird. Arabel laughed and placed a tentative hand upon the birds black feathers. It did not resist her and actually butted its cheeky head against her fingers, like a cat.
Without warning, it then let out a series of three loud and insistent cries: Caw! Caw! Caw! It delivered its jarring sounding cries directly into Arabel’s left ear.
“Too loud!” Arabel sputtered, moving the bird hastily onto her right hand from her shoulder.
The hypnotic bird seemed to wink at Arabel. It moved its head from side to side, then up and down, as if measuring her. Arabel met its gaze unyieldingly,
“Travel safely,” Baltis said, slipping a string of cold red stones into Arabel’s left hand and closing her fingers into a fist around the jewels. “For protection,” he added lightly.
Mireille handed Arabel a flask, still warm from the stove. “One spoonful a night, you’ll sleep, untroubled by demons,” she kissed Arabel’s other cheek. “We’ll see you both soon.”
Rushing back to their horse, Arabel and Eli didn’t dare speak, for both were aware that all around them lurked an energetic throng of heady, intense danger threaded through with a sick excitement. Eli took hold of Arabel’s hand.
Arabel could feel the chalk in her mouth and she knew the grey swirling energy was nearby. The Gypsies were all being infected. One they had called their own had been accused of murder; one they had called their own was being hunted down right now. Where had he been since last summer? Where would he go? Would he come back to the Copse? Who would be the one to find him? And what would they do with him?
Arabel shuddered. Poor girl, she thought now. Poor Klara, and poor Klara’s family.
“I can’t feel Klara. I hope she’s gone to another plane.”
Arabel nodded. She liked the feel of his hand in her hand.
“It’s her sister who’ll do the grieving now,” she said.
They quickly rode in silence back to Arabel’s township, Crow’s Nest Pass, where the Great Torch lay with another dead girl’s body draped boldly across its base. One dead girl they already knew the identity of; poor missing Klara, found too late to save.
Arabel clutched the stones in her hand. They were now warm. She could feel them buzzing, almost like they were charging her up with some energy, infusing her with their flickering beam of buzzing. It was a sensation she’d never experienced before. It was incredibly odd but not negative in any way. Arabel leaned her head down onto Eli’s back. She breathed deeply of the night air; the pines, the fading scent of incense, the various bright green mosses, and the faint horsey smell of Eli’s jacket filled her nostrils. It was not an unpleasant combination.
They made good time despite the mud and it seemed as if everyone from The Corvids, with the exception of Eli’s parents, had come to see the spectacle of poor Klara’s demise. The crowd jostled and shoved for a better eyeline position.
Eli was tall, especially seated on horseback as they were now, so they moved off to the side where they could see clearly but were not affecting anyone else nor in earshot of anyone else. Eli wanted to keep their observations to themselves. Who knew who or where the spies were, or indeed, if they could even be seen with the naked eye.
A crow landed upon Arabel’s shoulder, much to her delight. It poked its beak into the curtain of her shiny black hair and gave her a loving coo-like sound, as if the clever bird was imitating a lovebird. Arabel laughed and placed a tentative hand upon the birds black feathers. It did not resist her and actually butted its cheeky head against her fingers, like a cat.
Without warning, it then let out a series of three loud and insistent cries: Caw! Caw! Caw! It delivered its jarring sounding cries directly into Arabel’s left ear.
“Too loud!” Arabel sputtered, moving the bird hastily onto her right hand from her shoulder.
The hypnotic bird seemed to wink at Arabel. It moved its head from side to side, then up and down, as if measuring her. Arabel met its gaze unyieldingly,
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