in the gravest danger. Who will call them in? Give it to me now. You cannot possibly hope to accomplish this task on your own.” His lantern was half lifted and he held out his other hand commandingly. Suddenly she knew where she had seen him before.
A wind began to rise through the trees. It made a low moaning sound.
“Quick! Give me the Fetch!” the man repeated urgently.
The moaning grew to a shriek. A great gust of wind rammed into her from behind and the man’s light vanished.
“Too late!” he yelled. “Keep it hidden. I will do my best to—”
But whatever he was going to say was cut off by the wind, which went howling through the branches overhead. Feenix heard a loud cracking sound.
Afraid she was going to be smashed to bits, she began to run down the path through the woods. The wind screamed angrily. She could hardly keep up with her own feet. The clattering of her boots was drowned out by the noise all around her.
Down and down she went, until at last the path spat her out of the trees and into the open meadow. She stumbled the last few yards and came to a stop. The wind tugged and pulled at her.
She looked around, confused. This space was called the Nethermead. She’d been here before, but only in the daytime, in the summer, when the place was open and calm and sunny, full of people playing Frisbee and soccer. Now, it was nearly night and nearly winter. Around the perimeter of the Nethermead ran a deserted road. The streetlamps with their long, curved goosenecks were just beginning to blink on. Their little pools of stuttering yellow light could only reach so far. The rolling surface of the meadow was covered in dry and flattened grass. Old leaves went spinning and tossing through the air. Beyond the encircling lamps, the branches of the trees lashed and whipped.
Feenix turned right, pretty sure this was the way to the main road. It had been quite a day. Really exciting. Much better than she had expected. Her mother would be having a heart attack right about now. Not a real one, of course. Her mother took a certain pleasure in having heart attacks. Although, oddly enough, Feenix realized her cellphone had not yet rung or buzzed with her mother’s frantic text. Maybe the battery had died.
She pushed against the wind, which seemed to fight her, to want her to go in another direction entirely. She stumbled and then she stopped.
What was that over across the meadow by the hill? It looked like a small house made of stones. It couldn’t be. There’d never been a house over there. How weird.
Well, whatever it was, she was going to ignore it. She’d had enough for the day.
She turned away and the wind rammed into her, spinning her around.
She was facing the house again. She stared at it. It had to be one of those historical museum things that popped up like mushrooms here and there in the park. The parks department was always doing stuff like this because they loved to educate and bore people to death at the same time.Then she noticed that there was smoke coming out of the steep, old-fashioned chimney. If it were a museum, why would somebody be inside cooking?
No, no, no, she argued with herself. She wasn’t going over there. If she got up close to it there was going to be a plaque in front saying that So-and-So’s Grandmother, who invented the first underpants or something, was born and died there in 17 B.C ., and that the house was open to the public on Tuesdays between 2:00 and 2:25 P.M. She really didn’t need to see this. Inside there was probably some really old beat-up wooden furniture and a spinning wheel.
A light came on in one of the windows.
The wind gleefully pushed her forward.
As she was pushed closer, another gust blew across the sky and a streetlamp standing beside the house came blinking on. Feenix stared in astonishment.
In the sudden flood of light, the house seemed to burst into color. It sparkled and glittered as if it were covered in pieces of glass and mirror.
She
A wind began to rise through the trees. It made a low moaning sound.
“Quick! Give me the Fetch!” the man repeated urgently.
The moaning grew to a shriek. A great gust of wind rammed into her from behind and the man’s light vanished.
“Too late!” he yelled. “Keep it hidden. I will do my best to—”
But whatever he was going to say was cut off by the wind, which went howling through the branches overhead. Feenix heard a loud cracking sound.
Afraid she was going to be smashed to bits, she began to run down the path through the woods. The wind screamed angrily. She could hardly keep up with her own feet. The clattering of her boots was drowned out by the noise all around her.
Down and down she went, until at last the path spat her out of the trees and into the open meadow. She stumbled the last few yards and came to a stop. The wind tugged and pulled at her.
She looked around, confused. This space was called the Nethermead. She’d been here before, but only in the daytime, in the summer, when the place was open and calm and sunny, full of people playing Frisbee and soccer. Now, it was nearly night and nearly winter. Around the perimeter of the Nethermead ran a deserted road. The streetlamps with their long, curved goosenecks were just beginning to blink on. Their little pools of stuttering yellow light could only reach so far. The rolling surface of the meadow was covered in dry and flattened grass. Old leaves went spinning and tossing through the air. Beyond the encircling lamps, the branches of the trees lashed and whipped.
Feenix turned right, pretty sure this was the way to the main road. It had been quite a day. Really exciting. Much better than she had expected. Her mother would be having a heart attack right about now. Not a real one, of course. Her mother took a certain pleasure in having heart attacks. Although, oddly enough, Feenix realized her cellphone had not yet rung or buzzed with her mother’s frantic text. Maybe the battery had died.
She pushed against the wind, which seemed to fight her, to want her to go in another direction entirely. She stumbled and then she stopped.
What was that over across the meadow by the hill? It looked like a small house made of stones. It couldn’t be. There’d never been a house over there. How weird.
Well, whatever it was, she was going to ignore it. She’d had enough for the day.
She turned away and the wind rammed into her, spinning her around.
She was facing the house again. She stared at it. It had to be one of those historical museum things that popped up like mushrooms here and there in the park. The parks department was always doing stuff like this because they loved to educate and bore people to death at the same time.Then she noticed that there was smoke coming out of the steep, old-fashioned chimney. If it were a museum, why would somebody be inside cooking?
No, no, no, she argued with herself. She wasn’t going over there. If she got up close to it there was going to be a plaque in front saying that So-and-So’s Grandmother, who invented the first underpants or something, was born and died there in 17 B.C ., and that the house was open to the public on Tuesdays between 2:00 and 2:25 P.M. She really didn’t need to see this. Inside there was probably some really old beat-up wooden furniture and a spinning wheel.
A light came on in one of the windows.
The wind gleefully pushed her forward.
As she was pushed closer, another gust blew across the sky and a streetlamp standing beside the house came blinking on. Feenix stared in astonishment.
In the sudden flood of light, the house seemed to burst into color. It sparkled and glittered as if it were covered in pieces of glass and mirror.
She
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