“Right,” I say slowly, looking sideways to Marley, who is every bit as bemused as I am. “What does that mean exactly?”
Fog’s eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t seem to hear us. Alona seems unbothered as she answers, “He’s a Druid. They’re the ones that can make Dryads. I’m the first that he’s made in years.”
I slip my grandfather’s book and my pen out of the tote bag on my shoulder, flipping it open to a new page. I write DRUID in large letters at the top of the page and start scribbling what Alona has just said.
Marley blinks. “So, you’re just a normal tree
until some…”
“Druid,” Alona supplies.
“Thank you. Until some Druid comes along and zaps you?”
Fog’s eyes finally open and they settle upon Marley, unflinchingly. “It is a little more complex than ‘zapping’, young man.”
“You’re a kind of magician,” I say encouragingly.
“That’s not a word any of us recognise,” he says curtly. “I’m a Druid. We access magic in specific forms. We are leaders within the community. I do not pull rabbits out of a hat or saw people in half for money.”
Marley gulps, but I merely narrow my eyes. I don’t do very well with authority (at least, that was the general theme of my school reports). This Druid certainly thinks highly of himself, with his robes and his solitary meditation. Good for him but I’m impressive, too. I doubt he can fly. I doubt he can command water.
Just because that’s on hiatus for me at the moment, it doesn’t make it any less impressive.
“What’s in it for the Druid?” I ask. “If you create a Dryad, what’s in for you?”
He fixes me with a cold stare. “Loyalty.”
His answer is unsettling. There are plenty of untold stories behind it, hinting at a bond that is more complex than it may seem. I have a thousand questions, and my pen is poised to make notes, when a hair-raising scream causes all my attention to shift.
Fog instantly pulls the curtains of the nook tightly closed, leaving only the smallest gap for us to see through. The entire hall has fallen silent and the Hidden Folk who were happily soaking in the large bath have all frozen still.
I squint through the narrow slit of the curtain, and my pulse quickens as I see the cause of the scream.
Fae.
Just one of them. One with icy hair and bright white circles in his eyes. He is holding a very small and young Troll by her hair. Her tail is swishing back and forth in agitation and her stubby feet are kicking at the nothingness of the air, as she is held above the stonework of the room.
“I’m just here,” the Fae says, in a voice full of both poise and poison, “to ask a few questions. I’m looking for a very specific creature, rumoured to be hidden in these parts. If I like your answers, or you tell me where it is, I’ll let this one live.”
“Fae,” I whisper to Marley. He closes his eyes and Alona makes a small squeak of fear. Fog whispers something to her and she nods, before transforming into a leaf. He carefully puts her into the pocket of his lapel. I turn back to the gap in the curtain, hungry to see what the Fae will do.
“This is not how we do things,” a voice says. Hidden Folk, and the Faerie, turn to look at a Hulder. She looks to be about Opal’s age, and she stands bravely in the middle of the pool, glaring up at the Faerie. “Put her down.”
The Faerie’s expression does not change. He can sense all the fear in the room, and the energy of it must be enough to fuel him, like food. He doesn’t put the little Troll down; instead he gives her a violent shake.
She starts to cry.
I’m already beginning to move, without even realising it, when Marley grabs my shoulder.
“Don’t,” he hisses. “That’s what he wants, they want to know where you are.”
“I’m here,” I snap back, quietly but fiercely. “They know we’re in Loch Ness, Portia phoned the house. They can’t find us there. We’re safe when we’re home, they can’t find it.”
“Let’s be safe here, too,” Marley fires back, desperately.
“Sorry, Marley,” I say sharply. “Can’t just sit here.”
I wrench the curtain open and pull it tightly closed behind me as I step out into the lights of the large hall. I can get myself into trouble, but they don’t need to be dragged into it. I step forwards, to the edge of the pool, and feel a thrum of triumph as the water reacts to my presence. It twitches and hums, enough for everyone in and around it to notice.
I walk on it. The water hardening beneath each step, solidifying. I face the Faerie square on, standing upon the water as if it were just a wet woodland path.
Gasps and murmurs ripple through the room.
“Put the baby down,” I tell the Fae, my voice colder and angrier than it was when this all began. When I was just a dyspraxic kid who hated school and didn’t like looking too closely at people. “Gently. Or I’ll
make you.”
The room is silent. A horrified, frightened kind
of silence.
I can see confusion and curiosity enter the piercing eyes of the Faerie. Callous cruelty and chaos take a step to the side for a moment, as the creature ponders me. I’ve clearly surprised him.
“What are you?” he asks, and his voice makes me think of carrion crows.
“I’m a witch,” I tell him, proud of the audible reaction that these words cause.
He sneers. “A very small one.”
