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  There we stood, wing to wing like the brothers-in-skin that we were, scanning the valley from riverbed to cloud-scraped peaks, both of our mouths hanging open in amazement. Then, while the sun colored the afternoon sky, we sniffed the air, prowled the wood and changed our skins to mimic the myriad creatures that lumbered through the forest.

  Bear. Coyote. Mountain lion.

  And all the while, we smelled the humans, just far enough away that we couldn’t see them. I knew they were all tucked away and safe, hidden behind wooden doors and closed windows, all scattered throughout the village.

  We had been invited to the Hunt, yet I hungered for more.

  So, I cast one arm toward the east and one toward the west.

  “Choose,” I said.

  River stared at me like I had lost my mind. He didn’t know my plans. No one did, yet.

  “Let’s fly the perimeter boundary of his land, then come back here before the sun ends her journey.”

  He grinned. “Aye, and we’ll see all that Cousin Ash has. We’ll be that much more ready for the Hunt.”

  I nodded.

  “West,” he said and we both knew that he wanted to fly away from the harsh rays of the sun. No matter to me. I’d be happy flying into fire itself, to get what I wanted. We both soared off then, our wings always brushing up against that bright silver edge of Ash’s territory, clearly marked by magic for intruders to see—just like a wolf sprays urine on trees and rocks to warn other packs away. We passed over trees beyond counting, plus two rivers, then soared through a narrow mountain pass until we saw the beginnings of the village, a cluster of wooden houses here and there. All neat and tidy, with root gardens and fruit trees, metal vehicles that growled when they rolled over rivers of black tar. All the human dwellings thrummed with dreams, both the waking and the sleeping sort.

  For the first time in five seasons, the hunger in me felt like a good thing.

  Trees rushed past, a mere wingspan below us, and the sound of the river called, sweet as song. An ache burned in my gut and I realized, with each beat of my wings, that both my brother and I were searching for prey.

  We hadn’t meant to do it, but couldn’t stop ourselves, nonetheless.

  And now the scent was growing stronger. Man-flesh, somewhere nearby.

  “There!” River said, pulling me to a steady halt and pointing down.

  My brother always has been a good tracker.

  It was almost right below us—a human male. Pushing his way through the brown-shadowed pines, hiking over a twisted wood-chip trail, all by himself and tired of it by now.

  My heart quickened and I slid my tongue along my bottom lip.

  The human had so many dreams—worlds within worlds—all spinning about him like copper circles, wheels and spirals, glowing like sparks, like fire.

  I nodded at River and we sailed to the forest floor, silent as the wind, our skin and wings blending perfectly with the dappled shadows. Together we landed with a soft thump, one on either side of the path, watching him through a wall of black oak and coulter pine.

  The human stopped, hands on his hips, sweat staining his shirt. “What was that?” he called out, head cocked. “Is someone there?”

  An unnatural quiet fell upon the wood—it always does when we hunt. All the birds and animals hold still, even the wind refuses to blow.

  I could have sung an incantation, dropped the human to his knees with a single chanted word.

  But I’ve never had patience for hunting like that.

  Instead, I lunged through the bracken, ripping branches and bushes out of my way with a mighty fury. I landed full on his chest, and sent him tumbling to the ground. The man was strong and worthy of the chase. He bounded to his feet and scrambled off, wood chips flying in his wake.

  Both River and I laughed, the sound rattling through the silent wood.

  I gestured to my brother, then we set off, each of us flying through the trees on either side of the trail.

  Meanwhile, the human raced up the path, chest heaving. He almost fell once, then managed to steady himself and dashed off even faster than before. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for us.

  That was when I left the cover of trees. I flew right in front of him—when his head was turned—and he crashed into me, tumbled to his knees. I grabbed him by the throat, lifted him high like a prize until he squirmed in my grasp, eyes pleading. River howled, flying out from the wood behind us.

  “Let him go,” my bother pleaded. “Let him run again. I want to catch him this time.”

  And so I released the human. He darted around me, leaving the trail and heading straight for the thicket, for the falls.

  “Hurry!” I called to my brother. A dead human was no good to us. I followed behind them both, laughing as River taunted the man, as my brother swooped down to nip at him with sharp teeth, teasing him with screeches and hollers. Then just as I’d feared, River let him run too far.

  The man reached the cliffs and the falls. He paused for only a second, then leaped toward a watery death and the narrow canyon below.

  I spread my wings, stopped time with a Veil, then flew through the glen, past the hissing white waterfall. I swooped down and down again until I was right beneath him. With a grin, I released the Veil, then caught the human in my arms.

  “Sleep,” I sang as we sailed through forest gloom, back toward the trail where there would be room to feast.

  The human tried to struggle against me. He blinked his eyes, tried to strike me with a wooden fist. But in a moment, all his muscles fell slack, his jaw loosened and his head slumped forward to his chest.

  His breathing deepened and slowed, though I knew that he was yet awake.

  I set him on the trail, where a broad meadow opened at the edge of the forest, and we kept to the shadow of the wood, avoiding sunlight as much as we could.

  “Time to pretend we’re not Darklings,” I told River. He snickered. Legends come and go about my kind and we usually give in to whichever one is most popular.

  I opened my mouth wide, let my fangs grow, and then just before the human fell into a deep sleep I sank my teeth into his neck, leaving behind a trail of blood and two puncture wounds.

  He screamed, though we sought to muffle the sounds a bit too late, and I slammed my hand over his mouth.

  Then the dreaming began. I watched as it pulled him down through rippling layers of images and threads of memory, all of his wishes and hopes and fears fighting for attention, struggling to be on center stage. Every forbidden fantasy and every secret longing lay exposed, like ripe fruit that ached to be picked and devoured.

  The human writhed and moaned—half asleep, half unconscious—beneath the weight of the dream. Like it was too much. Like his body would burst.

  At that moment, I summoned the dream, held one webbed hand out to catch it when it bubbled from the human’s lips. I ate my fill without stopping, until I was glutted, and I would have eaten yet more, but that was when a new sound broke through the vale: thrashing and scrambling, and the mixed scent of human and beast wafted through the wood.

  Someone else was coming toward us on the trail.

  I pulled away from the human to listen. Distracted, I heard laughter in the near distance. Two more humans were approaching. And a dog.

  “Stop. We must leave,” I said, turning back, but that was when I realized that it was too late. My brother had feasted until the human had no more dreams left. The creature lay quivering on the ground before us, like a babe sleeping through a nightmare. He was dying with soft, whimpering cries.

  “You’ve taken it all,” I growled.

  River wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t stop,” he said, a look of terror in his eyes. And now the creature stretched out on the ground before us—no more than an empty shell, a brittle skin with bones inside.

  Dead.

  Meanwhile, the wild and noisome racket drew even closer.

  Chapter 6

  Birds of Prey

 
; Maddie:

  Tucker and I hiked higher and higher on the trail that led through the forest, the sky now burnished with the fiery shades of sunset. The muscles in my legs ached and my lungs burned from the thin mountain air. Sunlight glinted off a cropping of rocks to my left and I lifted a hand to shield my eyes. Just then—when I was raising my arm—I thought I saw two shadows drop from the sky, broad wings spread wide.

  Like massive black birds of prey.

  They were probably eagles or vultures, but something about their shape made my heart skip a beat, though it was hard to tell whether it had been from fear or excitement. I stopped and scanned the foliage around us, trying to see the birds again. I turned off the Ticonderoga Trail, leading us in a different direction, following the creatures that I had seen.

  Something lived in these wooded hills, I was certain of it.

  And I needed to find out what.

  I hadn’t truly put it all together yet, hadn’t realized how desperately I was hoping that something waited for me in this pine and cedar wilderness.

  Something important. Something legendary.

  Something that would finally help me break through my writer’s block.

  I paused on the trail. Was I being foolish? If so, it wouldn’t be the first time. Sure, I wrote about magic, but that didn’t mean it was real or that I could capture it in a jar and paint it on the page.

  That was when I noticed that the trails were now shrouded in darkness. None of the paths on this side of the mountain were well marked and several veered off into shadows that never brightened, even in the middle of the day.

  It might not be that easy to find our way back.

  That was when Samwise pushed past me, and with a bark, the dog bounded up the path.

  “Hey!” I called out to him, suddenly knowing where we were—on the Ponderosa Trail. This was exactly where I had been before, as a child. I rubbed my temples, trying to remember. I had seen something in the woods on that day, someone peering at me from behind a thicket of trees, eyes that had looked familiar. I had fallen asleep and had a strange dream, one I was never able to forget or fully remember. “Come back.”

  The dog stopped and looked at me.

  We had made our way deep into the timber. I caught glimpses of sky between the trunks and I could hear the falls now, so close it was almost deafening. The path curved up ahead, then seemed to pitch off the face of the earth. There was no way to know what waited around the bend. Still, somehow I knew what might be there—a shadow-dappled plateau, trimmed with wild grasses and flowers.

  For the first time a shiver ran up my back. There was something in the plateau, something dangerous. I knew it. We had to turn back. Now.

  “Come back!” I shouted again to the dog, but he wasn’t listening. “Sam!” Apparently the dog couldn’t hear me over the rushing waterfall.

  “I’ll go get him,” Tucker said, but I grabbed him by the collar before he could launch away from me.

  “No, stay here!”

  Then the old memories grew stronger, took on flesh and bone and walked through my mind. Creatures with dark skin and broad wings, shifting from one shape to another—it had all been a dream, I was certain of it, or a nightmare. Still, at this moment, it felt so real that I drew one arm about Tucker’s shoulders and together we started to back away from the ridge and the bright setting sun. He strained at my grip, eager to get the dog.

  Just then the wind picked up; it circled through the trees in a low moan, black branches scratching lavender sky. Beneath it all I sensed something different, almost unearthly.

  The dog spun in a circle, barking and snarling, as if he had cornered something that now flew through the trees, a fluttering dark shape.

  I stumbled and caught myself, pulled Tucker even closer.

  I could see it then—the thing that I had dreamed about—with great black wings spread wide and a long body with fierce talons. Thick muscles spread across its chest and it swooped between the trees at a furious speed, as if hunting. Then it paused to glance down at the dog.

  There was a gut-wrenching moment when I thought it might attack. And I knew instantly that Samwise would lose the battle.

  Chapter 7

  Dark and Deep

  Ash:

  Something sizzled through the sky at that moment, a warning cry. Just as the three of us paced the widow’s walk, keeping to the shadows, my sister chattering away and I marking the steady movement of the moon through the heavens. We all knew that the Hunt would be here soon and we were waiting, eagerly.

  But just then—when there was a pause in our conversation, when my sister’s gown stirred in the breeze, carrying the fragrance of home, bringing a myriad of memories that I would rather forget—the scream of a human echoed from the forest.

  The sound vibrated and shredded, bit and clawed; it circled through the air and shook me to my senses. No matter how hard I tried, I could not ignore it, for it was my duty to protect this land and the inhabitants.

  Yet, as horrid as the cry was, the sound that followed was even worse.

  Silence, dark and deep, rushed through the forest like an underground river.

  My human guise melted away, my wings unfurled wide and ready for flight.

  Somewhere nearby, somewhere deep in the woods, life was being drained from a human, dream by dream, until soon there would be nothing left. No hope. No future.

  Not even a heartbeat.

  I slung my head back toward the heavens, caught the moon full in my gaze, and I loosed a wild territorial howl. Without a word or an explanation, I left both my sister and my daughter behind and soared off into the darkening sky, looking for the poacher that had hunted on my land.

  I swept through the woodland thicket, dodging back and forth between trees, following the river. Beneath me, the water sparkled, reflecting my image, twisting it into song. Despite the stillness, I knew almost immediately that Darklings had been here, I could smell them. Right here in the midst of timber and sunlight; they had been hunting and harvesting. I could smell the berry-sweet odor of dreams stolen too fast, almost spoiled, almost bitter.

  Then wind picked up and the scent drifted away.

  In its stead, only the odors of dry crackling leaves and rushing water remained.

  The air shimmered below me and the curtain of trees seemed to ripple. In an instant, I spread my wings and soared to the forest floor. There I saw it, walked through it like a doorway. Just at the edge of my territory, a wood-chip trail led through stands of fir and spruce toward an open meadow. Here, the fabric of reality twisted with the stench of stolen dreams; they hung heavy and thick as fog. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

  Then I opened my eyes wide, searching for more clues and finding them. In between the fallen leaves and pine needles and shaggy moss, I saw the ghostly images that dreams leave behind. Their faint outlines wavered before me, evaporating on the breeze. A human male had been here—someone who walked with dreams of fire—and now the fragrance of smoke tangled with the sweet scent of overripe dreams.

  Too late, I recognized another smell.

  Life.

  Maddie, her boy and their dog. They were here on this trail too, stumbling along, laughing, just on the other side of the ridge. They hadn’t seen me yet.

  But their dog knew I was here. I’d had been in such a hurry to catch the poachers that I had forgotten to mask my own scent. And now the animal sprinted up the trail toward me.

  In a panic, I spread my wings and tried to fly away. At the same moment, I lifted one hand to cast a Veil—to stop time, to hold everyone and everything still—and my mouth opened to speak poetic words of enchantment.

  But I wasn’t quick enough.

  Chapter 8

  Laced with Magic

  Ash:

  I lowered my hand, the Veil complete. Everyone and everything around me stood still, as if carved from rock. Nothing moved, no animal, no bird, no human. Not even the wind. With a velvet-soft thump of wings, I sank to the ground and entere
d my own magical incantation, drops of light spinning about me as I walked, my own words of poetry still weaving through bark and leaf and sky.

  Maddie stared straight ahead as I approached, at the empty spot in the forest where I had been only a moment earlier. I passed her dog, still on outstretched legs, head in the air, jaws open wide. Leaves stirred as I walked, pine needles crushed beneath my weight, spilling the fragrance of the forest around me. The boy stood held in place by his mother’s firm hand.

  I walked haltingly toward Maddie. Beneath her fear I could smell the sweetness of her dreams and her stories; laced with magic and dark twists and turns, they all had one thing in common—a happy ending.

  Something I wasn’t sure I believed in anymore.

  With one hand, I cupped her face. Did she tremble at my touch, did she recognize the gentle brush of my flesh against hers or was that my imagination? The not-full moon hovered at my back, her silver light singing in time with my own poetry, reminding me how much I longed to harvest, how long it had been since I had eaten anything but the old dreams. My sister had been right, though I would never confess it to her or any of my clan.

  The old dreams of Lily, those I kept in a secret cache, had become like poison. With each one I grew weaker. If I kept this up, I would soon become a phantom, trapped between worlds. I would become the ghost I had pretended to be for so many years and I would haunt Ticonderoga Falls forever.

  Unless my appetite could once again be stirred.

  I winced at the thought, my old wound causing me to curl over, bending at the waist. I almost lost control of my Veil and it began to melt around the edges, silver flashes of light growing nearer as the magic collapsed in upon itself.

  “Be still,” I murmured, my strength failing as the pain waxed full. The Veil responded, staying just strong enough to continue holding all three of them motionless.