Page 14 of The Guardians of Dreamdark (Windwitch #1)

Magpie and Poppy snuck around the side of the stage caravan just as the play ended and cheers erupted in the Ring. They slipped in through the back door to wait while the crows took their bows.

The caravan was even messier than usual. Gowns and tentacles were strewn everywhere from quick costume changes, and every trunk was flung open, so the lasses had to leap over them with a lift of wing. “It’s some fright in here,” Magpie said, but Poppy was taking it all in with shining eyes.

“It’s grand,” she said, surveying the glitter of velvets, snakeskins, and manny jewelry that covered nearly every surface. “Is that where you sleep?” She gestured up at Magpie’s little bunk.

“Aye, home sweet...” Magpie’s words trailed off when she saw that her patchwork curtain was yanked askew.

“What the skive?” she growled, flying to it and not seeing how Poppy’s eyes widened in shock to hear her curse.

Her book lay out on her quilt. She always put it under her pillow, and she always drew her curtain closed.

She thought immediately of Lady Vesper. Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed the air, detecting in it a scent of intrusion.

It wasn’t faerie, though, but creature. And there was a hint of something else, clean as snow and utterly foreign.

“Magpie,” said Poppy, who’d been watching with curiosity as the huntress awoke in her friend. “What is it?”

“Someone’s been in here,” Magpie answered, reaching for her book.

She could feel her protective spells were still intact, so she was startled when a slip of paper dislodged from the pages.

It fluttered to the floor at Poppy’s feet, a trail of light unfurling behind it like the tail of a comet.

Poppy picked the paper up, and Magpie could tell her friend didn’t see the blaze-bright aura that hung on it, slower to fade than the brief traceries she’d seen that morning flying into Never Nigh.

Poppy handed the paper to her, and she took it and sniffed it like a feral creature.

The strange pure smell was strong on it. Wary, Magpie turned the paper over and read it, and the ferocity left her eyes and was replaced by puzzlement.

“What?” Poppy asked.

“This wasn’t in my book before,” she answered.

Poppy moved to her side and looked at the paper, which had elegant writing on it.

Magruwen’s Favorite

To a batter of lily flour, oats, honey, and beetle butter, add:

1 half walnut shell of fish’s tears 3 strokes of tangled wind 1 shadow of a bird in flight 1,000 years of undreamed life

Stir together with twig from a lightning-struck tree, and bake until a porcupine quill inserted in the center comes out clean. Place in a starling’s nest to serve . B .

“Magruwen!” exclaimed Poppy. “But...who put it there?”

“Flummox me,” Magpie said. “I haven’t told anyone but you and the tree why I’ve come!”

“Could the crows have put it here?”

“Neh. They’d just give it to me.”

“A mystery, Magpie!” Poppy said, excited. “And a riddle! What can it mean, a thousand years of undreamed life?”

Magpie puzzled on it. “Undreamed life? A life that hasn’t started yet, that hasn’t even been dreamed up...”

But something you can bake into a cake?

“Like an egg? There’s a life inside that hasn’t been dreamed up yet.”

“And will never be life, if you crack it into a cake.”

Magpie shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, looking at the strange recipe card. She suddenly squinted and looked closer. “Jacksmoke!”

Again, Poppy looked startled by Magpie’s cursing. Magpie caught her look this time and blushed. “I mean, skiffle...”

“What is it?” Poppy asked.

Magpie opened her book and leafed through it until she found a page marked with an iridescent snakeskin.

Her eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between the book and the recipe.

“Poppy, look.” Pasted to the page was a scrap of parchment gone sepia with great age, once ripped in half and carefully seamed back together. It read:

Hurry home, love, through the dream-dark glade, Where moontime beasts lurk in darkling shade. Never linger, love, where the shadows grow. The Blackbringer hunts where the light fears to go .

“The Blackbringer?” said Poppy. “That old bogey? My mum used to scare me with tales about him so I wouldn’t stay out past dark.”

“Aye, that’s just an old nursery story. But look, see on the recipe here, the initial B ? Now look at the big B on Blackbringer .”

Poppy looked back and forth between them. “It’s the same,” she said. “Sure! And look at the h on half and home . These were written by the same hand!” She glanced up at Magpie.

But Magpie was chewing her lip and shaking her head, bewildered.

“Sure looks like, but skive, it’s impossible!

” Her voice had an edge of suspicion to it as she said, “Poppy, this parchment? I found it in the ruins of Shaith Ev, the temple of the Ithuriel. It’s part of a letter from the age of the devil wars. ”

Poppy’s mouth dropped open. “For true? That’s old...”

“Twenty-five thousand years. And that’s not all.” Magpie traced the B on Blackbringer with her fingertip. “It was written by Bellatrix!”

The two lasses fell silent and stood looking at each other in disbelief.

“Ach, there y’are, ye treacherous twitch!”

Magpie and Poppy both swung toward the door to see Maniac in his lady wig, glowering in at them. “Feather...” Magpie said sheepishly. “I’m sorry—”

He jerked his head so the wig sailed off and landed in a hairy heap at her feet. “Where ye been? Sure ye come back once it’s all over, neh? Sneaky as an imp!”

“Glad to hear she’s not all crow,” said a growly little voice out of sight.

Maniac turned his head. “Good-imp,” he croaked, “ye mistake me. She’s crow straight through. ’Tis only when she’s wicked that she’s imp.”

“Then may she always be wicked!”

“Snoshti?” Magpie leapt over the prop trunks to get to the door and peered around for the imp marm.

She saw her there, so small and quizzical, surrounded by beetles, and her heart swelled.

She dropped to her knees before her and flung her arms round the little creature.

“Snoshti!” she cried. Her whiskers tickled just the same after all these years.

“How wild ye look!” Snoshti declared, holding Magpie at arm’s length to examine her. “Brown as an acorn and skinny—”

“As a twig,” Magpie finished. “I know! And you look just the same as always. I missed you fierce, Snoshti! You should have come away with us when we went. We needed you!”

“Blessings!” Snoshti cried. “The world’s too big for the likes of me, and flying gives me a flutter. Where can ye hide in the sky? Neh, sky’s no place for an imp.” She eyed Magpie’s feather skirt. “Ach, but look at ye, lass! Ye’ll have a beak on next and be squawking like a crow!”

“She squawks as good as any of us!” said Maniac gruffly. “And curses, too.”

“Mags!” cried Pigeon, landing with a flutter beside her. “Where’d ye go? I was fierce shivered that queen would get ye!”

“Piff!” Magpie said. “I’d like to see her try!”

“She will,” said Snoshti.

“What?” asked Magpie, surprised.

“She will try, make no mistake. Better ye lot come away now, caravans and all, than stay right under her nose.” Snoshti jerked her head toward the palace.

They all looked up and saw a figure silhouetted in the tower window, standing perfectly still.

They shifted uneasily, feeling themselves watched.

“That lady’s one mean twist,” said Pigeon in a low voice. “Sure she’s no match for ye, Mags, but maybe the imp’s right. We en’t come to tangle with faeries. We got any reason to stay in Never Nigh?”

“Neh, none,” Magpie said. “I already found what we’re looking for.”

“What?” croaked Maniac. “When?”

“While not on the stage, as a matter of fact!” she said. “So thank you!” She planted a smooch on his beak.

“Ach,” he grunted. “Don’t be thinking that gets ye off the hook!”

The rest of the crows gathered round, tossing their crowns and capes into the caravan. Magpie introduced them all to Poppy and quickly whispered what they’d learned from the ancient tree. They were suitably impressed, with the news and with Poppy both.

“Gorm,” said Pup, still wearing a pair of devil horns. “Ye can talk to trees? How fine!”

“Thank you.” Poppy blushed.

“Poppy Manygreen!” called an imperious voice from overhead, and they all looked up to see a gent hovering above them on smoke-gray wings. It was one of the two who’d earlier been fawning over the queen. Magpie narrowed her eyes.

“My cousin,” Poppy muttered. “What is it, Kex?”

“The queen calls for you. Come at once,” he said, looking down his nose at the crowd of crows.

Poppy frowned. “The queen? Tell her I’m busy—”

“At once!” He cut her off.

“Now, there’s no call to be barking at the lass,” Calypso interjected.

“It’s fine,” said Poppy, turning to them with a twinkle in her eye. She whispered, “This is sure to be about her hair, nay? She’s always demanding potions for this or that. Sure she wants me to undo your spell.”

“Can you?” Magpie asked.

“I’d have to want to, first. And though I haven’t seen it yet I’m fair certain I’ll find it suits her.”

“Cousin!” hollered Kex.

“Calm yer pepper!” squawked Pup.

“Magpie, the cake recipe,” Poppy whispered quickly, unfurling her wings to fly. “Do you think we could make it?”

“I don’t know where it came from! It could be a trick.”

“Meet me in the morning at old Father Linden.”

Magpie nodded. “Sure.”

“Good!” Poppy curtsied to Snoshti and the crows and said, “I’d best go, then. Lady Vesper awaits. I can’t wait to see this!” And with a wink she flew up to meet her cousin.

“She seems a fine lass,” Calypso said, watching her go. “Could be mad handy, talking to trees.”

“Aye,” Magpie agreed. “She hears things. And one thing she heard? That the creatures have this story, right, about a faerie who’s supposed to bring back the Dawn Days.” She chuffed a laugh. “You haven’t heard that, have you?”

Calypso scratched his head with one talon. “Eh? Maybe, sure,” he said vaguely. “Creatures got nursery stories, same as faeries got.”

“Aye,” agreed Bertram. “Like that one about how a rain shower on a sunny day means a fox’s wedding?”

“Ach,” said Snoshti. “That one’s true. Ye never been to a fox’s wedding? They do make a fuss.”

In the Ring, tunes shivered across fiddle strings, and Magpie turned to look. Faeries were dancing in the air, jewel-bright and shimmering in their gowns and frock coats. She glanced up at the palace. The queen was gone from the window. To the crows she said, “Where to, birds?”

“Come on,” Snoshti said. “There’s a green near my village. My kin would be pleased to host ye.”

Leaving the stage props in disarray inside, the birds slipped into their harnesses and towed the caravans out of the city.