Page 24 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The grass shrank from my anger. It flattened a path directly for the Fire Grove, and the Rabbit Step Spell did the rest. Kian’s fae hearing directed us to where my friends hid, and we hurried further into the forest as the sky above us snarled and growled with vengeful dragonets.

We couldn’t see them through the leaves—in fact, no sunlight that wasn’t stained bloodred reached the forest floor—and we had to hope they couldn’t see us either.

There was no underbrush here and the packed dirt between the myriad larrea trees made for easy, soundless movement despite the rolling terrain.

We moved quickly, flinching with every growl or snapping branch.

Kian took the lead, reading some secret language of the trees to find his way.

We twisted and turned through the forest, breath lodged in our throats, but the dragonets did not abandon their hunt.

A sudden ear-piercing roar ripped through the canopy—that same tactic used against Sawyer. That terrifying sound designed to shred your wits and abandon your sanity and spur you to run for your very life. And then be seized from behind by bronze talons the length of steak knives.

Shari bolted, but she only got one or two steps before Daphne caught her and dragged her back to her side. Our party huddled together and searched the ceiling of flame-colored leaves, shaking with anticipation. Where would the sunlight rupture through first, bringing a dragon with it?

I began to wonder if they were like gannets, able to detect fish below churning water and diving out of the sky and spearing into the ocean depths at just the right moment.

A similar vein of thought must’ve been infecting my friends’ minds for, almost simultaneously, Cody grabbed Kian’s arm and Daphne clamped a hand over Shari’s mouth to smother her whimper and Emmett clutched his heart and magic tingled just below my skin.

Flora jumped onto Kian’s shoulder and snatched his pointed ear. “They’re still hunting us,” she hissed, twisting his ear. “We need to hide, not scurry about like squirrels!”

Cody plucked up his lion-headed amulet and smacked it against his palm as if to bludgeon a component into place. “King of Beasts, my foot. These amulets ain’t doing squat!”

“Th-those were dragons,” Emmett blubbered. He smeared the fog away from his spectacles with quivering fingers, eyes darting from one patch of leaves to another.

A luachra screamed again.

Shari flinched so violently she nearly tore herself free of Daphne’s arms. The older woman tightened her grip, nearly smothering the quiet crafter’s face into her shoulder joint. “What about there?” Daphne whispered, indicating something with a jerk of her chin.

A cave.

In the trough of the nearest hill, there was a hollow of darkness framed with stones. It was unclear if erosion had revealed the rocks or if fae hands had placed them seemingly haphazardly for a “rustic” look.

Every alarm bell went off in my head, my grandmother’s voice screaming, Fairy mound!

They were hollow hills, some having no external access, some with narrow passageways, and rarer still, some could be confused as caves. No matter their point of ingress, the mantra was the same: Do. Not. Enter. Especially uninvited.

You could fall into an eternal slumber, slip through time, activate a curse, transform, or the earth could swallow you whole.

There was no lore anywhere, written or oral, that said anything good came from entering a fairy mound, even if you were invited inside.

Those foolish enough to take a fairy at its word in this manner were almost always tricked.

There were stories of folks growing tails or their ears turning into those of donkey’s, of falling desperately in love with an ash tree, of turning away all food except whortleberries for the rest of their lives.

“No,” Kian cried just as Flora exclaimed, “Yes!”

The garden gnome twisted his ear again. “As a fairy, even a wingless variety, I can tell you that is no fairy mound. It’s safe!”

Well, that was one fear alleviated.

Kian yanked his head away and yanked the garden gnome off his shoulder. “And I can tell you that the only thing that dwells in caves around here are beithirs!”

Another panic-inducing screech sounded directly above us. The dragonets were homing in on our whispered argument.

“Do luachra fear beithirs?” I asked.

Kian nodded empathically. “Oh yes.”

“Then in we go.” I led the way down the hill at a breakneck pace, the Redbudians right behind me.

At the mouth of the cave, I released a small Scouting Spell.

The radius was so tight it didn’t even penetrate the upper canopy of the Fire Grove (leaving the dragonets ignorant of my magic), but it revealed the entrance of the cave was empty of any threats.

I stooped to enter and paused as my boot scuffed against the packed dirt.

It was surprisingly warm inside, nothing like the dankness of the mortal realm’s caves.

There was something else, too, musky and faint.

Old. I hurried inside, making room for the others.

“This is a mistake,” Kian hissed as he brought up the rear. He fumbled with the buttons of his coat, sealing it tight all the way up to his neck.

“For your books or your life?” I snapped. “Get in and shut up.”

The threat of beithirs kept us cramped as close to the entrance as we dared. Crouched at either end of the narrow mouth, Kian and I peered up at the red leaves shivering in the wind for any sign of the luachra.

“What’s a beithir?” I whispered, not looking at him.

“I showed you Ardgal’s History of Draig,” he exclaimed lowly, affronted. “Didn’t you read it? The draigflies grow into luachra then hibernate as beithir to emerge from their caves as full red draig!”

“So there could be a giant red dragon at the back of this thing?” Cody cried.

“Shhh!” Emmett shushed, leaning back against the cave wall to fan himself with his hand. His jowls bobbed and shook like jelly just dropped into a crystal bowl for Sunday brunch.

“M-maybe.” Kian’s tongue darted nervously over his lips.

“Not all draigfly survive to become luachra. Not all luachra grow large enough to lose their wings and become beithir. Not all beithir have eaten enough to survive the hibernation process to become draig. So th-there could be a slumbering beithir back there, a dead beithir, or a red draig on the verge of waking.”

“We could run,” Emmett suggested. His hand slid to his potbelly and he swallowed thickly. “Give some of us a change.”

“You can’t outrun a red draig.” Kian gave a bitter snort. “There’s nothing faster in all of Elfame.”

“So quiet is the name of the game,” Daphne said in a carefully controlled, calm voice. She passed her hand soothingly over Shari’s back. Then she shot a meaningful look at Flora that dared the garden gnome to open her mouth.

She did, of course, but for good reason. “Won’t a beithir hear all this racket and come to help these pests like they did for the dragonflies?”

Kian shook his head. “No. Beithir don’t care about anything but growing fat enough to hibernate and transform. In fact, they’ve been known to eat luachra that wander into their den and disturb their slumber. At least that’s what the master scholars say.”

As one, we twisted around to peer into the gloom behind us. Nostrils flared as we desperately tried to decide for ourselves whether or not that faint musky odor was getting stronger. We were all luachra-sized, except Flora, and might be easily confused as such by a drowsy beithir.

To a mixture of relief and new fear, the dragonets moved on.

Either they could no longer sense our movement, or the scent in the cave was covering our own and warning them away.

Bold Flora sat furthest from the entrance, eyes open wide and trancelike as questing tendrils crept across the stone floor from her hands.

Scouts, no doubt. Something small and tiny and inoffensive that might sense danger first without alerting it. At least not immediately.

Waving my hand to catch Kian’s attention, I mouthed and mimed, How long do we stay?

I was no lip-reader like Sawyer, and when Kian began a lengthy answer, I immediately cut him off and made him try again, more succinctly.

What I could glean from his abridged, yet still loquacious, answer, luachra were smart creatures and would double back at least once to see if it could startle us from our hiding spot.

Spiteful, vindictive creatures.

We would be here for a while.

“Uh, guys?” Flora scuttled back, abandoning her scouting tendrils. “We’re not alone in here.”

Hissing echoed off the cavern walls and flashing yellow eyes appeared in the gloom.

“I told you,” Kian wailed.

He made to dive out of the cave, but I caught his coat and anchored him in the entrance before he could give away our hiding spot to the dragonets. Whipping around, I prayed to the Green Mother that it was only a rat lunging towards us.

Just as I lifted a green shield, a brown creature charged out of the gloom.

No larger than a cat, the tiny luachra stomped its front paws and snapped its jaws in an intimidation display.

It even rattled its spiked tail against the earthen floor, imitating a rattlesnake’s warning.

Its barbs were smaller than honey locust thorns, but they were still sharp.

One wing was tucked up tight against its body and the other flopped against the ground, two tears in its membrane.

“Oh,” Daphne cried softly, “it’s wounded.”

“It’s just a baby,” Shari observed.

“Yeah, a baby with fangs.” Cody hefted his walking staff.

Kian craned over my shoulder, curious but not willing to come any closer. “It’s probably using the scent in here to hide while it heals. It’s a good spot, too; all stages of draig need heat to heal and no one’s coming in here with this stink. Except us,” he added nervously.