Foxheart (10 page)

T
he next morning at dawn, while Anastazia settled their account with the proprietor, Quicksilver waited on the bench just outside the tavern's dining room, where other early risers were eating breakfast.

The woman serving coffee had luminous purple braids and wore a gray patterned dress with belled sleeves. (Her earrings, Quicksilver assessed, might have fetched twenty silvers back home.) A man and two children devoured a plate of eggs and ham (five coppers), their skin glowing like polished ebony lit up by fire.

And there, lounging at a table in the corner, was a bear of a man, reading a small book the size of his palm. He glowed brighter than anyone, his yellow-tipped green hair and the eighteen rings on his fingers all vivid as the sun.

On this man's shoulder perched a brilliant green bird with eyes like amber jewels. It watched Quicksilver without blinking.

“Is that a witch, do you think?” Quicksilver whispered.

Sly Boots, sitting beside her, mumbled something incoherent, leaned his head against her shoulder, snuggled into place, and resumed snoring.

“Ugh, wake up and stop drooling.” Quicksilver shrugged him off, and his head hit the back of the bench. He smacked his lips and snored even louder.

“Yes, he's a witch,” said Fox.

Quicksilver jumped to find him at her elbow. Anastazia had given her a pack that held two pouches stuffed full of food and supplies, and she hugged it to her chest, unable to meet Fox's eyes.

“I didn't hear you come over,” she told Fox.

“I'm quite sly.”

They sat quietly for a moment. Quicksilver used to tell Fox everything that was on her mind—her plans, her fears, how she sometimes imagined the north wind carried her mother's voice.
But now, she didn't know how to say anything to him, and she certainly didn't think she could trust him.

“Don't worry,” Fox said blandly, “your secrets are safe with me.”

Quicksilver scowled. “Can you hear everything I think?”

“Most things. Say, do you think I'd make a good bird?”

“What?”

“Just think about it. I'd be a good bird, wouldn't I? All gold and feathery? Long and sleek?” He paused, glanced sidelong at Quicksilver. “Maybe with white feathers in my tail?”

At his words, Quicksilver imagined such a bird. She imagined Fox's lanky dog body transforming into a smaller, feathered creature, soaring through the rafters overhead. . . .

“What in the name of the stars?” Sly Boots sat up, fully awake.

Quicksilver blinked. A bizarre creature half hopped, half flew across the dining room tables—gold feathered and gold furred. It had a wing on one side, and two pawed legs on the other. When it opened its mouth, its tiny beak was crammed full of canine fangs. It tried to fly and crashed into the breakfasting family's plate of hot rolls.

A hand grabbed Quicksilver's shoulder.

“Think of Fox,” Anastazia instructed. “Think of him as you know him—a dog, and a dog alone.”

An image of Fox flashed into Quicksilver's flustered mind. Something tugged on her heart, yanking her toward Fox, and she gasped. She needed to be near him, more than she had ever needed anything in her life. She ran to him, her pack swinging from her shoulders. With a flash of golden light, the bird-dog
thing
clambering across the tables became fully a dog, and slid right into the feet of the witch with the green bird on his shoulder.

Fox raised his head, woozy, and barked. Quicksilver fell to her knees beside him and scooped him into her arms.

Sly Boots hurried over. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Quicksilver did not know how to answer him. She felt as if she had stepped into an outlandish dream. All she knew was that she had needed to be near Fox, and now she was, and whatever had happened didn't matter much in the face of that. She buried her face between his ears and was relieved to discover that he still smelled of dog.

“Our apologies,” Anastazia muttered to the witch with the green bird, not quite looking at him. “She just got her monster. A bit rough around the edges.”

The witch man grimaced, avoiding Anastazia's gaze just as determinedly as she was avoiding his. “Not to worry. First few days are always tricky.” Then he turned away, the air around him vibrating with animosity.

The witch's monster, in a soft thrum of emerald light, circled around Fox's head, squawking angrily, before popping back to the witch's shoulder with a second puff of light.

“Do it again, do it again!” shrieked the two children a few tables over.

“So sorry to burst into your morning like this,” Anastazia called to the entire establishment.

The woman in the purple braids grinned. “I've seen much worse. Why, this one time, this witch from Belrike came in with her son, and—”

“What a wonderful story,” said Anastazia, ushering Quicksilver and Sly Boots out of the inn and onto the street. Fox hopped along beside them, shaking out his paws. Quicksilver slammed her eyes shut as they stepped outside, but dared to open them again after a couple of moments, and found that the brightness of this long-ago world was no longer painful.

“Of all the careless, reckless things to do,” Anastazia spat. “What were you thinking?”

Quicksilver frowned. “What do you mean, what was
I
thinking? Fox was the one who—”

“Fox can't do anything on his own. Without you directing him, he's simply raw magic. Shapeless and stupid.”

“Excuse me,” Fox interrupted, coughing out a tiny yellow feather, “but I am certainly
not
—”

“Stupid, yes. You looked ridiculous, flapping about like some newborn half-thing.”

“But Fox was the one who started talking about being a bird,” Quicksilver cried. “He told me to imagine it, and I did, and then I don't know what happened, but all I did was think, I promise!”

“
All
you did?” Sighing, Anastazia looked to the sky, stars glittering between streaks of dawn-lit clouds. “Quicksilver, magic is all
about
thinking. Your monster listens to your thoughts, reads them and interprets them, and does whatever they tell him to do.”

Quicksilver whirled on Fox. “You
knew
. You told me to imagine it, and you knew what would happen when I did!”

“Not true,” Fox protested silkily. “I thought you would actually think what you were supposed to think instead of botching it.”

“How could I botch something when I didn't even know I was doing it?”

“It's not
my
fault you don't know these things.
She's
supposed to teach them to you.”

“Dog, I will teach you things so beyond your current capacity that someday you'll look back on this morning and
think yourself nothing but a dumb pup,” said Anastazia. “And don't you use that tone with me. I mean it.”

They walked in silence until Sly Boots burst into a fit of giggles, gasping and wiping his eyes. “I'm sorry, but I can't help it anymore. You looked ridiculous! A wing on one side, and . . .
paws
on the other! And a beak full of teeth!”

Sly Boots's laughter rang through the already crowded street. A fox glowing a fiery red bounded alongside a woman wearing a gauzy veil. A ruby flash, and he was a tiny red bird, flying overhead. Other flashes followed—monsters shifting into different animal forms, witches vanishing into columns of colored smoke—and the Willow-on-the-River market of long ago cheerfully bustled on.

It was a world of witches, a world where thoughts could turn dogs into birds.

Or
almost
birds.

Quicksilver laughed too, at the sheer outrageous wonder of it all. She clutched Sly Boots's arm, laughing so hard she almost fell over.

Fox sniffed, putting his nose in the air. A fluffy white feather fluttered on his rump like a flag, and Sly Boots and Quicksilver laughed at it all the way through town.

T
he first thing Quicksilver noticed about being a witch was that it would have been much easier without a monster getting in the way.

Or perhaps simply with a monster who wasn't so completely impossible.

Anastazia had taken them to a clearing some distance from town. It butted up against a pasture of cows, and thick clusters of trees shielded them from the road. Here, she said, they would practice the most basic of magical tasks—communication.

“Before you can try any actual spells,” said Anastazia, “you
must learn how to speak to each other—not as girl and dog, but as witch and monster. You'll read each other's thoughts, and know how to use your magic based on what you're thinking.” Anastazia paused to rifle through a bag of mint-and-chocolate star-shaped candies she'd purchased in town.

“Do you have to practice here?” Sly Boots complained from his perch on the pasture fence, waving his hand about. “These cows stink.”

“So do you, but you don't hear me griping about it,” said Anastazia. “Now, Quicksilver. Let's try again. Fox, stop biting your rump and act civilized.”

Fox gathered himself with dignity and bowed his head. “Of course, master.”

Quicksilver snapped, “
I'm
the one you call master.
I'm
your witch.”

“Are you quite sure? You don't seem to be a very good one, at any rate.”

“Fox,”
Anastazia scolded.

“All right, all right. Whenever you're ready.
Master.
”

Quicksilver rolled up her sleeves and stuck out her tongue at him.

“Now,” said Anastazia, “try again.”

Quicksilver closed her eyes and breathed in and out, steadying herself.

“Listen to each other,” Anastazia continued. “The bond is there, connecting you—soul to soul. All you have to do, Quicksilver, is reach out and find the bond, follow it, and use it to show Fox whatever it is you want him to do. You must think your instructions in clear, easy-to-understand images. Remember . . . though he is now a monster, he's still a
dog
.”

“And what is
that
supposed to mean?” huffed Fox.

Quicksilver allowed her breathing to carry her thoughts in and out of her mind, as though they floated atop a calm river.

Fox?
she thought.

Nothing.

She tried again.
Fox? Hello?

Still nothing, and yet she knew he was there, across the clearing. She could hear him scratching his ear.

Quicksilver focused on the rhythm of her heart. She followed it out, into the air, reaching, searching, until she sensed another heartbeat. At first she thought it was the echo of her own, but then she realized it was faster, and hotter, like Fox when he was panting.

Fox!

He sighed.
What?

I've found you!

Well done, you.

Be serious, Fox.

Why? That's no fun.

I can feel you scratching your ear! No wonder you make those funny growling sounds when you do that. It
does
feel amazing.

“What's happening?” called Anastazia.

“I've found Fox,” Quicksilver cried, her eyes still closed. “I'm talking to him!”

“Excellent. Now, try sending him an image, something simple. Picture it in your mind, and then send it toward him, like you might push an object across a table.”

What shall I think of?
Quicksilver wondered to Fox.

An image of Sly Boots sitting on the fence, picking his nose, flashed through Quicksilver's mind.

What was that? I didn't think that.

No,
Fox said,
I did. Because that's what he's doing right now. Charming, isn't he?

Quicksilver snorted.
What if we . . . ?
Then she pictured a scenario that made Fox stop scratching himself and perk up.

Oh, that's a superb idea, master.

Quicksilver beamed.
I thought you'd like it.

But we'll have to surprise him
.

Of course
.

Otherwise it wouldn't have the same effect.

I quite agree.
Then Quicksilver had another idea.
I've got it.

She worked through the entire situation in her mind, step by step, which took a while to accomplish. She had never before realized how many thoughts go into one idea, and how they come jumbled and out of order, a messy tangle of sensations and colors. She forced herself to think slowly, imagining each step in their new scheme as if sketching it out with pen and paper.

“What are you two doing?” Anastazia asked. “You've been quiet an awfully long time.”

“They're just standing there with their eyes closed,” said Sly Boots. “It's starting to give me the creeps.”

He
gives
me
the creeps,
thought Fox to Quicksilver.
All those freckles, that droopy smile . . .

Quicksilver stifled her giggle. “We're trying something!”

“Trying
what
, exactly?” asked Anastazia. “You're only supposed to send him a single image.”

“Oh, we're far beyond that,” said Quicksilver. “Don't worry, we can handle it.”

“Quicksilver—” warned Anastazia.

Go!
Quicksilver thought to Fox, and opened her eyes.

In a soft burst of golden light, Fox disappeared and then reappeared as a sleek yellow bird—a proper bird this time, not half formed—hovering right in front of Sly Boots's face.

Fox squawked and flapped his wings.

Sly Boots screamed, teetered, circled his arms to regain his balance, and fell back into a clump of tall grass—just missing a questionable-looking pile of something buzzing with flies.

One of the cows gave a sorrowful moo.

“Quicksilver!”

Quicksilver flinched and turned sheepishly to face Anastazia. “Yes, O wise older self?”

Anastazia's cracked lips twisted into a not-quite smile. “Don't even try that face with me. I know that face. I
used
that face, and so have all of ourselves, for lifetimes and lifetimes. What did you do to poor Sly Boots?”

“I thought you didn't like Sly Boots.”

“I don't, particularly.”

“He just popped right up out of nowhere!” Sly Boots grabbed the fence rails and pulled himself to his feet. “How'd you do that? Did
you
tell him to do that?”

“It was only a bit of fun, Boots,” said Quicksilver. “Besides, I had to make you stop picking your nose.”

Sly Boots rubbed the back of his head, scowling. “You could have just asked me.”

“But where's the fun in that?” said the yellow bird, perched atop a fence post.

Quicksilver thought of her friend in his true form, wanting him to be a dog once more—but nothing happened. Her mind met only a thick gray wall. “Fox, what are you doing? Change back!”

“I don't want to,” Fox sniffed, turning up his yellow beak. “I quite like being a bird.”

Quicksilver crossed her arms over her chest. “Anastazia, Fox won't do as I say!”

Anastazia looked up at the sky and closed her eyes. “May the stars send me patience. . .”

“All I can feel when I think instructions to him is this gray wall. He's keeping me away!”

Fox stuck out his pink bird tongue, fluffed up his golden feathers, and started preening.

“He's your
monster
,” Anastazia explained to Quicksilver. “He can try to keep you away for a time, but ultimately he has to do as you say. Just breathe. Clear your mind of all
thoughts except the one you need. Focus.”

Though her cheeks were hot with temper, Quicksilver managed to slow her breathing and follow Anastazia's instructions. She pictured Fox—the dog Fox, sitting obediently before her like a well-trained pup, gazing up at her adoringly.

She cracked open one eye. There Fox sat, wholly doggish once more, looking grumpy.

“There,” he muttered. “Back to normal, just as you wish.
Master.
”

Quicksilver plopped down onto the grass. “That was exhausting.”

“It won't be, once you both get used to each other,” said Anastazia. “Now, get up. Let's try again.”

“I liked you better when I didn't know what you were thinking,” grumbled Fox to Quicksilver.

“I liked
him
better when he couldn't talk,” Sly Boots muttered, climbing back onto the fence. “Rotten mutt.”

Quicksilver's temper flashed, and Fox obeyed her thoughts at once.

“What did you say?” Fox growled, appearing before Sly Boots as a snarling golden wolf.

Sly Boots nearly fell off the fence again. “N-nothing! Nothing, I swear!”

“No wolves.”
Anastazia marched over and pulled Fox away by the scruff of his neck. In her grip, his ears flattened and he tucked his tail between his legs. “The Wolf King's pack has become a bunch of bloodthirsty beasts, though they didn't ask for it. They represent death and pain for our kind. Remember that, Quicksilver.”

Quicksilver mumbled an apology and told Fox to become himself again. He obeyed, albeit slowly. His reluctance made her mind feel like taffy, being slowly tugged this way and that.

Of course you know what all of this means, don't you?
Fox thought to Quicksilver, as Anastazia started lecturing them about the improper use of magic.

A thrill jolted through Quicksilver's chest. She nodded to Anastazia, though she had no idea what the old woman was going on about.
That we could pull some really excellent jobs, with magic like this?

Hmm. And that in a land full of witches, there are bound to be a lot of really excellent things worth stealing?

Quicksilver bit down hard on her tongue to keep from smiling.
And that, if you were, say, a mouse, you could squeeze into really small places?

And that our friend Bootsie is most likely afraid of snakes? I think I'd look quite dashing as a snake, don't you?

Quicksilver's stifled laughter came out as a giant snort.

Anastazia turned, narrowing her eyes. “Were you listening to me?”

Sly Boots piped up from the fence. “You were talking about how magic must never be used to harm another person, unless that person is the Wolf King or one of his associates, or unless your life is in danger and you're forced to use magic to defend yourself—”

“Not
you
, boy. Quicksilver?”

“I . . . what Boots said?” Quicksilver shot Anastazia a hopeful smile.

Anastazia sighed. “Quicksilver, this is serious. You're a witch now. You can't act as though you've no responsibilities in the world. Your blood contains power that, when used improperly, could do a lot of damage. You must pay attention during these lessons. Otherwise you'll never be strong enough to face a unicorn, much less the Wolf King.”

At the word “unicorn,” the cows made alarmed noises and bumped into one another in their haste to hurry away.

But Quicksilver was already planning thieving jobs in her head, and imagining all the many ways she and Fox could trick their marks. How much magical, witchy loot they would bag, and how they would live in the mountains someday like kings, and never have to talk to anyone ever again.

We'll have to work hard,
Quicksilver thought to Fox.
I'm not
sure we could steal a piece of candy right now, much less riches and gold.
That means you'll have to listen to me, do as I say.

Fox's indignation was like a tiny black cloud in her mind.
As long as you actually pay attention to what you're doing
, he thought back,
we should be fine.

Quicksilver stomped her foot and screamed in frustration. Fox stomped his paws and echoed her scream—only much sillier—and then rolled his eyes at her.