Bloodhoundhearts

The Wood-Wights were no longer interested in murder. They were far too busy being trees.

One by one, the skeletal guardians had knelt before Elena, their wooden limbs sprouting lush ivy and bright morning glory flowers. The terrifying rattling sound of their voices had been replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves. It was beautiful, but it was also incredibly awkward.

"Elena, move slowly," Carlson whispered, his hand still white-knuckled on the cart’s handle. "I don't think they’re hostile anymore, but I’d rather not be turned into a weeping willow if you sneeze."

"I’m trying!" Elena hissed back, her hands still tingling with silver sparks. "I didn't mean to garden them! I was trying to make a shield!"

"Well, you’ve turned a death squad into a botanical garden," Betty noted, stepping over a Wight that was currently growing a very impressive crop of bluebells from its ribcage. "It’s a start. But we need to move before they decide to start photosynthesizing in our way."

The group scrambled past the floral-monsters, the cart wheels squeaking over the white ferns. They were deep in the Whispering Woods now, where the trees were so tall that the sky was just a memory. The air here was thick with a sweet, heavy perfume that made everyone feel a little bit lightheaded.

"Does anyone else feel like the trees are laughing at us?" Mason asked, scratching his head.

"They probably are," Betty said. "Trees have a very dry sense of humor. Mostly bark, no bite."

Suddenly, a flash of gray fur darted across the path.

A sleek fox with sharp, intelligent yellow eyes sat on a mossy log, watching them. It tilted its head, its bushy tail twitching with a rhythmic, mocking motion.

"Oh, look! A fox!" Hilary chirped from the back of the wagon. Despite her wound being healed, she was still a bit loopy from the magic. "Can we keep it? It looks like it wants to tell me a secret."

"Hilary, that's a wild animal," Amanda warned, clutching her shawl. "It probably has fleas. Or a grudge."

The fox let out a sharp, yapping sound that sounded suspiciously like a cough. It jumped off the log and began to trot in circles around Elena, its nose twitching.

"It’s cute," Elena said, reaching out a hand.

"Elena, don't!" Betty yelled, but it was too late.

The moment Elena’s fingers brushed the fox’s fur, the air turned a sickly, bruised yellow. The fox didn't just grow; it distorted. Its bones popped and stretched with a sound like wet laundry being wrung out. Within seconds, the cute little animal had vanished, replaced by a tall, stunning woman in a tattered maid’s uniform.

Ramela stood there, her golden hair messy and her yellow eyes gleaming with malice. She dusted off her apron as if she hadn't just spent the last hour running through the mud on four legs.

"Honestly," Ramela sighed, looking at her broken fingernails. "The things I do for a bit of gossip. Elena, dear, you really must work on your peripheral vision. A shapeshifter could hide in your shadow and you’d probably offer it a scone."

"Who are you?" Mark demanded, stepping forward with his axe.

Ramela didn't even look at him. She flicked her wrist, and a blast of yellow energy sent Mark sprawling back into a pile of soft, glowing moss. "Hush, muscle-brain. I’m speaking to the royalty."

She turned back to Elena, her smile widening to reveal teeth that were just a little too sharp. "The Palace is in an uproar, you know. Aiden is currently stuck in a mud pit—don't ask, he’s very dramatic—but he’s coming. And he isn't coming to bring you flowers. He’s coming to claim his prize."

"I am not a prize," Elena snapped, her eyes beginning to shimmer with that dangerous rose-colored light.

"Oh, sweetie, in this world, everyone is a prize or a hunter," Ramela laughed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, blackened bone. "And since I can't have the Prince’s heart, I think I’ll just take yours. It’ll make a lovely paperweight."

She threw the bone into the air. It didn't fall. It hovered, spinning rapidly until it tore a hole in the very fabric of the forest.

From the hole crawled a creature made of pure shadow and spite—a Void-Hound. It was ten feet tall, with glowing red eyes and a mouth that dripped darkness.

"Kill the family," Ramela commanded, her voice dropping an octave. "But bring me the girl. Intact. I want to see the look in Aiden’s eyes when he realizes he’s late for the party."

The Void-Hound let out a sound that wasn't a bark, but a scream of a thousand lost souls. It lunged.

"Carlson, get the salt!" Elena shouted, though she had no idea why she said it.

"Salt?" Carlson yelled back, fumbling with his healer’s bag. "I have bandages and peppermint! Will peppermint work?"

"Just do something!" Leah screamed, firing an arrow that passed harmlessly through the Hound’s smoky chest.

The monster swiped at the cart, its claws turning the wood to ash instantly. The family scrambled back, trapped between the Void-Hound and the wall of tree-Wights.

Elena felt the snap coming again. This time, it wasn't just fear. It was a cold, lunar rage.

"You want a prize?" Elena whispered, her voice echoing with the power of a thousand moons. "Then catch this."

She didn't aim for the Hound. She aimed for the hole in the air.

Meanwhile, back at the mud pit...

Aiden was currently standing on the roof of his carriage, holding a silver-handled shovel like a sword. Silas was sitting on a dry rock, polishing a monocle.

"I’ve done it, Silas!" Aiden announced. "The left wheel is free. We shall be on our way in moments!"

At that exact moment, the horses decided to lie down in the mud for a nap.

Aiden looked at the horses. He looked at the shovel. He looked at the dark forest in the distance.

"Silas," Aiden said, his voice trembling with a five-hundred-year-old temper.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"I am going to walk. I am going to walk through the mud, in my silk boots, and I am going to find that girl. And if she is even slightly annoyed that I am late, I am going to blame you."

"A traditional choice, Sire," Silas nodded. "I shall stay here and ensure the horses don't catch a cold. Do try not to trip over a squirrel."

Aiden leaped from the carriage roof, landing with a spectacular thud in the sludge. He didn't care. The pull in his chest was no longer a hum; it was a scream.

He took off running toward the forest, leaving a trail of expensive mud behind him.