Five minutes later, she climbed back up to the top of the swaying pine tree with a pocketful of rocks. The first one she threw in a similar fashion, and it failed in a similar fashion. The next she held carefully in one hand. She cupped her palm loosely around it. She hooked a foot snugly around the branch below her, lifted her empty hand, and slapped it hard down atop the stone. A shower of sparks burst from between her fingers and the stone shot out from her hands like it had been fired from a miniature cannon. Fable flew backward. She would have fallen a very long way if not for her foothold. She hung upside down for a moment and grinned, then quickly righted herself. She had not seen exactly where the rock had landed, but she suspected it was somewhere near the vegetable patch. This could work.
She tried a second rock, and this one skipped off into the gravel on the side of the house. Closer! Sparks flew as a third shot assaulted the rosebushes, a fourth flew wide, and then the fifth finally made contact with the house.
It clattered along the rooftop and came to rest near the chimney. Fable let out a whoop and waited. Nothing happened.
She frowned. Another clap and another burst of sparks as Fable tried a sixth rock and then a seventh, really getting the hang of it by the eighth. The ninth might have had a bit more force than she really needed—it lodged itself with a solid crack in the wood of the back door—but still no Burton boys emerged.
That was when Fable smelled smoke. She glanced down. Oh, she thought. Right. That’s why Mama hates slappy sparks.
By the time Cole made his way into the forest, the fire was already out. “Hey, Fable,” he said, sliding over a mossy log. “Did you shoot my house?”
“You came!” Fable bounded across the slightly smoky forest floor and launched herself at Cole. She squinted at him for a second. “Just one of you?”
“Tinn’s spending the day with his, um, other family,” said Cole. “Did you light a signal fire just to get my attention?”
“Oh,” said Fable. “That . . . is exactly what happened. Yes. I did that. On purpose. And you came!”
“Well, what do you need?”
Fable shrugged. “I dunno. What do you need?”
Cole shook his head. “Well. A friend to hang out with would be nice, I suppose,” he said. “Wanna go exploring?”
Fable’s eyes doubled in size and her fists shook. “SO MUCH!”
Cole laughed. “Okay, then. You’ve got soot on your cheek, you know.”
“I know!” Fable said. “It’s from all the stuff I lit on fire! I tried to put it out with my brain-hand, but that never works, so I had to use my hand-hands and a buncha wet dirt. Hey! Wanna go see if we can find any morning dew sprites before they’re all gone?”
The two of them trooped along the grassy gully, up over clover-blanketed hills, and down along the shores of the Oddmire as the sun crawled its way over the eastern treetops.
“You have no idea how boring it is,” Fable said, hopping up on a mossy stump, “practicing proper magic all the dang time. Hours.”
“Are you kidding?” said Cole. “I would give anything to have magic like yours.”
“Well, apparently it’s not enough unless it’s magic like hers. A good Witch of the Wood is supposed to be so perfect.”
“At least you can do magic. Between all the stuff you can do and all the stuff Tinn can do, I’m starting to feel like I can’t do anything at all.”
“How’s it going with Tinn, anyway?” asked Fable.
“It’s—” Cole paused. “It’s weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Weird that Tinn has a whole long-lost family that isn’t mine.” They picked their way up an old, dry creek bed. “I mean—I’m happy for him. Really, I am. It’s good that he’s getting to know them. It’s just . . .”
“Lonely?” said Fable. “Scary?”
Cole plopped down on a dusty boulder to catch his breath. “We both spent our whole lives being afraid to be the changeling. Now that I know it’s him and not me—I mean . . . I never imagined I would feel . . . It’s stupid.”
“Feel what?”
“Jealous, I guess.”
“You want to be a goblin?” Fable sat down on the bank across from him.
“No. It’s not that.” Cole rubbed his neck. “You know Kull? The one that’s been taking care of Tinn when he visits the horde?”
“Yeah. My mama hates that guy pretty hard.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t know exactly how parenting works for goblins—Tinn says there’s something about an egg and a brood ceremony—but however it works, Kull has been acting kinda like, well, like a dad to Tinn. Kull’s been able to answer a lot of questions for him.” Cole shuffled his feet along the dry, cracked dirt. “With Mom starting up work now and Tinn gone all the time, it’s just left me thinking more and more about . . .” Cole let the words trail off.
Fable nodded. She knew about Cole’s father and about his disappearance back when the boys were still babies.
“You might find him someday,” said Fable. “Mama says my dad died in a fairy war.”
“Sorry,” said Cole. “That’s rough.”
“Tell you what. I’ll be your dad if you be mine,” Fable offered, jumping to her feet.
Cole laughed.
“I bet I’d be a super good dad,” said Fable. “What’s something dads say?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Cole pushed himself up and rejoined Fable as she pressed on up the next hill.
“Me, neither,” said Fable.
“How about advice?” suggested Cole. “Dads are supposed to teach you
