She hoped her parents were okay. They were tough—she knew that much from reading their journals. They would fight back if they could. She hated the quiet for allowing all her thoughts to rush in. Were they in pain? If it had been her that had gotten caught, how long would it have been before they even noticed she was gone? She shook the thoughts away, but others came rushing in to take their place.
She hoped Jute was okay. He would have noticed she was missing right away. And Mack.
Mack. A lump rose again in her throat and she swallowed hard. After a while Poppy’s eyes grew heavy, despite the ache in her chest. The leaves danced above her, shimmering in the early evening light. Her parents were in danger. She knew that. But even knowing it, and even considering what had happened with the faeries just a short time before, it was hard, in that moment, to imagine anyone fearing the Grimwood. It’s like a bear, she thought, as her mind began to drift. Harmless when it’s resting, but dangerous when disturbed.
Poppy must have dozed, because when she opened her eyes, the forest was the deep blue of past dusk. A sweet salty smoke drifted over their camp and she sat up. Mack’s eyes were closed, but he sat with his back against the big tree and his arms crossed, as though daring anyone to disturb him.
Mack had banked the fire and set their single pan across some coals. Poppy moved closer to see what was in it. Tentaculars, cut into strips and sizzling in water with cress and fresh green onion. Her mouth watered.
Nula was wide awake too. She crouched near the edge of the circle with a book open on the ground next to her. Her blue skin almost made her disappear in the evening light. She wasn’t reading the book though—she was poking it with a stick. Poppy watched her for a moment, her brain trying to make sense of what she was seeing. When her thoughts caught up with her mouth, she asked the pooka what she was doing.
Nula cocked her head. “I’m poking this book.”
“Okay, yes. I see that you’re poking it. Why are you poking it … and where did it come from?”
“I’m poking it to try and get it to show me what it’s hiding. And I got it from the Holly Oak.”
“The Holly Oak gave you a book? Can I see?”
“Sure. And no. She didn’t give it to me. I nicked it.”
Poppy moved too fast. The rush of dizziness made her head throb. “You … you stole it from the Holly Oak?”
Nula stopped poking. “I guess. Technically. But it was practically begging me to take it. You should have seen it, glittering away on that shelf in the closet. She must have known I’d take it.”
Poppy shook her head. The book was just plain brown leather. “What are you talking about? What shelf?” Behind her Mack let out a gentle snore, and Poppy lowered her voice to a hiss. “What were you thinking? You can’t take things from the Holly Oak. What if she finds out?”
“If she cared, she would have stopped me. She could, you know. Anyway, I told you. It wanted me to take it. Come see.” Nula picked it up and held it out.
Against her better judgment, Poppy shifted to her knees so she could crawl over to the pooka. If Mack found out they were in possession of a book the pooka had stolen from the oldest, and most revered creature in the Grimwood, he would never speak to her again. She almost didn’t want to know about it herself.
Almost.
The book was small and thin—unassuming. The brown leather cover was embossed with the image of a tree inside a circle of clasped hands. The page edges were silver. Poppy’s breath tightened in her chest as she reached out to take it.
It was heavy—much heavier than it should have been with so few pages, as though the secrets it held had a weight of their own. She opened it.
The pages were blank.
Except—in the middle of the book, there were several pages that looked as though someone had tried to write something and failed. A huge splotch of ink spread over the inside, like someone’s pen had vomited on the book’s inner seam. She turned the page. Blank again, but with a splotch on the left-hand page. The next was on the right.
Altogether there were seven pages with ink splotches.
“Seven pages,” Nula said. Her voice was as somber as Poppy had ever heard it. “Look out for sevens in the wood,” she said in a low voice. “And threes. Sometimes nines.”
“Nine is just three threes,” Poppy said absently as she let the pages ruffle through her fingers. “What is it, do you think? A journal or something?”
Nula shook her head. “Nothing ordinary like that. Feel how heavy it is? It’s magic. I’d bet anything.”
Nula poked it with the stick, despite the fact that Poppy was still holding it. “But it’s useless if it won’t give up its secrets.”
“Stop that.” Poppy pushed away the stick and rubbed at the first ink splotch. She wasn’t really sure why, but she believed Nula—that the book had something magic in it. It occurred to her—too late now—that it could have been a malediction. She shouldn’t have touched it at all.
She narrowed her eyes at the pooka, but Nula hadn’t gone into any kind of trance. She hadn’t left the circle to wander into the wood in search of a thorn grove either. Poppy’s heart returned to its normal rhythm and she turned her attention back to the book. “I wonder what it is.”
“Inklings,” Mack said just behind her in a soft voice that made Nula
