“Well, well.”
“It speaks.”
“That’s a different ones.”
“Is it, then? I can’t tells them apart.”
“Can you nots, then? The one from earliers is blue. And there—see that’s another ones sitting there againsts the tree.”
“That one’s an elf.”
“Is he deads?”
Poppy shook her head. “Of course not! He’s just sleeping.”
“Oh. Good.” A mournful look crossed Myrtle’s face. “But we can’t gets him.”
“Not with the salts.”
“Not with the salts and the irons.”
Goose bumps rose on Poppy’s arms. She cleared her throat. “So the sun really turns you to stone?”
The troll with the braid nodded. “Let’s goes, Myrtle. She’s makin’ me hungrys.”
“Me toos, Gregor. I wishes we could eat ’er. She’s biggish, so we’d haves to breaks her and…”
“No, couldn’t breaks her. We got no pot. Can’t cooks ’er. No fires in the woods. We’d haves to brings her back and shares her.”
“True. True.” The dark-haired one gave a huff of laughter. “Now that’d puts us in a fix.”
“Thorn trees likety splikity. Let’s goes, Myrtle. I’ve had enoughs.”
“Wait!” Poppy called. “Did you say something about a fire … in your nesting ground?”
They had started to turn away, but paused now, and moved nearer instead—a lumbering, shambling gait that made Poppy back farther away from the edge of the circle.
“We did indeeds. What do you knows about it?”
“Nothing really. I know there was a fire near some werewolves’ homes, and … and we got caught in one too. The thorn trees put it out. Are … are either of those near where you nest?”
“Why are you askin’ ’bouts our nesting ground?”
“Takes it easys, Gregor. She’s just sayin’. Other fires, you says? Fire grows the thorn trees every time. Who’s doin’ the makin’? Says if you knows.”
Poppy shook her head. “I don’t knows … know. But there seem to be a lot of them springing up.”
“And thorn trees,” the blond troll lamented. “The Oak’s gots to defend the wood.” He shook his enormous head. “Can’t just lets it go burnin’.”
“The Oak?” Poppy asked, nearly stepping out of the circle in her excitement. “Did you say the Oak has to defend the wood … with the thorn trees?”
“Oh sures. Thems hers too. It’s all hers.” They stood staring at her for a moment, their eyes gleaming. One started to drool, and Poppy stepped back. Her back hit the trunk of the tree. She let out a yelp as a hand wrapped around her ankle. She looked down to see Mack staring back.
Staring at the trolls, he rose slowly to his feet next to her.
As one, the trolls turned and shambled away, still muttering. “I thinks it’s the faeries doin’ the burnings. They always likes to be on tops.”
“Nah. I thinks it’s that bog biddy—she’s a nasty one.”
“Nah. Not hers, Myrtle. She’s stucks in the bog. What does such as hers wants with fire?”
“Wells, who else?”
“Wells, the thorn trees don’t burn when they puts it out. Maybe it’s thems.”
“You needs your head examined for worms, I thinks, Gregor. They’s nasty, but they’s just doin’ their jobs. Besides, why woulds they puts them out if they starts them?”
Their voices faded as they moved away into the wood. Poppy stared after them, her heartbeat fast. She had hoped to find adventure in the Grimwood, but more than that, she’d hoped to find answers. No … she had expected to find answers. Here was one she had waited for. It wasn’t just the regular trees the Holly Oak controlled. The thorn trees were hers too. Did that make the maledictions hers as well?
She fisted her hands. More questions! She knew what a thorn tree looked like—and a troll—and she was beginning to understand why it was a bad idea to deal with faeries. But when it came to understanding the Grimwood—freeing her parents and being a part of something bigger together, all she’d found were more secrets and more questions. The forest wasn’t like she thought it would be.
She turned to Mack and opened her mouth to tell him about what she’d learned, but he just gave her a sad look and settled back down against the tree, closing his eyes.
She blinked rapidly. And then there was Mack. She might have lost his friendship for good.
Dog came over to stand next to her. The night was beginning to slip toward dawn. Brutus bumped her leg with his cinder-block head, and she let one hand uncurl and rest on their side. “We have to figure this out and free Mom and Dad, guys … and I’ve got to find a way to make it up to Mack.”
Nula came and stood next to her on the other side, rubbing her eyes.
“How much time do you think is left, Nula?” Poppy’s voice caught.
Nula considered. “The forest folk don’t really think much about time, you know. They don’t really need to, unless—”
“Unless they happen to have made a bargain with the Fae.”
Nula flushed. “Right … but, the sun sets late, and rises early, so I’d say … I’d say it’s been about six hours.”
“Six hours.” Poppy blanched. “Then we only have eighteen hours left.”
“Plenty of time.” Nula gave a stiff chuckle that wasn’t at all reassuring before she lay back down and closed her eyes.
Poppy stretched out next to Nula and Dog, but instead of closing her eyes, she watched the sky begin to turn green as it slipped toward morning. Dawn couldn’t come fast enough.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
An hour or so later, when the sun had finally stretched golden tendrils over the tops of the trees, Poppy woke Nula. Mack’s eyes popped open as if he’d been awake all along. Maybe he had. The light was still dim through the trees, but they didn’t have a moment to spare. The queen had told them to start at bluff meadow.
“Do you think the queen was lying when she told us where to begin?” Poppy asked aloud.
“Faeries don’t lie!” Nula called back from where she walked ahead.
Mack considered, his copper hair knotted where his head had rested against the tree. “No, but they don’t tell the full truth either. Certainly not to help us out.
