Chapter 1 #2
“Like hell I will, Rowe. I’ll be eating bacon for months.”
I suck air. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Just try me,” she says nastily. “If you don’t get these damn piggies off my property in five minutes, they’ll become feed for my unis.”
She pronounces the word uu-nee.
“Making bacon’s a new low even for you, Sally.”
“You don’t know low, then, Rowe.”
The line goes dead, and I have no doubt she’ll keep her promise and start shooting in less than five minutes.
“Who was it?” my mom shouts from upstairs.
“Sally Ray! The pigs are out!”
Mom’s face appears on the stair landing. Her wavy, gray hair is now pulled back, and her necklace dangles over the railing. “You need me to call the sheriff?”
“No! We don’t need the law getting involved.” Last time they showed up, we nearly got fined for the pigs being out. Not our fault, I explained. Bobby John, the one and only deputy in town who does anything, barely let us off the hook. I had to promise him it would never happen again.
And now it is happening, it is very much happening, and Sally’s about to make bacon.
My arms shoot out. “Don’t call anybody! I’ll be right back.”
I dash onto the back porch and head straight for the bag of feed. The pigs won’t come home by themselves. They’ll take one look at me, stick their pink snouts in the air, and prance like ballerinas in the opposite direction. Which means I have to lure them.
But the fifty-pound brown sack is down to crumbs. Crap. Why don’t we have their feed? Why are we out? Mom was supposed to buy it.
There’s no time to point fingers; I’ve got piggies to save. I stuff what looks like cereal crumbs in my pockets and charge out.
I sprint across the two-lane highway and climb over Sally’s pristine white wooden fence. Just before I’m clear, my jeans catch on a nail. I yank to pull free, but the fabric rips.
I hiss as the nail rakes across my inner thigh. When I’m over the fence, I inspect the damage. A triangle of denim has been torn away, and there’s an angry red scratch swelling on my thigh.
Ouch! And dang! These were my good jeans.
“Just great.”
I race past the sign that reads Dancing Trails Farm and run to the top of the hill, where the house sits. I’m winded, and my side’s killing me. I pause just long enough to rest my arm on the side of the house. That is, until I hear a—
Boom.
Fear rushes through my bloodstream, making my heart convulse.
Oh no. Sally’s killed one of them!
“Stop! I’m here!”
I wave my hands in the universal sign of surrender as I plow down the hill and finally get a good look at what’s going on.
Sally’s in her pasture, raising the gun and kicking the air in an attempt to frighten the pigs, who are paying her absolutely no mind, not even after the shotgun blast. That was apparently a warning shot, as no piggies have been injured.
Thank God.
Behind her, more than a dozen unicorns watch the scene with silky black eyes.
They stand tall and magnificent, white coats shimmering in the early-morning sun.
Shoulder muscles ripple. Delicate golden horns dazzle.
Right on cue, a breeze ripples through their rainbow manes, making the creatures look picture perfect.
I can’t help but stare at them for a brief moment before my gaze falls on the piggies.
As opposed to the unicorns, they are not picture perfect.
Their spindly legs and round bellies make them look like potatoes stuck on toothpicks—potatoes that are currently invading the unicorns’ feed trough like ants at a picnic.
This is Sally’s beef, and I can see why.
Almost two dozen of them surround the feed bin.
Several piggies scramble to jump into it, launching themselves like dogs trying to land on a couch.
Most don’t make it. One, however, does catch the edge with its front legs.
The pig struggles to climb inside, but it can’t get its hind legs up under it.
In the end, it slips, landing on its back atop the grass below before flipping over and trying again.
Some pigs never learn.
Others have been more successful in their jumping attempts.
A few stand in the trough, foraging the feed like they’re plowing farmland, and in the process, nosing it over the rim.
Grain falls in a glittery shower that creates small piles on the dewy grass.
There, the piggies who’ve given up trying to get in are greedily munching.
Eager to eat as much as possible, half a dozen of them shoulder and shove one another aside, accidentally bumping the trough.
The trough takes a hit and rocks back onto the fence. Neither the pigs nor Sally notice that the contraption is balancing precariously.
“Sally,” I yell, racing toward them.
She looks up just as the pigs slam into the trough again, this time from the opposite side.
And that’s all it takes to bring the whole thing down.
The piggies squeal in fright, racing to get out of the way as the wooden bin falls.
The ones inside the trough are smart enough to stay put.
When it hits the ground, they roll out, riding the feed like surfers as a wave of grain spills out onto the grass.
I groan as a piggycorn slides on her rump atop the grain, coming to an abrupt halt when she bumps into my foot.
She blinks up at me, looking adorable and guilty at the same time.
“Tallulah, what have y’all done?”
Sally marches toward me, glowering. Her unicorns stamp and blow in annoyance. Meanwhile, the piggies are now free to eat as much feed as possible, seeing as how it’s now all over the ground. None of my drove are hurt, and they snort happily as they gorge themselves.
Sally is still waving the gun.
“Don’t you do anything stupid,” I snap.
She lifts the barrel, pointing it to the sky, and yells, “They destroyed my property. Those pigs ain’t nothing more than a nuisance. The whole lot of them should be made into sausage!”
My heart’s racing as I reach the rest of the drove. “Y’all stop eating that and come home. Look, I brought your feed.”
The pigs recognize my voice and look up.
Tallulah, who’s right on my heels, is the smallest and my personal favorite.
She takes a step toward me and presses her snout in my hand, sniffing.
Her face drops enough that the small golden horn protruding from her head brushes my arm.
Then she looks up and returns to the mess of feed.
Which I now recognize as the piggies’ favorite.
“What gives, Sally? Why do you have the piggycorns’ food? That’s why they’re here.” I throw up my hands. “They probably smelled it from across the road. You know how good their noses are.”
Sally pulls off her ball cap and rakes a hand through her messy blond hair. Her face is all sharp angles, like she only eats protein, and as much as I’d like to say she’s ugly, Sally’s the kind of pretty that’s enviable.
She snickers. “My unis like it, too. There’s no law that says I can’t give the unicorns the same feed.”
I glance up at the pasture full of unicorns—beautiful, majestic creatures that are as awesome in person as they are in fairy tales, even if they aren’t born with magic anymore. Even powerless, they’re still more popular as pets than piggycorns.
I should know. Sally mentions it every time I see her.
I’m surprised she doesn’t say it now.
“You gotta get these piggycorns out of here, Rowe. I’ve got a family coming to pick out their uni in an hour. If they see these nasty swine, they’ll turn and leave. No one buys stupid piggies anymore—not since the price of unicorns came down.”
Oh, wait. I spoke too soon. There she went, getting in her dig. And it’s barely even six a.m.
But she’s right. It used to be that everyone wanted a piggycorn for a pet.
They’re very doglike in demeanor—friendly, lovable.
They’re the perfect companion animal. Or at least, they were, back in the early days, when magic still flourished in our town.
But now the magic is gone, having up and left for reasons unknown, and as the luster faded, so, too, did interest in piggycorns.
I move to fix the trough, but she waves me off. “I’ll do it. You’ll probably just break it worse.” When I scoff, she adds, “All you’re doing is catching flies with your mouth hanging open like that, when you should be catching swine and vacating my property.”
“Fine, I’ll get them out of Your Highness’s way,” I say, snatching the ball cap from her head.
“What’re you doing? Give me back my hat.”
I grin at her. “You said you wanted the piggycorns gone. Well, I’m getting them gone, Sally. You never said how, and seeing that you have their favorite food, I need some of it so that they’ll come with me.”
I fill the hat with feed and push it under the piggies’ noses. “Come on, y’all. Let’s go. We know when we’re not wanted.”
They slowly start to follow, tails swishing, grunts of happiness filling the air.
Sally sneers. “Never mind. Keep the hat. I’ve already taken something of yours, anyway.”
Her eyes slide to the mammoth red Tundra stationed in the driveway. My heart pound-pound-pounds against my chest at what she’s implying.
She doesn’t mean the truck. Sally’s referring to its owner, Luke.
I force myself to smile tightly. “You’ll find your hat in the mailbox. Unlike you, Sally, I don’t steal other people’s property.”
Her jaw drops as I lead the piggycorns off.
So yes, piggycorns. It’s a creature that is exactly what it sounds like: a pig with a unicorn horn. They’re small, about the size of a pug, and are also adorable. Many people love them—except for Sally. The only thing she loves is money and unicorns. Maybe money more.
Definitely money more.
The pigs understand we’re going home, and they prance out in front of me, crossing the road as they head toward the farm.
Sally calls out, “Hey, Rowe!”
I turn to see her standing on top of the hill, fists on her hips, lips twisted diabolically.
“Won’t be long until I don’t have to worry about you and those stupid piggycorns much longer anyway.”
Then she smirks and storms off, the shotgun tucked under her arm.
What is she talking about?
I’m about to call her back when the sound of screeching tires grabs me by the throat. A murder of crows lifts from an oak tree as I turn around, just in time to see a black SUV heading straight for my pigs.