SABELLA
FEbrUARY 16, 1886
I awake shivering in the milky, early morning light, with my face turned up toward the stark, bare branches of the highest treetops. Sometime after I dozed off in the night, my head must have fallen back to rest against the outer wall of the wagon. A lightning bolt of pain shoots through my neck as I straighten it under the slight weight of my antlers. Never before have I worn them fully grown for so long.
Beside me, Calder hunches over the reins, pale with exhaustion—except for his red-tipped nose.
“You snore worse than Robbie,” he reports. “Like a bear with a rattlesnake lodged in its throat.”
“That’s a fine way to say good morning.”
“You did ask me to treat you as I treat Robbie,” he says with a teasing grin—the one that makes me want to swoon and to smack him at the same time. How does he manage it?
“I suppose I did,” I reply. “Will we be stopping soon, do you think?”
“We’ll have to. The horses are dog-tired, if horses are capable of canine fatigue.”
Ahead of us, Yonaz’s wagon veers off the rutted road and onto a tree-lined lane. We follow it through several twists and turns, over a stone bridge, and then up a gently sloping, forested hill. We stop abruptly in front of a stone cottage surrounded by white birches. An unpainted barn stands behind the cottage like a plain but protective big brother.
“Who lives here?” I ask Calder as he helps me down from the seat. My legs, numb from sitting so long, buckle when my feet meet the ground. I grab his arm to steady myself. “Sorry.”
“No need to be,” he says simply. “I believe this is Hiram Maguire’s place. Yonaz has mentioned it.”
“Indeed it is,” Yonaz says as he strolls over to join us. Plaid blankets are layered over his coat, and his cheeks are chapped scarlet by the cold. “Maguire is one of our own. He grows the ears and tail of a wolf when the moon is full, but otherwise lives as an ordinary farrier. You’ll find him a generous and gracious host, Miss Sabella. His cider is fit for the gods, his mattresses are stuffed fat with feathers, and his fireplaces burn hot enough to singe a demon. We’ll rest here for a few hours and then resume our journey.”
Branna rounds the wagons with a young eagle perched on her gloved wrist. But wait. Doesn’t this girl have more freckles and slightly darker copper hair than the girl I met earlier?
“Will we be stopping here long enough for Branna to stretch her wings?” she asks, confirming my suspicion that this girl is not Branna.
“Let her fly,” Yonaz says.
Calder leans close to me and confides in a whisper. “The twins take turns shape-shifting. When one is an animal, the other is a girl. Branna must have taken the form of an eagle during the night, allowing Cleona to assume human form. Don’t feel bad if you can’t tell them apart. No one can, half the time. It drives Robbie mad.”
“Fear not, children,” Yonaz says, herding us toward the cottage with a sweep of his arm. “No enemies shall trespass here. Hiram’s guard dogs would shred them like old paper.”
Robbie scampers to meet us. Sparrow sleeps in his arms, her face pressed against his shoulder. “Passed out like a rum-drunken sailor,” he says. “Only this little sailor has a belly full of goat’s milk.”
“Thank you.” I take her and cuddle her close. The scent she exudes—sweet and pure—is most intoxicating. We have been apart for only a few hours, but I have missed the dear little thing. My stomach sinks as I note that she has grown larger in Robbie’s care. What will become of her? Might she attain the sprawling height of a giantess by springtime? Or will she have the wizened body of an old woman before her first birthday?
“Let’s get Sparrow indoors before she freezes,” Calder says, slipping one arm around Robbie and the other around me and guiding us onward. “And before I transform into a glacier myself.”
“Right,” Robbie says. He lifts one of his bird feet and shakes the snow off. “At least you have boots. My toes are frozen.”
I glance at Calder from the corner of my eye, trying to figure out if he is joking about becoming a glacier. If that is his gift, I prefer my antlers.
And he catches me looking.
“I know I’m handsome, but do try not to stare,” he teases.
“Oh, stuff it, Calder,” Robbie says. “She’s probably wondering how many times your mother dropped you to make you so ugly.”
“Ugly, am I? Have you seen that beak of yours lately?” Calder says, elbowing Robbie hard. Robbie lunges to smack Calder but misses—provoking Calder’s laughter and awakening Sparrow. In my arms, she whines and reaches chubby hands toward Robbie, ending the battle.
“There, now,” Robbie says. He kisses her fingertips. “Little Sparrow knows who’s handsomest among us.”
“Babies,” Calder says. “Always sticking up for each other.”