Black Moon Draw(10)

“This isn’t real,” I tell myself once more. “Some horrible, realistic . . .”

One of the Black Moon Draw men with an elephant head whips around to face my direction, his massive ears flaring out like mini-radars on either side of his head. I duck behind the tree and yank the teenager with me.

“Dream. It’s a dream,” I whisper to myself, starting to panic once more.

The bird cheeps at me. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing or arguing. He’s bouncing around in my pocket, as if trying to escape. Even a bird knows it’s better to get lost in the forest than face Black Moon Draw barbarians.

“We need to separate,” the teen says. “I fear being caught with the witch of another kingdom. The penalty is death.”

“Seriously?”

He nods.

“I wish you luck then.”

“Do you not wish to ask a favor of me?” he asks. “My father is very powerful. He will grant you anything for helping me.”

“Not really. I mean, I’m going home soon, so I won’t be around to collect,” I reply.

He gives me an odd look. “Very well. But if you should need his help or mine, simply tell him Westley sent you.”

“Westley?” I start to smile. It’s the name of the Hero in The Princess Bride. I’m guessing LF is a fan of the movie. It’s one of my top three for sure.

“Fare thee well, witch.”

“You, too.”

Sturdier on his feet, he nonetheless trips over his feet when he starts away. Standing, he waves and hurries into the brush. I’m praying I never need to track him down to ask for a favor because I’ll be home soon.

The bird is throwing a hissy fit in my pocket.

“Hush, bird.” I peek around the tree once more.

Elephant-ears is gone. Not about to wait for danger to come to me, I lift the cloak to step over a bush then hit the trail at a run and dart deeper into the forest of a world I don’t know anything about.

This isn’t real. It can’t be, because it’s impossible.

I chant the words as I run, focusing on my breathing and not tripping over my feet as I race into the forest. I’ve never been much for running – I’m a self-proclaimed geek who reads for a living – and sooner than I like, I slow down. The sounds of the battle are gone and I can’t see anything between the trunks of trees.

Somewhat assured I escaped, I pause to catch my breath. The forest has gotten even darker and seems to be coming to life. Owls hoot and night animals crunch through branches and brush.

The bird is quiet. I pull him out of my pocket to make sure he survived my clumsy run. The fat little thing is fine.

“You’re free, bird,” I proclaim and bend to place it on a tree stump on the side of the trail. “Fly away. Or waddle. Whatever.”

It hunches down on the stump, quiet, and watches me intently.

“What, bird?” I ask, uncertain if I should leave it or not. It doesn’t seem like it can flee any nocturnal predators. “You got something to say?”

The bird chirps happily.

Attack at shadow moon.

The words come from nowhere, like a whisper from behind me. I whip around and see no one.

The bird’s tune changes.

Capture the Heart.

I whirl once more. The bird goes quiet and is watching me. I stare at it.

“Did you . . . No. That’s ridiculous.” I start to wonder if LF made the animals of this world magical. Even if she did, I’m not about to ask a bird if it talked to me. I’m allowed to talk to animals because it makes sense when I do it. But them talking back? “Good luck, bird. If you can talk, don’t tell anyone which way I went.”

I mean it as a joke, but the idea that this world – down to the birds – is nothing like mine makes me more anxious to be home. I don’t like surprises, especially not in the form of half-men, half-beast creatures chasing me through a forest at night.

Starting away, I glance up at the sky, visible through the canopy of trees. It’s almost sunset, while the shadows of the forest are already long and growing thicker.

Shivering at the chill of the forest, I pull up the hood to keep the evening breeze off my neck.

I’m a good ten yards from the bird when I hear it start chirping again. I glance back to make sure no owl has it cornered. There’s nothing around it, no reason for it to start to talk again, and I return my focus to the trail.

“Get me out of here before it’s dark, LF,” I order quietly. “I’m not a Girl Scout. I never learned to start a fire, and I definitely don’t know how to hunt or eat bears or whatever it is you put in this godawful forest.”

A branch snaps behind me and I turn.

Again, the area behind me is empty, except this time, I can almost sense something at my back, like when a saleslady follows a little too closely when I’m at Macy’s. I hate the feeling of being watched or worse – of being judged for making a beeline to the clearance racks because I don’t make enough for full-priced clothes. It’s why I shop first thing in the morning – so no one sees me.

But this . . . this is paranoia. There’s no one there, unless they’re invisible. I’m not about to put that thought out to the creator of this universe, in case LF decides it’s a good idea.

Shaking off the weird instinct, I continue on the path. I’m trying not to think about what happens when dark falls or where I go in the morning, if I don’t wake up in my own bed.