That’s right. We’re here on business.

  The two nodded to each other and followed under the thumping. Lore held her breath as they closed the distance between the desk of dusted collectibles and the hole they both created in the center of the room. They stood there frozen like deer caught in headlights, waiting for someone else to make the next move. The anticipation spread like bugs under her skin.

  The steps halted at the hole in the floor. Were they going to jump down here? To make matters worse, Mathilde went to stand right under the figure and peered through the cracks, her eyes widening.

  Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for a way out. But not even Mathilde could squeeze through the dingy windows. Lore swallowed hard, fear going back down her throat felt like sharp rocks scratching her esophagus. I guess we just walked head-first into the mouth of a predator.

  Her heart froze over when a sudden thud hit the ground. But no one fell through. Then, much to her surprise, a rope ladder fell down the hole.

  “Well, come on,” a voice called down casually. “Can’t bargain with ya bein’ down in a hole. Never make a deal without lookin’ someone in the eye.”

  Mathilde narrowed her gaze and walked back toward their end of the opening. She mumbled something Lore couldn’t hear, then climbed up the rope ladder with a huff.

  Lore looked over her shoulder and saw the slick, oil-painted gold eyes watching her from the shadows. She quickly bolted to the ladder. Her hands couldn’t take her up fast enough, and if she wasn’t so panicked about getting away, maybe she would have worried about slipping. She sighed a relieved breath when the thin slivers of the splintered floor poked her fingertips. She pulled herself up and sat, pulling her legs close to her body, careful to not let them dangle into the pit. The adrenaline softened like the warm, dying glow of a candle’s wick.

  “Oh, lovely. The human hasn’t been chased from the town into the Twisted Wood like Frankenstein’s monster,” the voice teased.

  Why did that sound familiar? Something from her world? Wherever that was.

  Mathilde climbed atop the cloth-covered couch to get eye level with the newcomer, who was standing in front of the window that looked out onto the fields of wheat. “How did you not fall through the flimsy floor?”

  The boarded windows concealed his face from the pallid moonbeams, but that didn’t stop his sparkling half-moon smile from being seen. “I knew that spot of the room was weak, hence the rug on it.”

  Lore could practically see the annoyance radiating from Mathilde before the mouse responded—well, exploded.

  “A rug?! You thought a piece of fabric was going to deter folks from walking on it?!” she shrieked, finally losing control after all the events surrounding Gannon’s death.

  The smiling figure flicked something into the hearth. A few sparks crackled and suddenly a blazing fire rejoiced for life inside the smog-filled brick confinement. The yellow and orange flames lit up almost every corner of the living room.

  Lore’s eyes bounced between Mathilde and the stranger. “Who are you?” she asked as she regained her feet. She didn’t want to be sitting if things went south.

  The figure stepped into the amber light, making his rusted orange fur glow against his brilliant blue, high-collared jacket. The crisp breeze that snuck between the boarded windows playfully picked up the two pointed coattails. His crescent smile cracked across his face and his white-tipped tail flicked back and forth with what Lore guessed was a twisted sort of excitement.

  “I’m Killmoore.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The fox—Killmoore—ran his tongue over his pointed, yellowing canines with a too-relaxed smile. Then he reached a hand into his jacket.

  Lore’s eyes narrowed as she saw the glint of sharpened metal. Her mind froze but her body shot up to get to Mathilde, who was still inches from the cryptic stranger. Her arms easily picked the mouse up and swung her over her shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

  The fox raised a brow as he pulled out a slip of paper. “I’m a bounty hunter.” His voice was flat as he flipped the sheet toward them. Lore stared at the image. Little splotches of ink were scattered across the page, and it looked like the picture was drawn in a rush. The illustration showed a gaudy greenish gem that Lore has seen quite a few times around Charmsend. It rested atop a familiar staff. Crinkle’s staff. At the bottom, there was a short description of the object, but she didn’t have the luxury of reading those details because a set of tiny, balled fists started pounding on her back.

  Mathilde wriggled and squirmed until Lore let her slide down to the floor. When she was standing on her own again, the mouse yanked hard on Lore’s flannel so they were eye to eye. “I don’t care if someone has a sword to my throat,” she spat and shoved a finger into Lore’s face. “Never do whatever that was again.” Her words were sharp but clear.

  Lore furrowed her eyebrows. “He has a weapon,” she muttered by way of explanation.

  Mathilde’s eyes flashed with anger. “What did I just say?!”

  Lore rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Have it your way.”

  Her friend let go and faced the bounty hunter, who was still holding the paper out to them.

  Mathilde scampered over and rubbed her chin. “What does this have to do with us?”

  The fox shoved the sheet back inside his coat pocket. “I’m glad to see you got my letter, and even more ecstatic you came to this little hideout,” he said in a honeyed voice as he walked around the couch by the hole in the floor where he picked up his ladder. He shoved it into a brown leather bag that he swung over his shoulder, then plopped down in the chair by the hearth, stretching out his limbs with a yawn. When his snout snapped shut, he propped his head on his hand and looked at Mathilde and Lore with sleepy eyes. “I’ve located the item, and I will need some local help to retrieve it.”

  Mathilde crossed her arms. “And what’s in it for us?”

  Lore nodded in agreement and carefully watched the fox. He popped a golden tael coin in between his index finger and thumb. “Because,” he mused as he flipped the coin across the tops of his half-gloved fingers, “I saw how that gator died.”

  The color from Mathilde’s face washed away, like water down a drain.

  His toothy smile twisted on his face again. “And I didn’t bring in any Grayshade when I crossed that fancy barrier the opossum is so proud of.”

  Lore stared at the fox sitting in the chair. “We help you, and you tell us everything?” she asked firmly.

  The amber flecks in the bounty hunter’s brown eyes sparkled with a mischievous playfulness. “That’s right.” His gaze darted to Mathilde, who seemed rather silent at the possibility of knowing what exactly happened to her father.

  “Mathilde?” Lore prompted.

  The mouse gave Killmoore a sideways glance. “Why would a professional bounty hunter need the assistance of two folks unskilled in that line of work?”

  The fox bellowed out a laugh and tossed the coin in the air before snatching it in his palm. “I need someone familiar with the target.”

  Matilde gulped.

  She knows who we have to steal from. If I know, she has to.

  “You give us a bit of information about how you crossed the barrier first. Then we will go with you and steal from Sir Crinkle.” The mouse’s voice was tight.

  The stagnant silence filled the air. It weighed heavily on Lore’s shoulders as she and Mathilde waited for Killmoore’s answer.

  The bounty hunter rolled his shoulders and tilted his head as he stared into the lively flames. “Call it luck. The intricate webs the Wielder wove, or just plain coincidence, but there was already a hole in the barrier.”

  Mathilde took a step back. “But how?” She wore a look of desperation as she glanced at Lore. “Who would open up the town to a Grayshade?”

  The fox shrugged and leaned forward to toss another log on the fire. “Beats me, but there were some dried herbs left at the scene. Whoever it was, they were not as clever as they think,” he scoffed and eyed the two carefully up and down. “I followed the trail, and it led me to the town square where the murder happened.”

  Mathilde nodded. “Right. Then I know who we need to see,” the mouse assured herself aloud.

  Lore’s gaze locked with Killmoore’s playful one. “Who’s your client?”

  “First rule of bounty hunting is don’t give away any client information to riffraff,” he said matter-of-factly.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “So, who are you going to see, little mouse?” he pressed.

  Mathilde’s gaze speared him with sharp, emerald eyes. “That’s confidential information. The kind that you don’t share with any outsider who unexpectedly finds themselves in.”

  He tossed his head back and laughed. “Fair.”

  With that, Mathilde spun on her heels and went to the flimsy door.

  Lore lingered on the threshold for a moment, but her friend was already out on the porch, eager to return to the village. Killmoore waved at her, then hummed as he returned his sight back to the unsteady, glowing flames. “See you here tomorrow at dusk.” The words rolled off the bounty hunter’s tongue like marbles on flat pavement. Smooth. Quick to the end, and leaving a scattered mess for Lore to walk across.

  “Human!” Mathilde’s voice was laced with annoyance. “Come on! What’s taking so long?”

  She carefully closed the moth-eaten door, afraid it would crumble to dust when the latch hitched shut.

  Mathilde’s face looked unamused while she tapped her foot quickly. It was becoming a habit.

  Lore gestured behind her. “He said to meet him back here tomorrow.”

  Mathilde didn’t respond and jumped off the porch.

  She followed behind and admired the night sky. The two moons hanging in the sky with the twinkling stars made her feel as if she were being engulfed in a warm wool blanket.

  “Something’s not right with that fox,” Mathilde spat out like the words were a sour candy.

  Lore shrugged. “And what makes you say that?”

  She was ready for some ridiculously, unreasonably paranoid conclusion, but it never came.

  “Who names their kid Killmoore?” she blurted out. “And, he took a job he can’t even do alone?”

  Lore chuckled under her breath.

  “Well, I’m glad one of us can find the humor in this, Human.” The mouse’s voice was threaded with sarcasm as she crossed her arms.

  They walked down the dark forest trail, and Lore’s eyes drifted through the trunks of trees. Despite the fog that was rolling in, she saw the lights were off in Charmsend.

  Mathilde suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened, and her ears curled upright in alarm. Her arm stretched out in front of Lore to halt her from walking as well.

  Right as Lore was going to ask ‘what’s wrong now?’ she heard a faint voice being carried with the brittle biting night air. The two followed the melodic sounds of the nocturnal siren and they found themselves at the edge of the forest line. The song could be heard a bit clearer now.

  “In the valleys of emerald, there lives a white hare,

  As swift as the swallow that flies through the air.”

  The lyrics moved in her mind like brush strokes painting an image of what this Emerald Valley once looked like, with swallows gliding on the breeze.

  Mathilde and Lore wandered to the edge of the graveyard. The iron fencing chilled Lore’s fingers as she touched it.

  “You may tramp the world over, but none will compare.

  To the pride of the valley, the bonnie white hare.”

  Mathilde climbed through the rungs while she carefully climbed over the top, too big to do the same as the mouse. Their feet were silent as they moved over the sacred earth of the eternally resting. The two crouched behind a grave marker that was a stone carved in the shape of a tree stump.

  Mathilde’s eyes widened and Lore covered her mouth as a gasp escaped.

  Through the gray fog was a recognizable white wolf. Lyudmilla was kneeling on the fresh dirt of Gannon’s grave. She continued to sing, tears flowing down her furred cheeks.

  “One clear autumn morning, as you will suppose.

  Oh, the red golden sun, o’er the wayward mountains rose.”

  Lore’s heart ached as Gannon’s friend hugged herself in the alligator’s absence. She went to take a step to approach her, but Mathilde quickly grabbed her flannel and pulled down, shaking her head.

  They both watched on as Lyudmilla continued her ballad.

  “Larken Dreadway came down to the valley, and he did declare,

  ‘This is the day I’ll put an end to that bonnie white hare.’ ”

  The wolf’s sobs became uncontrollable as she threw herself onto the ground on Gannon’s grave. “Things were simpler back then, weren’t they?” she asked. As if her friend’s spirit would answer. “Before Crinkle…” She trailed off, then continued to draw out this one-sided conversation. “When we’d chased bad guys and saved the day.” Her sobs turned to a wail-like howl. “Those days were simpler.”

  Her clawed hand clutched some of the soft earth. As she squeezed it, the dirt fell out, back onto Gannon’s grave. “He’s not even a shell of who we once knew.” A brief silence filled the graveyard while she steadied her breath. “He’s a rotted version of himself.” Then she continued to weep.

  “Come on,” Mathilde whispered, her face void of emotion. “It’s time to go.” The mouse’s voice sounded numb, shaken by the display.

  And so, they slipped away, back over the fence, and back to the stone path that would take them to the now empty streets of Charmsend.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Lore pulled the pillow over her head to muffle out the yells and demands that traveled through the yellow, mayoral manor. The walls are so damn thin.

  Thoughts of Lyudmilla crying by Gannon’s grave swirled around her head. She tossed and turned in the bed, desperate to get comfortable and drift off to a semi-restful sleep. But the call of a rooster’s morning yodel made it impossible and left her grumbling with frustration. She slid out of the bed and made her way for the door. Then she heard a yelp and an alarming crash. She rolled her eyes and tried to brush her flyaway hair into some sort of place as she scrambled down the stairs.

  As soon as her feet hit the landing, she saw one of the twins comforting a sobbing Mildred. She walked over to the mice as she heard Minifred’s voice thundering throughout the mayoral mansion.

  “Mathilde! I don’t care how late you are out playing detective, but that doesn’t give you the right to trash Dad’s room!” A burning, righteous anger clung to her words like a sticky film.

  Lore leaned over Mayberry and Mildred in the doorway and scanned the room. Pictures were ripped from the walls, the frames busted and sparkling broken glass littered the parts of the floor that were still visible underneath a huge mess. Drawers from the dresser lay strewn throughout the room, all mostly empty, the contents blanketing the ground.

  Mathilde’s tail flicked rapidly back and forth as her front half was busy under the bed. Lore carefully walked over to the bedside.

  Minifred put her hands on her hips. Behind the angry mouse, Lore saw a few holes punched out in the plaster.

  “I didn’t do this.” Even though her voice was muffled from under the dead alligator’s bed, Mathilde sounded strained. “But it’s obvious whoever did it was looking for something.”

  The oldest sister rolled her eyes. “I get it!” she spat. “This is your way of grieving. That’s fine. But stop dragging the rest of us down this road with you!” Her silver eyes were shooting more than bolts of lightning. Lore wouldn’t have been surprised if they produced actual electricity.

  Then a rapid knocking at the front door made the tension in the house stiffen even more.

  “If you want, I can—” Lore began.

  But Minifred motioned for her to save whatever spiel she had as she marched to answer it herself.

  Lore locked eyes with Mayberry, who still lingered in the doorway to the room. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

  The gray mouse only shook her head with disappointment.

  Lore crouched down and peeked under the bed. Mathilde was there, but the brim of Gannon’s top hat hid her face.

  “Are we alone?” she whispered from the corner of her mouth.

  Lore looked to the other sisters huddling in the doorway.

  Mathilde nodded and pushed a green book over the Lore. No title was on the cover. The only symbol was the same four silver circles overlapping each other, like the charm on Petra’s necklace.

  Oh. Petra. The library. Lore’s stomach sank further, and she felt like hiding under the bed with Mathilde.

  “It was under the floorboard but it was inside a fancy box that was locked up good,” the mouse explained. A sly smile spread on her face. “But luckily I mastered lock-picking back when I was seven.”

  Lore’s sight stayed on the book as Minifred’s words to Mathilde echoed in her head. This is your way of grieving. She glanced back up at her constant companion in Thimbleton, who returned to fidgeting with the peculiar box. It resembled a three-dimensional diamond and had odd carvings embedded in the glossy metal.

  “This is a perfect replica of what Petra had at the library,” Mathilde muttered. “He wrote it in for hours and hours.”

  Lore shrugged. “So, this is the original?” It had to be, right?

  Before Mathilde could say anything, the floorboards pulsated. They locked eyes.

  “Minifred,” the mouse mouthed. Pushing the book towards Lore.

  Lore quickly concealed Gannon’s little green book inside her flannel. Mathilde shot out from under the bed and Lore followed suit. The only difference was she wasn’t nose to nose with a fuming Minifred, who had returned from the front door.

  “Someone would like to speak with you.”

  Mathilde shrugged. “Okay.” She went to shove past her oldest sister, but Minifred’s hand shot out, stopping her.

  And then the silver-eyed mouse pointed her sharp expression towards Lore. “Both of you.”

 

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