“Let me try something else first,” Barclay told her.
He raised his arms like when he had faced Tadg or Soren.
Wind!
The wind came when called. It tore across the Woods, making icicles clack together and snow sweep off branches in billows of dusty white.
Ethel clapped politely. Abel yawned.
“It isn’t bad for a first try,” Viola said gently.
Barclay pouted. “I thought it looked pretty good.”
“But there’s no control. Which direction do you summon the wind from? Where do you aim it?”
Barclay hadn’t considered any of that. When he called, the wind came. In Dullshire, he hadn’t even meant to do it. It felt simple—thoughtless. Thus far, he’d never needed it to be more precise. He didn’t control the wind. The wind simplyknew.
Still, he gritted his teeth and tried again.
Wind!
And again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the wind came from a new direction to a new target. It didn’t matter how much Barclay focused. The wind went where it wanted to go. It wasn’t until a particularly strong gust swept Viola off her feet that she told him to stop.
“You can’t avoid it,” she told him. “You need to summon Root from your Mark.”
Barclay knew she was right. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Viola, Ethel, and Abel didn’t seem afraid—they were Lore Keepers; they could take care of themselves. And maybe not all Beasts were terrible, but the Lufthund wasn’t like the ticklish Stoolips. He was dangerous. Even if hehadhelped Barclay escape Soren.
Come out,Barclay told it, hoping this wasn’t a huge mistake.
The wind answered. A breeze cut across the trees, making Barclay shiver from his head to his toes. The Lufthund appeared at the edge of the grove, its black fur harsh against the white snow.
Abel hollered and stood up. “Barclay! You didn’t tell us your Beast was a Lufthund! They’re wicked powerful.”
“Andbeautiful!” Ethel called, frantically flipping through her sketchbook for a blank page. “He even looks like you, Barclay!”
Barclay didn’t answer. He was too preoccupiedwiththe Lufthund, who had crouched down and was watchingBarclay as though preparing to attack. Its tail gave a sudden, violent swish.
It leapt forward.
Barclay screamed and darted away. The sound made the Lufthund freeze, its black eyes suddenly narrowed, uncertain and wary.
“Careful,” Viola said sharply. Mitzi appeared from her Mark and stood on alert on Viola’s shoulder. “Don’t startle him. Try to feed him.”
Barclay carefully reached into his bag to grab some of the meat. His movements startled the Lufthund, who let out a low, throaty growl that made Barclay’s heart stutter to a near stop.
“I’m just getting you some food,” Barclay told it. He grabbed the elk meat and slowly unwrapped it. He held it out. “Here.”
When the Beast prowled closer, Barclay had to restrain himself from stepping back. Even if the Lufthund ate the meat, there was nothing stopping it from taking a bite of Barclay’s arm along with it.
And so, once it got close enough, Barclay tossed the meat into the snow in front of it.
“There you go,” Barclay offered, his voice hitched.
