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“Crap!” I tripped over a root, I tried to back away so fast. Primal and feral, the Wilding ones were always dangerous, always unpredictable.
But she didn’t attack, although she looked prepared to. She eyed the three of us, one of her withered hands scratching her chin. Her limbs were long and bone-thin, and she was gaunt, with one tooth showing that curled out of her mouth and over her bottom lip. Her hair was straggled white and looked like cotton batting, and she was dressed in gray rags, with her equally thin legs bowed out, bending at the knees on large pointed feet.
“What have we here?” Her voice whistled like dry husks. “I smell Cambyra Fae on the both of you.” She pointed to Chatter and me. I glanced curiously at Chatter—I knew he was Fae but hadn’t realized he was also Cambyra, and now I wondered what he shifted into.
“But you, pretty girl . . . what are you? I smell . . .” The snow hag lifted her nose and sniffed at Peyton, a loud and snuffly sound. “Big cat. Shifter, but a Were. Am I right?” Her keen gaze cut through the snow, piercing.
Peyton glanced at me, looking for a clue. I wasn’t sure, so I held my place and watched Chatter, who moved to block the way between her and us.
“Snow hag, what are you doing here?” He stood taller and seemed more commanding than I’d ever seen him.
“You would love to know. But surely you must guess who summoned me. I am in the same clutches you are. But she feeds me meat for my services, at least. Bound I am, unless another frees me, a welcome thought.” Her eyes were glinting and I didn’t trust her, but Chatter nodded.
He turned to me and whispered on the slipstream. She’s giving us a hint. She wants out from under Myst’s control.
What can we offer her? How do you deal with snow hags? I’ve heard of them but never had any associations with them, obviously, since I lived in big cities most of my life.
When I’d lived in L.A. and San Francisco, the Fae were common but they were hot-weather Fae who had been urbanized by encroaching society. Vamps also preferred the bigger cities, while the magic-born tended to prefer smaller towns where there was more access to the wilds. But the Wilding Fae—they weren’t suited to life among others.
He nodded. Then let me take the reins, Miss Cicely.
Be my guest.
The snow hag must have known we were talking about her, but she waited patiently, not moving to attack, simply staring at us with expectant, bulbous eyes.
Chatter cleared his throat. “Someone binds you. Someone else would bind you stronger if you have the will.”
“I might, I might at that.” She snickered and I wanted to back away from that curiously large head, but I forced myself to stay put.
“Riddle me this . . . what binds a snow hag, but can be broken? Not a solemn oath. Not a blood promise.”
“No, no . . . agreed. They are too strong to be broken.” Her eyes lit up and she glanced at me.
I looked at Chatter and again sent a message along the slipstream. What are you doing?
Remember your history? Oh, that’s right—you did not learn while in the city. She cannot tell us outright. She is one of the Wilding Fae. We must guess until we find what holds her, and then figure out how to break it.
Ah, now I understood. If we wanted her help, we had to break the chains Myst had bound around her without any direct instruction from her. I nodded at him and he turned back to the creature.
“What bonds are soft enough to be broken? My guess would be a bond unwillingly placed?” He cocked his head.
“You might guess correctly on that one.”
“Then a spell, perhaps . . .” He paused and—at the wary look in her eye—added, “or perhaps . . . not a spell outright but a trick. Let me think . . . Myst is a huntress. Hunters use snares. A magical snare!”
The snow hag cackled. “You might guess correctly again!”
Chatter turned to Peyton and me. “Myst used a magical snare to gain control of the snow hag. Magical snares can be disarmed if we figure out their trigger. They’re very much like a regular snare, but if you trip the trigger, you become magically bound rather than physically.”
I screwed up my courage and decided to give Chatter’s guessing game a chance. I turned to the snow hag. “I’m guessing someone near might be newly trapped. That it hasn’t been long since they were ensnared.”
She laughed, then. “You would guess correctly, my pretty.”
“My guess it wasn’t far from here.”
“Again, a good and reasonable guess.”
“How did you know that?” Chatter asked.
