Foxheart by Claire Legrand

obey.
    â€œYou’ve lost, old woman!” bellowed the Wolf King, in a voice that reminded Quicksilver of metal scraping against metal. Sly Boots, hiding behind Quicksilver, clapped his hands over his ears. Throughout the square, windows glowed yellow as candles were lit. The door of the inn opened with a creak.
    â€œWhat’s all this ruckus about?” called the gruff voice of the innkeeper.
    The Wolf King flung out his arm, and two of his wolves broke away, running toward the innkeeper. As they ran, their bodies lengthened and brightened, and soon they were not flesh-and-blood wolves, but wolves of light and fire, and where their paws hit the ground, they left black, charred spots behind. They lunged at the innkeeper, latching on with theirjaws. He screamed in terror. His screams did not last long.
    The Wolf King thrust his arm toward Quicksilver. Three more wolves broke away and bounded straight toward her.
    Anastazia turned, her eyes wild. “Quicksilver, grab my hand, now .”
    Still Quicksilver hesitated. As the sleepy villagers awoke and stepped outside to investigate, the wolves attacked, their howls discordant and shrill. Fires broke out where the wolves crashed through wooden market stalls. A wolf shimmering white tackled a woman and tore at her throat. The air filled with smoke and the sound of the villagers’ screams.
    â€œQuicksilver!” Anastazia cried, her voice cracking.
    Quicksilver could stay here. She could run and hide from the Wolf King and try to help the villagers. She could help Sly Boots protect his parents; maybe she could find out what had happened to everyone at the convent.
    Or she could grab Anastazia’s hand and go with her . . . somewhere.
    What if they went to a place that was even more dangerous?
    What if they went nowhere at all?
    She grabbed Sly Boots’s hand and squeezed.
    â€œGet Fox!” she screamed, and waited until she saw Sly Bootsscoop up Fox before turning to take Anastazia’s hand.
    The snarling wolves leaped, their fiery jaws open wide and blazing.
    Quicksilver felt Anastazia pulling her close. “Don’t let go!” Anastazia cried, and then she whispered, “Good-bye, old friend,” and when Quicksilver raised her head, she saw the older Fox, glowing and magnificent, racing around them, faster and faster, spinning them up into a column of light that pulled and tugged, and made Quicksilver feel as though her limbs would snap off her body.
    â€œAnastazia!” she cried, but her voice was swallowed away, and she could only hope that Sly Boots had a good grip on Fox, and that he hadn’t let go of her hand, for she could no longer feel the squeeze of his fingers.
    All she knew was the blinding ring of light around her, and an immense pressure upon her chest, as though she were being turned inside out. From amid the wolves’ howls came the frustrated wail of a child—a boy. Was it Sly Boots? Where was he?
    â€œFox? Fox! ” Quicksilver screamed for him, her throat raw from trying to breathe in this tight, hot place. She would not lose Fox, she would not lose him—
    Then, without warning or ceremony, there was nothing but darkness, and a silence thick as an ending.

.9.
T HE M ONSTER ’ S D EN

    T he first thing Quicksilver heard was Anastazia’s voice.
    â€œDon’t open your eyes,” she instructed.
    And then, of course, all Quicksilver wanted was to open them as wide as they would go.
    A cool, rough hand pressed against her eyes. “I said don’t open them. Not yet.”
    â€œQuicksilver?” That was Sly Boots, somewhere nearby. It seemed to Quicksilver that her ears were stuffed full of something heavy and scratchy, making it difficult to pick out sounds. “Where are we? I can’t breathe!”
    â€œKeep your eyes closed, Boots!”
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Anastazia, “I won’t let him do anything too stupid.”
    â€œ Fox! Where is