Montague grumbled as she took point once more. “All these mages and mystics and witches and such,” she complained, “Nobody would can handle a weapon. This is why I travel with a crew!”

  Ian hesitated. “I shouldn’t trust you with treasure, should I?”

  “No,” she agreed without a beat, “you should not.”

  Sighing, Ian drew the Sapphire Stone from his pocket. “I will anyway,” he said, “and frankly I don’t care if you do keep it—”

  “Wise.”

  “—as long as I get it back long enough to unseal the locked door at Blackwing Manor.”

  Montague took the stone and looked at it shrewdly. “But why do I want it?” she asked as Esme watched her greedily, “We’ve established that it’s colored glass of little value.”

  Esme lost interest immediately.

  “It’s not a very potent magic item,” Ian told her, “but I did give each of these just a bit of enchantment. As an incentive for the Hero’s quest, so he’d feel like they have value and he was accomplishing something.”

  Montague held the stone up to the light as though she could see the magic within using her eye. Esme snickered, but Ian made no sound, which was very kind in his opinion.

  “Not too much,” he warned, “don’t rely on it.”

  “Yes, yes, I get it. What does this one do not much of?”

  “Makes the holder more durable.”

  “Oh!” said Montague, smiling broadly as she pocketed the stone,” Now that is something.” She raised her cutlass again to cut through the underbrush, then hesitated as her eyes fell on Jamie. Slowly, she lowered the weapon. The Captain stared at the Boy for a moment, long enough that he looked away uneasily. Her shoulders slumped and she deflated a little, before taking the stone back out of her pocket and tossing it at him.

  Jamie fumbled it, then chased after it as it rolled away. “Be careful with that!” Ian chastised.

  “You take it,” said Montague, “It’s important you keep on your feet so you can keep me on mine.”

  “Th-thank you!” said Jamie, his eyes wide, reflecting the blue of the stone, “That’s so kind of you.”

  “No!” said Montague, attacking the flora once more, “It’s practical. Don’t die, and don’t let me die.”

  “Y-yes ma’am.”

  The Captain tipped her hat to Jamie, then pressed on, slicing her way through the underbrush with gusto. Ian had to redirect her onto the correct path, and then they were on their way again. They did need to make frequent stops to compensate for Esme’s as she put it, being “ill equipped” for their present environment.

  “Couldn’t y’lose the hat for a big?” Montague asked after the third time they stopped to retrieve it.

  “You’re wearing your hat!” the witch snapped back.

  “Her hat isn’t three feet tall,” Ian said wearily.

  “And even if it were, I’m not the one who keeps getting it snagged on every little thing we pass!”

  The three of them started bickering again and again, while Jamie played peacemaker. “Let’s stay focused,” he would say, “we’re still making good progress.”

  To Ian, though, he admitted feeling uneasy. “I don’t know why we’re traveling with her at all.”

  “We’re going through the same woods in the same direction, Jamie.” Ian’s patience was wearing thin. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault, but Ian didn’t care that much. “We walk together, or we walk beside her and don’t talk to each other.”

  “If we weren’t helping her, she’d fall behind,” Jamie argued.

  Ian scoffed. “And leave her behind while we’re looking for her house? She’d think we were trying to steal from her. She’d want to stop us. Do you want to fight her? To kill her?”

  “I would prefer,” said Jamie firmly, “if we don’t kill anyone at all.”

  Then maybe he’d pushed himself into the wrong group, too, Ian thought, but what he said was, “Then I guess we continue to travel peacefully.”

  They encountered dangerous fauna a few more times as they traveled. Jamie argued that they didn’t know for sure if it was fairies setting the creatures on them, but Ian had otherwise never heard of such aggressively violent squirrels.

  Between himself, Montague, and Esme, the squirrels were easily dispatched, but the quick little beasts still got in enough scratches and bites to keep Jamie busy.

  Their most dangerous encounter was with a horrible plant which Esme identified as a magnolia. She claimed that this was also attacking them under the influence of the fey, but Ian questioned that. Something with all those teeth that disguised itself as an ordinary flower was surely an ambush predator by its nature.

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  The magnolia lay in wait until Montague passed quite close. It was indistinguishable (or, at least, the Captain failed to distinguish it) from a patch of ordinary flowers, but she toppled as she found that vines had wound around her ankles. The monster rose up, then, unfolding itself from its place hiding in plain sight. Not many smaller flowers at all, but a single massive one with a horrifying thorny maw at the center.

  “That’s no natural beast!” snarled the Captain, slashing at the vines as they dragged her closer.

  “Fairy influence, I tell you!” said Esme, working a wilting curse while Jamie whimpered and fled behind them.

  Magical influence, surely, but necessarily fairy? Ian had his doubts. And even if it was, that didn’t mean it had been set against them intentionally.

  Now that was a creature that would likely by highly susceptible to Ian’s life drain, but he was eager to take the opportunity to test his growing proficiency with elemental magic, and to push that skill farther. He had long been familiar with the principles, but rarely used that kind of spell in a combat situation before this trek. Recent experiences with undead and demons had taught him that versatility was a strength.

  What Esme had told him about green plants was true enough, but this creature didn’t have tough wooden bark, and so many parts of it were thin. Plants being full of water may make them difficult to burn, but the fires can still dry them out. He didn’t need to burn it to kill it.

  Ian held out a hand, flames licking at his fingertips, when he reconsidered. If his control over fire was improving, why not water. He tried that instead, pulling at the water within the monster.

  “Are you all even doing anything?” shouted Montague. She wasn’t having any luck hacking at the vines. Being dragged along the forest floor was probably not conducive to the way she needed to move to swing her sword. Ian saw that she’d lost her hat, which he knew to be very upsetting for most pirates.

  He ignored her for the moment. “You know, Jamie, if you can do life magic you might be able to do death magic.”

  The acolyte paled. “I-I don’t know how to do that, even if I could.”

  “Hm. Well, we should work on some kind of offense for you, anyway,” said Ian, “if you’re going to continue this adventuring business.”

  Trails of water flowed away from the magnolia. As Esme’s magic worked and the creature’s strength waned, those trails grew stronger and fuller. “Haha, yes! That’s working.” Ian focused on the water he’d already drawn to his hand, concentrating on the feel of it. The magical essence of water. He wasn’t unfamiliar with it, of course, he’d learned basic elemental magics as a child, but he let himself really feel it now, attuning to it. And then he pulled harder on that essence.

  Trails of water flowed from all the vegetation around them, from the ground, from the air. Oh, if fairies were mad at them, that was going to make it worse. Some of the smallest plants covering the ground began to dry up. Ian glared at the monster, focusing his power there.

  Montague’s boot was kicking out, trying to stamp flat some of the thorny teeth when the water flowing out from the magnolia began to tear holes in it. “Just one moment there, Captain,” he said with calm that he knew would irritate her to no end, “I think I’ve about got it.” The flower writhed and screeched as it was magically withered and tried, its flesh (if that was the right word for a plant?) torn apart as the water flowed out of it.

  Its grasp on Montague’s boot weakened, and she sat up enough to bring her cutlass down decisively, finally cutting herself free as she chopped through the vines. “This’d work better with an ax,” she huffed.

  “Nobody told you to use a sword, dear Captain,” said Esme.

  Montague scrambled back away from the creature.

  “And here I thought your role was to stand between us and the monsters,” the witch chided.

  “Looks like you’ve all got it.”

  “Here, Captain.” Ian had drawn out most of the water that he thought he was going to get. It swirled in the air around his hand, captured but directionless. He directed it towards Montague, and it wreathed her weapon. The water, held aloft by his spell, was effectively weightless as far as she was concerned (Ian hoped he was doing that correctly, but it didn’t look like she was having any trouble holding it, so probably), allowing it to increase her reach with no drawback. “And since you requested it…” the water surrounding and extending her blade formed into the shape of an ax.

  “Huh. That’ll do, I suppose,” she said, “though I can’t say I really know how to wield an ax in a fight.”

  “You bring it down!” called Jamie, from his position of cover behind a tree.

  Montague snorted and rolled her eyes. Esme actually lost focus on her spell, an incredulous look at the Boy breaking her concentration.

  “Yes, thank you dear,” said the Captain. She stepped forward, jumped a little to give her swing extra weight, and brought the watery ax down on—and through—the monster. For a few seconds the two halves continued to gnash and writhe, but their movements slowed and stopped. Now that there were raw, rough edges, Ian had an easier time drawing the remaining water out.

  “And before the beast could get to the nearby village and eat all the children,” said Esme, “we’re regular heroes, you know.”

  “...is there a nearby village?” asked Jamie.

  There was not.

  “Did you even do anything?” asked Montague.

  Esme’s mouth fell open and her eyes grew angry. She made an offended little grunt as her hand touched her chest.

  “She did help,” said Ian quickly, “her spells are just on the subtle side. She weakened it. My spell wouldn’t have been so effective, or at least not so quick, without her.”

  “I’m a very important member of the team,” said Esme through gritted teeth, her fingers twitching dangerously.

  “Of course you are,” said Ian. His eyes flicked to Jamie. This was really more an acolyte’s job, wasn’t it?

  “Hmph!” Esme stomped off. At least she was going in the right direction this time.

  “She’s got a short fuse,” Jamie said quietly.

  “Who doesn’t?” said Ian loftily, “It’s important to defend your honor and recognize your own power. There’s no shame in that.”

  But he knew the answer. Jamie. Jamie didn’t. He could quietly endure anything, yet he kept trying to drive a wedge between Ian and Esme. The Boy was insightful. Maybe there was something to his clear unease as he watched the Wicked witch move away.

  “S’pose we should keep up with her,” said the Captain, finding her pistol on the ground. Ian hadn’t noticed she’d dropped it. Maybe he did need to be more observant. “She’ll draw everything dangerous in the wood to us, all the noise she’s making. Although maybe it’d be better to let her draw them out and then come up behind.”

  Jamie looked horrified at the thought. “If she’s our ally, we have to protect her.”

  “Didn’t really think you wanted her to be,” said Ian.

  “No, but if she is. I said ‘if’!”