Page 88 of Sharpen Your Claws

The hands pinned her to the ground, rougher now, real. They had weight to them, the skin no longer transparent as the trees groaned and two yellow lights appeared. Those lights became brighter, bigger, then they sat upon a head three times too big for such a skeletal body. The hag had a crooked hawkish nose, her lips dark green and full of pustules. Her eyes bulged, yellow as a cat’s and teeth were pointed and red. Arms flailed from her side and her back, stretching into eternal shadows.

“Fire!” Evera’s voice echoed. If she had more to say, the hag’s laughter covered it. She sounded like one who hadn’t known water, only thirst. When she moved, the trees creaked. A clawed hand reached for Charmaine’s throat.

She couldn’t use the dagger, not with the hag on the verge of snapping her wrist. All she had was fire, though here, surrounded by perfect kindling, she may send more than the hag up in smoke. But the hag was close, now standing over her with a wicked leer. Her teeth gnashed, sounding like the crunching of bones.

“Fuck.” She released the dagger and sought the strings.

She practiced the night before they left, incapable of doing more than letting the fire dance along her fingertips. Fire had once been a part of her, the way she survived and thrived in a world built to consume her. But since the war, fire only brought nightmares and panic. She couldn’t light a candle or a match without having the urge to vomit.

Over the hag’s laughter and gnawing teeth, Evera’s voice broke through, “Charmaine!”

Fire came to life in her palms. The hag shrieked. The flames licked her fingers, burning flesh. In the darkness, the fire blossomed. She commanded it further and further, up the trees that burst into searing red. Arms flailed, crashing through branches toward her. She summoned the flames to her palms, hissing from the heat. She had forgotten what it felt like, how to protect herself from it. Her fingers would be burned, but so would the hag.

A fireball hit the hag’s chest, sending her back. She staggered into the darkness, crying out. The fire spread, hissing and crackling.

“Evera!” she called. She had the dagger clutched in her bleeding hand.

Crashing sounds nearby sent Charmaine running. Her flames followed, growing higher and higher. Their light brought Evera into focus. She battled against three hands, swiping at her. Five hands laid broken around her, having been torn apart.

“Finally here to join the battle?” the fae laughed. “I knew calling for you would work. You’re a softie.”

“I thought you were hurt,” she growled and lunged at the hands with her blade. The hag retreated into the shadows once more.

“I know. That was the point.”

“It’s manipulative.”

“A fae being manipulative?” Evera hopped from one foot to the other, feigning excitement. “Who would have expected such a thing?!”

The hag came out from the trees, already healed. Ten hands shoved the girls forward. They hit the trees, and the hag didn’t relent. Another shove, another yank, each one desperate. Then Evera leapt onto a hand, using her body to trap it against the forest floor. The hag moved in, fangs bared. Charmaine scrambled forward, hoping to get there before the hag did. Her blade pierced the hag’s palm just as her teeth ran across Evera’s back.

It happened in a blink. They were in that darkened forest, then they weren’t. Nicholas, William, Henry, and Arden stood near the circle. The ring of mushrooms curled and burned. The hag became small, half her size, frail and screaming. She held her injured hand that burned from the blade, still impaled through the skin. Her angered eyes fell on Charmaine, but she reached for Evera, still on the ground. Charmaine summoned her fire, roaring in her fingers. She cast them out, setting the hag ablaze. Evera scrambled out of the way as the hag hit the soil. She ripped the blade from the hag’s palm, then plunged it into her temple. The hag dropped dead.

Arden whistled. “Impressive!”

William hurried to her side, where he held her arm. “Are you alright?” he gave Evera a brief glance too.

“Yes, yes, we’re fine,” Charmaine replied.

“More than fine,” said Arden with a swift kick to the burning hag. “I am regretting not joining you. Seems like the two of you had some fun.”

“It wasn’t the best fight I ever had.” Evera stood and stretched, nonchalant, like they hadn’t been knocking on death’s door.

William rolled his eyes. “What kind of fairy ring was that? The ones I’ve seen led to death, but that took you somewhere.”

“Fairy rings grow stronger the longer they stand and the more they are fed,” Nicholas explained. “None of the ones you witnessed were older than a night, so they did what little they could.”

“Little,” she mocked. Those rings tore beasts asunder.

“This one here,” Nicholas kicked the dead mushrooms, their stalks withered and their master crisp at the center. “Has been up for a century, at least, and has led plenty of fae to their demise. How unfortunate for its master that mortals, with their nasty iron, came by today. Now come along, we’ve wasted enough time here.”

Nicholas wandered off. Arden followed by singing one of his folk songs. She hated admitting how nice his voice was. Henry took to the mushrooms, where he picked a few to put in a glass jar. Tightening the lid, he put the jar in his pack that had grown twice as heavy since their arrival and followed the fae.

“Are you really alright?” asked William.

“Yes. I’m not hurt,” she said.

After a brief inspection, deeming her well, William took after the others, leaving her and Evera alone. The woman gave a half smile, intending to follow the others, when Charmaine stepped forward.

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