Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“No, no, no,” soothed Prue. She reached out a hand and brushed a smudge of soot from the sparrow’s head. “He wouldn’t have wanted that. You did what was best.” She sat down on the edge of the bookcase and laid her chin in her palms. The braying whistle of a siren sounded in the distance.

The sparrow shuddered. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said quietly. “All our work, our careful diplomacy to create this fragile alliance. Dashed.” The siren, now joined by another, grew louder. Prue stood and walked toward the window, where a flashing red light was playing against the pane. Kneeling down and carefully peeling back the curtain, Prue could see, several doors down the street, a gang of jackbooted SWORD officers escorting a small flock of birds out of a building and into an armored van. “What’s going on?” said Prue.

The sparrow, not getting up, guessed at her horror. “I expect they’re rounding up the lot. All birds, South Wood folk and members of the Principality alike.” He repeated solemnly, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

More sirens sounded; more clanking paddy wagons trundled down the cobblestones of Rue Thurmond. Farther down the street, Prue watched as a small group of egrets, their bright white feathers painted crimson in the siren’s glow, were led out to a waiting truck. Before they arrived at the armored doors, however, one broke away from the group and, its long spindly legs beating the paving stones, unfurled its great wings and took to the sky. No sooner had it done so than a SWORD officer pulled a rifle from over his shoulder, took aim, and fired. Prue clapped her hand over her mouth to stop a shriek. The egret plummeted to the cobbles in a limp jumble of white feathers. A few cursory words were exchanged between the officers and the truck was off, rumbling down the street. The body of the egret lay where it fell, motionless. After a few moments, a stray SWORD officer who had emerged from one of the other buildings casually kicked the egret’s body out of the middle of the street and into the gutter.

Prue gritted her teeth and slammed her fist down on the windowsill. “Murderers!” she hissed. She looked back at the sparrow, expecting to see him moved by the sound of the gunshot, but instead saw him sitting where she had left him, his head inclined even farther into his breast.

“We have to do something!” shouted Prue, marching back over to where the sparrow sat. “This is an injustice! How can anyone stand for this?”

“Fear,” the sparrow responded quietly. “Fear rules the day. The powerful, for fear of losing that power, have become blinded. Everyone is an enemy. Someone has to bear the brunt.”

Prue groaned angrily and began pacing the room. “Well, one thing’s for sure, I’m not just going to sit here and wait till they run out of ideas and come back here to arrest us. THAT’S crazy.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he murmured.

Prue stopped her pacing. “North. Go North.” She shot a look over at the sparrow. “That’s what Owl said. Just before the police came in. He said if all else fails, I could go to North Wood and see those . . . magicians.”

“Mystics,” corrected the sparrow, looking up.

“Yeah,” said Prue, now wagging her index finger in thought. “I’d be safe there. And they might know where my brother is.”

“Maybe you’d be safe there; the North Wood folk do value their isolation.”

Prue shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, though, isn’t it?”

The sparrow had by now perked up considerably. “Maybe. Maybe. But how on earth would you get there?”

Frowning, Prue absently scratched her cheek. “That’s the thing. I have no idea.”

“You could fly,” said the sparrow.

“Yeah, that’s no problem at all,” Prue scoffed.

“I mean,” said the sparrow, standing on his claws and shaking out his wings, “you could be flown.”

“Flown?” Prue was beginning to see an answer.

“You must weigh nothing,” said the sparrow, studying her body. “To a golden eagle, anyway. If we could only get you to the Principality, there are plenty of birds who could carry you.”

Even in the darkness of this dire situation, Prue couldn’t help but be quietly thrilled at the proposition. “Okay,” she said. “That sounds pretty good. So how do I get there?”

“We’d have to sneak you to the border somehow,” said the sparrow, his energy having returned. “It’s too far to walk, and the streets are crawling with secret police—no, we’d have to find a vehicle, something we could conceal you in—it’s the only way.”

Prue snapped her fingers, interrupting the bird’s thought. “Got it,” she said.

In another part of the Wood, deep underground, another finger snap had just finished echoing off the walls of a cavernous warren. Curtis stared blankly at Alexandra. Mac cooed quietly in the cradle in the center of the room. Far off, the blare of a brass band colored this quiet, tense moment with a comical soundtrack.

Curtis swallowed deeply, loudly.

Alexandra, her arms now folded, tapped a ringed finger against a pewter bracelet clasped around her bicep. The noise made a hollow ting that reverberated through the chamber.

Ting.

“Well, I . . . ,” started Curtis.

Ting.