Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

He shifted uncomfortably in his boots. The stiffness of the uniform suddenly became hyperapparent, the rough wool fabric chafing against his shoulders. His right toe dug a little too closely into the leather of his boot. The heat in the room swelled, and little beads of perspiration broke out at his hairline. “I think that . . . ,” he began.

Ting.

“Are you with me, Curtis?” asked Alexandra, finally. “Or are you against me? It’s one or the other.”

Curtis tittered uncomfortably. “I realize that, Alexandra, I just—”

He was interrupted: “Easy decision, Curtis.”

Curtis silently waited for another ting to unsettle the quiet of the room, but when it did not come (Alexandra’s finger remained poised in the air above the bracelet) he gave his reply.

“No.”

“What was that?”

Curtis straightened his spine and looked directly into Alexandra’s eyes. “I said no.”

“No, what?” asked the Governess, her eyebrows carving a sinister angle on her brow. “You won’t return home? You will join me?”

“No, I won’t join you. I will not.” The saliva that had been robbed from his mouth in his initial terror was now beginning to return, and speaking was growing easier and easier. “No way.” He gestured to the baby in the cradle behind him. “This is wrong, Alexandra. I don’t care who did what to you, but I can’t just sit here and let you take this baby and, well, sacrifice him just so you can get your measly revenge. No, no, no. Maybe you can use something else; a squirrel or a pig or something—maybe that ivy won’t really know the difference—whatever. All I know is that I’m done here, thanks very much, so I’ll just get my things and leave, if you don’t mind.”

The Governess remained strangely silent during this speech, and Curtis attempted to fill the awkward stillness with more talk. “You can have the uniform back, the saber too. I’m sure there’s another coyote or someone who it will fit, and I know you’re in need of equipment, so don’t even think about it—this will definitely stay with you. Though I don’t know where my clothes are that I wore in here; maybe someone could find them for me?”

The Governess remained silent, studying Curtis

as he fidgeted with his uniform.

“Or whatever. I don’t need need my other clothes. One thing, though,” Curtis said, “is that I’m going to take the baby. I’m going to have to take Mac with me. I owe this to Prue.”

This was where Alexandra broke her silence. “I can’t let you do that, Curtis.”

Curtis sighed. “Please?”

“Guards!” shouted Alexandra, turning slightly to call down the corridor behind her. Within moments, the sound of shuffling feet announced the arrival of a group of uniformed coyote grunts. Appearing at the opening to the chamber, they were initially surprised to see Curtis. “Madam?” asked one, confused.

“Seize him,” was Alexandra’s command. “He’s a turncoat.”

Immediately Curtis was beset by coyotes, his arms pinned behind him, manacles snapped in place around his wrists. He gave no resistance. One of the coyotes yanked the sword from Curtis’s scabbard, raising the blade to his face with a menacing sneer. Alexandra watched the proceedings calmly, her eyes never wavering from her captive’s.

“Don’t do this, Curtis,” said Alexandra, her face now belying a sadness beneath her stony countenance. “I’m offering you a new life, a new direction. A world of riches awaits you, and you would throw it away to save this thing? This babbling thing? You’d have a seat at the table, Curtis. You’d be second in command. And, perhaps one day, an heir to the throne.” She paused before saying, “A son to me.”

The coyotes at Curtis’s side smelled of matted fur and stale wine. They huffed threateningly in his ear, their muzzles snapping. The manacles bit into the flesh of his wrists.

Curtis stiffened his resolve. “Alexandra, I’m asking you to stop this; let me and the baby go. I . . . uh . . . command you.”

Alexandra stifled a laugh. “Command?” she said icily. “You command me? Oh, Curtis, don’t get ahead of yourself. Has the blackberry wine given you delusions of grandeur? You’re not quite in a position to be commanding anyone, I’m afraid.” The half smile disappeared from her face and she moved closer, her cheek rubbing Curtis’s cheek, her lips at his ear. Her breath smelled unworldly, like a sweet poison, rare and deadly. “Last chance,” was all she whispered.

“No,” repeated Curtis in a firm voice.

Scarcely had the response left his lips when Alexandra snapped back and clapped her hands. “Take him away,” she shouted, now breaking eye contact with Curtis. “To the cages!” Her finger traced the brocade of his uniform collar to rest on the medal, the bramble and trillium, at his chest; with a flick of her wrist, she tore the badge from the cloth and threw it to the ground.

“Aye, madam!” barked the coyotes, and Curtis was roughly dragged from the room. He was afforded a quick backward glance: the tall, thin silhouette of the Governess, backlit by the torches of the room, darkened the entry to the room, a witness to his rough removal. The ghostly light behind her flickered from the flapping of a host of crows’ wings, and she solemnly began to turn back to the room, to the baby in the cradle—and Curtis’s jailers took a dogleg corridor and the haunting scene was gone.

He struggled to keep up with the coyotes’ pace. The corridor they followed snaked through the earth, wandering in every direction to accommodate the occasional gnarled tree root and boulder. The air grew cooler and denser as they moved farther from the central compound of the warren, and the tunnel slowly began sloping downward.

“Listen to me,” Curtis said after a moment. “You don’t have to follow her. Do you know what she’s doing? She’s kidnapped a baby—a baby boy—and she’s going to kill him. An innocent baby! Does that seem right to you?”

No response.