Only a human

Only a human would walk into the netherwoods alone.

Clodaugh gaped as the graceful woman in vibrant robes disappeared into the darkened forest. Atticus Wakefield leaned against The Drake’s foreleg, fidgeting with a spyglass.

The pixie launched off the clockwork dragon’s neck and landed on the explorer’s shoulder. “Who is that woman?”

“Beatrice,” Atticus said. “She’s looking for someone.”

Clodaugh twitched her wings. “Looking for someone?”

Ridiculous humans. So prone to losing things, they could even lose themselves.

“Why are you helping her?”

Atticus was just as human as the rest. Careless. Thoughtless. Reckless. At least he did the fae a service by cleaning up the forsaken doodads other humans lost between the cracks in the worlds.

Atticus flashed a smile. “I like being a hero, Clodaugh.”

Clodaugh punched the tip of his nose. “You’re not a hero.”

He chuckled. “You should talk to her. You might like her.” He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a shiny round candy.

Clodaugh snatched it from his fingers and tucked it under her arm as she hovered in front of his face. “I don’t like humans.”

Atticus started to respond, but the woman cried out.

“Mr. Wakefield!”

Atticus startled and leaned forward. “Miss Beatrice?”

“I need your help, please.” The woman’s voice resonated in the forest like a song.

Atticus set the spyglass on the dragon’s talons and jogged into the foggy depths of the forest.

With a groan, Clodaugh fluttered after him, the light from her wings casting bright green light onto the ragged tree trunks.

Ahead, Beatrice struggled to carry a limp figure nearly the same size as she was. Another human. A man in torn clothing, dark hair that hung to his shoulders.

Are the netherwoods overrun with humans now?

“Is this the child you were seeking?” Atticus took the man from Beatrice and shouldered his arm.

Beatrice raised a sculpted eyebrow at him. “Does this look like a child to you?” She brushed her robes off. “He carried this too.” She held out a sword encased in a lacquered sheath.

“Traveling the netherwoods unarmed is a fool’s errand.” Atticus took the sword from her.

“Then it would seem he is not a fool.” Beatrice smiled quietly and started toward The Drake. “Come. He is wounded.”

Atticus dragged the limp figure of the man after her.

Clodaugh wrapped her arms around her candy.

She eyed the dark violet stains upon the man’s clothing. That was the blood of a voidbeast. Had the human killed one? With nothing but a sword?

What sort of human could kill a voidbeast?

Beatrice glided across the moist loam, her sandaled feet barely making a sound against the twigs and damp leaves and pine needles. Closer now, Clodaugh could see the definition in the woman’s hair—dark, waist length, and kept in close, tight braids.

Wakefield said she seeks a child. Clodaugh glanced into the shadows. Fool’s errand indeed.

Beatrice and Atticus worked together to get the limp man onto The Drake’s platform. Of course, if they had asked for her help, she could have used her magic to levitate the man.

But she didn’t offer, and Atticus knew better.

If you’re good at something, never do it for free. That was her motto. Atticus had asked her for help before, but he had to have her favorite sweets close at hand.

Clodaugh stowed her candy in the compartment under The Drake’s left ear and floated down to the deck as Beatrice knelt beside the man.

“Strange,” Beatrice muttered, “this blood is not his.”

Clodaugh scoffed. “It’s voidbeast.”

Only a human would think voidbeast blood and human blood looked alike.

Beatrice glanced at her, brown eyes warm. Clodaugh stiffened under the woman’s scrutiny.

“He must be a warrior.” Beatrice eyed the sword on the deck beside him.

Clodaugh inched closer. “Wakefield says you seek a child?”

Beatrice nodded as she patted a wet cloth along a vicious gash in the man’s arm. “I run an orphanage—St. Lucy’s—in the Sixth World. The crimson plague devastated us, but two of the children came here to find a cure.”

“Here?”

“The Emberstone.” Beatrice nodded to the sky. “One came back. The other did not.”

Clodaugh flew in front of Beatrice’s face. “Why waste time with this man then?”

Beatrice pinned her with a stern expression on her face. “Time spent saving life is never wasted.”

“Your child is dead.” Clodaugh returned her gaze.

Beatrice gave a tight smile. “I will know soon enough.” She lifted the man’s arm. “Alive or dead, I will find her.”

Clodaugh snarled. “What’s lost in the netherwoods is lost forever.”

“That is why I have asked Wakefield for his help.” Beatrice bandaged the man’s arm. “He can find anything.”

“He only finds treasure because I lead him to it.” Clodaugh huffed.

Beatrice’s smile didn’t dim. In fact, it brightened. “Then perhaps you would help me find my treasure.”

Clodaugh cocked her head. “I don’t work for free.”

“You would have my gratitude.”

Clodaugh wrinkled her nose. Is she serious?

Suddenly, the man groaned and blinked, gasping for breath.

Beatrice shushed him. “Be still, brave one. You are safe.”

He muttered, his fingers grasping inside his billowing, shredded sleeves. 

Clodaugh zipped away while Beatrice was distracted and returned to her candy stash, folding herself against the silver scales of The Drake’s neck.

Ridiculous. Only a human would think magic was worth mere gratitude.

On the deck, Atticus knelt beside the wounded man. He already looked better. Beatrice actually did care for him.

Beatrice. A foolish human. Who was here for a lost child.

If there’s a child lost in my woods, Beatrice would be doing me a favor getting rid of it.

Clodaugh sighed.

And I can always use more candy.

Maybe if she dropped a big enough hint, Atticus would offer to pay. Even if he didn’t have her favorite candy, she might help anyway.