Part 18 (2/2)

”To what?” Nina asked. ”Back out there to the wolves? The wizards at the marketplace? To the white witch? Back home, to whatever brought you here in the first place? Ro-Hazel, we can keep you safe. We”-her voice softened-”I can take of you.”

”I have to save my friend,” Hazel said, trying to keep the words from trembling.

”But”-Nina tilted her head-”he chose something else, don't you see? He doesn't want you anymore.”

Hazel glanced at the ground, and then looked back up at Nina. ”It doesn't matter.”

Nina gazed at her searchingly. ”Doesn't it?”

Of course it mattered. The mattering of it filled her up and she threatened to burst with it. But it wasn't the only thing that mattered.

Hazel could only shrug.

”Please,” Nina said, her voice almost a whisper. ”Don't go there. It's a cruel place. ”

”So is this,” Hazel said quietly. She half believed it. There were worse fates than being a flower. But there were better ones, too. And it was her puff of wool.

Nina took another step forward, and Hazel could see her eyes now, see all the things in them. She swallowed, turned, and pushed through the gate into the night.

She'd thought the cottage was in the middle of a small neighborhood-that's what she'd seen when Lucas led her from the market square. But when she went through the garden gate she found herself in a clearing in the middle of the woods. Of course. That is what Lucas and Nina needed, and the woods let them make it.

Hazel looked back at the cottage, thought of Nina standing behind the gate, eyes full of pain and longing, a longing she could fill. And then she turned and ran.

She could not get Poppy's story out of her head. Her mind flashed to the dancing girl in the marketplace. Hazel had seen that something was wrong. And if she had thought about it, she would have put the pieces together: the woodsman on the path, the sudden appearance of the red shoes. The woodsman had left the shoes for her to find. He lost his daughter, he came into the woods, he made some cursed dancing shoes. The woods does funny things to people, Ben had said.

But she didn't think about it. She had been too tired, too focused on herself.

It had been hours ago, or maybe days. There was nothing Hazel could do, though she felt like stripping off her own skin. She was good for nothing, and should have been left to take root.

She hated this place. Nothing made sense. Nothing worked as it was supposed to. She was supposed to be learning things as she went along, gaining strength for her final battle. All she was doing was losing things, one thing at a time.

She headed into the cold, for that would lead her to Jack. Because he needed rescuing. That was all. She'd lost her friend, and she might never get him back. But at least she could save him. Whoever he is now. Maybe he had chosen to come here, but he could not stay in this place.

She kept going. She reached a small footpath that stretched itself into the cold night. She joined it, and kept going.

Jack believed in something-he believed in white witches and sleighs pulled by wolves, and in the world the trees obscured. He believed that there were better things in the woods. He believed in palaces of ice and hearts to match. Hazel had, too. Hazel had believed in woodsmen and magic shoes and swanskins and the easy magic of a compa.s.s. She had believed that because someone needing saving they were savable. She had believed in these things, but not anymore. And this is why she had to rescue Jack, even though he might not hear what she had to tell him.

There were so many Jacks she had known, and he had known so many Hazels. And maybe she wasn't going to be able to know all the Jacks that there would be. But all the Hazels that ever would be would have Jack in them, somewhere.

The truth was, he had been getting more and more scratchy and thick lately. And maybe he'd been more and more interested in being with Tyler and the boys on the bus. And maybe he'd hung out with them at recess more and more. Because sometimes when you are scratchy and thick you don't want to be sitting in a shack with someone pretending it's a palace, especially someone who can tell you are scratchy and thick, especially someone who tries to remind you who you really are.

Maybe he didn't want to know.

The boys wouldn't come to save him. Only Hazel would. And maybe that's why the boys would win.

She felt the memory of her mother's hand again. It's all going to be okay. She would like to hear that now, even if it was a lie. Because some lies are beautiful. Stories do not tell you that.

And who was telling her mother it was going to be okay? What did her mom think happened to her? She'd be so worried she'd break in two. Hazel didn't even know how long she'd been gone. How long had her mother been missing Hazel for, worrying about her? Had it been so long that the panic had settled into something dull and unrelenting?

How long did it take for her to figure out Hazel wasn't coming back from Mikaela's, had never gone to Mikaela's, that there was no school project at all? She'd know Hazel had lied to her, betrayed her, that her little girl had crossed a line.

Hazel should have done something-left a note, pretended she was going to go visit Jack's aunt Bernice. Something. She was so busy thinking about the one she needed to rescue she didn't think at all about the one she was leaving behind. She was supposed to take care of her mother, too. She was not supposed to be sipping honey tea with people who are just like the parents you think you are supposed to have. Her mother was what she had.

The woods were dark, but she could still see the path, feel the cold. There was nothing for Hazel to do but keep going. But as much as she had to keep going, she had to come back, too. She had to survive this. She could not leave her mom alone.

She walked on. The trees were thinner now, less like the trees of giants. She saw signs of another village in the distance-she smelled smoke and saw the faint glow of something like civilization. But there was nothing for her there. She had to go get Jack now, and anyway, she was safer out here with the wolves.

Chapter Twenty.

Matchlight

The footpath led Hazel to a bigger path, the sort that might accommodate carts. Hazel eyed the open path warily and then moved over to the side, creeping along the trees like a stalking wolf. She could stick her hand up in the air and feel where the cold was pulling her forward. Somewhere in the distance was the lair of the white witch, cold radiating out from it like heat from a fire.

She let it pull her in.

After a time, she found that there was a thin layer of frost on the ground, sparkling in the moonlight. Slowly she became conscious that she was s.h.i.+vering, that the cold had worked its way through her skin into her blood and bone. Her breath came out of her mouth in puffs. Her chest felt tight and her lungs ached. She stopped and shuddered. She ran her hands along her arms, and then got down her backpack and took out her jacket and her mittens and hat and put them on. She would even have worn the third-grade ones.

The green jacket did its best to warm her. It was a hard job. The cold had snuck up on her so stealthily she didn't even notice it had invaded her until was too late. Hazel breathed away the trembling and thought warm thoughts. And then she went on.

The night in the forest would not relent. It seemed like it had been hours since she'd left the cottage, that the sun should be coming up now. But she didn't know for sure-maybe she was done with the sun now, maybe night was all that the woods would give her.

Eventually she realized she was hungry, and that she had been hungry for a long time. She stopped and opened her backpack. She had two energy bars left to get her through.

She sighed and took one out. She would only eat half of it. She could make this last. Then she would eat half of the next half, and on and on. She could go for a while that way, anyway, getting slowly used to less and less food until one bite of energy bar felt like a feast.

Hazel was just about to unwrap the bar when she noticed a flash of light up ahead. It burned for a few moments, and then died out. Then again-another flash, a slowly dimming glow, and then darkness. Then, from close by, a voice said: ”Oh!”

Hazel had had enough of people. With every one she met, the woods became worse. She tucked the bar back in her backpack and started to sneak in the opposite direction.

She did not walk for long, for an enormous white wolf appeared a few paces in front of her. It sat on its haunches and stared at her, in the way the wolves did, its perfect coat glimmering in the moonlight. And though her heart sped up and her stomach clenched, Hazel found herself staring back at the wolf. She was done running from them. Hazel and the wolf eyed each other as the wind danced around them. And then the wolf got up and walked several paces to the right, and then turned its head toward her and fixed its gaze on her again.

”What?” Hazel said.

It went back to the place it had started from, and then did the same thing again.

”You want me to follow you?” Hazel said.

The wolf gazed at her, walked a few paces back, and then forward again. It looked at her. And she stepped forward.

In woods where the woodsmen told lies, maybe it was the wolves who told the truth.

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