THE DARKENING (The Divided Realms: Book 2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Willow tried to sit. Pain shot up her neck and into her head. She groaned, gingerly feeling a sore temple. What happened? She remembered running. Something chasing after her. Then – Willow bolted upright, her mind reeling with the memory of Dacia's red eyes. Dacia, Brand, and Theon had all turned into demons. Had ... had chased her.

A pungent animal smell hit Willow at the same time as the nightmarish memory. She blinked in the darkness. Something was there. Hunched a few feet away, its breathing shallow and phlegmy. She scrabbled back into a wall of moist dirt, clutching at dead leaves. Tree roots jutted into her spine. She seemed to be in a pit or a cave, with a dim light coming in from an aboveground hole. Her eyes began to adjust. The hunched figure grew clearer. It squatted a few feet away, studying her carefully.

Willow's breath caught. She tried to swallow. The small, nimble creature scooted forward into the light. She could vividly see its bulbous head now, its skinny-little-boy upper body, and more horrifically, its hairy, cloven-hoofed goat legs.

"Who ... who ... What are you?" she rasped.

The thing's lipless slash of a mouth turned up into a grin. She stared in horror at its eyes. Instead of eye whites, it had eye blacks with small glowing white circles in the middle. Pudgy horns protruded from tangled hair on its forehead, and to complete the nightmarish picture, pointed, bat-like ears sprouted out from the sides.

"I be Rye Ruskin Wirt, Mistress, a hobgoblin from the Hobs of Rudd." He giggled a high-pitched, gurgly giggle and danced around the pit. "Rye Ruskin Wirt! Rye Ruskin Wirt! No power in names no more. I can sing it to me heart's content. Rye Ruskin Wirt! Rye Ruskin Wirt!" Suddenly, he stopped his whirling and dropped to his knees in front of Willow. "Not that I would mind bein' in yer power, mistress. I served the Unseelie House of Edrea before the Great Exodus, and would serve it again. Yes indeedy do, I would." His pug-like face brightened with desperate hope. "Are ya from her House? Yer hair's like hers. I'll serve ya. I will! I will! Just promise to take me with ya when ol' Gobby sets ya free."

"I ... er, umm ..." Willow didn't know what to say. This hobgoblin thing thought she was a faerie. Wanted to serve her. Somehow, despite what Dacia had said, correcting him didn't seem like a good idea. "Can you ... um, maybe help me find my, uh, friends?"

"Let Gobby 'ave 'em. Them birches still owe me anudder favor. I'll get 'em to tell ol' Gobby there's only three faeries not four. He'll believe birch trees over lyin' kelpies any day, and ya can stay safe here with me."

"Another favor?"

"Aye. I tol' 'em birches to mark ya with the Mark o' White. Went stark ravin' mad ya did. A few of me crow friends helped herd ya over to me hidey-hole, and now here ya are, safe as a mouse from ol' Gobby."

"G-Gobby?" stammered Willow. "Who ... who's Gobby?"

Rye Ruskin Wirt's squinty black eyes widened, the white orbs at their center sparking in surprise. "The goblin king o' course! Who else?" He lifted a scrawny arm and scratched an armpit, his rank animal odor suffusing the air. "He don't know about me little hidey-hole here. We could hide till he's done havin' his fun with yer friends, then his spell'd send ya back and he'd be none the wiser."

Willow's skin crawled. Having his fun with her friends. She shook her head. "No. I can't do that. You have to help me find them. And then we'll see about ... about the other."

The hobgoblin grimaced, baring a mouthful of pointy teeth. "No!" he cried out. "No. No. No. The others will hurt Rye. Chase me away." He leaned closer, his hot breath a sharp stink around Willow's face. "Don't ya want to be safe? Don't ..." His words broke off abruptly. He started blinking and sniffing at her. "'Ere now, wot's this?" He grabbed her arm, pushing up her sleeve, his cold wet nose sniffing right against her exposed skin.