Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

“He’s playing with you,” Mountain told her. “Turn your back like you’re sulking, and he’ll sneak up on you. When you spin around, see if you can avoid him until he pretends to sulk.”

She did as he instructed and for the next several minutes the two of them played this variation of Keep-away. It was amazing. Zhan was nimble as a ninja, flipping and somersaulting through the barn. Watching the two of them was like watching an acrobatic stage show. When finally Zhan stopped, breathless but delighted, Zoltan coiled around her and let her pet him.

The rest of us applauded.

“He’s incredible,” she said.

“Indeed,” Mountain said. There was a sparkle in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. He’s sweet on Zhan!

When Geoff finished with the dragons we proceeded to the phoenix coop. Their staccato chirps made it clear that they did not like being disturbed after sundown, but Mountain pulled a box of Hot Tamales from his pocket and gave each of the fire birds a piece of the zesty candy.

“Is that what I think it is?” Geoff asked.

“I dropped some earlier accidentally,” Mountain said, his cheeks flushing. “They went into a feeding frenzy.”

It didn’t take long for the vet to finish up and we moved on to the unicorn and griffon barn. I peered across the night-shrouded field toward the grove. I couldn’t detect Thunderbird if he was there, but he would have been well camouflaged.

A sense of urgency filled me, an eagerness to get to him, but we needed to let Beverley see the unicorns first. She’d earned her grade and had been very patient. I could be, too.

When the barn doors rolled open, every pristine white unicorn head rose up. Some quiet nickering greeted Mountain. A young colt backed out of his stall in the middle and trotted the short distance toward us. “Hey, Errol.” Mountain scratched under the colt’s chin.

“Can I pet him?” Beverley asked.

“Ask him,” Mountain said.

Beverley moved one cautious step closer. “May I pet you, Errol?”

Errol backed up two steps. I thought he was declining, but then he ceremoniously bent one foreleg under and bowed down until the tip of his horn touched the ground at Beverley’s feet.

Wide-eyed, she whispered to Mountain, “That’s a yes, right?”

He was as surprised by this gesture as the rest of us. To me, he said, “I think that’s an invitation.”

With the unicorn making his dramatic display, I couldn’t possibly have said no. I nodded. Errol raised up. Mountain slid his hands under Beverley’s arms and lifted her, placing her gently on the unicorn’s back. Errol moved away, slowly. With high parading steps he walked toward the rear of the barn where the griffons had made nests out of hay. The colt brought her back, and took her toward the griffons again.

She was, of course, delighted. “He’s so beautiful, Seph! Can I tie purple ribbons in his mane and tail?”

With lifted brows, I redirected her question to Mountain, who said, “If Errol doesn’t protest, sure.”

Assured that Mountain and Geoff had everything under control, I announced, “I’m going to try to bring Thunderbird here, so you’ll have the light.”

“I’ll come with you,” Zhan said. I opened my mouth to object, but she cut me off by adding, “Menessos assigned me to make sure you’re safe, so you won’t be going out in the dark alone. I promise to stay back once we get near him.”

It was proof that the sentinels were getting to know me. Zhan hadn’t even pulled her gun when we left the house. “C’mon.”

We tromped across the field toward the grove, pushing aside cornstalks to take a direct path. The moon was a crescent hidden behind clouds full of cold rain waiting to burst open. Half the distance in, my vision had adjusted.

“Now will you tell me how you happened to steal these phenomenal creatures?” Zhan asked.

“The fey had control collars on them. The only way to stop them was to remove the collars. They’re quite dangerous when forced to be, so it wasn’t easy. It was like the reverse of mice trying to bell a cat. Once freed from the collars, though, they stopped fighting against us and actively helped us as if they were eager to be away from the fairies.”

“Eager to be home.” Zhan’s steps slowed, then stopped, and she emitted a light sigh. It wasn’t the long, breathy, “wow” kind of sigh. It was the brisk, irritated-with-myself kind.

Though I had pressed on a few more steps, I waited for her and spoke through the stalks. “What is it, Zhan?”

She shook her head as if clearing her thoughts and moved forward. “It’s just so extraordinary.”

That, I could tell, wasn’t the whole truth, but she didn’t have to share more.

A dozen yards later, we left the cornfield and emerged onto the grassy edge of the grove. I shook the bucket. “Thunderbird,” I called. “Hungry, boy?”

Nothing. Not even nest-bound birds or squirrels awakened by my voice deigned to answer. After trying a few more times, my patience was ended. Minding my footing, I entered the grove and watched for movement amid the trees. I called his name again.

Maybe he’d gone flying. There weren’t any injuries to his wings.

I walked around the more open part of the inner grove, searching for the other bucket, thinking to fill it from this one.

When I found it, it was still full.

“Zhan! Help me find him!”

I dropped the metal mixing bowl and launched into a frantic search. As I pushed through the branches, my arms got scraped and I stopped.

He didn’t come this way. Where would he fit?

I scrutinized the dark … and found his path. Following a trail of broken branches, straining to see, I neared the far side of the grove and tripped over Thunderbird’s leg.

I plopped down, twisting to keep from landing on him. Jumping up, I called out, “Here!”

Thunderbird hadn’t made a sound. On my knees, my hands groped all over him. He felt cold and he didn’t respond. Don’t be dead. Pressing on his rib cage, I held my breath trying to detect his breathing or a pulse.

There! Weak, but beating.

Zhan appeared from the grove a few yards away. “Get Mountain and the doc,” I called.

It seemed like forever, but the two men arrived. Mountain tried to lift Thunderbird but couldn’t. “Please, Mountain, I’ve seen you carry a couch!”

“Sorry, Seph. Couches aren’t limp. They don’t have wings and paws and claws flopping this way and that putting me off balance.”

“We can’t leave him here!”

“I could drag him,” Mountain suggested.

In the end, we lifted his front half, pushed a half-rolled tarp under him, then lifted the back half and spread out the length of the tarp. We threaded rope through the tarp grommets and tied it to the backhoe and pulled him to the barn. Mountain dragged the tarp inside.

The griffons left their nests and watched as Dr. Lincoln tended Thunderbird’s damaged eye socket, then inspected the claw. The three front talons had been seared off at the same point. Fax Torris’s beam must have burned them away. Geoff bandaged those, readied a syringe. “This will fight infection,” he said, “but I have no idea what dosage is appropriate for a griffon. I’m calculating it according to weight, and I’m guessing at his weight, so …” He drew a long breath. “Don’t be mad at me if Thunderbird doesn’t make it.”

“I trust your best guess, Geoff.”

He administered the shot, then stood. “Keeping him warm now will help. Can we get him into one of those nests?”

“We can try.”

Mountain hauled the tarp into the sawdust that padded the rear of the barn, and got him near an empty nest, then he put his arms around Thunderbird’s rib cage behind his wings. “When I lift, you yank the tarp away, okay?” When that was done, the griffons crowded around. Mountain tried to shoo them away. “I’m trying to get him into a nest,” he told them. A griffon pushed in between him and Thunderbird and continued to push Mountain until he was off the sawdust.