Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [59]
But it didn’t really matter what she thought, because he was shooing the black-cloaked man away as if he were a meddlesome bat, and it was a bit funny really and Hazel thought she might laugh if only she could remember how.
“Quickly,” the man said, leading her away from the marketplace. “We don’t have much time.”
There it was: Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Hazel was all fog. “Do I know you?”
“No,” the man said, looking at her with friendly green eyes. “I’m Lucas.”
“Who’s Rose?” she asked.
“You’re Rose. Rather, you just seem like a Rose. I had to call you something so he’d think you were mine.”
“I do?” No one had ever said she seemed like a Rose before. “You can call me Rose if you want.”
“All right. Rose it is.”
“Where are we going?”
“You need an antidote. He pressed something into your skin. It lessens your judgment. He’s a wizard. Did you agree to anything?”
“I don’t think so. . . .” Weren’t wizards good? Dumbledore’s a wizard.
“He was trying to force you into a bargain. He’d give you your heart’s desire, but you would be bound to him forever. And I can tell you that’s not a good proposition.”
“I don’t understand this place.” She had said this before, but it seemed to bear repeating.
“It’s all right. I do. Now, come on, we should get you home.”
Nothing made sense to Hazel, and she was so sleepy, like there was a weight pulling down on her brain. But the man had his arm around her now and was guiding her forward. This arm had the weight and comfort of the one belonging to her father.
“My wife is an herbalist,” the man named Lucas said. “We try to have antidotes around. There are all manner of things that can happen to you in the woods.”
“I would like to go to sleep now,” Hazel proclaimed.
The arm tightened around her shoulder. “I know. But stay with me. You can sleep soon.”
He kept talking to her as he led her through the village to a small cottage just a five-minute walk from the market square. A large, full fairy-tale moon hung in the sky now—though Hazel could have sworn it wasn’t there earlier—showing a cottage that looked like something from a movie. The thatched roof nestled over the small square house like a mushroom cap. Bright yellow curtains hung in the windows. A strip of bright flowers lay in front of the house, blooming against the cold.
“It’s so pretty,” said Hazel.
“Wait till you see the garden,” Lucas said.
Soon Hazel was inside the kitchen of the tiny cottage, slumped in a hard wood chair, while Lucas spoke in a low voice to his wife.
Lucas’s wife introduced herself as Nina. Hazel blinked up at her. She looked Indian, like Hazel, and when she smiled down at Hazel it was like something familiar but forgotten. Hazel smiled back, or at least tried to. The woman turned to the stove and began throwing things in a pot, while Lucas sat down next to Hazel and forbade her from putting her head on the table.
“So, Rose,” he asked, “what’s a girl like you doing in the woods like this?”
He meant to keep her talking, that was clear. He was trying to take care of her. Hazel’s sleepy heart panged.
“I lost my friend,” she said. She kept saying this, again and again. She’d lost her friend. That’s what she was doing here.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “I’m very sorry.”
“The white witch took him.”
“Oh,” said Lucas. He and his wife exchanged a glance.
“I came here to rescue him. But I need to sleep first. I’m very, very tired.”
“I know,” he said gently. “In a little bit.”
“Then I’ll go in the morning.”
“Go where?” Nina asked slowly. “To the white witch?”
“Yes.” Yes.
“No. You shouldn’t go,” she said. “It’s not safe.”
Hazel’s heart twisted. “She has my friend.”
“So you’re just going to go after him? Just like that?”
“. . . Yes.”
“Nina . . .” Lucas motioned to his wife, then eyed Hazel. “I don’t know how to ask this,” he said. “But your friend, are you sure he wants to be rescued?”
“Of course he does!” She was getting tired of people asking this.
“It’s just . . .” he began. “The white witch only takes people who want to go.” Out of the