It took Barclay a moment to remember how he’d ended up here, on the ground, aching all over, with only Selby and a stranger. But as he squinted at the gnarled branches overhead, he remembered where he was—the one place he was forbidden to go. The Woods.
Barclay sat up and whipped around. Then a terrible pain shot through his shoulder, and he looked down to find his sleeve had been shredded and an ugly red gash stretched down his arm. Beneath it were hints of glimmering gold.
“Where is it? Where’s the Beast?” Barclay asked, panicked. He looked around, but doing so made the world tilt like he was tumbling down another hill.
The girl’s nostrils flared. “The Beast is there.” She poked at his wound.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You have a Mark. Like mine.”
She rolled up her sleeve again to reveal her golden Mitzi-like tattoo. Only this time the Mark moved. It padded across her skin, then curled up and yawned, as though preparing to go to sleep.
Barclay realized Mitzi was no longer perched on the girl’s shoulder. The dragon was in the tattoo. The magic of it all made Barclay want to rub his eyes, to make sure what he was seeing was real.
“It was supposed to be my Mark,” the girl continued. “Even if I messed up the trap, if you hadn’t been there, then I would’ve bonded with the Lufthund—”
“Bonded? Bonded like a Lore Keeper?” Barclay winced as he smeared away some of the blood on his arm and stared at his Mark in horror. He’d barely gotten a glimpse of the Beast that had chased him, but the tattoo resembled a wolf. It moved, prowling menacingly over the top of his shoulder, its fangs bared.
“Yes. Exactly like a Lore Keeper,” she huffed. “A Mark is where a Beast dwells when it isn’t out in the world.”
As she spoke, the Mark on Barclay’s shoulder thrashed, and the Beast snapped its jaw.
Selby stared at it openmouthed. “Does this make Barclay a Lore Keeper?”
“No,” Barclay hissed. He would never become a Lore Keeper. Beasts weren’t companions—they were monsters. He might’ve broken Dullshire’s most important rule, but it hadn’t been his fault. He hadn’t chosen this.
Suddenly he felt sick. He staggered to his feet, only to immediately throw up on the forest floor.
When he’d finished, he held out his arm, which pulsed painfully where the Beast had slashed him. “Get it off me,” Barclay told the girl.
“Why should I help you?” she snapped. “You threatened to have your town run me away! You tried to steal the mushroom from my trap. And now you’ve bonded with the Beast that I should have bonded with.”
“I didn’t bond with it! It bonded with me!”
“But that’s not how it works. Did you touch it? You would’ve felt a spark—maybe a pinch? You must’ve—”
“I didn’t,” he insisted. All he remembered before passing out was the teeth.
“Is it Gravaldor?” Selby squeaked.
“No, Gravaldor looks like a bear,” the girl answered, rolling her eyes. “His Beast is—”
“I don’t want to know what it is,” Barclay snapped. “Just get the Mark off me!”
The girl crossed her arms. “I don’t know how to remove a Mark. Most people don’t want to! Most people want—”
Barclay didn’t think he could hear more of this, or he might be sick again. He grabbed Selby’s shoulder. “Come on. We’re going back.”
Selby cringed as Barclay touched him, and Barclay swallowed and dropped his hand.
“What if the Beast gets out?” Selby murmured.
“I…” Barclay’s mouth went dry. Then he, Barclay Thorne, Dullshire’s hardest-working but most troublesome apprentice, would become another cautionary tale. Another Lore Keeper who brought destruction with him.
The girl shook her head. “Beasts can’t come out of their Marks unless you summon them. Or unless they break their bonds. But that’s very rare! If it was going to happen, you’d know. The Mark would start to turn black.”
If Barclay could see the tattoo’s color changing, that would give him time to escape Dullshire if he needed to. He could run into the Woods and let the trees swallow him whole. Then, far, far away, Dullshire would be safe.
