Primadonna wasn’t the right word. Obsessive-compulsive porcupine maybe? No matter what words Barb wanted to use to describe Meg Mitchell, the fact remained that the girl had a stick up her butt.
But after nearly coming to blows with the woman who raised her? Well. Maybe Barb could cut her a break.
Velanna Ittai had issues. And it wasn’t because she was an alien. No, the woman had gone through something bad. Traumatizing. Even if the woman wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was written in her body language, the gestures of her hands, and the tightness of her eyes.
It went beyond a lack of trust. Barb expected that. No, this was something deeper, something far more base, something Velanna Ittai was trying to conceal.
Meg hadn’t said much since they left the library. How the girl found her way around the labyrinth of a castle left Barb flustered and confused. All the hallways looked the same. Or were the tapestries different? If they were, the designs were all too similar for her to tell them apart.
She had no idea where they were.
And she had no intention of admitting it either.
Her knee ached. Her shoulder throbbed. It stung that Velanna had been right about her discomfort. A shower would probably make a world of difference—assuming they had showers.
What if they didn’t?
“Where are we going again?”
Meg marched forward down the corridor without looking back at her. “To my room so you can clean up.”
“And how am I going to do that, exactly? Does this place have running water?”
Meg scoffed and shook her head, loose strands of golden hair sparkling around her head. “Yes, we have running water.”
“Hot running water?”
Meg threw a sneer over her shoulder. “You have to heat it yourself. There’s a crank in the bathroom, and you have to turn it for about an hour to get enough heat to make the water not freeze your nose off.”
Barb gawked at her. “You’re making that up.”
Meg’s sneer shifted gently into a smirk. “Maybe.”
Barb snarled. “You’re a real comedian.”
The hallway finally changed, the carpet growing plusher and brighter in color, and the tapestries changing to happier landscape scenes.
“Are we walking to the other side of the world?”
“You sure complain a lot.” Meg stretched her arms out over her head. “Do all Terrans complain as much as you do?”
“When they’re being held prisoner, they do.”
“You’ve got a real funny way of demonstrating gratitude,” Meg spat.
Barb started to snap back, but the words died on her tongue as Meg led her into a large stone common area with thick carpet and a massive fireplace. A large upholstered couch shaped like a horseshoe took up the majority of space in the room.
Meg walked without pausing to the furthest doorway at the far end of the common room and opened it. She jerked her head inside.
Barb approached cautiously and hovered at the threshold.
“This is my room,” Meg said. “Shower and bathroom is obvious, and soap is inside. I’ll find some clean clothes for you. Don’t touch anything.”
Barb crossed into the room slowly, and Meg heaved a loud sigh before she shut the door behind her.
Barb stood in shocked silence. The room was enormous with fifteen foot ceilings lined with honey-colored oak panels and a dark blue skyline painted in amazing detail up to the ceiling. Star constellations. Rainbows. Clouds. Comets. The Moon. In beautiful shimmering colors, painted with a careful hand.
Had Meg painted it? Something so artistic didn’t seem to be in line with Meg’s blunt accusations and fiery glares.
A sturdy wooden column stood at the center of the room, supporting the ceiling, but it had been turned into shelving, which held books and at least a dozen tiny succulents and cacti in individual terracotta pots.
“Cactuses?” Barb snorted, picking up one of the terracotta pots and turning it over in her hand. “She loves cactuses. Forget ill-tempered porcupine. Meg Mitchell is a self-righteous cactus.”
Floor to ceiling windows took up most of the far wall, presenting a stunning view of the rolling green hills, the darker velvet of the forests, and the expansive blue sky.
On the other wall, a large, soft-looking bed had been built into the architecture of the room. It was made mostly of pillows and looked less like a bed and more like a nest.
A massive bookshelf took up the entire wall on the other side of the room, loaded with books and knick-knacks Barb couldn’t even begin to understand.
Barb found the bathroom door easily and pushed it open. Inside, white marble covered the floor and walls and brilliant white stones cast a soft glow over the toilet, the sink, and the clear glass shower doors.
“This is the nicest bathroom I’ve ever seen,” Barb muttered under her breath.
She paused in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the room again quickly. Her gaze paused on the chest of drawers in an alcove next to the bed. You could learn a lot about a woman from what she kept in her top drawer.
Barb eyed the main door of the room.
Meg could come back at any moment, and if she found Barb digging through her underwear, that would definitely be grounds for a fistfight.
Not that Barb would blame her.
Actually, Barb hoped she would come back in the middle of it. That moment in the library had Barb’s heart rate higher than it had been in ages. Whatever else Meg Mitchell was, she was a fighter. And she would be a challenge.
Barb knew that with the same certainty she knew Velanna Ittai was hiding a lifetime of emotional trauma.
Meg carried herself with the grace and the confidence of someone who could break rocks with her fists. And it had been a long time since Barb had fought someone like that.
“Decision made.”
Barb hurried to the chest of drawers and yanked the top one open. As expected, underthings. Very practical underthings at that. Barb scowled thoughtfully as she dug through the items in the top drawer. No surprises at all. Just plain, functional, boring underwear.
Like she’d said. You can learn a lot about a woman from her underwear.
“So Meg is a boring self-righteous cactus. I can work with that.”
She shut the top drawer and opened the next drawer. Blouses. Embroidered blouses and brightly colored sleeveless shells. Exactly the same style that she was wearing already.
“Oh gosh, she isn’t just boring. She’s predictable too. That’s even worse.”
Barb shut the second drawer and opened the third drawer to find trousers. All exactly like the ones she was already wearing. This just kept getting worse and worse. Did Meg have no sense of style? Even her arrogant adoptive mother wore colorful fabrics with varied patterns. From the clothes in these drawers, Meg only ever wore one outfit.
It was almost enough to make Barb feel sorry for her.
Almost.
If Meg were less of a cactus and more of a real person, Barb would feel sorry for her. But nobody felt sorry for cactuses.
Barb slammed the third drawer and felt something catch at the back. She froze and tried to close the drawer again, but it wouldn’t shut all the way.
“Great, just what I need.” Barb pulled the drawer out as far as she could and reached her hand back into the mechanism inside. But her arm wouldn’t fit.
She pressed her fingers into the track the drawer slid open and shut on and quickly unlatched the drawer from the chest. She set the drawer on the carpet and reached deep into the chest until her fingers brushed something hard with the texture of leather.
She tugged on it, and it came loose.
Barb withdrew a leather-bound journal from deep inside the chest of drawers. Rich brown leather smudged with age bore a raised emblem of a willow tree, and thick cream-colored pages inside had yellowed with age.
Barb set the journal on the top of the chest and replaced the drawer carefully. She took the book and rushed to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
She drew a long, slow breath before she opened the cover and stared at the untidy scrawl on the first page.
Charles Mitchell.
Barb swallowed a gasp. This was the journal of Charles Mitchell, Meg’s actual father.
Did Meg know this was tucked away in one of her drawers? Was she even aware it existed?
Barb slammed the cover shut and set it on the sink.
This was an amazing find. If she could take it back with her when she and Jim managed to make their escape, she could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt who Meg really was.
Barb closed her hands into fists and hung her head.
Is that really the first thing I think of?
She caught her expression in the mounted mirror on the wall. No wonder Jim was worried about her. Her face was the same color of chalk, all her freckles standing out in stark relief against her white skin. Dark smudges smeared like kohl under her eyes. Her face was bloody and bruised and scraped, and her clothing was stiff with dirt and blood.
What if Meg had misplaced the journal? What if she didn’t even remember having it? Did that automatically make it Barb’s to keep to use against her?
No.
Some Peregrine agents might feel that way. But Barb couldn’t bring herself to believe that. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.
If someone found a journal of Mom’s and didn’t give it to me, I’d be madder than a hornet. Barb smiled grimly to herself.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t caught Phoenix Munroe yet.
Phoenix Munroe, the world’s most wanted criminal, had been on the run for ten years, ever since she had assassinated a presidential candidate.
Everything the Peregrine Agency did was to bring Phoenix in. It was personal. Because Phoenix had once been one of them, until she lost her mind.
Rumor had it that the loss of the Mitchell orphans was what did it. Phoenix Munroe had never lost a case. She always closed, every time, no matter what it took. Except the Mitchell Case. She couldn’t solve it.
Well, now Barb knew why.
Phoenix had been the greatest detective in the world, but she had only looked for the Mitchell children in their world. Not in Andaria, this strange other-world of talking fox people and traumatized, emotionally constipated aliens.
Barb rested her hand on the cover of the journal.
What did it say? Did it have any secrets in it? What would she learn about Meg and her family? Maybe she could learn things about them that even Meg didn’t know. But should she?
Was one-upping Phoenix Munroe so important to her that she’d compromise human decency?
Barb eyed the shower.
As tempting as it was, it would take too long. And as certain as Jim was that he was safe among everyone in the castle, she didn’t trust them. She wanted to get back.
Barb snatched a washcloth off the towel rack and cleaned her face. She stripped out of her torn, bloody shirt and reassessed the bandages that Zyna and Jenny had applied.
They’d done a good job.
Barb hated to admit it because it felt like giving them credit, and—well, she wasn’t in the mood to bestow compliments on any of these people yet. But they knew what they were doing. That was for sure.
She fingercombed her hair quickly and found a hair elastic that she used to pull the unruly flame-red mass back into a messy bun.
The banging sound of a shutting door alerted her to Meg’s arrival. Barb stripped out of her undershirt, leaving herself in her bra and cami and wrapped the journal up in the shirt.
She stepped into the bedroom and paused, watching Meg stack a new set of clothing on the desk by the bookshelves.
Meg eyed her suspiciously. “You didn’t shower?”
“I expect the water to be poisoned.”
Meg rolled her eyes and patted the stack of clothing. “I guessed your size.”
“I don’t need new clothes.”
Meg shrugged and pushed past her into the bathroom. “That’s fine. Walk around in your undergarments. That will definitely make everyone take you seriously.”
Meg slammed some cabinets in the bathroom.
Barb grunted and snatched up the blouse on the stack of clothes. It was made from a sturdy green material, shaped like a tunic, with darker green trim and belled sleeves.
“I stole it from Tzaitel,” Meg said from the bathroom. “And she gets really possessive about her stuff, so you may have to fight her.”
“You what?”
“It should be fun.” Meg emerged from the bathroom with a jar of white ointment. “Sit down.”
Barb whirled on her, balancing on her good leg. “You aren’t coming anywhere near me.”
Meg glared at her. “This is a salve of Zyna’s. If you don’t want to shower, you can put this on your sore muscles. And it’s scented, so it will help with the smells you can’t wash off.”
Meg set it on the chair and pushed past her to sit on her bed.
Barb shifted her weight slightly. “Oh.”
Meg ignored her, fidgeting with the locket around her neck. Barb sighed and picked up the jar of salve. She unscrewed the top and smelled it.
“Wow,” she muttered. “That smells good.”
The aroma of peppermint and lavender twined together with a hint of ginger.
“It works too,” Meg said. “I use it a lot.”
“You prefer to use this instead of taking a shower?” Barb arched an eyebrow at her. “Is your water poisoned?”
Meg smirked and didn’t answer.
Barb eyed the journal wrapped up in her torn shirt. She could tell her. She could give it to her right now. It might even win her some points with her, and if she could get Meg to like her, maybe she could get closer to convincing Meg to let her and Jim go home.
Barb started to speak, when a blaring klaxon cut her off. Meg went pale and leaped off the bed.
“What is that?” Barb yelped.
“Attack.” Meg surged out of the room.
Barb grunted and threw the tunic over herself, closing it as well as she could, cursing the flappy sleeves. Those were going to be a problem.
In the common area and hallway, the natural white lighting had turned vaguely crimson. Meg was running ahead of her, and Barb ran to catch up, her knee throbbing.
Meg ran until they reached the large main room with the big fireplace and all the reclining chairs full of Josharons. Most of them were on their feet and staring out the wall of windows that overlooked the castle courtyard.
Black smoke rose from outside the castle walls.
“It’s Palayta Village,” Meg whispered, her face turning gray. “It’s the village closest to the castle.”
Barb turned as one of the doors to the hearth room burst open and Tolan Ittai appeared, carrying what looked like a shotgun. Danny was right behind him, armed with a rifle.
Tolan eyed her and then shifted his gaze to Meg.
“Margaret, the call just came in,” Tolan said. “Palayta Village is under attack.”
“Centaurs?” Meg asked.
Tolan shook his head. “No. By monsters. Monsters they have never seen before.”
Meg frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It is unknown.” Tolan shook his head. “Tzaitel has gone ahead. Make sure you have your saber and come with us.”
Meg nodded and patted a long, cylindrical object on her belt. She glanced at Barb. “You stay put.”
“Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen.” Barb laughed sharply.
Meg glared at her. “You’re injured, and you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“You’re fighting monsters you’ve never seen before.” Barb smirked. “Sounds like you can use all the help you can get.” She turned to Tolan. “So shut up and get me a gun.”
Tolan only hesitated a moment before he handed her his shotgun. “Let us hope you are as talented with a firearm as you are with your sharp wit, Miss Taylor.”
Oh, mister, if you only knew. Barb cocked the shotgun. “I’m the best shot you’ve ever seen, sir.”
Danny cackled. “Awesome.”
Meg grabbed a medical bag off the wall and shouldered it. “Most of the best fighters I know don’t have to talk about how good they are at fighting.”
Barb started to reply, but Tolan cut her off.
“Let us save your verbal sparring for later, ladies.” He nodded tersely and pinned Meg with a worried look. “The call we received came from Jennifer.”
Meg went rigid. “What?”
“Jennifer is in Palayta Village,” Tolan said.
Barb swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.
Jenny Mitchell. The little blonde chatterbox who made trouble and sunshine wherever she went. And she was in the village being attacked by monsters?
Barb checked the shotgun for rounds and was glad to see a line of shells in a leather strap hanging from the stock.
“Then what are we waiting for,” Barb said, shouldering the shotgun and walking for the door. “Let’s go save some people.”

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