Chapter Nineteen

Mission Unicorn

I’m sure we look suspicious as we crowd in next to one another, one Burnbrighter, two colorful heads, Sab’s wild curls, and Tomorrow Jones. There’s no explicable reason why the five of us should sit together, which Amandine so kindly pointed out last week.

“I’m sorry, but no. We’re not murdering a unicorn,” I hiss, stuffing a forkful of shepherd’s pie in my mouth.

“Of course we’re not killing it,” Soren says dryly, as if I’m crazy for thinking he may want to put all those knives he keeps in his pockets to good use. He’s so matter-of-fact about not assassinating a unicorn that something inside me curls inward at the thought that this brash, irascible guy won’t harm one single hair on a unicorn’s head.

“Three unicorn hairs will suffice.”

Okay. Three little hairs, that’s all.

I watch as Soren takes a casual sip of his drink like we’re discussing homework for Architecture of Magic—you know, instead of plotting how to bait and switch one of the most magically potent creatures alive.

Being super pure and whatnot, it’s a pretty serious crime to poach unicorn-anything, be it blood, hair, alicorn, hooves. It’s a big no-no for the most dignified of magical spells, despite the fact that unicorn parts are efficacious as hell.

“And how, exactly, do you propose we get these hairs?” Tomorrow demands. “Spellfall doesn’t exactly have a reserve of unicorn parts.”

“There are unicorns in Stillwood,” Tuesday offers quietly. We all stare at her, dumbfounded at our luck, and she smiles self-consciously. “Do none of you remember? The creators of Spellfall’s pocket dimension introduced unicorns here as part of the reservation effort. Their population is believed to have multiplied over the centuries. When I took Kinship With Mystical Creatures second year, Professor Spartlebart let us pet one!”

Tuesday Jones would know everything there is to know about unicorns, being a bit of one herself.

“That would work,” Soren nods.

“Well,” Tuesday says thoughtfully as she swallows, “we were told never to go into the forest looking for a unicorn. So, we should be prepared for danger, probably.”

“What type of danger?” Sabbath leans in close.

Tuesday shrugs. “I don’t remember. I could ask Professor—”

“No,” Soren interrupts. “No professors. No tipping anyone off to what we’re up to.”

We all kind of look around, hunkering in even closer and dropping our voices a bit lower, despite the monotone din of hundreds of students talking over their dinners. That new kid, Nik, is sitting next to us and I catch his eye. Bet the guy doesn’t even know unicorns exist yet. That’s going to be a nice surprise.

“Has anyone here tried prancing up to a unicorn and asking it to donate some strands of its mane to a good cause before? Cause I’d love to know how that went,” I say.

Soren inclines his head. “We’re not going to ask it, Mika. We’re going to trap it.”

“Great. This is the greatest idea,” I nod sarcastically as Tomorrow whips out her class schedule. “So, when’s this going down?”

Sabbath reluctantly withdraws her own bedazzled planner. “I have an exam to study for this week.”

“What about this Saturday?”

“No can do, swainsack. Runes Dragoons have our blood drive for homeless vampires.”

“That’s so... thoughtful of you, Tomorrow,” Sabbath says, trying to affirm this surprisingly generous behavior.

Tomorrow stares at her. “We get to make people bleed. Good runes practice.” Across the table, Soren flinches and I stifle a laugh. “We should definitely do a Saturday though,” Tomorrow continues. “In case one of us gets mauled and needs to recover.”

“The weekend after work, then?” I ask, directing my question to Tuesday, who’s frowning. “What is it, Tu?”

“Well, unicorns tend to be morning creatures. If I remember correctly, they have most often been sighted just after a new moon.”

“That’s a few weeks from now,” I look to Soren. “Is that okay?”

I can tell he’s irked by the timeline, but, weighing his options, he settles for it. “We’re agreed then. Three Saturdays from now, meet at the tree line of Stillwood behind the Conservatory, just before dawn.”

We exchange looks with one another. This is happening. We are going to assault a unicorn, but kindly.

“In the meantime,” Soren adds, keeping his voice low, “gather the ingredients you can. Don’t tell a soul. And if you need anything, send a bat.”

* * *

By the time the weather turns the coldest shade of frigid, we’ve nearly gathered all the ingredients needed for Soren’s spell. The only remaining issue is the unicorn.

The late November morning is cool when we meet at Stillwood’s edge, each tightly wrapped in thick scarves that cover half our faces. When I see Soren padding down from the conservatory in black boots and a sleek, well-fitting trench, my exhale clings to the air in front of my face. Aside from our nightly rendezvous, the two of us haven’t exchanged so much as three words with one another.

He simply meets me outside my room in dutiful silence, draws up the sleeve of my long pajama top, and begins moving his fingertips across my wrist in a smooth, practiced motion. Each time, the blue light tinges his work with a fast-fading glow, and he tugs my sleeve back down, disappearing into the long, dark mouth of the hallway. A few times, he’s looked up long enough to give me the curtest of nods, but even those have been few and far between.

Far more often are the nights I see him sitting next to Amandine at dinner, letting her fondle his arm as she laughs over her dinner.

Dismissing the image with another ghost of a breath, I look up at the edge of Stillwood. Soren’s body heat spreads against me as he comes to stand beside me, but I don’t look over at him.

“Shall we?” I nod, and we traipse into the mouth of the beast.

The forest around Spellfall is thick with looming beech trees and a light fog. The spires of the branches wind up through the mist, and roots crawl from trunks onto our path. Which is quite a generous word, considering this “path” is wildly overgrown with moss and very prickly grass.

Feet sinking into the damp earth, we enter the hush of Stillwood, trampling over the field of winterlight blossoms that sprawl, unending, between the trees. Everything smells wet.

They say not to believe the lure of this forest; one can see very strange things in here. It’s still yet to be determined whether the monsters of the collective mind actually exist among these trees. Regardless, peaceful though it may seem, few students venture into its dense bosom alone. You feel shrunken in Stillwood, too small proportionately. It’s eerie, to feel so small in such a great swallow of silence.

Sabbath reaches for my hand and I clench it. “Now,” I whisper, cool breath seeping into the air and dissipating in front of me, “where to find a unicorn.”

Tu smiles to herself, which, I'm coming to learn, means she knows something we don’t. “Unicorns are generous, pure of heart. You should know this, Mika. Haven’t you learned about their use in alchemy?” Oh, I had. But, usually, I prefer to put the image of unicorn slaughter out of my mind. “Spellwriters have, for eons, sought to write purification spells as true as one strand from a unicorn’s head! It’s never been possible.”

“Hence why we’re here, Tu,” her twin growls, lip ring glinting in the garish morning light.

“We need to go to a source of water, I believe,” she suggests thoughtfully. “I read once that unicorns purify the water for the other creatures. One drop of purified unicorn water can heal many ailments.”

“Maybe we could just get that instead,” Sab suggests, but I hear the hopelessness in her voice.

“You know that won’t work.” There’s no compassion in Soren’s response, only resignation. “We need to move to lower ground, water runs downstream. We can follow the birds.”

Looking up where golden light begins to infringe on the sky, we all realize it’s an uninterrupted stretch of grey beyond the tree branches.

Not a single bird chirps, or leaf rustles.

“It’s too still here,” I murmur. The silence is thickening, congealing strangely around us. “Let’s get going.”

“Which way is downstream?” Sabbath asks, turning on the spot. The terrain looks relatively flat from where we stand.

Tomorrow sighs dramatically. “Why are you all standing around like we can’t do magic?” Drawing on her hand, she sticks her middle finger out like the needle of a compass. It lands square on Soren, who gives her a look.

“Did it have to be that finger?”

“Move. Water’s this way.” Tomorrow stomps past him, Tuesday trying to hide her grin.

We repeat this process four more times—Tomorrow’s runes only hold power long enough to give us a glimpse of direction—and time passes over us unnoticed. I find some extremely rare, extremely toxic berries, which I pocket for later research, and when the snap of a twig behind me pierces the deafening silence, my head whips around.

“Nothing there,” Sabbath says, urging me forward.

Finally, we come upon a little clearing in the trees. The gurgle of a stream sounds from just beyond, where a river cleaves through the hills.

“Water!” Sabbath cries, overjoyed. She’s not exactly the traipsing-through-the-forest type. “Now what?” she asks, looking to Tuesday.

Tuesday never gets her chance to answer. “Who here is a virgin?” Soren demands matter-of-factly. As he turns to assess us, I let out a small, surprised cough.

“Well, technically,” Tu offers. “Maybe a quarter virgin. Do you mean in your head or in your heart?”

“Don’t look at me,” Tomorrow shrugs, and a flicker of shock brushes across Soren’s face. No doubt he’s wondering who would be masochistic enough to find themselves naked and alone with Tomorrow Jones long enough to avoid castration.

When his eyes hone in on Sabbath, I step forward before he can take advantage of the reputation that’s always been three steps ahead of her. “What about you?” I suggest angrily. “Are you a virgin? Why is there no such thing as a token virginal male?”

One look at Soren and it’s pretty obvious, unfortunately.

“I’m not pretty enough,” Soren answers dryly. I quell the instinct to protest.

There’s no way to win this argument without implying a lot of things that I’m not happy are true about Soren Cain’s face and, like, general physique.

“Why are unicorns so judgmental, anyway?” I demand. “Are we really going to fall into the trap of thinking that what makes us pure is whether or not we’ve gotten laid?”

Sabbath touches my arm lightly. “Better assumed pure by a unicorn than not.” Turning to Soren, she sighs. “I can do it.”

“I could do it, too,” I hiss, eyes darting to Soren to make sure he doesn’t hear. “You don’t have to be the unicorn bait.”

“I have a funny feeling that you’ve already got a bone to pick with unicorns, Meeks. One isn’t exactly going to be persuaded out of hiding by that attitude, is it?”

“Fine.” I cross one arm over the other. “Be what the unicorn wants.”

Sab grins at me sheepishly, luring me out of my bad mood. Morally demanding unicorns and eerily quiet forests have certainly put me in one.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” I sigh. “We’re obviously using Sabbath as bait, but then what?”

Soren considers. “Tomorrow will transform Sabbath into something the unicorn will seek after. You can do that... right?”

“Of course I can.”

“Sabbath, you will sit on that rock right there”—he points—“looking meek and royal. I will draw a rune that will trap it. Sabbath will get out of there, and I’ll get the strands of hair.”

“Meek and royal,” I snort. Sabbath was right; good thing this was her and not me.

“But runes are made to trap spirits,” Sabbath protests. “Do you have a specific unicorn trapping rune?”

“I’ve adapted it, but it won’t hold very long. Maybe thirty seconds.”

“It’s not good to trick a pure thing,” Tu whispers.

“It’s not good to steal from it either,” Soren agrees begrudgingly, stepping heavily over a very large root. “But sometimes sacrifices must be made.” He tosses a furtive glance my way and I scowl at him.

As Soren drops salt in intricate loops around the aforementioned rock, and Tuesday arranges a trail of sageroot that she’s found in the forest, Tomorrow sets a hand on her hip. She smacks her gum a few times, eyes narrowing as she makes an assessment of Sab’s appearance. “How cliché do you want to be, Winters?”

Plucking one of her coils of hair mindlessly, Sabbath thinks. “I don’t know, maybe put me in something long and billowy. Something perfect for running through an abandoned château.”

“Right.” Gesturing impatiently at Sab to raise her arms, Tomorrow sucks a tooth thoughtfully.

Sabbath stands with arms outstretched like a princess in a fairytale, ready to transform. Flicking her fingers in various places, Tomorrow begins slowly at first. Sab’s thick down coat melts down to her waist and bubbles out, falling into a long skirt. As Tomorrow continues to pluck away at the air with her fingers, the fabric stretches and grows.

“It tickles,” Sabbath says, restraint obvious in her hoarse whisper.

There’s a wild look now in Tomorrow’s eye. Her hands are cutting this way and that through the air, and the dress is coming out far too pink and frilly to be originating from Tomorrow’s imagination unaccompanied by a twist. Finishing with one massive flick in the back, Tomorrow huffs her satisfaction, standing back to take in her work.

The dress is atrocious. Sabbath looks like she’s wearing a ballgown from the eighties that’s been inspired by a large, hastily made strawberry cake.

Twisting to and fro, she assesses herself. “It doesn’t feel like I’m wearing a dress. I can still feel my coat.”

“It’s just an illusion. I can’t transform physical matter yet. That’s next semester.”

The costume change is dramatic, to say the least. Especially the part where Sabbath has a tail.

“What is that green thing?” she asks, arching her head around to look at the back of the dress. Her eyes lock on mine, pleading with me to tell her that it isn’t what she thinks it is.

“Oh, it’s exactly what you think it is,” I promise.

“Tomorrow, why did you give me a tail?”

“It’s just not in my magic to go against my own aesthetic,” she shrugs.

“Well, it’s quite a pretty one,” Tuesday reassures Sabbath. “Maybe the unicorn will feel even more understood now.”

I nod like this makes sense, but Soren and I accidentally share a fleeting smirk. Not wanting him to have such a moment with me, I stuff the laughter back inside myself.

“Rune complete,” he says gruffly as he stomps back over to us. “Spread out, we want to cover the perimeter.

“We have to proclaim belief first.”

“What?” Soren blinks a few times like he hasn’t quite understood the words he’s just heard from Tomorrow’s mouth.

“Unicorns are insecure creatures, Soren. They have to know that this is a safe space for them.” She inclines her head at him as if to tell him he’s an idiot.

“Well, it’s not,” he growls under his breath, but he reluctantly grasps her hand when she shakes it at him.

“Great, now we’re lying to a unicorn too,” I whisper to Sab, clasping her hand. Her face is long with a frown, but I can’t tell if it’s about betraying a unicorn or still about the tail.

“Are you sure we have to do this?” Soren asks.

“Absolutely.” Closing her eyes slowly as if she doesn’t believe Soren will follow through, she begins to chant with conviction.

We all follow along hastily, joining in as best we can. “We do believe in the purity of unicorns. We do believe in the power of their horns. We do believe in the promise of their might…”

By the third go-round, we all manage to get the words right.

“We do believe in the truth of their light!” Tomorrow finishes, whipping her gaze to Sabbath. “Go. Get on your rock.”

With startled eyes at Tomorrow’s tonal whiplash, Sabbath hurries to the rock, stepping gingerly over the salt circle, tail swinging back and forth.

And now we wait…

* * *

Time slips by, ebbing along in incomprehensible lurches. The sunlight shifts overhead, but I can’t tell how long Sabbath has been sitting on that rock, or how long Tomorrow’s held that constipated look on her face while she works to maintain Sabbath’s princess illusion. It’s long enough that Sabbath’s shoulders have sagged inward as she leans back on both arms, and her bright pink dress has dimmed. If I look carefully, the folds of fabric have taken on a barely translucent quality.

So, when there’s a stirring in the depths of the forest, we all sit up straight, glimpsing the faint shimmery edges just beyond the thin trunks. As the creature appears, I stifle a gasp, holding it tight in my chest.

Positioned at various spots around the clearing, we all stiffen with what I can only qualify as reverence. I’m holding my breath as the unicorn—a real, live unicorn—brushes past the trees and enters the clearing.

It’s far larger than a normal horse, and it glows faintly, pale white from its hooves to the tip of its horn. Yet, I never knew white could contain so many colors. As the creature clomps forward with a confusing grace for its size, its coat twinkles, iridescent, like light snagging on a prism, casting out a rainbow.

Tomorrow stares at the thing with her mouth slightly agape, eyes transfixed. It’s not like her hardened energy has disappeared, but it’s definitely been put on pause. Then I realize she’s taking in the tip of its long, spiraled horn. The thing is so sharp that I hurt just looking at it.

Now I understand why Tomorrow Jones loves unicorns. They’re pretty horses with giant knives on their heads.

The unicorn sniffs, its nostrils gaping as it turns its snout in Sabbath’s direction. She rearranges her limbs quickly, propping herself up on her rock with a very startled sort of dignity.

“That’s right, mister unicorn,” I breathe to myself, willing him forward. “Go after the nice virginal Catholic...”

After all that waiting, it’s hard to be mad at how right we were about the unicorn’s sexism. He makes a beeline for her, stopping abruptly just before his last hoof enters the boundary of the rune. We need all four hooves on the ground inside that baby to lock the unicorn in.

“Come on,” I see Soren mouth. His body is taut, ready to launch into action.

Rising from her rock and moving forward to meet the creature, Sab lifts a hand into the air to coax him. “You’re very beautiful,” she coos. “Or handsome. I don’t know if you have a preference.”

The unicorn whinnies softly but doesn’t near. Sab’s confidence slips as she looks helplessly out at us. Tuesday is discretely waving her hand at her, mouthing a silent word from across the clearing that I can’t make out.

Nodding ever so slightly in understanding, Sabbath smiles at the unicorn. “I have a tail, too.”

He nuzzles her hand and she takes a small step back. Lifting his last hoof, he moves it slowly over the line...

The salt boundary blows up a little thump of confirmation when the rune locks, the unicorn sealed inside.

As if it can tell terrible magic has been performed against it, the creature wheels around, trying to exit, raging up against the invisible wall.

“Omens, get out of there, Sabbath!” Tomorrow screeches.

But Sabbath hesitates, transfixed by the unicorn’s panic. The beast is going to stomp her to a pulp—

“SABBATH!” Soren roars.

Startled, she finally stumbles out of the rune, only barely avoiding kicking up the salt.

We all edge forward in awe. Five seventh-years have caught a unicorn. I don’t even know who we are right now.

Sab can’t look away from the thing she’s lured into this trap, but I try to remember we’re just going to take three of its hairs and then set it free.

We never get the chance.

A look of realization transforms Tuesday’s face. “Oh! I—” Tuesday says, suddenly, cutting herself off in guilt. “I forgot about the wards...” She prances away just in time to avoid being trampled when the trees start moving—

Yes. The trees are moving.

They bend forward around us, their long limbs sharpening into talons. I think for sure they’re going to pierce us before I quickly realize that that’s what the birds are for.

As it turns out, the birds are so silent in Stillwood because they aren’t birds. They’re motherfrucking weapons of magical destruction.

“TUESDAY!” Four of us roar, scattering, arrows raining down from the trees. They zoom toward us, the beaks sharpening into spears, as we zigzag between the slumping trees.

“Oh!” Tu shouts, dodging a stabbing limb. “When we met the unicorn, my professor used an incantation! It lifted the protections of the forest—”

“WHAT WAS IT!”

“I don’t remember!”

“Think harder!” Tomorrow snaps, voice crescendoing with the rate of her panic.

“Tuesday!!” I shout, “Hurry it up!”

She stands there with her brow slightly furrowed, finger in the air as she attempts to recount. A plunging tree bows down over her and she leaps back, narrowly escaping the limbs that sink into the earth, but now she’s caged in.

“You have, like, ten seconds to get that unicorn!” I roar to Soren, who’s trying to dart into the rune-safe space where the unicorn—now no longer the stuff of little girl dreams—rears in distress, ferocious, eyes gone foggy white with rage.

The problem is, I’m closer to the seerforsaken thing, and I am not prepared to be the one who plucks three tiny, very dangerous, very totally-not-worth-it hairs from that creature.

A new threat emerges from the bowels of the forest. It’s a pack of what looks like naked bears, with the tusks of wild boars and the tails of lions. One turns—okay, the very spiky tails of lions—but no one else seems to be panicking about these things nearly as much as I am.

“Hello!” I shout at Tomorrow, “Behind you!”

She turns, frowning, staring right at the beast. “What? Where?”

Just as it’s about to leap, I take a handful of berries from my pocket. “Eat murderous berries, you shits!” I growl, throwing them lamely. It’s not logical, but it is an effective diversion.

One of the berries hits the beast square on the face, then proceeds to fly through him. Despite this, my war cry serves as enough of a distraction that the beast turns its head toward the source. Me.

Tomorrow stands, confounded, peering into space as if blind to the beast. That’s when I realize they’re shadow monsters—and that they might not be able to touch my friends, but they sure as omens can touch me.

Soren’s just reached the threshold of the rune, when the unicorn breaks free with a wrathful cry. Stumbling backward, he falls at the mercy of one of the shadow beasts, and I swear I see him look it square in the eye just before the unicorn races through it in a flurry. The monster’s form billows up into smoke, reforming a moment later.

With elegant speed, the unicorn surges forward into the forest, the branches lifting around it, trees moving aside to allow it an escape route.

Soren shoots to his feet, ripping through the trees in pursuit. As he runs, he sketches a rune in the air and the unicorn freezes mid-gallop. Its eyes are wide as its hooves push through the air slowly, deliberately, trying to find traction once again on the ground.

Skipping out of the path of a branch determined to impale me, I yank Tomorrow to my side, but branches dive down between us, trapping her. “Go,” she urges.

Soren’s spell isn’t going to hold for long by the looks of it, and now we have one pissed off unicorn on our hands.

Then it happens. All the bird-arrows that’ve been sweeping through the forest rise up again, narrowing in their efforts on Soren.

“Soren!” The scream rips from me in warning.

He rushes to the unicorn, stroking its mane to calm it as if there isn’t a legion of magic bird-arrows poised to skewer him at any moment. If I’d had half a second to process it, I would’ve thought Soren wooing a unicorn was sweet.

Sabbath shrieks as the arrows plow down through the air. And then, out of nowhere, steps Nik.

New Kid Nik, who doesn’t know a lick about magic aside from accidental cycloning.

He emerges into the fray, standing valiantly in front of the slew of arrows like he’s really certain he knows what he’s doing, and sets both arms in the air. He’s going to martyr himself for us.

Wind lashes from him, swirling up in front of him with an invisible torrent that whips against the trees, rattles the leaves, and halts the arrows mid-air.

“Hurry up, Cain!” he grunts with some effort.

I catch Sabbath’s eye from where she’s trapped in her magnificent, God-awful gown behind a tree-cage like Tuesday, staring up at Nik like she’s seen a ghost. My eyes rush to find Soren in the madness, just in time to see him slice a few hairs from the unicorn’s mane with his knife. And just in time, too—his rune falters the second his hands move away from it.

Oh, that unicorn is mad. It is not going gently into that good forest. No, it turns on Soren and thrashes. He falls back against a tree as it charges him.

It all happens at once.

Nik grunts, and Tomorrow yells, “Take cover!!” The wind surging from Nik flips back on him and he’s flung through the air, smashing against a large trunk just as the arrows plummet deep into the ground where Soren was standing not one second ago.

Nik falls unconscious between two ginormous roots, but my gaze follows the action to Soren, where he’s backing up into the forest, cornered by the once sweet and gentle creature. Its head is tilted low, spear-like horn aligned with Soren’s chest.

It dives.

The unicorn launches horn-first, skewering Soren’s shoulder and he releases a hiss of pain. The horn retracts sharply, glinting brightly with blood. I scramble toward Soren, terrified the unicorn has miscalculated its aim and will attack again. Instead, it releases an unsettling whinny and gallops off, a white blur shimmering through the trees, save for the ghastly spot of red dripping from the tip of its horn.

“Are you okay?” I breathe, collapsing onto the ground next to Soren. He offers me a reassuringly vigorous grunt of pain.

Across the clearing, Tomorrow shakes the immovable limbs of her cage.

“Wards since Spellfall’s dawn, be gone!” Tu chants, the stream of anxious words spoken too late.

The tree limbs dislodge from the earth, rising to their full height like giants, and stilling once more against the utter calm of Stillwood.

“Wish you would’ve remembered that sooner,” Tomorrow bites out, brushing past her sister as she moves to the boys.

Sabbath, freed from her own cage, rushes to Nik’s body and bends over him, the puffy folds of her pink dress covering her like sea waves until they vanish, melting away into the ground. Tomorrow and Tuesday join her.

My attention returns to my ward; Soren’s fingers run red with the blood. Trying to move the hand he has clapped to his shoulder, I meet his resistance.

“Let me see,” I say gently, sucking in a quick breath through my teeth when I see the full damage. The horn has bored a hole through his trench and his shirt, deep into his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he gasps, and I roll my eyes.

“Stop trying to be manly.” With careful fingertips, I poke at the edges of his shirt. “It doesn’t seem too deep, at least.”

“It was nice of the unicorn to let me off with a warning,” Soren breathes weakly, and then he holds up three perfect strands of iridescent unicorn hair. I exhale in relief.

“Come on,” I groan, helping him up. “Let’s get that wound clean. I hear there’s purified water over here.”

Okay, I need your reactions to this action packed chapter! The unicorn, Nik's surprise arrival, the mysterious naked-bear-things. Or, tell me your favorite line, cause there are some moments that definitely make me laugh (thank you, Tomorrow Jones)! Annnnnd GO!

xx Jessa

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