THE LACEWORK HOME stood under the niche of the tallest redwood in that part of the woods. The redwood poked above the rest in the canopy of green rivaling even some of the oldest spruces there.
“Look.” Ralston pointed to a shred of green fabric on a branch, obviously torn by some brambles near a boulder.
“Someone was in a hurry.” Jules picked the fabric and examined it. “Looks like Holden’s cloak.”
Ralston parted the brambles and slipped, cutting his hand as he righted himself. “There’s a hole here in the ground.”
“Stay away. Could be a gopher home. You don’t want to end up being gopher food next.”
Standing on the Lacework’s front porch, a savory fragrance, maybe potato soup, wafted toward them. Which was an odd coincidence, Jules thought.
His stomach rumbled and he was about to knock on the door when Tippy let out one of her infamous shrieks. He turned and there she stood, tangled in Fiesty’s blue ribbon as she and the dragonfly struggled to detan- gle themselves. Tst Tst and Bitha, in helping, only made things worse, so Jules strode over.
“Here, take my lantern,” he instructed Bitha, who already had her hands full, what with their pillow-cased belongings.
Tst Tst was handling the other one. “Maybe Mrs. L has a pair of scis- sors to cut her loose.”
Jules motioned for Bitha to place her lantern over Tippy’s head. “Here’s the problem—pass me your stone and squeeze your palm inward really tight.” To free his hand he pocketed her stone. “Now, pass your hand through here.” Finally he freed her and pocketed the ribbon. “It could’ve strangled you.”
He strode to the door again but a roar above stopped him from knocking. Thunder? He hadn’t noticed the lightning due to the canopy. Was this like the solitary flash last night, a single warning of a pending storm?
The hair on Jules’s arms stood on ends. Static electricity. “Back away!” He pushed Ralston back and grabbed Tst Tst and Tippy’s arms. “Quick! The boulder!”
Bitha and Ralston scrambled after him and dove under a groove beneath the boulder. The brambles cut their arms and legs and tore parts of their cloaks.
The crack shattered the night’s quiet and sounded close. Jules had never heard thunder that close. But it was nothing compared to the explo- sion that turned the Lacework home and the redwood it was under into an inferno. Flames consumed the tree as if someone had doused the wood with alcohol. Even from behind the boulder the heat from the fire turned their faces red and the smell of singed shrubbery and smoke made their eyes tear.
“Get away,” Jules shouted amidst the roar of the fire. He pushed them farther behind the boulder and they all fell into the gopher hole Ralston almost slipped into earlier. “Go, go!”
He shoved the girls in front of him deeper into the hole and pulled Ralston who was coughing and sputtering behind him.
“My eyes!” Ralston cried. “Help! I can’t see. I’m blind!”
YOU ARE READING
Keeper of Reign
Teen FictionBooks written in blood. Most are lost, their Keepers with them. A curse that befell a people. A Kingdom with no King. Life couldn’t get more harrowing for the Elfies, a blend of Elves and Fairies. Or for sixteen-year-old Jules Blaze. Or could it? F...
