All trace of the strange, little house disappeared, and a much larger room came into view. The revolving platform stopped with a splutter of machinery, the hiss of pistons. Sadie's eyes took in a room filled with busy workbenches and complex systems of pipes, vials, pots, and bubbling tubes. Curved stone walls were plastered with crude scribbles on old parchment and disorganised bookshelves. Hanging lanterns swung over an unmade bed, bookended by a wireless and a shabby clothes trunk.
Vulpes hopped off the platform and swept around the workbenches gathering items in his pale fingers. He came to an abrupt halt in front of Sadie. "Chin," he requested. "It is bleeding."
"I fell," Sadie said. "I thought it had dried."
Vulpes produced a fine cloth and, after dipping it in a clear substance, dabbed the wound. It stung at first, but quickly faded. He ran the cloth over the cut, making Sadie wince. "You will live," he declared, smiling brightly. "Try not to prod it or it will never heal."
"Thank you. That was very kind."
Vulpes waved away her thanks. "Do not mention it."
"I do not trust him," Oliver told her, inspecting her chin.
"You are right," Vulpes called as he walked briskly around his laboratory, collecting more items, and dumping them on one of the workbenches. "The Fire Wolves," he added. "They are afraid."
"Afraid of what?" Sadie said, immediately prodding her chin.
"The dark mist," Vulpes replied ominously. "At least, that is my theory."
Sadie could hear Oliver swallow.
"You saw it," Vulpes grinned. "It is okay. I can tell."
"Yes. Through the wolves. It follows them, watching, waiting for something."
Vulpes plucked a silver goblet and a large blue bottle from a high shelf. He opened several vials and small boxes, sprinkling unmeasured amounts of one thing and another into the goblet. "Not something—" he started, popping the blue bottle open and filling the goblet to the brim. "—someone." He pushed the goblet towards her. "Here. Have some of this. It is cold, but it will warm you through. Sounds backwards, I know, but it works wonders."
Sadie swung her legs off the lift and approached the table. She stared down at the dark contents swirling in the goblet.
"Do not—" Oliver said.
"It is quite safe," Vulpes assured her.
"Who is it? The dark mist."
Vulpes steepled his fingers, running his tongue over his priceless teeth. "He is a shadow. I say he, could be a she, could be an it, could be all manner of things. Been in the trees east of Iron Bridge for as long as I can remember. Watching, waiting—for what, I have no clue—but searching for something. Or someone."
"How do you know?"
"Sadie Madison, you are not the only one in tune with the animals of the forest," Vulpes informed her. "What did you see through the eyes of the wolves?"
"We were running through the woods, scared, terrified. A choking, smothering darkness. Chased and chasing at the same time. Locked between the two things. It was painful, sad, and angry all at once."
"It is called Skinwalking," Vulpes told her. "The ability to see through another's eyes."
Sadie's forehead wrinkled. "How did I—?"
Vulpes tightened. "You do not know?"
"I was alone. Terrified. Convinced the wolf would to tear me to pieces. But Oliver returned and I found a sort of inner calm, like I wasn't afraid anymore."
Vulpes inched the goblet towards her. "Interesting," he said. "It would appear Oliver is quite the accomplice."
Sadie wrapped her fingers around the goblet, dragging it closer. "He's my...friend."
"Oh, I think he's far more than that. I am not sure exactly, but he definitely has more than a modicum of power."
"Power?" Oliver whispered.
"Now, tell me, what are you doing up here in the forest in the middle of the night?"
"I'm—" Sadie wasn't sure. "We're...looking for Danver," she told him. "He was taken to Hurtmore House after a fight with Cale Boswick. I asked his parents how to find Hurtmore House, but they had completely forgotten about him. Forgotten they had a son! He's been my friend forever and ever. I have to get him back. I have to."
"Is that so?" Vulpes waved his bejewelled fingers towards the silver goblet. "Well, drink up, think of your friend, think of...Danver. Hope can be a powerful ally."
Sadie lifted the goblet off the workbench.
Images of Danver rose through her mind.
Oliver shook his head, mouthing the word no.
But the edge of the goblet touched her lips, the cold liquid seeping between her teeth, smothering her tongue.
"Think of Danver," Vulpes encouraged. "Think of your friend."
The liquid tasted sweet, rich and, as it slipped down her throat, invitingly warm.
"Think of all the memories you shared together."
The effect spread across her chest, like a strong cough remedy or a glass of warmed ziela.
"Good girl. Now, give me your hands," Vulpes instructed, taking the goblet from her and slinging it over his shoulder.
He wrapped his hands around hers and closed his eyes.
At the end of the table, a large black candle—stuffed into an empty bottle of DarkHeart—burst into life. The flame licked excitedly as Vulpes' hands grew hotter and hotter and hotter. The heat surged up Sadie's arms and into her chest, mixing with the liquid from the goblet.
"Once again, think about Danver," the Alchemist said. "Recall your best, happiest memories of Danver. Think about your long, lost friend. Your best friend. Dan-ver."
Sadie felt drowsy, the heat wrapping her in a soft cocoon.
The black candle danced on the workbench, erupting like a firework, shooting tiny flames into the air.
Sadie's eyes fought to stay open. Around her, the room brightened, revealing more ornaments and possessions of Vulpes' mystical life: glass-vials, sand-timers, match-grinders, tinder-boxes, flint-keepers, weather-books, charts, and medicines in an army of labelled pots and jars. There were three archways leading off the main room. Each revealed a series of root-lined corridors stretching under the forest.
A labyrinth of wonders.
Vulpes shut his black-rimmed eyes. His hairless head rocked slowly from side to side like a pendulum.
"Watch," he said, his eyes suddenly open.
The candle diminished momentarily. Then, several faces sprang from the flame and danced in the air, wreathed in colourful light. First, were three young women. They spiralled towards the roof of the underground laboratory and faded into withering embers. Next sprang a winged child, a centurion, an old man, an elvish girl, and finally a young boy—Sadie could have sworn he looked just like Oliver.
She ripped her hands away. The room descended into darkness, the faces fizzling out like damp fireworks. "What was that? What did you do?"
Vulpes pulled his hands away, like spiders scurrying under a sofa. "It is a future, Sadie. Of sorts."
"A future?"
Vulpes seemed agitated. He shook himself and then, turning skyward, seemed to speak to someone else. Someone not there. "It's unclear ... I cannot see for sure ... Some of it is missing ... You know why."
Sadie sat and listened to Vulpes' side of the conversation, attempting to fill in the blanks as she had with her father on the FarSpeaker. "Trying again will make no matter ... What is seen, is seen. Even with one eye ... Very well." He turned his attention back to Sadie. "I'm sorry. That was impossibly rude of me."
"Who were you talking to?"
"A friend," he answered. "Just like Oliver."
Vulpes' eyes were now on the boy in the crimson scarf.
Sadie's hand flew to her mouth. "You can...see him?"
"Naturally," Vulpes replied. "Things existing in the veil between life and death are common to me, for I often dwell there myself. Oliver is as clear to me as he is to you. Perhaps more so."
"He can see me?"
"You are different to what I had imagined, more human looking than the others, but you are finally here, and that is the most important thing of all."
"The others?" Sadie asked. "You mean the Candidates, don't you?"
Vulpes pursed his lips and pulled a silver watch from his pocket. He studied the second hand until it rotated round to the twelve and then snapped it shut. "Goodness, have you seen the time?" he said, jumping up from the table and rummaging around in the trunk by his bed. "I am terribly sorry. I have to go."
"What?" she said. "Where?"
"And you should be going too, Sadie. Morning light will soon be upon us and, with it, the crawl of the dawn feeders."
Oliver shuddered.
"But we've only just got here. We've only just found you. You have to tell me who the Candidates are. You have to help us find Hurtmore House. That's why I saw the door in the wall. That's why the fox led us all the way here."
"Is it?" the Alchemist said, lobbing clothes onto the floor.
"Vulpes?" Sadie sounded desperate.
"I do not know why or how you managed to find your way here," he answered. "Do not get me wrong, I am glad you did. But I know nothing of Hurtmore House—beyond the tales the rumours—and it is almost light. A girl your age should be at home with her family."
Sadie could smell the promise of dawn, fresh and innocent. She kicked the nearest table in frustration. Several glass tubes tipped onto their sides. Oliver shot to her side, squeezing her hand.
"How do we get back to Iron Bridge?" she asked irritably. "We're lost up here."
Vulpes looked up from his trunk and smiled curiously. "Head downhill, of course," he said, wrinkling his face. "Let the Fire Wolves guide you. Or become a wolf yourself and use your nose. I am sure there will be something tasty cooking in your mother's kitchen when you return. In fact, I know there will be."
* * *
The journey downhill was much easier. The Fire Wolves followed them for over an hour, sniffing the air and rubbing themselves against Sandarac trees.
Sadie wandered sideways, arms stretched, her eyes flicking between the trunks. Oliver's turn to hide. Sadie's to seek. A fraction of her attention focused on playing the game, but the majority dwelled on her encounter with Vulpes. At first it had seemed like an utter waste—not unlike Rhiannon. Both encounters had come about under the strangest of circumstances. Just when Sadie thought she'd found some answers to the Foretelling, the ground was ripped from under her.
Rhiannon and Vulpes themselves were incredibly strange. Different from most people living in Iron Bridge. Except the Ryndai. They were all from some other place. Somewhere magical.
A figure moved to her left.
A shadow on the snow.
The wolves became agitated, growling and snarling.
"It's only Oliver," she whispered, but they formed a circle around her, their fur changing colour until they all shone a fiery autumn-gold.
Sadie shifted forward.
The Fire Wolves moved with her.
She scanned the trees and shrubs, straining to see what veiled in the dawn haze.
Rounding a large Sandarac trunk, a young girl, clad in white, stood before her. She had chaotic, black hair. Her face sad and lonely. Dark markings were etched on her forehead, retreating beneath the hairline. She held out a frail, quivering arm.
"Take me home," the girl whispered. "Please take me home."
Sadie's blood ran cold.
It's the voice from my dream. My nightmare.
The Fire Wolves scattered, turning white, bounding, screaming, howling.
She cannot be here. I'm not dreaming. Am I?
Sadie looked at the dark markings on the girl's head. They were symbols. Writing of some kind. A language she didn't know.
A single tear of black ink ran from the girl's crown, across her cheek and pooled by her bare feet.
"Take me home," she whispered again. "Please take me home."
They held each other's gaze for what seemed like forever.
Sadie froze, her body still, lifeless.
A hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her like a top.
"Are you okay?" said Oliver. "I have been hiding for ages."
Sadie snapped out of her reverie.
She looked at Oliver for a moment, then back at the girl.
But she had gone.
Sadie spun in circles, scanning the forest.
"You scared her away, Oliver," Sadie whispered.
"Scared away who?"
"Her. The girl. The one from the dream."
Oliver paused. "The one with the dark markings and—?"
"Yes," she said, her voice ghostly, quiet.
"She was here? In the forest? But—"
Sadie crumpled into the snow and ran her hands through her tangled hair. "I thought I could deal with this, Oliver, but I'm not sure. I'm so utterly confused by everything, and nobody will give me a simple, straight answer. The girl in the dreams, the Vents, Vulpes and his dancing candles, the dark mist, Rhiannon and the Foretelling, the music—"
"—and Danver," Oliver added.
Sadie turned her head. Her eyes thinning as a frown scarred her forehead.
"Who's Danver?"