The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic by Emily Croy Barker

chattered, and the tips of her fingers were blue by the time they reached the stream that she had crossed so unthinkingly a little while before. Now, she discovered, it was almost frozen over, ice glazing the stones that stood out of the water. Vulpin had to help her across.
    Then she was standing on the other side, and it was summer again—blue sky overhead and tall, green grass waving in a warm breeze. Moscelle and the rest of the hunting party were waiting, along with a dozen horsemen, men she knew from Ilissa’s parties, now wearing helmets and a close-fitting, metallic garb that reminded her of the feeted pajamas that small children wear. She realized after a second that it was chain mail.
    Moscelle and the others crowded around Nora, asking whether she was all right, exclaiming how naughty she had been to wander away, how frightened they had been, how cold her hands were, how lucky she had been to escape from the soldiers and the evil wizard. Nora was more concerned about Vulpin. It occurred to her that no one could recognize him. “I’m fine, really I’m fine,” she said at last, for the fifth time. “But look what they did to poor Vulpin!”
    The others, though, seemed reluctant to look at him directly; Nora could hardly blame them. “What happened to you, Vulpin?” Moscelle asked finally, an edge in her voice.
    Vulpin shrugged his shoulders. “Lord Aruendiel’s little joke,” he said thickly. He switched to the other language, the one that they used when they thought Nora wasn’t listening. It sounded harsher and wilder in his changed mouth.
    â€œI see,” Moscelle said finally, with a glance at Nora. “How unpleasant. Well, you’d better ride ahead and ask Ilissa for help. Tell her we’ll be there shortly.”
    One of the other men led Vulpin’s horse over to him. He was too short to climb unassisted into the saddle, so the others had to help him up and shorten his stirrups for him. He dug his small heels into the side of the horse and disappeared at a gallop.
    â€œI’m sorry to cause all this trouble, Moscelle,” Nora said. “I only crossed the stream to pick some flowers, and then the soldiers came.”
    â€œOh, darling, we’re just so thankful you’re safe. None of us realized that we were so close to the border, or we would never have let you out of our sight. Was it terrible for you, sweet?”
    â€œOh, those men were horrible,” Nora said passionately. “They kept looking at me in this awful way. I was afraid they wanted to—well, you know—but they didn’t. They were afraid of Ilissa and Raclin, I think.”
    â€œThey should be afraid. She’s very, very angry,” Moscelle said, with a little shudder. “How many were there?”
    â€œThree soldiers and two men on horses. A man with one eye, and a crippled man they said was a wizard. I didn’t believe it, but he did something to me and made me confused, and he did that terrible thing to Vulpin.”
    â€œWhat did he do to you?” Moscelle said quickly.
    â€œI don’t know, exactly,” said Nora, “but I couldn’t tell how many legs a horse has.”
    â€œIs it a riddle?”
    â€œNo, I just didn’t know.”
    â€œOh, darling, you know how many legs a horse has, don’t you?”
    â€œFour,” Nora said carefully. When Moscelle said nothing, she went on with more confidence: “I did know it at first, and then I looked at my dress, and it was as though part of my brain had shut off.”
    â€œWhat an awful feeling. Are you all right now?”
    â€œI think so.” In fact, Nora reflected, her head felt a bit clearer than it had for a long time. At least, the slippery words that had become so expert at eluding her now seemed easier to grasp. Standing up to the wizard and the soldiers had forced her to gather her wits, it seemed. She felt some pride for not