Free Autumn Storm by Lizzy Ford Page B

really quietly,
she’d hear them speak actual words.
    Jenna talked about Adam, and Autumn
half-listened, more interested in her food and the magick. When she
finished, she left the dining room and went to the front porch. The
morning air was cold, but she didn’t feel like walking up the
stairs again for a jacket. Stairs killed her leg, and she didn’t
want to deal with Dawn, who had stormed into the room late last
night, drunk and screaming about something.
    Autumn had huddled under her covers and
waited for her roommate to pass out.
    Shivering, Autumn made her way down the
porch stairs and walked to the edge of the forest again. Sunlight
fell in patches through the thick wood. Uncertain why, she was
disappointed it was too cold for flowers, like the bluebells she
remembered coating the floor.
    The nearest tree leaned down to her. She
stretched up with a smile, brushing her fingers against the
needles. Air whipped through the forest ahead of her, clearing a
narrow path through the forest. The trees bowed away.
    Autumn hesitated. They wanted her to enter
the forest. She glanced at the house. It was too large for her to
lose sight of easily. She moved into the tree line. Branches swept
by her, closing the path behind her. Pine needles tickled her arms
and neck, releasing bursts of fresh scent and warm magick.
    The path ended at a downed tree thick enough
to reach her waist. She rested her cane against it and hefted
herself on top to stretch out on her back. The cone-shaped pine
trees almost touched tips in the sky above. The blue was beautiful,
clear and bright. The log beneath her grew warm, and she tensed for
a moment, uncertain.
    Magick, she reminded herself. It was
everywhere. The earth was welcoming her, its rumble so faint, she
barely heard it. The air was louder, happy and tinkling, chilling
her as it danced around her while the earth tried to warm her.
    She almost heard the earth grumble at the
oblivious air. The air whistled and whirled away, ignoring the
earth.
    Autumn laughed out loud at the image in her
mind of the two arguing.
    They are happy you’re here.
    She held her breath. Did she hear someone
talk to her or was it in her head?
    Someone was there. Autumn sat up and looked
around. Her gaze settled on the large creature nearby, and she gave
a faint cry of surprise. The auburn bigfoot was over seven feet
tall with a face ugly enough to be a Halloween mask and thick hair
covering his body.
    Sam.
    Autumn closed her eyes. His name came with
the force of a memory that wouldn’t form, as if her mind and her
memories were pushing at each other. As usual, her memories didn’t
win. But she felt the same sense around Sam as she did Adam. They’d
been – or would be? – friends. Good friends.
    Maybe. Doubt and headaches followed every
partial memory.
    “You don’t eat kids do you?” she asked.
    The smile that spread across the yeti’s face
made it even uglier.
    “Your name is Sam.”
    Do you know me? he asked in her
head.
    “No. But I know your name,” she replied,
frustrated. “Are you a nice … monster?”
    The smile faded, and the song in the air
turned mournful.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “Don’t be sad.”
    You have no reason to be sorry, he
replied. I am not always a nice monster.
    She shivered. Cold, she pushed herself off
the log to lean more of her body against it without losing sight of
the creature.
    You are hurt. The yeti looked her
over.
    “No, I’m better,” she said.
    Your elements have helped you recover very
fast, but your body isn’t healed yet.
    She sighed. “I know . But compared to
how I was, I’m a lot better.”
    You are more than your cane and scars.
    “Exactly,” she said firmly. “It’s tiring to
be treated different because of how you look.”
    Sam’s laugh was a strange sound, like a
cross between a yawn and a chortle. Autumn’s face grew hot as she
realized what she’d said to the creature who’d never known what it
was to be normal.
    At least no one tries