Free A Creature of Moonlight by Rebecca Hahn

here.”
    I take a breath. “Then I can’t come with you.”
    She moves; she’s close to me in an instant, facing me across the wall. “There’s nothing for you there now,” she says. “Forget it, little one. Nothing matters but your freedom, but the life you can have with us in the woods.”
    But she’s wrong. My Gramps lies dead in our garden. My mother never saw me grow. And the man who ruined both their lives walks free, unpunished, as happy as he ever was. And I know of things this lady may not, with all her mysteries, with all her secrets. I’ve heard tales of sorcerers and witches, away in far-off lands. I’m half dragon, yes, and that half is pushing me on, across the wall, into the woods. But I’m half human, too, and could be I can do things this lady would never dream.
    I’m tall enough these days to reach across the wall, all the way to the forest floor, with one toe still in my garden. I snatch two pine needles, and before I bring them back over the wall, I lay them flat in my hands and I whisper the words I’m only just remembering, the words the lady taught me all those years ago.
    The needles shimmer; my hands sting, sharp, under them. Between one blink and the next, the needles draw out long and strong, the same as the ones the lady keeps tucked into her dress. She doesn’t say a thing, not as I call them into being, not as I pull them across into the garden, and they don’t shrink, they don’t disappear into nothing. They dim in the twilight so that they could be taken for any old knitting needles. But I can feel it still, the humming power spiraling down their lengths.
    â€œTulip,” says the lady, “don’t do this. There’s only more danger for you there, only more heartbreak. Come with me, back where you belong.”
    I slip the needles into my waistband, next to my Gramps’s note. “Maybe when I’m finished, I’ll follow you,” I say. “First I’ve a vengeance to take.”
    â€œWe will be coming for you,” says the lady.
    â€œYou can try,” I say. “You’ve not had much success just yet.”
    â€œNo,” says the lady. “I mean that every one of us will be coming after you.”
    There’s a coldness in her voice, a low note I don’t remember hearing before. I’m almost frightened, hearing it. I back up from the wall. “There’s not a thing you can do,” I say, “without me letting you.”
    â€œYou are not like the others,” the lady says. “We will do everything we can to bring you home.”
    She’s looking at something behind me, something in the garden, and she’s backing away into the woods. I hear, before she disappears, as though she’s speaking straight into my head,
You can run, little Tulip, but not forever. Someday you will be ours
.
    â€œLady?” It’s the Lord of Ontrei, coming toward me through the garden, calling out.
    â€œMy lord,” I say, going to meet him. He stands tall on the garden path. I look up at him, calm, certain. I see again how handsome this one is, with his dark hair, with his sharp eyes. He’s looking all mournful at me too, no doubt hoping I’ll believe he sympathizes. I say, as straightforward as I can, “You’ll be wondering what my plan is now, what I’m thinking of doing without my Gramps.”
    His voice is measured. “There’s only one thing you can do, considering the king’s current state of mind.”
    â€œThat will be marrying you and coming to court.”
    I wait through his surprise. “Yes,” he says at last. “Though I understand the idea is distasteful to you.”
    I don’t answer that. Instead I say, “You mentioned something of an alliance.”
    â€œAn alliance is always strengthened by family ties.”
    â€œAny alliance is better than none at all, I’d think. Especially