Free Juniper Berry by M. P. Kozlowsky

finding none, shoved him toward Juniper. “And you”—she pointed to Dmitri—“get back to work. I don’t pay you to stand around, do I?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.” Sheepishly, Dmitri retrieved his ax from its stump and continued his chopping without a second glance back.
    Mrs. Berry turned to Juniper. “You keep an eye on this one,” she said, referring to Giles. “He is in great despair. I see it.” She then hurried into the house holding her head, as if it were expanding.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Juniper said to a teary-eyed Giles, who was busy massaging his arm.
    â€œDon’t worry about it, June.”
    A nickname. Juniper was overwhelmed. She approached him and rubbed her thumb beneath his eye—something she remembered her father once doing for her a long time ago. “Don’t cry,” she said.
    Then, looking closer at her friend’s flustered face, she gasped. His tears were falling from a grotesque black eye. “Oh my, did my mother do that to you?”
    Giles shook his head and sniffed. “School.”
    No more explanation was given, but no more explanation was needed; Juniper had an idea or two.
    She gestured toward her house. “My mother never used to be like that,” she told him. “Everyone used to love her. She treated everyone so nice.”
    â€œIt’s the tree,” Giles said with a croak. “Right? Same as my parents. That’s what’s causing this.”
    â€œWe’re going to find out.” She then proceeded to tell her new friend everything, from her parents’ journey into the wet, dark night to their balloons to their surprising good cheer the following morning to her theory about the raven.
    â€œDo you really think a bird can help us?” he asked about her plan.
    â€œI think we don’t have anything else to go on right now.”
    The setting sun left the sky bruised, and the light breeze became a cutting wind. Juniper and Giles returned to the decrepit tree and were greeted by the roving eyes of the raven. It flapped its wings wildly and let out a piercing screech, the loudest yet. Juniper gazed at it for some time, wondering if what she was about to do was crazy or not. Finally, she said, “We want to enter. Please, show us how.”
    Immediately, the raven flew down and perched at the top of the trunk. It screeched some more, once at Juniper, once at Giles.
    â€œIs it trying to tell us something?” Giles asked incredulously. “Are you actually talking with it?”
    Intently, Juniper stared at the raven. In her stories animals talked all the time, and the real world was just as fantastic a place as anything she could create; it never ceased surprising her, so why should it now? “How do we find the entrance?” she asked again.
    The raven squawked an odd song and pecked its beak at the tree several times.
    â€œThere?” Juniper asked. There was no groove in the spot, no dent or knot or scratch. It looked no different from any other part of the tree. She pulled out her magnifying glass and studied the area. And indeed there was a mark. It was very slight, almost unnoticeable, just a mild discoloration, as if the tree had bled a long time ago and scarred. No wonder she had passed over it when they first looked. “There?” Juniper asked again, pointing.
    The raven screeched, appearing to nod once more.
    â€œIt can understand us?” Giles asked.
    â€œWe’ll find out,” Juniper answered.
    Making sure Dmitri was well out of sight, Juniper exhaled a deep breath, swallowed whatever fears festered, placed her finger against the mark, and pushed.

Chapter 7
    T HERE WAS A NOISE, an unusual sound, as if the tree were speaking gnarled words. The ground trembled slightly, the raven flapped its wings, and yet nothing appeared to change. Perplexed, Juniper continued to stare, waiting for something, anything, to be revealed. And, sure enough,