Lacey fought for breath, desperate to drag air that felt like molten toffee into her lungs. A weight was pressing on her rib cage. Was it someone’s hands, or did something fall on her? Try as she might, she couldn’t get her diaphragm to expand. The world tilted, then pulled her back against something hard, pressing her head into a soft, sticky surface, mashed against the back of her skull.

  Muffled voices surrounded her. There was something familiar about one of them. Comforting. Safe. Don’t leave me, she wanted to tell it, but the thought was drowned out by what might have been a siren, far away. Her eyes wouldn’t open, she couldn’t move her arms. Something was pressing against her shoulders, immobilising her. Was that bands? It was the sweat shop. She had been captured and was being forced to make toys. Fighting to break loose, she pressed against the merciless bands, causing them to morph into tree roots that sprouted around her.

  It was the pear tree where she had woken up. The roots climbed all over her body. She had to escape. They drew even tighter, pulling her down into the ground, the soil spilling over her. In the distance, an underwater siren warbled and screamed as she sank deeper into the earth. It covered her face, filling her mouth, while snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

  Lacey jerked awake, gasping for breath. The sticky warmth was gone. The restraints turned into bed sheets, tautly tangled around her arms and legs. She was still in Mathilda’s spare bedroom, the snowflake candy cane glowing on the windowsill. The wailing noise became the calls of four black birds, hopping around in the tree outside her window in the rays of the early dawn.

  Lying back, she sank down into the soft mattress. For a moment it felt uncannily like the ground swallowing her, but she forced herself to relax. Slowly, her beating heart steadied. In the other bedroom, Mathilda’s bed softly creaked as she readjusted in her sleep.

  What a dream – it felt so real! It had been a long time since she had a nightmare like that. Apparently, she had had a lot of bad dreams when she had first arrived at the group home so many years ago. Lacey didn’t remember it herself. All she knew was that she didn’t dream much. Most of the time she went to bed too exhausted to dream anyway, although sometimes she would wake with a faint echo of falling snowflakes, the smell of cookies, and laughter in her mind. Nightmares were few and far between.

  The restlessness in the wake of the dream persisted, however. The cottage was still snug and warm, but Lacey had too much leftover tension to savour it. So, she got up, searching for something to do. Since it was too early to start breakfast, she grabbed her coat and boots and went outside. The snow still lay thick on the ground. Too cold to melt, it had formed an icy crust that shattered with every step Lacey took.

  Gradually, the little settlement was waking up, sliding window curtains open to let in the morning light and chimneys beginning to puff out more smoke. She supposed Mathilda would also wake soon and start breakfast. Lacey hoped she would see the little note Lacey had left for her on the kitchen table. Maybe Peter had already arrived too – ready for breakfast.

  Looking up, she found the candy-cane fields spread out in front of her. She hadn’t realised that was where she was going. But, it was the place where she and Peter had ended their search yesterday evening. Could there be anything they’d missed?

  She did a slow visual sweep of the fields, from one side to the other. This was the one thing her experiences in the group home had taught her. Don’t believe what you see on the surface. Watch carefully, look deeper. It had served her well. This was how she had become Wesstlar Brothers’s number one accounting detective. It was also those keenly developed senses that had prompted Robert Wesstlar to pay for her accounting degree, although she had only worked as a secretary initially.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Still, she saw nothing out of place. She pondered the issue. Although the note had asked Jinxy to meet in the fields, they didn’t know whether she had actually come here. She may have decided to go somewhere else, or, she could’ve been on her way here when something happened. Which direction would she have come from?

  Lacey turned back to face the village. Jinxy’s cottage was just about directly opposite the fields, at the other end of the village. She could’ve walked directly through the centre, or circled round the edges from either side. The direct route would’ve been faster, but no one had noticed her in the settlement around that time of the afternoon. She did like nature and hiking, maybe she thought the edges were a more scenic way to travel.

  Lacey turned to face the hills into which the Southern forest rose. Maybe Jinxy had come that way. Much more to see, and trails to walk. It would also explain why she wasn’t seen, either in town or on the more open Northern snow-harvesting side.

  She began walking that way, only to be interrupted by a voice calling out.

  ‘Ho there, Lacey, wait up!’

  It was Peter, wrapped in his red coat, the gold-brocaded shoulders gleaming in the rays of the morning sun, as he waved to her.

  Wasn’t he supposed to be having breakfast in Mathilda’s kitchen around now? Unless he skipped it.

  But, she kept the thought to herself, and waved back.

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asked, once he had caught up.

  ‘How else but through my brilliant detecting skills?’ he replied, sweeping his arm towards the edge of the village behind them with a wink. Looking back, Lacey wanted to kick herself. Her snow-embedded footprints lay a clear path from her feet, all the way back into the village where it disappeared from view between the cottages. She contented herself with a good-natured eye roll, which he grinned at.

  ‘You’re up early,’ he said. ‘Why have you come out here again?’

  ‘I didn’t really intend to,’ she said. ‘At first I was just taking a walk, but then I started thinking about Jinxy again.’

  ‘Oh? Anything you want to share?’

  His eyes were serious as she filled him in on her new ideas.

  ‘It makes sense,’ he said, once she was done. ‘And you’re right. There are a lot of nice trails to walk out here.’

  He paused, looking up into the sky as he mulled it over. ‘The Ice Dove trail. Yes. If that’s what she did, she probably would’ve followed it. It passes by relatively close to her cottage, skirting the edge of The Wasteland, before entering the woods. Then it follows the curve of the village to almost the beginning of the candy-cane fields before it swerves away to connect to the longer Forest March trail. At its closest point on this end, you can either return to the village, or continue the longer hike.’

  ‘The Ice Dove trail?’

  He smiled. ‘It’s not what it sounds like. Or actually, maybe it is. In the winter that trail is surrounded by patches of snowdrop flowers, which is another reason Jinxy might have chosen to walk that way. But, to bring it back to the ice doves, there’s a local legend about a brave dove folding her wings around her family, giving herself to protect them from the winter storms. And, seeing her sacrifice, the Great Spirit of Christmas created the first snowdrops in the very spot she gave her life. A thing of beauty to honour a mother’s greatest sacrifice.’

  ‘How sad.’ There was a kind of melancholy to the story. Is that something my mom would’ve done? Lacey wondered. Who knew.

  If Peter felt her mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said, ‘I agree. But, the snowdrops out there are beautiful. Shall we walk the trail, and then go have breakfast?’

  ‘Sure.’ Frowning, Lacey angled her face to look at him. For someone so supernaturally perceptive, Peter hadn’t pressed her about her origin once since their conversation had started. The complete opposite of the previous day.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. Why?’ he said, looking a bit surprised at her question.

  ‘Nothing to say about me not knowing the snowdrop legend?’ she pressed.

  His face softened in understanding. She didn’t like that expression. It was unnerving.

  He shrugged. ‘I was recently reminded that not everyone’s mysteries are mine to solve, and that, as a guard, I should be doubly respectful of others’ personal privacy.’

  Mathilda. Well, bog a slog. Lacey sighed. Of course, he had seen her this morning. She must’ve said something to him and then sent him out to look for her. On the one hand Lacey could appreciate her new friend’s concern. On the other, she did wish Mathilda hadn’t raised the issue with Peter on her behalf.

  Either missing her sigh or politely pretending to, Peter tipped his head toward the path. ‘Shall we?’

  ??????