Wild Magic Read Online Free Page B

utterly useless.
    He reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe, and began to play. A new tune—soft as velvet, heavy as plums, with burgundy notes that sang of sleep and dreams and faraway lands. Of jewels thrown upon a beach. Of love and longing and the desire to fly.
    Little Greta, looking up at him, felt something moving beneath her dress. Feathers. Flour-white feathers. They were pushing out of her skin, ripping her gown to shreds. And now she was shrinking, molding, transforming—though there was no pain, just joy. So much joy, she thought her heart would burst. Then Greta spread her fine new wings and, as an owl, she flew up into the moonlit sky, circled the trees, and disappeared into the night.
    Her brother, Fredrik, was curling in upon himself. His nose was lengthening into a snout, with a moist black nose and smart new whiskers. His eyes were shrinking into shiny black beads. His face was covering in fur. His hands and feet were elongating and growing claws. An armory of prickles was emerging from his body. Deep in his hungry hedgehog’s belly, he felt a sudden longing for worms and he was off, snuffing through the undergrowth in search of supper.
    Johann, the butcher’s boy, felt no desire for worms. He longed to swim. He was beside the river now, gazing at the water that rushed and sparkled at his feet. His eyes were shining silver in the moonlight. His skin was quickening, shimmering with scales. His legs were joining to form one strong, star-flecked tail. He was growing fins. And then, as a salmon, Johann leaped from the rock and disappeared into the river.
    Birgit, the beggar girl, had always wanted to run faster. Faster than the boys who teased her. Faster than the dogs in the count’s orchard. Faster than the traders who called “Thief !” as they chased her through the market. And now she could. Her legs were long and strong. Her ears were pricked and listening. Her fur was as soft as feather down. Birgit was a hare, the most magical of creatures. She bounded away into the shadows.
    And Marianna? Marianna felt herself falling forward. She put her hands out to save herself, so she didn’t hit the ground. Instead, she fell on all fours and stayed there. Her ears were stretching, tight as triangles. Her nose was extending into a muzzle. Her eyes were darkening, sharpening. Her hands and feet were padding into paws. She had a tail, tipped with white. Her body was covered in a rich, russet fur. Marianna was a fox: quick and cunning, hunter and hunted. She ran into the shadows at the base of the mound, then turned and sat on her haunches. Calm and curious, she looked around.
    The night was full of fluttering wings and sharpening teeth, wagging tails and running feet. The children of Hamelin flew and crawled and wriggled and swam and burrowed and leaped and climbed and ran. Shiny otters. Black-masked badgers. Tumbling squirrels. Scattering rabbits. From a stag to a spider, a mouse to a moth—one by one they were all transformed, and still the Piper played on.
    Only when the last creature had disappeared did he take the pipe from his lips. Marianna the fox watched him from the shadows. She saw a strange expression on his face: a terrible blend of anger and bitter despair. Then his head fell forward and his shoulders slumped. Surely he wasn’t crying?
    Marianna continued to watch. Suddenly the Piper straightened himself. He raised his head and Marianna saw there were no tears. His eyes were flashing with excitement at the thought he had clearly just had.
    â€œThe other boy!” he cried jubilantly. “Back in the caves! The mayor’s son! He’s the One!”
    And with that the Piper bounded down the mound and disappeared into the night.

CHAPTER
EIGHT
    Marianna sat quietly for a minute, deciding how it felt to be a fox. She stood up, stretched, and shook herself. Tried walking. Started running. Soon she was tearing around the mound like a born vixen.
    She