The final harpy swooped at Warren, shrieking with rage. He sidestepped and slashed viciously, chopping off a claw, but the other claw raked him, and he spun to the dirt.
Howling furiously, the maimed harpy hopped twice on her remaining leg, then leapt back into the air, flapping her wings and coming toward Bracken and Kendra. Bracken tossed a rock at her, which exploded with a blinding flash. The harpy closed her eyes but kept coming, her remaining claw outstretched. Bracken drew his little knife.
Just before the harpy reached them, she dropped hard to the dirt, as if an unseen piano had landed on her. Raxtus became visible again, standing on top of her, stamping and raking with razor claws. Feathers fluffed into the air. Kendra averted her eyes.
Warren staggered over to them, hand clutching his shoulder, a sheen of sweat glistening on his haggard face. "Rather ... be mauled ... by a pack of rabid dogs."
Raxtus stopped shredding his prey and flew off to inspect the one-winged harpy.
"Let me see," Bracken said.
Warren removed his hand. Ugly stripes had been slashed into his shoulder, the edges yellow, the blood almost black. Warren bit his lower lip. "I can feel the poison spreading."
Bracken placed his palm on the wounds. Flinching slightly, Warren gasped in pain. Bracken bowed his head and closed his eyes. His nose and lips twitched. His hand gave off a pearly glow. When he removed his hand, the edges of the wounds were no longer yellow, and the blood looked less dark.
"Wow, that felt hot," Warren growled through clenched teeth.
"I burnt away most of the poison," Bracken said, swaying. He shook his head as if to clear it. "Once upon a time that would have been simple."
Raxtus came gliding back to them. "No more harpies," the dragon announced proudly, landing nearby.
"Good work," Warren said. "How do they taste?"
"Terrible!" Raxtus exclaimed, baring his teeth in disgust. "I bit the head off one of them. I couldn't spit it out fast enough!"
"Warren got hurt," Kendra said.
"I tried to hurry," Raxtus apologized. "They were so intent on you three, it made them easy prey."
"You did great," Warren said. "Those harpies barely knew what hit them. I'm impressed."
"Want to try to heal him?" Kendra asked the dragon.
Raxtus chuckled nervously. "Bracken might be more the expert."
"I've done what I can," Bracken said. "With my horns gone, I'm a ghost of my former self. Trace amounts of toxin remain. I can't close the wounds any more than I have."
"I can try," Raxtus said uncertainly. "Kendra, it might help if you keep a hand on me."
The dragon brought his chrome-bright head close to Warren, and Kendra rested her hand against the gleaming neck. Raxtus glowed brighter. Lowering his nostrils to the wound, the dragon exhaled a glittering, multihued spray. The wounds closed, leaving three angry welts.
"Well done," Bracken said.
"It helped to have Kendra steadying me," Raxtus replied.
Warren rubbed his shoulder. "Much better."
Bracken stepped forward and felt his forehead. "You still have trace amounts of harpy venom in your system. We need to get you to a healer."
"How long do I have?" Warren asked solemnly.
Bracken frowned. "Maybe twelve hours. Maybe fourteen."
"What?" Kendra cried.
"He would have been dead within minutes without our intervention," Bracken said. "If I had a horn, curing him would be simple. But any decent healer should have the required antivenin."
Warren rubbed Kendra's shoulder affectionately. "I told you, it's better to get chewed up by plague rats. Harpies are foul."
"Try biting off one of their heads!" Raxtus griped, shuddering. "Sorry, I know, at least I didn't get poisoned."
"Do you know any healers in the area?" Bracken asked.
"The closest I know of would be in Istanbul," Warren apologized.
"Think you can carry us to Istanbul?" Bracken asked.
"I can make it," Raxtus said stoutly. "Might help if the attacks would slow down."
"Let's get back in the sky," Bracken urged.
Raxtus backed up, sprang into the air, snatched Kendra, Warren, and Bracken, and started climbing. Several minutes later, still gaining altitude, they passed over the border of Living Mirage with no signs of pursuit.
Chapter 19 Cormac
The sky had threatened rain all morning, but not a drop had fallen yet. Slow, gray clouds currently obscured the sun. Seth checked his watch. Almost 1:30. He hoped the leprechaun would make an appearance soon. Once the sun went down, the centaurs would certainly be after them.
Seth knelt behind a bush between Newel and Doren, watching a sack that hung from a limb over a sandy patch beside a stream. Not far upstream, the water tumbled over a series of ledges, sending up a fine mist around the rocky base of the final drop. According to Patton, the banks near the base of the waterfall were frequented by a leprechaun named Cormac.
"Do you really think this will work?" Doren asked.
Seth flicked the letter in his hand. "Patton seems convinced."
"Patton doesn't have a hefty sum of gold coins at risk," Newel grumbled. "I wish this design had been tested."
"No you don't," Seth said. "Patton made it clear in his letter that the same trap never works twice on the same leprechaun. He has caught Cormac five times with five different traps, and he feels like this new trap will do it again."
"If you keep talking, the leprechaun will never come," Vanessa hissed, making Seth jump. Since hazardous creatures were now free to wander Fablehaven, she and Hugo had been scouting the area. Seth still didn't see her, but apparently her prowling had brought her within earshot.
"Good point," Seth whispered back.
He surveyed the trap in silence. An irregular trail of gold coins led from the stream to a wide patch of sand ringed by rocks. Along the trail, a few of the coins were half-buried, a couple completely buried. In select places they had scattered multiple coins within a small area. Patton had explained that leprechauns couldn't resist unattended gold. Finding lost and hidden treasure was how the little men built their wealth.
In theory, the trail of gold would lead Cormac to a point where he would notice the hanging sack, which contained seventy gold coins. A small flask of whiskey, provided by the satyrs, awaited atop the coins inside the sack.
Minutes trickled by. Without the stimulation of conversation, Seth began to nod drowsily. He had not slept soundly the night before, and had awakened early. He was slipping into a colorful dream involving pie and llamas and water-slides when Doren elbowed him in the ribs.