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Once more, Fionna went running, her little legs pumping, and she might have made it to the woods if she hadn’t tripped.
The man fell on her, grabbing at her tunic with one hand, grunting as his other fumbled at the rope holding up his britches. Sheer terror had Fionna trembling, but also fighting like a feral cat. She clawed and thrashed, but he was stronger. As he held her down and tore at her clothing, he told her what he would do.
Awful things.
Cruel things.
Fionna felt her emotions boiling, hot and cold as fear, anger, and desperation churned.
And exploded.
Literally.
The man turned into chunks of bloody meat.
A shocked Fionna lay on the ground, wide-eyed. It took her a moment to realize the threat was gone. She raced back to her mother’s body, but the unseeing eyes brought a wail to her lips.
Mama was dead.
A passing neighbor found her sitting on the ground, holding her mother’s lifeless head. They also saw the remains of the man who’d killed her.
“Come with me girl,” he muttered.
Fionna went in silence with Horatio who brought her to the town magistrate. When questioned, she told them what happened, about the man who’d killed her Mama, and how he’d tried to hurt her but exploded.
“How did he explode?” asked the magistrate.
Fionna shrugged. “Perhaps it was Mama’s ghost protecting me.” What else could it be?
They placed her in a room used for the storage of linens and kept the door locked. She saw no one except the magistrate’s wife, who brought her meals but didn’t speak. She’d open the door, slide in a bowl, and shut it quickly.
Five sleeps later, the door opened, and a woman strode in, her skin the rich brown of the trees in the forest, her hair a lustrous black. Her eyes were a startlingly beautiful shade of green that matched her cloak.
“Hello, Fionna,” the woman greeted her softly.
“Ma’am.” She gave a curtsy to the fine-looking lady.
“I hear you ran into some trouble.”
Fionna bit her lip. “A man killed my Mama.”
“And what happened to the man?” asked the woman.
“He exploded.”
“So I hear. Do you recall how you felt when it happened?”
She shrugged. “Scared. Angry.”
“Has that kind of thing ever occurred before?”
She shook her head.
“May I hold your hand?”
Fionna hesitated only a moment before sliding her small fingers into the woman’s palm. Heat emanated from the woman, a tingle that felt good and brought a smile to her lips. Colors danced before Fionna’s eyes, wispy tendrils that she wanted to pluck.
“That tickles,” she giggled.
