We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Call Forth a Fox by Markelle Grabo, a YA fantasy twist on a classic fairy tale—out from Page Street Publishing on April 2nd.
Though the western wood is rumored to be home to wicked faeries, 15-year-old Roisin forages without fear, until the night she saves a red fox from a bear, and that bear turns on her. Ro and her sister survive the attack, but the forest isn’t finished with them yet, for the seemingly ordinary bear is truly a boy who’s been cursed by faeries and forced to partake in a deadly competition.
And the red fox is actually a girl—the same girl from the village who Ro has fallen for.
Between the bear and the fox only one is meant to survive, but Ro and her sister are determined to break the curse before tragedy strikes, and their fight forever alters their ties to the western wood and to each other.
I hop off my tree stump to study the line of fox tracks leading deeper into the wood. My neighbor might’ve scared her away, but the fox could be waiting for me somewhere among these trees. Perhaps she wants me to follow her tracks, find her like she found me.
I’m tempted to do just that, yet night draws near. While Ma encourages independence in her daughters, her one rule is to never be alone in the forest when it’s dark, and it’s a rule Eirwyn’s enforced since she left. Besides, my sister’s likely returned from Maple Square by now. She’ll be waiting for me, on the bench reading or hopelessly attempting to rebuild the fire. My sister can no more successfully kindle a flame than I can prepare a decent meal.
I find the will to turn away from the tracks before the temptation to follow seizes me completely, but I drag my feet toward the cottage, thoughts of the fox wrapping around me like rose vines. My boots clomp through the snow and I imagine them as nimble fox feet prowling past the trees. I shift my head right and left, wrinkling my nose as if scenting the air for signs of prey. I imagine the glowing moon illuminating my coppery coat, turning its fire into faerie light.
If only I were a fox. No one would take me to Poppy, then.
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Call Forth a Fox
I lift my eyes to the dark opening ahead, the one that leads to the clearing before the cottage. I squint, and through the dim-ness, I can make out the square windows glowing faintly. Either Eirwyn figured out the fire, or she’s lit every lamp we own.
Icy unease pricks my skin. Now that I’m closer, I’m not sure I’m ready to go home, ready to face Eirwyn so soon after our quarrel. I still feel awful for invoking Pa’s name the way I did. I linger in the developing night, breathing in the cold until it nips at my chest. All around me, snow glistens like the stars slowly appearing overhead. Shadowy trees bend and creak in the wind. A few stray leaves—left over from fall—flutter quietly to the forest floor.
Then, a streak of copper leaps across my path, mere inches from the tips of my boots.
I jump back, but I can’t find my footing. I fall to the ground, and the sudden drop is so jarring that I wince. I press a cold palm to my forehead, blinking away the haze in my eyes in time to see the red fox bounding in the direction of the cottage, paws kicking up snow like a small windstorm.
An ache spreads down my neck as I rise to my feet, and my backside is covered with snow, but neither matters with the fox running ahead. I’m about to chase after her when I hear a deep huff.
I breathe in sharply through my nose. Slowly, I turn.
A bear, its massive form crowding the forest, lumbers toward me.
Muscles ripple beneath dark brown fur. Ears stand straight up. Each puff of breath is a steamy cloud beneath the moon-light.
I try to swallow my rising terror but it’s so thick in my throat that I choke. I cover my mouth, fingers trembling. My chest plummets to my gut, over and over.
A bear in the wood. A creature much larger than a fox. Fur bristling. Eyes gleaming. Mouth hungry. Cold fear drenches me, seeps past layers of clothes to soak my skin.
My teeth chatter. I know I should do something, but I can’t remember what. Ma’s voice is insistent in my ears, but I can’t comprehend the words. I’m caught. Gasping. Trembling. Prey.
The bear huffs again. I can’t breathe.
Then something inside me snaps and Ma’s lesson slams into me like a gale of frozen wind. I don’t wait. I lift my arms, wave them slowly. “Hey! I’m backing away, I’m backing away.”
I step backward as he trudges forward. Enormous paws make deep grooves in the snow. I veer to the left, straying from his path. Dread grips my gut like bear claws. The itch to flee has never been stronger, but I keep my pace. Never try to outrun a bear.
I bump into something solid. Only a tree, but a yelp escapes my lips before I can stop it. The bear groans low.
I shudder against the bark. “I’m backing away,” I repeat. “Please, I’m backing away.”
Moving around the tree, I lose sight of the bear for a few precious moments. But my knees weaken in relief as soon as I regain my view. Despite my yelp, the bear isn’t following me. Ma’s lesson worked.
I wait until I can no longer hear the bear’s heavy tread, then collapse against a tree, my forehead pressed hard against the bark. I release a rush of breath, lips pulling upward in a cautious smile. No longer caught. No longer prey. No need to tremble.
But a sharp wail pierces the night. The fox.
I imagine the scene clearly: Teeth clamping. A coppery coat drenched in red. A broken body in the snow. A triumphant roar.
A swell of rage much stronger than my fear burns its way down my throat.
I dash after the lumbering bear, my satchel thumping against my side. My clothes are damp with snow and sweat. When I reach the edge of the forest, my breaths have turned hoarse and painful.
The bear has the fox cornered, pressed up against a thick oak tree. My ears ring, the sound overcoming all whispers of Ma’s lesson. I must save her. I must stop him.
With fumbling hands, I remove my boot. I blink hard, find my aim, and hurl my boot at the bear. It spirals chaotically until it hits the top of his back. He grunts and turns his head.
“Hey!” I scream, clenching my fists. “Hey!”
It’s not enough. The bear’s head swings back toward the fox. The cornered animal wails again—sharp, insistent, and loud.
I yank off my other boot and throw. “Leave her alone! Get away from her!”
The second boot hits the bear’s side. This time the beast turns fully in my direction. Gleaming eyes latch onto me. He huffs, lifts one large paw, takes one step forward. His ears flatten against his head.
It seems I’ve become the fox.
The bear charges. I spin on my heels and sprint toward the cottage. A mere hundred feet away, but I fear I won’t make it. My chest is tight; I can’t get enough air. I can’t move fast enough. My sock feet slip and slide. Above the ringing in my ears is the sound of the bear’s heavy tread. At such a speed, not even a fox body could save me now.
With a grunt, the bear’s head rams into my back and I’m thrown forward. My body smacks against the ground and my face meets the snow. Crystals of ice sting my cheeks. Unlike the fox, my resulting wail is low and quiet.
A fleeting hope flares in my chest at the thought of the fox leaping onto the bear’s back, nipping at his ear to save her new ally. But of course, foxes don’t think like foolish girls. Foxes don’t provoke a bear; they run from one. I hope the red fox is running now.
A massive paw batters my side. The assault turns my scream into a whimper. I bring my knees to my chest and cover my head with my arms. I wait for another swipe; I know it will come.
Until it doesn’t.
Instead, the bear emits a low groan, and my eyes flutter open. There’s an arrow embedded in the beast’s right shoulder. He stumbles. I uncoil and drag myself across the snow. He drops to the ground like an overturned boulder, huffing and making clicking sounds with his tongue.
In the open doorway of the cottage stands Eirwyn, bow in hand. Her slender frame is illuminated by the light from within.
“Ro,” she calls, starting forward.
I stagger to my feet and run to my sister. We collide and Eirwyn’s bow smacks my back, but I barely register the discom-fort. I bury my face in my sister’s neck, smell her rose perfume. Eirwyn grips me tight and murmurs calming words into my ear, stroking my snow-drenched hair.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t mean to be out so late. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re all right,” Eirwyn says, breathless and trembling. “I’m here.”
Thank goodness for that. After years of neglect, she took up her bow to save me. I’m relieved she never threw it away.
“Did you kill it?” I ask. “Is it dead?”
“I don’t know, I—”
I feel Eirwyn’s body stiffen, then she shrugs herself out of my embrace. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted. She stares past me as if I’m no longer here.
I tug on her sleeve. “Eirwyn, what is it?”
“Ro,” she breathes.
She lifts an arm and points. My eyes follow.
Lying in the snow is a boy. A boy where there should be a bear. A bleeding, naked boy.
He groans, and he sounds like a bear. But he isn’t one. He’s not massive and he doesn’t have fur or sharp claws. He’s pale with messy brown hair and long limbs. He’s human.
But he’s lying in the snow where a bear was, with the arrow Eirwyn shot protruding from his shoulder.
Numbed by the sight, I reach for my sister’s hand, grip her fingers as if touch will rouse me from this strange, terrible dream.
The not-a-bear boy lifts his head. “Help,” he moans. “Please.”
Eirwyn drops her bow. “What have I done?”
Excerpted from Call Forth a Fox, copyright © 2024 by Markelle Grabo.
