The Edge of Strange Hollow

was miserable and shedding, his hair drifting off his head one red leaf at a time, leaving him with bald patches. They’d invited him home for breakfast, and he’d never left. In fact, he rarely left the house at all—and claimed that, barring emergency, he would never set foot in the forest again. He said hobs wandered to find the home of their heart, and he had found his. Her parents had Poppy a short time later, and he offered to look after her in their absence—tutor her when she got older—if only they would let him stay.
“Hi, Uncle Jute! Where are Mom and Dad?”
The hob sneezed and brushed the dusty red leaves of his hair out of his eyes. “Where have you been?”
Something in his voice brought Poppy up short. His whole body was tense—angry. Before he could say another word, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t finished my essay assignment, and … and I should have left a note that I might be home a bit late. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” The last thing she wanted was for him to get angry, or worse, clingy and worried.
After a moment, Jute patted her hair and sighed. “I’m not angry at you, Poppy. There’s cocoa for you and Mack. And mac and cheese.”
Relief washed through her. Jute wasn’t angry. And he made food. Conjuring ingredients was one of the hob’s special skills. Another benefit of having a hob for an uncle—they apparently had all sorts of unique talents that appeared as they matured, and when they were needed. He was a great cook too … but maybe that was just practice.
Mack’s face had brightened. “Those little hollow noodles with yellow sauce?”
“It’s ch—”
She hadn’t finished her sentence before Eta-Two-Brutus knocked her to the ground.
Dog, as Poppy affectionately called them when she was in a hurry, was a cerberus—a dog with three heads. They were rare, even in the Grimwood, according to her parents. They’d brought Dog out of the forest for Poppy as a gift for her tenth birthday three years ago, and she had insisted that each head get its own name.
Eta, the head on the left, had all Dog’s smarts, and was more refined in her greeting. Brutus, the head on the right, controlled Dog’s body, and now stood on her chest, smothering her with slobbery kisses. Two was the head in the middle, and had gotten everything left over, which wasn’t much. All three of them had short caramel-colored fur and keenly pointed ears, but Eta and Brutus both had brown eyes, while Two had one brown and one blue, that often shifted outward while keeping track of his siblings.
“Okay, okay. Go bug Mack,” Poppy laughed, shoving Brutus off and giving Eta and Two quick pats. They leaped into his arms without a second thought. Dog wasn’t small, but Mack caught them as if they were a bouquet of flowers. “Good boy, Brutus. Good girl, Eta. You too, Two. Yes, Two. You too. Good dog.”
Poppy wiped the slobber off her face and pushed herself up. Jute hadn’t moved a muscle, except that the long fingers of his left hand had begun to drum against his forearm, his burled knuckles rising and falling in a small brown wave. “Poppy—” he began as she struggled to her feet.
The quiet of the house settled over her in an instant. It was too quiet, and the thought sent a twinge of fear shuddering over her skin. Jute was upset, tense. Something was wrong. Her gaze flicked away from him to the pictures of her on the wall, her heart’s frantic thumps filling her chest. There was one picture for every year of her life, and in each one she stood straight and tall, by herself, looking out as if to challenge anyone who suggested it should be otherwise. She lifted her chin. “Where are they?”
Jute sneezed again, then placed one hand on her shoulder. “Poppy, I—”
“Where. Are. They?”
Jute sniffed the air like Dog on a hunt, and let out a violent sneeze. His eyes widened. “Did you—you didn’t bring home a Mogwen feather, did you?”
Poppy frowned and took the feather from her pack, holding it up for him to see. “Yeah, I did. I—I got it myself. From the forest. I want to show Mom and Dad. Where are they, Jute?”
Jute wiped at his eyes. “Put that thing out. Get rid of it!”
“But—why? What’s the matter?”
“I’m allergic to it, Poppy. I won’t be able to speak in a moment.” He sneezed again to punctuate his words. “Poppy.” Jute sneezed and took her hand in his long knobby fingers. “Your parents—I’m sorry. They—your father had a hunch he wanted to follow. They left. On an urgent—”
Poppy’s throat tightened. She sensed Mack at her side, but a thin veil had fallen over her vision. She blinked rapidly.
“Again?” Poppy shouted. Her voice sounded too high, too tight. Even Dog startled. The veil in front of her eyes washed red. “They’re gone again?” The words were heavy and rotten in her mouth—as though she had pulled them up from a deep old well inside of her.
“Poppy—” Mack warned, no doubt sensing imminent destruction.
“I’m sorry, sweetling. I asked them to wait, but…” Jute trailed off.
“But they wouldn’t. It was too important.” Fury ripped through her veins. In a hot second, Poppy knew what she had to do. There would be no victory. Things didn’t go her way. Things would never go her way. Her parents were gone. Again. Fine! They’d left her with no choice. She would have to show them what she was made of—that they couldn’t just go off and leave her anymore.
With certainty born of rage, Poppy let out a growl and threw open the front door. Jute and Mack wore matching openmouthed expressions that would have given her the giggles in any other circumstance. Now, they just made her madder.
“Where should I put it?” she growled, holding the feather out away from