As if Twelve hadn’t noticed that herself when it was her eyebrows that were being singed. The urge to roll her eyes was almost overpowering. Instead, she explained the situation quickly, and what she wanted the firesprites to do, then showed them the knife in the ground. They glanced at it, back at her, and then retreated into a huddle to chitter at one another.

Twelve was pretty sure this was a bad sign. Usually, sprites did something or they didn’t; they rarely talked about it.

Six waggled his eyebrows at her hopefully, but Five moved Charger even farther away, muttering darkly to himself.

One of the sprites detached himself from the group and flew back to her as the others watched.

“Why can’t you light the fire yourself?” His voice was painfully high but clear as a crystal bell.

Twelve’s jaw dropped. Five nearly fell off Charger and Six gaped. Even Dog looked surprised.

“You . . . can talk?” Twelve asked. “To me, I mean?”

The sprite didn’t respond, but stared at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

“I have an extremely bad feeling about this,” Five hissed from behind her.

“You have a bad feeling about everything,” Twelve said, trying to order her thoughts. The sprite wasn’t making it any easier by flying closer and closer to her. His eyes were burning embers that seemed to look straight through her.

“We can’t make fire quickly enough,” Twelve said, twisting her head to keep an eye on him as he circled slowly around her face until he was level with her ear. To her amazement, the sprite crossed his legs to land seated where Widge usually perched. He rested his chin in his hand and considered her as the other two flew to join him, trailing sparks.

“Uh . . . Twelve, are you all right?” Six muttered. “Your shoulder’s smoking.”

“Yes, fine,” Twelve said, her voice slightly more high-pitched than normal. She could feel Widge vibrating with fear and outrage.

“Fire is the work of a moment,” the first sprite chimed at her.

“For you maybe,” Twelve said, “not for us. Why do you think we need you in the Hunting Lodge and out here with us? No one makes fire as fast as a firesprite.”

The three of them looked at one another and began to laugh again.

“Twelve . . . ,” Dog said, a warning in his voice.

With a single swipe, Twelve brushed the three of them off her shoulder and ducked the retaliatory fireballs they threw at her. Their faces became more pointed in their anger and their teeth visibly lengthened.

“Enough,” she snapped, her patience at an end. Being nice to sprites obviously didn’t work. She pointed imperiously at the knife handle in the ice, shooting her most threatening glare at them. “Show me what you can do.”