The grabber lunged. It shoved her into a tree again without warning. Kestrel hit back furiously, and this time she caught it in the arm, leaving a deep red line in its skin.
“That was for my stealing my notebook,” she said. She lashed out again, and this time she caught its fingers. “That’s for taking everything else.”
The grabber snatched the spoon from her hand and dropped it to the ground.
She was trapped. They both knew that the grabber was stronger. It twirled a lock of her hair around its fingers and sucked it into its mouth, pulling her in until her ear was right by its head. It drew its lips back, so she could see every single one of its razor-sharp teeth.
Kestrel put the final piece together in her head, and for a moment her brain was filled with a universe of noises and the bright, sharp fragments of a million words. In the huge, terrible chaos, one of them settled quietly behind her eyes, making her shiver.
“I know how to stop you,” Kestrel said. She could tell from its expression that she had everything she needed to destroy it. All it took was that one word.
It hung between them like a knife on a thread. Kestrel gathered her courage one more time.
“Your name,” she said, her heart thrumming like a beetle trapped in a box. “Is Granmos.”
19
DON’T BE AFRAID
For one heart-stopping moment the grabber’s breath rattled against her cheek. Kestrel turned her face so she could meet its eyes, and they stared at each other, the grabber with barely disguised shock, as though she had driven a spoon through its ribs.
She was so close to its face she could see the veins in its eyes, and through its tiny black pupils, a pinprick of yellow light. Then it parted its jaws and a damp hunk of her hair fell out.
“That’s right,” said Kestrel, exhaling. If she moved too quickly the fragile air would shatter, and the grabber might change its mind. “I’m just going to back away, slowly. . . .”
She slid from its grasp. It let her go, but its eyes followed her, as though it was waiting for her to try and escape. She had no doubt that it could have her between its jaws in a second if it chose.
Kestrel edged around it until she was standing in the middle of the clearing. The grabber slowly turned so it was still facing her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but it wasn’t just fear anymore; there was something like excitement, too.
“Good,” she said softly.
“Kestrel!” a voice yelled.
Kestrel looked up sharply. Finn was clinging to a branch above her, pressed flat against the bark like a frightened cat. Between the village and the mushroom-speckled grove he’d managed to procure several tatty feathers and decorative streaks of dirt.
Pippit was attached to Finn’s head, hissing and spitting at the grabber like a demonic hat.
“Finn?” Kestrel was shocked. “What are you doing?”
The grabber’s neck bones creaked as it looked up at Finn.
“I’m saving you,” said Finn through gritted teeth. His fingers were dug into the branch as though he was forcing himself not to run away. “Get up here now.”
The grabber was looking at Finn with interest, but it wasn’t moving. Kestrel noticed that it inflated and deflated like a balloon every time she took a breath. Strands of her hair were still caught around its teeth, and they fluttered with the airflow from its nostrils.
“I’ve got it under control,” she said after a moment, sounding more confident than she felt.
“It’ll eat you!” Finn said hysterically.
“It won’t,” said Kestrel, looking at the grabber. She had an idea, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was going to work. “It won’t eat me. Will you, Granmos?”
The grabber’s face didn’t change, but she could tell that it was listening.
She took a step forward. Her grabber blinked and stepped back, so the distance between them remained the same. Kestrel slowly walked around its side. The grabber stepped away from her, but it turned its body so it was still facing her. They slowly circled each other as though they were practicing a dance.
“Come down, Finn,” Kestrel said.
There was a long, hesitant pause. Then she heard a thump as Finn slid to the ground. He was still clinging to the tree trunk, ready to disappear into the branches like a squirrel. “I’ve worked it out,” she said as they continued their slow, tense dance. She started to move a little faster, and the grabber matched her. Pippit bared his teeth, his fur standing on end.
“Worked what out?” Finn said, wobbling.
“I think they feed on your fear,” Kestrel said. “So to stop them from eating you, you’ve got to take away their food source.”
“Kes, get away from it now,” said Finn. “Get up the tree before it’s too late.”
“That’s what they want,” Kestrel said. “They want you to run away. That’s why they make themselves look terrifying, and spend so long chasing you. But if you turn around and look at it—if you make it yours by naming it—”
“What are you saying?” Finn asked, his voice wavering. “Are you saying I can stop my grabber coming for me?”
“I don’t think you can,” she said. Granmos’s eyes flickered in confirmation. “You can’t kill it, because another two will be born. If you get scared, it’ll take you anyway. It’s just there.”
Maybe you were never really safe. Maybe your grabber was always waiting for an opportunity to snap you up.
“What . . . for good?” Finn asked, looking sick.
Kestrel stopped moving and drew herself up tall. She had to try something.
“Give me my notebook, Granmos,” she said, holding her hand out. Her fingers were shaking, but she couldn’t change her mind now.
Granmos stared at her.
Kestrel felt a tiny flicker of doubt. Her grabber moved toward her, teeth snapping together.
“Granmos!” she shouted. To her relief it fell still, its face sagging. Kestrel tried to recover from her surprise. “Just give it to me,” she said firmly.
Granmos just stared at her, curling its top lip. Kestrel had seen that expression a million times before on the black dog. She knew what it was waiting for.
No way, she thought, but after a few seconds the grabber still hadn’t moved, and she knew she didn’t have a choice.
“Please,” she said.
Granmos slowly curled its lips back. Its jaw widened until its mouth was almost the size of its face, its eyes pushed to somewhere near the back of its head, its skin wrinkling into great piles. Kestrel could see all the way down its throat. The back of its head was thin enough to let some daylight through, and its insides were made of gray jelly.
Granmos made a low grunting sound like marbles rattling in a glass jar.
Kestrel reached down its throat, shuddering. It was warm. Her wrist brushed the grabber’s tongue and its mouth quivered, its vicious teeth straining to snap shut; but its jaws held open, and Kestrel made herself keep going until her elbow was resting against its teeth. Her hand touched the gray jelly. She closed her eyes, feeling disgusted, and pushed her hand farther down. Finally, her hand met the notebook.
She curled her fingers around it and pulled. The notebook, gray and phlegmy, came up from the grabber’s stomach.