After a few false starts, Kenzie found a path that was solid, somewhat dry, and led downward. She had no way of knowing how far she could go before the trail petered out, but she took the chance. If she turned back now, she might never find Gil.
Mist rose as she descended. The ledge on which the path ran widened, keeping her from having to walk too close to the edge, which was fine with her.
The mist was clammy rather than cold, as though she’d left winter behind as she descended. That made no sense—the mountains here were in the five- and six-thousand-feet range, not like the Alps, or the Rockies or Sierras. The change in climate from top to partway down shouldn’t be that radical.
A thicker mist suddenly engulfed her. Kenzie sneezed as warm air flowed past her nose.
She heard her name. “Kenzie!”
It was Gil, shouting at her, his dark voice suddenly near. Kenzie whirled around, but she couldn’t see him in the mists.
“Kenzie! Shit, don’t . . .”
Don’t what? Kill him? Drag him back to Shiftertown so Bowman could play jump rope with his guts?
“Kenz.” Gil’s voice was softer, breathless, but Kenzie still couldn’t find him. The mists obscured everything.
She tried to retrace her steps, to move toward his voice, but she couldn’t see a damn thing. Her paws slipped in mud and she fell.
“Aw, crap,” Gil said. “I can’t . . . reach . . .”
His voice faded, and the mists cleared. Kenzie could see the woods again, but the trees were different, deciduous rather than evergreen, the forest floor covered with dead leaves, not pine needles.
But this was all wrong. It smelled wrong, felt wrong, looked wrong. Kenzie’s throat closed up in sudden panic. The stink around her, the magic squeezing her, made her dizzy and sick.
“I think he meant don’t go in there,” a cool, crisp voice said in the clearing mists. A female voice, speaking English but with an accent Kenzie couldn’t place. “Did not your grandmother in Romania always tell you to keep away from the mists?”
* * *
“What do you mean, you lost her?” Bowman heard himself roar in fury and fear.
Pierce gave him the steady-eyed stare of the Guardian. They were in the clearing at Turner’s place, the trackers still going through his house and the small sheds on his property. Cade and the others paused to listen, uneasy.
Bowman’s gut clenched in his growing fear. Pierce wouldn’t have come to find him unless something very bad had happened to Kenzie.
“She went down into the ravine, gone before I could get there,” Pierce was saying. “You know Kenzie. She wouldn’t stop. She wanted Gil. And then she just . . . disappeared.”
“Show me where. Now.”
“You won’t find her,” a man’s voice said. “Not like that.”
The now-familiar timbre and smooth inflection had Bowman’s Collar going off, snapping pain into his neck. Gil stood not six feet from him, his expression quiet, the surprised trackers quickly surrounding him.
Bowman bellowed. He grabbed Gil by his shirt and had him up against the wall of Turner’s house before Gil could say another word.
“She was hunting you.” Bowman cracked Gil’s head into the wall. “Why won’t I find her? What the fuck did you do with her?”
“I didn’t do anything with her.” Gil’s words were choked, his eyes wide, the man finally showing fear. “There are bad places in that woods. I never meant for her to fall into one.”
“Bad places? What bad places?”
“Ancient passages. Gates.”
“Gates?” Bowman hated the sound of that. “You mean gates to Faerie?”
“Faerie, yes. And other places even worse.”
“What other places? There’s here. There’s Faerie. There’s the Summerland, where you are very close to heading. That’s it.”
“Not true,” Gil struggled to say. “There are places even the Fae are afraid of. They open on the ley lines, but not on every ley line. They flick in and out. There’s evil there, and people can be trapped.”
Bowman sensed his Shifters closing around them, Cade now in his grizzly form, his warm bulk reassuring. Jamie next to Pierce, the two looking much alike with their brown red hair and lithe bodies, Pierce’s sword glittering on his back. Cristian, quivering in anger as he listened to Gil explain that his beloved niece was lost.
Kenzie. My mate.
“Trapped,” Cristian said when Bowman was unable to speak. “You mean in a pocket?”
Gil’s gaze flashed to him, and he nodded the best he could with Bowman’s hand on his throat.
“What the hell is a pocket?” Jamie asked.
“A piece of a world beyond,” Cristian said, “where anything might be. Or so my mother claims. She’s always telling me to never go into the mists. Romanian folktales, as I said.”
“The pockets are real,” Gil broke in. “They open and close. One can lead to many different places or to other pockets. Some are stable, most are not. Even the Fae are afraid of the mists.”
Bowman’s voice was harsh. “You’re saying Kenzie is in one of these?”