Giselle. The grave was hers.
Grief welled in her heart, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Love, life lost. An eternity consigned to an existence as a wili, haunting the night.
A sound behind her, and she turned.
It was Albrecht, her love, coming to bid her farewell.
Perhaps the stars would stretch the moment, and they could dance, one last time, until dawn.
A tree was stalking him, or Custo had passed that gnarled trunk for the third time. Either was possible, so he kept going, straining for any sound or movement that might lead him to Annabella. He saw only great, luminous forest stretching out of layered shadows and heard only hushed whispers taunting his course. What he wouldn’t give for a bagful of bread crumbs. He was getting nowhere, and sick to death of it.
“Annabella!” he called at regular intervals. If he attracted some other Shadow creature, he’d pin the thing down and demand directions, but except for the indistinct voices, the wood seemed unnervingly uninhabited.
Deliberately doubling back on his path, he caught his first flash of movement and leaped toward it, scrabbling over a root-bumpy rise for a better view.
He called through the trees. “Annabella!”
But instead he found a man dressed in mottled green-gray combat gear, armed and ready for action. Custo tripped to a stop. It was Adam, his face set in his I-know-what-to-do expression, eyes direct, jaw tight.
“What are you doing here?” Custo asked, half excited, half concerned. Adam was supposed to be warning Luca about the wraiths.
“I came after you to help,” Adam said, “and I found her.”
Custo’s heart leaped. Trust Adam to be able to navigate in these shifting woods. Anyone else and he wouldn’t believe it. “Show me.”
“This way.” Adam took off at a wary jog, careful to slow at blind spots along the way and test uncertain ground before moving forward.
Custo kept close behind. “How did you find me?”
“You were making a racket. Anyone could find you.” They moved deeper into Shadow, the variegated shades growing less distinct. Adam slowed marginally, but seemed to have no problem with the pressing darkness.
Which was good, because Custo could think of little more than getting to Annabella, and quick. And all he had to do was follow.
“Does the wolf have Annabella?” Custo asked. He could guess the answer.
“Yes, but I couldn’t get to her without help.”
They hit a deep ravine, and crossed via a thick, fallen tree trunk, a black void yawning on either side. Sweat dampened Custo’s body by the time they hit the forest wall again.
“How much farther?” Custo asked. If Adam were following a trail, Custo couldn’t see it.
“Just ahead,” Adam answered.
But “just ahead” seemed like more of the same passionless trees.
And damn if that one didn’t look exactly like the gnarled trunk from before.
The gnarled trunk.
Shock halted Custo in his tracks, dread icing the blood in his veins. The whispers rose around him and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see slender figures watching, darting behind the ancient trunks. They’d probably been there all along.
Adam pressed forward a few steps, then turned back. “What’s the matter?”
Custo swallowed hard. “What are you?”
He would have followed Adam for hours, forever even.
Stupid.
The man in front of him couldn’t be Adam. Custo should’ve known right away. Adam would have never stepped through the painting into the treacherous Shadowlands, leaving Talia and his babies behind. Not for anything or anyone. Adam was going to warn Luca about the wraiths, even if Luca had denied him aid before.
The whispers rose to loud chatters, like chirping cicadas hidden in the leaves, near deafening.
“Come on,” Adam said, making to start off again. “The wolf has her.”
Custo steeled himself, doubts crowding his mind, but turned the other direction. Leaving Adam. Denying his presence. The fragrant air resisted his change of course, sheering at his body as he tore himself away from years of friendship and trust. The act was excruciating, every cell in his body rebelling.
Not Adam. This was a ploy, a game, or a test. Not Adam.
Custo pressed on. The direction didn’t matter, not with the trees and fae messing with his mind. The only thing to do was continue searching. Annabella was here, somewhere. And he would find her if he stayed his course, in his mind, if not in the forest itself.
The trees opened somewhat, and Custo upped his pace, only to come to a second tripping stop.
His father. Evan Rotherford, standing in his fine suit, his white sleeves peeking out, the Rotherford family cuff links that Custo would never own glinting where there was no light.
Custo knew his father for what he was, another test, but it still took a deep breath to form the question, “What do you want?”