*
Lily woke, but not to the sterile bleakness of a hospital or to the familiar four walls of her bedroom. It was dark out—dark and cold. She could smell loamy earth under her and wood smoke on the air. Flickering firelight revealed crisscrossed wooden bars all around her. She tried to move her arms, only to discover that they were tied in front of her. She was a prisoner. Leather creaked as she tried to twist her wrists out of their bonds. There was writing on the leather straps. Lily squinted in the low light and tried to make out the unfamiliar shapes. They looked like something carved on the side of a standing stone, or engraved on the cover of a leather book. Runes, Lily thought, recalling the description from an old movie she’d seen once.
Lily heard the snap and crackle of a campfire and wind buffeting the tall trees above her. She caught a glimpse of a thick tree trunk a few yards away from her cage and realized that she must be in a deep, dark forest. Some place old and full of wildlife. She could hear all kinds of rustles and scratches from what she hoped were just small, furry animals in the forest—preferably animals that didn’t have too many teeth.
Long shadows, cast by legs standing around the campfire, reached into her primitive cage and darkened her view. Lily swallowed hard to moisten her throat and stifle the hacking cough that threatened to burst out of her. She could smell all kinds of fecund things in the ground beneath her—mushrooms, pulpy woodbark, and leaf mold. Mold spores could kill her. She had to get out of this world, but she needed more information. Her heart pounding and her eyes and nose watering, Lily stayed very still and listened to the conversation by the fire.
“I don’t trust her,” Rowan said, his voice heavy with hatred.
“That’s nothing new,” replied an unfamiliar man sardonically.
“No, something’s wrong with her, Caleb. Off.” Rowan’s deep voice was nearly a growl of frustration. “And it’s not just because her willstone’s gone. Her body felt different. Clogged and neglected. Like it had never performed magic.”
“An imposter?” Caleb asked in a lowered voice.
“No. It’s her,” Rowan replied passionately. “Down to the deepest parts of her cells—that’s Lillian.”
“Well, no one knows her body better than you.” Caleb sighed. “A genetic copy then?”
Lily swallowed again, trying to suppress another cough. Wherever she was, they talked about human clones as if they were easy to make. What kind of a world was this? The hybrid monsters tied at the base of the greenhouse flashed across her mind’s eye, and Lily wondered if they’d been grown rather than born. Rowan’s urgent tone interrupted her frightening thoughts.
“How, Caleb? They’re the same age. I can read it in her body. Someone would have had to copy Lillian on the day of her conception. I knew Samantha well, and she would have rather died than let anyone copy her daughter. That’s Lillian. It has to be.” Rowan’s shadow paced restlessly.
“We’re not arguing with you,” Caleb said, trying to placate him. “There have been rumors that the Witch is ill. Maybe that’s why her body felt ‘clogged’ or whatever it is you mechanics call it when a crucible gets sick.”
“It’s not just her body,” Rowan continued.
“What, then?” Caleb said patiently. Rowan exhaled a shaky breath and paused.
Lily’s throat clenched. She stopped breathing in order to suppress a coughing fit. She needed to hear the rest of what Rowan would say. She needed to find out how he knew that she was different. It might give her some clue as to how to get out of here.