ONE OF THE FIRST SPELLS I LEARNED ON MY OWN WAS the ability to quiet my steps and any noise of my passing. Combine that with the invisibility Bunny taught me, and I was very good at sneaking out as a teenager. These days, it makes me one hell of a thief.
Not that I capitalize on that … too often.
I wait in my cabin until the sounds of the crew moving about fade. And then I wait a little longer. My roommate appears to be dead to the world. That might even be literally, because I’m nearly certain they’re not breathing. It’s the sort of thing I got used to with Lizzie, but it still makes little shivers work their way down my spine. Living creatures are supposed to breathe.
I cast the spells and slip out of bed, careful to take my bag with me. Out in the hallway, there isn’t another soul in sight. As I climb the stairs and step out onto the deck, the rain engulfs me. It would’ve been nice to keep my dry spell going, but I can hold only so many spells active at a time. Right now, stealth is the name of the game.
I catch sight of Dia lounging next to the helm and have the most ridiculous urge to tell her goodbye. There’s no point. I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me. One conversation does not a friend make. I’m probably feeling sentimental because I miss Bunny, and while Dia is hardly a carbon copy of my grandmother, I think the two of them would’ve gotten along like a house on fire.
Grief rises in a wave so strong, it makes my knees buckle. I have to close my eyes and press my hands to my chest to still their shaking. As much as I hate this time of year, there’s a part of me that relishes it. Will I start forgetting her when the grief fades? The thought makes me sick to my stomach. Already there are bits and pieces that have disappeared into the depths of the past. The human mind was not meant to hold information indefinitely, and without her here to reinforce those pathways, I’ve forgotten the exact timbre of her laugh. Was it really just like mine, or has my mind tricked me into thinking that?
Now is not the time or place to focus on that.
I swallow down the tears threatening and head to the side of the ship. There’s no gangplank in place, which is nothing more than I expected. I swing myself over the railing. At least there are plenty of nooks and crannies to use to climb down to the water. I could probably jump, because the sounds of the wind and rain would cover up the splash, but it’s not worth the risk.
It’s a miserable, if short, swim to shore. By the time I stagger up the beach, I am quietly cursing Bowen’s name. If he had just let me go, none of this would be necessary. Yes, technically I may have drowned in the sea if he’d tossed me back overboard, but I’m not in the mood to be grateful.
I shove my wet hair from my face and survey what I can see of the island. It takes me far too long to understand that the reason I can’t see the village is because I’m looking in the wrong place. It’s not on the ground at all; it’s in the trees themselves.
At this point, I have to assume that everyone in Threshold is an enemy. I’m sure there are people here who don’t fuck with the C?n Annwn. There have to be. The problem is that I don’t know who they are, and I can’t risk being turned back over to Bowen and his crew. I highly doubt they’ll be sympathetic to my attempted escape. Entering the village is out of the question.
No, the better option is to stick to the shoreline …
Except even as I think that, I see the vicious-looking cliffs on the other side of the beach. Maybe I could scale them in good weather, but if I try to do it right now it’s a death wish. “Okay, inland it is.”
I skirt the edge of the town slowly, curiosity a live thing inside me. I think every kid goes through a stage where they’re sure a tree house is the greatest invention mankind has ever made. I even had one when I was young, a little room that was built with more twigs than anything else, but it was mine. A place where I could hide when the world became too much. I kept little treasures there, pretty rocks and flowers I found in the trees that bordered Bunny’s house.
This village is … not like that at all.
It’s difficult to see in the rain, but these are very clearly buildings created with living in mind, rather than a childlike escape. Some of them seem to be carved into the giant trunks of the trees themselves, while others are built in great spirals through the branches.
I pick out little hints of the people who must live here. Flowerpots line one of the walkways, their blooms spilling over the railing in a brightly colored stream. Someone forgot their laundry hanging on a line and a dress flaps wetly in the storm. Down here on the ground there’s a painting that was obviously done by children, judging by the vibrant colors and the awkwardness of the figures. I stop in front of it and study the lines that are slowly beginning to run as the rain washes them away. Humanoid figures that appear to be dancing. A rainbow. Flowers. Kid shit.
I wish I had more time to explore. I would love to see what kind of things shops here might sell, or to spend a night at an inn so high above the ground, with only the sway of the branches in the wind as company. To meet the kind of people who live here and in the realm this island connects to.
Fanciful, foolish thoughts. The village isn’t more magical than any other. It just happens to exist high off the ground. Dawn is already making its presence known. I have to move if I want to get out of here before someone notices I’m missing.
If I can find this island’s portal out of Threshold, then I am one step closer to being home. Traveling between the realms might be all but impossible, but that doesn’t mean it’s flat-out impossible. There are bargainer demons who are able to do it, and I bet my best spell that there are other types of paranormal who can as well. I just have to find them.
But first, I have to get out of this godforsaken realm.
I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and start for the trees. I like being outside, but that doesn’t mean I like being active outside. Up until this point, the thought of going for a hike has ranked right up there with bamboo shoots under my fingernails, but surely it won’t be that bad traveling through an island connected to a strange realm. Yes, I can hear something skittering in the underbrush. Sure, those spiderwebs look like they’re made by something about the size of a small pony. And I guess maybe I should be worried about that pair of yellow eyes glowing in the distance, too.
“Damn it.” I grab my bag with white knuckles. “I am the baddest witch around. If anyone fucks with me, I’ll blow a crater in this damn forest.”
Unsurprisingly, my attempt at bravado does little to actually make me less scared. I faced down murderous pirates and a cranky Lizzie. I fought in the tournament that’s held at the Shadow Market every Samhain. I’m a fucking witch. Creepy forests should be perfectly within my wheelhouse.