Interesting.
Meanwhile, Ronan twisted to look in the rear cargo space behind the backseats. He hissed, “Stay down.”
He was clearly not speaking to Blue. She narrowed her eyes and asked warily, “What exactly is this errand again?”
Gansey was glad to answer. “Lynch, in his infinite wisdom, decided to dream instead of going to school, and he brought back more than he asked for.”
The Henry encounter had left a ding in Ronan’s cheerful aggression, and now he snapped, “You could’ve just told me to handle this myself. My dreaming’s nobody’s business but mine.”
Adam interjected, “Oh, no, Ronan. I don’t take sides – but that’s bullshit.”
“Thank you,” Gansey said.
“Hey, old man —”
“Don’t,” Gansey said. “Jesse Dittley’s dead because of the people interested in your family’s dreaming, so don’t act like others aren’t affected by whether it stays secret or not. It’s yours first, but we’re all in the blast zone.”
This silenced Ronan. He slammed himself back into his seat, looked out the window, and put one of his leather bracelets between his teeth.
Blue had heard enough. She tugged out her seat belt to give herself room to turn around, and then she put her chin on the leather seat to look into the rear cargo area behind her. She did not immediately see anything. Perhaps she did, but didn’t want to acknowledge it, because once her eyes picked out Ronan’s dream, it was impossible to imagine how she hadn’t seen it at once.
Blue had been absolutely dead set against shock.
But she was shocked.
She demanded, “Is that – is that a child?”
There was a creature curled small beside a gym bag and Gansey’s messenger bag. It had enormous eyes nearly eclipsed by a skullcap pulled down low. It wore a tattered and manky over-sized fisherman’s sweater and had either dark gray legs or gray leggings. Those things at the end of the legs were either boots or hooves. Blue’s mind was bending.
Ronan’s voice was flat. “I used to call her Orphan Girl.”
Adam had suggested Cabeswater, so they took her to Cabeswater.
He wasn’t sure, yet, what they would do there; it was just the first thing he’d thought of. Actually, it was the second, but his first thought was so shameful that he’d immediately regretted it.
He’d taken one look at her and thought if she’d been another night horror they could have just killed it or left it somewhere.
A second later – no – no, less than a second, half a second, simultaneously – he hated himself for thinking it. It was exactly the sort of thought he’d expect from his father’s son. What, you want to leave? You’re going to go? Is that your bag? Believe me, if I was allowed to let you go, I’d have dropped you in a ditch myself. Everything’s a production with you.
He hated himself, and then he hated his father, and then he gave the emotion to Cabeswater in his head and Cabeswater rolled it away.
And now they were at Cabeswater itself, Cabeswater in the flesh, here at Adam’s second thought that he wished had been his first, taking the Orphan Girl to Ronan’s mother, Aurora. This was the field they had spotted from the air long ago, with a huge raven formed of shells. Gansey could not avoid driving over the scattered shells, but he took care to avoid the raven itself. Adam appreciated this part of Gansey, his endless concern for the things in his care.
The vehicle stopped. Gansey, Blue and Adam got out. Ronan and his strange little girl did not; it seemed there was some negotiation occurring.
They waited.
Outside, the sky was low and gray and torn by the peaks over the brown-red-black of Cabeswater’s trees. From where they stood, it was nearly possible to imagine it was just an ordinary forest on an ordinary Virginia mountain. But if one squinted into Cabeswater long enough, in the right way, one could see secrets dart between the trees. The shadows of horned animals that never appeared. The winking lights of another summer’s fireflies. The rushing sound of many wings, the sound of a massive flock always out of sight.
Magic.
This close to the forest, Adam felt very … Adam. His head was crowded with the ordinary sensation of his coveralls folded at the small of his back, the ordinary thought of the literature exam the next day. It seemed like he should become stranger, more other, when he was near Cabeswater, but in reality, the closer he was to Cabeswater, the more firmly present he remained. His mind didn’t have to wander far to communicate with Cabeswater when his body was able to lift a hand to touch it.
Strange he hadn’t had a premonition of what this place would become to him all those months ago. But maybe not. So much of magic – of power, in general – required belief as a prerequisite.