I shake my head, but Trevor’s already too close for me to explain who he is to Henry without Trevor overhearing. Still, Henry notices Trevor making his way toward me and the concern I’m trying to blink out of my eyes. And then, so subtly I could almost believe it was an accident, Henry moves his body so he’s half blocking me. It’s a possessive stance that reminds me of a gorilla documentary I watched once, when a silverback beat his fists against his chest at another male approaching. Trevor frowns at him, and then Henry moves away from me just enough for Trevor to spot our entwined hands.
Still, Trevor doesn’t give up. He gets that all-American smile on his face, the one all cute quarterbacks seem to have, complete with dimples and flashing white teeth. “Hey, Winter,” he says, reaching out for a hug. Weird, considering we’ve never hugged before, not even during that awkward week in sixth grade. Still, it happens so fast I don’t know how to stop it. Henry doesn’t let go of my hand, so it’s more of a half hug that feels as awkward as it sounds. “Glad you could make it. Who’s your friend?”
“Henry,” I say. “Henry, this is Trevor.”
They shake hands, their eyes narrowed.
“Is he your date?” Trevor asks me without taking his eyes off Henry.
“Um…” I don’t know how to answer that, but it doesn’t matter because Henry answers for me.
“Yes,” he says. “I am.”
I’m pretty sure they didn’t use the word “date” in Henry’s time, which means he either discerned the meaning of the word through Trevor’s body language, or he learned a lot more than I thought he would from watching TV for a few hours.
Trevor slides his hands into his pockets, his shoulders an unformed shrug. “Well, then. Have fun. Maybe you can save a dance for me later, Win?”
“Um, I don’t think we’re going to be here that long.”
“All right. Well, find me if you change your mind.”
“Not likely,” I mumble, but he doesn’t hear me over the music.
Henry tugs on my sleeve. “Winter. Look.” He nods toward my backyard.
Someone is walking toward the wood. He’s too far away to make out his face, but he cups his hands around a lighter, igniting a white cylinder way too fat to be a cigarette.
Shit.
I run after him, Henry right behind me. I try to call out to the guy—“Hey! You can’t be over here!”—but he either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. He strolls languidly up the path and past the rock with my parents’ initials, heading straight for the threshold, completely unaware that he is walking into death’s arms. He can’t hear the whispers fluttering through the trees, the monsters eagerly awaiting his sacrifice.
“Wait up!” I yell.
He stops. Glances back at me. A small ring of light smolders as he inhales. And then, just like that— He’s gone.
I keep running.
“What are you doing?” Henry shouts at my back.
“I have to go in after him!”
“Winter, wait.” He grabs hold of my arm.
“Let go!”
He yanks me to a stop. “You cannot follow him without a proper plan.”
“I do have a plan,” I bite back. “I’m going to go in there and grab him before he goes too far.”
Henry swears under his breath. He fumbles with something in his pocket. “I’m coming with you.”
“Don’t be ridic—”
He pulls out his flask, unscrewing the top and taking a long swig. “You cannot stop me.”
“Henry—”
“Winter.” He takes my hand. “I will not let you go in there alone.”
I try to think of something I can say, something I can do, to make sure he doesn’t follow me into the wood, but I’m running out of time. “Fine, but you can’t leave my side.”
“Never.”
I turn toward my threshold. “Stay close.”
The trees creak and sway as I approach. Shadows skitter from branch to branch. Henry can’t see them from out here—no one but a guardian can—but he seems to sense the predators watching us from above, the cackles of laughter and smacking of lips.
Henry’s right—I do need a plan. My mind races for something. Anything. If I’m going to break one of the most important rules of the wood—don’t go in after dark—putting my life at risk as well as Henry’s, I need to do more than just wing it. But I’ve never really thought about what I would do in a worst-case scenario like this. In all my training, I always hoped I would be able to stop someone from entering the wood through my threshold before they even got close to it, especially at night, because anything less than that was unforgivable.
“I should be able to feel where he is as soon we enter,” I say. “There’s no telling how far he’s gone, so we’ll have to be careful. Watch your footing; the paths will try to kill you just like everything else in there.” I glance back at him. “We only have a shot at surviving if we’re fast, so as soon we get in there, I need you to run, and don’t stop running until we’re safe again. Got it?”
He nods.
I take a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
Henry takes my hand and, together, we step into the wood.
XXV
I can’t see anything, not even my hands held out in front of me. This is worse than the darkness that had just begun to creep in at sunset. Worse than the illusion of night Varo created this afternoon. The wood is alive around us, shrieks whipping past our ears, slimy things slithering across our boots, leathery wings catching in my hair. Something knocks into me, pushing me to the ground. My hands fly out, my arms sinking to my elbows in mud that smells like raw sewage. My heart slams against my rib cage.
I’m no longer holding Henry’s hand.
“Henry!” I call.
“I’m here.” Henry’s hands splay against my back in the darkness. He lifts me up and says it again, his breath a circle of warmth on the nape of my neck: “I’m here.”
We try to run, holding on to each other’s hands so tightly, I fear our knuckles might burst through our skin, but it’s no use. The mud is too thick.
We are prey ripe for the killing.
I do the only thing I can think of, palming my coin and crying out, “Sahabri’el!” I don’t know if my fireflies will hear me, or if they’ll even still be my friends here in the darkness, but it’s a chance we have to take. The glyphs glow white and it’s enough light to see Henry stumbling in the muck next to me. Enough light to see the monsters that were once inked over my Latin conjugations oscillating around us. Bloated heads and glowing eyes, needle teeth and jagged talons. The creatures of my worst nightmares.
I force myself to breathe instead of scream.
I don’t know why they don’t just kill us and get it over with, and then I realize—they’re toying with us. They know they have hours before the sun comes up. They can play with their food and eat it, too. And as I scan the darkness, searching, searching, searching for the light of my fireflies, I start to think they’re right.
We’re going to die in here.
It’s so loud, the wind roaring through the trees and the screeching and clicking and growling of the monsters around us, I can’t hear myself think. My foot catches on something, and I stumble forward again. Henry wrenches me upright before I can fall, but it’s no use. I stop fighting. Instead, I reach for Henry, wrapping my arms around him and burrowing my face into his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “We’re going to make it.”
I shake my head. “Henry—”