Varo.
We crouch down behind a bush, the fireflies creating a protective wall behind us. I worry their light may be too bright, but Varo’s supporters are all focused on him, and Varo is staring into the amethyst flames. Overhead, Sentinels flit from tree to tree, although I can’t tell if the reason they don’t attack is because of the mist the other monsters refuse to penetrate or because they are completely under Varo’s control.
Varo raises his hands and the chanting cuts off.
“Septimus.”
One of the cloaked figures steps forward. The hood covers his face, but there is only one Septimus I know of on the council, and he’s Alban’s right-hand man.
How deep does this go?
“Have they been found?” Varo asks.
“Not yet,” Septimus answers. “Forgive me, but are you certain they are still alive?”
Varo’s lip curls. “If they weren’t, the wood would not be dying now, would it?”
“Sir?”
“Celia must have leached the dragon’s bane from their blood and infected the wood instead. It’s the only answer for what’s happening here,” Varo growls.
Henry sucks in a breath at the mention of his mother’s name.
“We must find them,” Varo continues. “They know too much.”
“Of course. You have my word.” Septimus bows his head, then folds himself back into the circle.
Another follower steps forward. “And what of the attack on the council?”
“It is imminent,” Varo replies. “You only need wait for my signal.”
An attack on the council? I have to let Uncle Joe know about this.
I glance at Henry. Messaging Joe now will mean revealing Henry’s and my deception, but this is bigger than both of us, or what might happen to us. And I’m sure Joe will understand when I explain everything.
Won’t he?
It doesn’t matter. I grip my coin in my palm. Joe. Varo’s having a meeting in the wood. He’s talking about attacking the council. You have to see this.
“Winter,” Henry hisses, gesturing to Stoner Guy. It takes me a moment to realize what’s wrong.
Stoner Guy’s waking up.
“Let’s go,” I whisper.
I reposition his arm over my shoulder and brace my legs to stand. Henry does the same, but the movement must jostle Stoner Guy too much, because— He groans. Loudly.
Varo’s eyes whip toward the sound. Henry and I freeze.
“Someone’s here,” one of Varo’s followers says.
In unison, the others turn their hooded gazes toward our hiding spot.
“Go, go,” I say, pushing to my feet.
The fireflies surround us once more. We stumble through the mud, moving as fast as we can, but Stoner Guy’s dragging feet slow us down. His head rolls from side to side, his red-rimmed eyes opening and closing again.
“You’re going to have to wake up now!” I yell at him.
He doesn’t respond.
“Winter,” Henry says. “They’re coming.”
I glance over Stoner Guy’s shoulder. I can’t see anything through the bright blue light surrounding us, but I can hear them all crashing through the muck and asking Varo what they should do.
“Bring them to me,” Varo shouts, his voice echoing off the trees. “Alive.”
I pat Stoner Guy’s face. “Wake up!”
His eyes open, then narrow against the light.
“Can you run?” I ask him.
“What’s happening?” he asks, the words thick in his cotton mouth.
“We’re being chased.” A tree cracks in half, plummeting to the ground. It misses us by inches. I feel the wind it creates brush the nape of my neck. “You need to run.”
Stoner Guy reaches for the fireflies. “Trippy.”
“The boy is clearly addled,” Henry shouts.
Stoner Guy’s jaw drops. “I am not. I can run.”
“Then do it!” I yell.
His steps are slow at first. He can’t seem to understand what’s grabbing at his ankles, sucking his feet down, but it’s better than him dragging his legs. Henry and I keep running with him supported between us. We take a curve in the path.
Lightning cracks around us, scorching holes in the trees. I can hear Varo’s followers getting closer, muttering Hersei under their breath, and I’m not sure if it’s the wood rebelling against our presence or them, but it doesn’t matter. The smell of burning wood spurs Stoner Guy on. He rips his arms from around our shoulders and pumps his feet through the mud, picking up speed.
We take another bend onto the main path leading to my threshold. I can see my house through the trees. And I don’t know if they’ll follow us, or if they’ll come back later now that they know for sure who I am, where I live, but what other choice do we have?
You can’t escape me forever, little one, a dark, hollow voice echoes through my head.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Henry.
He shakes his head.
My coin warms against my wrist. Varo is using it to communicate with me.
You and I need to talk, he says. I would like to get the guardians on my side. I think you may be the answer.
I grip the coin and think back: Not on your life, pal.
Varo laughs. I assure you, you’ll feel differently once you know everything. Matters such as these are not always as they seem.
Matters such as these? I reply, my lungs burning for air. You mean overthrowing the council? Killing those who stand in your way?
To speak when knowing only one side of the story is the height of foolishness.
Varo’s followers crash through the wood behind us. The path roils, hitching up and down, making us stumble. The trees move in closer, their roots and vines reaching for us. A last-ditch effort.
Maybe, I reply. But I’m done listening to you.
The fireflies peel away, creating a shield behind us as we barrel through my threshold. The air is alive again with the sounds of the human world. Cars speeding past on 315 and music thumping on the breeze.
Varo’s supporters do not follow.
Henry stares at the wood, grinning despite the fact we almost died.
“Henry?” I ask, gasping for breath.
“Did you hear what he said about my parents? They’re alive.” He turns to me, his eyes wide, and wraps his arms around me, picking me up off the ground. “My parents are alive!”
Stoner Guy, oblivious, plops down on the grass and leans his back against my parents’ rock. “That has got to be the weirdest shit I’ve ever smoked.”
*
Stoner Guy blends back into the crowd seamlessly, thinking the whole thing was just a really bad trip. Henry checked him for any broken bones or suspicious bruising, but other than the dried-up cut on his forehead, he seemed fine. We’re lucky. If it had been anyone else, I’m not sure how I would have explained what he’d experienced.
We find Mer sitting on the back porch steps, scrolling through her phone and looking generally annoyed.
“There you guys are,” she says. “I’ve been texting you for only, like, the past hour.” Her gaze darts between us, a suggestive gleam in her eye as she takes in the mud on our clothes and the red patch on Henry’s cheek that’s sure to turn into a bruise but currently looks like a really weird place for a hickey. “Where exactly were you guys?”