But that’s the problem. There’s nothing left—it’s being taken away from me, one thing at a time.
My home, my wood, my life has been invaded. When Dad first told me about the wood, I didn’t know there would be heroes and villains in this story. I thought it was just this: the guardians, the council, the wood. Constantly working together to protect the delicate fabric of time. Never deviating from what has been, what is now, what will be.
I force myself to stop dry heaving, to erase the image of the boy without his skin from my mind, to breathe. I wipe my sleeve across my mouth and stumble toward the back porch. My head swims—I should have done my stretches—and when I twist the knob and lean against the door, I practically fall through.
Henry and Mer are sitting at the kitchen island.
Along with my mom.
“Young lady,” she says, her voice slick with venom and disappointment. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
XXX
Mom tells Mer to wait in the kitchen and pulls Henry and me into the study, closing the door behind her.
“Explain yourself,” she whispers, her nostrils flaring.
I look at Henry.
He looks at me.
“Your mother found me this morning,” he explains. “I had to tell her where I was from. I had no other choice.”
I figured as much. I take a deep breath but before I can say anything, Mom starts pacing.
“What possessed you to do this?” she asks. “I mean, who in their right mind would do something like this? And then to hide it from me!”
“Mom, please,” I say, “try to calm down.”
She whirls on me. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. You had a boy sleeping in your room last night.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“Like what?”
I huff out a breath. “Like we were doing things we shouldn’t be doing.”
“Well, what do you expect me to think when you hide it from me, Winter?”
I know I’m in the wrong here, that I should be nothing but apologetic, but my anger snaps like a live wire. “What? You don’t trust me?”
“Don’t even get me started on trust,” she says. “When a mother finds a boy in her daughter’s room, it’s going to be a long time before she can even think about trusting her again.”
“I’m really sorry I kept it a secret from you, but I had to.”
Her brow arches. “Oh really?”
“Yes,” I say. “Really. What we’re doing … It’s dangerous, and I didn’t want to put you at risk.”
“Oh, well, that just makes me feel so much better.”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything,” I say, glancing at the door. “But it has to do with you-know-what, and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it while Mer’s still here.”
“To hell with it, and to hell with that place,” Mom says, gesturing toward the window and the trees that watch us through them. “I’m sick of it running our lives!”
“Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we?”
Mom glares at me.
I glare back.
She rubs her temples with her fingers. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take Meredith home. When I get back, you better be ready to give me the whole story, and with a little less attitude. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say through gritted teeth.
Mom gives Henry one more look, the kind of look that says, If you even think about looking at my daughter the wrong way, I will cut your eyes out of your face, before striding through the door.
“I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Henry asks.
I sigh.
*
I make a pot of coffee. Henry takes it with cream and sugar. I take it black.
We sit at the kitchen island and I tell him about the shadows, the boy without his skin, the section of the wood that once smelled like fresh grass and sunshine and now smells like a corpse. Henry listens, his knuckles white around the handle of the ceramic mug.
“Is the council doing anything to stop this?” he asks.
“Joe says he was at headquarters last night, and that he’s going to see what else he can find out, but he wouldn’t tell me if anyone other than him is looking into it.” Because he doesn’t want me getting too involved? Or because it isn’t true?
“What now?”
Exhaling, I run my hands through my hair and shake my head. “We stick to the plan. Search for anything related to Varo or dragon’s bane. If no one from the council will tell us what to expect, we’ll just have to figure it out for ourselves.”
Joe said Varo was banished nearly five hundred years ago, so we start in the sixteenth-century texts. It doesn’t take long to find information on him, but it isn’t anything we don’t already know. Respected elder turned power-hungry rebel; tried to take over the council; wound up banished. Followers never discovered.
“Do you think they knew he’d come back?” I ask. “His followers? Do you think they’ve just been biding their time?”
Henry nibbles on his bottom lip as he flips through a journal. “It seems that way. There were more of them than I expected.” He glances up at me. Hesitates. “You know this means no one on the council can be above suspicion.”
I cock my head, not entirely sure where he’s going with this. “I know.”
“Not even…” He takes a deep breath. “Not even people you trust.”
My eyes narrow. “What are you implying?” I already know, of course, but I want to hear him say it.
“Winter.” He says my name so differently from the way he said it last night. Next to the fire, it was a benediction. Now, it’s a confession whispered in a dark box, full of fear and guilt and a touch of insolence. “How well do you know Joe?”
It is the question I’ve been asking myself since last night. The question that keeps popping up as if from out of nowhere, making me feel equal parts paranoid and guilt-ridden.
My voice is a sharp, jagged blade, meant to hurt me just as much as him. “I would be very careful if I were you, Brightonshire,” I say. “You are only here because I chose to trust you.”
“Winter—”
“I have known Joe my entire life. I’ve only known you for three days. If I can’t trust him, then I certainly can’t trust you.” They’re the right words, but I hate how uncertain they sound to my own ears. As if I’m trying to convince myself as well as Henry.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Truly, I am, but you must see that the only chance we have of discovering what happened to our parents is if we hold everyone, every single person on the council, to the same level of suspicion.”
“Everyone? Including your parents?”
His gaze darkens. “Careful, Madam.”
“Oh, so you can question my family, but I can’t question yours?”
I stand and head for the door, but Henry’s hand bracelets my wrist, stopping me. “You’re right,” he says, begrudgingly. “Please, forgive me.”
I stare at him, and he stares back. Neither of us flinches, or blinks, or looks away.
“No,” I say, my breath catching in my too-dry throat. “You’re right. No one can be above suspicion.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps holding my wrist.
Mom slams the front door closed behind her, then walks into the study, purse swinging violently at her side. “All right,” she says. “Tell me everything.”