“Look, you can pull that crap on your mom all you want—if you’re lucky, she might even believe you—but I know a boy doesn’t stay in your room overnight with absolutely nothing happening.”
“Do you know that from personal experience?”
“Nooooo,” Mer says, drawing out the word. “Unlike some best friends I know, I would actually tell you if something that amazing happened to me. Now, come on, spill. Did he at least kiss you?”
“I really can’t talk about this now.”
“Is your mom there?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, fine. We’ll talk about it when you come over tonight.”
“What?”
She sighs, low and purposely dramatic, like she’s trying to hide the hurt behind the sound, but I’ve known my friend too long not to hear it. “I know last night was crazy, but I didn’t think you’d forget.”
I press my forehead against the wall. “The ACTs.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I’m supposed to help you study.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I don’t know what to do. Every second not spent searching for the truth of what happened to Dad and Henry’s parents feels like a betrayal. But then I think of all the times I’ve ditched Mer over the past six years—first for lessons, then for patrols. She was understanding, but there was only so much even the most understanding person could take.
Besides, Mer’s right. Her entire future is riding on these test scores.
“Do you think your mom will still let you come over?” she asks.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to ask. Hold on.” I put my hand over the mouthpiece and walk into the dining room. “Can I go to Mer’s tonight? I was supposed to help her study.”
Mom pauses. “No,” she says, “but she can come here.”
I’m not sure if she says this because she doesn’t want to be alone with Henry, or because she doesn’t trust that I’m actually going to be where I say I am. Probably a little of both.
I uncover the mouthpiece. “Why don’t you come over for dinner? I’m not sure what Mom’s making, but it’s bound to be good.”
Meredith makes a hmmm sound and says, “I would die for some of your mom’s cooking. I haven’t been over to your house for dinner in ages.”
I don’t think the comment was meant to make me feel guilty, but it does all the same.
I ask, “Um, how does seven sound?” That’ll give Henry and me time to do a sweep of the wood first.
“Great,” she says. “See you soon.”
“Hey, Mer?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I forgot.”
“I know, Win. It’s okay. With your dad and all—” She cuts herself off. “I just mean, I know you’ve been going through a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“You can talk to me about it, you know. If you want.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
“Okay.” Her tone brightens. “See you at seven?”
“Yeah, see you.”
I finish eating, then take our empty plates and bowls to the sink, rinsing them out and stacking them in the dishwasher without Mom having to ask me to. It’s a small thing, I know, and probably something I should have started doing more often anyway, whether I was in trouble or not, but all I can do is hope that a million small things will, eventually, add up to one big thing—gaining Mom’s trust back.
I turn and lean against the counter. I catch Henry’s eye and cock my head at the window, where the trees of this world blur into the trees of another. “You ready?”
He nods, rubbing a napkin over his lips. He takes the flask with the elixir from his belt and drinks. The liquid sloshing around inside makes the flask sound considerably less full than it did when he first showed it to me, and I wonder how much he has left.
I glance at the clock. Five hours, thirty-two minutes to sundown.
Mom says, “Be careful.”
I say, “Always.”
XXXIII
The wood is quiet. I try not to think about what I saw just hours before, but every time I blink, he’s there, the traveler without his skin, the shadows hovering over him. His body is imprinted on the backs of my eyelids like the flash from a camera.
The path gives way to the same mushy consistency from earlier as we walk, and the trees have begun shedding their black leaves. They sizzle when they hit the ground, emitting a black smoke that smells like sulfur and leaving behind a boiling puddle of black tar. We search the base of every tree, but there are no traces of dragon’s bane.
The wind picks up the farther we go, and the stench of rot intensifies. A good sign we’re heading in the right direction. I pull my coat close and Henry does the same. Dad’s clothes are in the wash, and Henry’s back to wearing his eighteenth-century clothing. If Uncle Joe finds us together, I’ll act like Henry’s just another traveler I’ve found, like I’ve never seen him before this moment.
We meander along the paths, taking various twists and turns. Doubling back when it’s clear by the relative health of the trees that we’re going the wrong way. We follow the sickness like bread crumbs.
“Winter,” Henry says after several hours have passed and I have already begun to give up hope. “Look.”
Glittering beneath a buckled root, half-covered by the blackened foliage, is a delicate gold necklace with a sapphire pendant.
“It’s my mother’s,” Henry whispers, awestruck. He reaches his hand out to grab it—
“No.” I grab his hand, pulling it back. “It’s off the path. You can’t get it.”
Henry’s brow arches. “Remember when I said the elixir makes me more like the Old Ones than you think?”
Yes, but grabbing logs from the edge of the path is a far cry from actually walking off the path. “Henry…”
He steps over a log, his feet crunching the grass and fallen leaves on the other side, and my heart jumps into my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut.
He chuckles. “Winter,” he says, his breath tickling my ear. “I’m all right.”
I open my eyes. He’s already back on the path, holding the necklace. He flips it over, inspecting it.
I try to tease him, saying, “You’re not a typical traveler, are you?” but the words are thick as sludge in my tightened throat.
He stares at the necklace in wonder. “They were here.”
We look for another sign of them, but there’s nothing. Just the necklace.
“At least we know we’re on the right path,” I say. “Let’s keep going.”
I lead Henry into the deepest section of the wood, near the border of my territory. There are fewer thresholds here. The plaques above them bear older names, some in languages I’ve never seen. There are Xs crossing out the names like the other thresholds that have permanently closed, and suddenly I’m ten again, witnessing one close for the first time.
*
It has been two months since my lessons officially began. I have been in the wood a total of three times and watched Dad return a traveler twice. When I enter the wood now, the strange blue lightning bugs snuggle up near my face, the wind generated by their wings a gentle vibration against my cheeks.
Dad says, “Looks like they’ve taken a shine to you.” But he frowns when he says it, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong.