Page 2

Where did they run to?

As the beach burned, he scooped up the fur he’d been sitting on and followed his own command, sprinting over the rippling, bouncing sand. The selkies followed him as if he knew what to do and where to go, but he had no fucking idea.

There wasn’t enough magic for him to escape this place, and the nearest town was a day’s walk away. Not that he walked anywhere.

The ground split open and rocked as though trying to toss him into the freshly opened maw. His foot slipped in the sand, and Pan scrambled back, but there was nowhere for him to go with so many behind him.

His world was tearing apart.

Like magic, it was failing.

As quickly as the chasm opened, it rumbled closed.

“Why aren’t you saving us?” It began as a whispered accusation and swelled to a shout.

It wasn’t just the selkies—all of Tariko screamed to be saved. He put his hands over his ears and dropped to his knees, expecting to be ripped apart.

There was no air to breathe.

His lungs burned.

He’d never expected to die.

* * *

Pan opened his eyes and brushed aside the crow pecking at his arm. He squinted up at the pale gray sky and the equally pale sun, shooing away the crow again. He felt like a three-day-old turd. How drunk had he gotten? He reached for the magic to fix the headache, only to find there was nothing to grab.

What the fuck?

He sat up and blinked twice. Bile raced up his throat at the sight of the bloodied rocks and bodies.

This was not the remains of a party.

It was a massacre.

The bent and broken bodies of selkies were strewn over the pebbly beach. They lacked even their human-looking skin. He turned away and swallowed to avoid vomiting.

This wasn’t even the beach they’d been on.

And where were his clothes?

He’d taken them off to party…

Then he remembered the way the stars had vanished and the ground had opened. He checked the magic again, this time to find out where he was. Still nothing. Slowly, he turned, taking in the rest of his surroundings.

There were upturned boats of a kind he didn’t recognize that appeared to have been dropped onto the beach, and there were unfamiliar noises. A kind of wailing. Beneath all of that was a particular resonance he hadn’t felt in about two centuries. He huffed out a breath. It appeared that he was somewhere in the human world.

Not knowing exactly where was bad.

Not having clothes was inconvenient.

Not having magic was worse, as it meant he couldn’t solve the first two problems.

He glanced down to check what form he was in. His feet appeared human and were smeared with blood and sand instead of being hoofed. When he touched his head, the curve of his horns was hard against his fingers. That made no sense. He should have either horns and hooves or neither.

The cool morning air made his bloodied skin prickle, and it took a moment for him to realize he was cold. And thirsty. And hungry.

He put his hands on his hips. This was fucked. He was never cold or thirsty or hungry. Or if he was, it didn’t last long because he had magic. He reached for magic before remembering it was gone.