Page 17 of The Folklore of Forever (Moonville #2)

Seventeen

A creature that seems like it would be related to the waraver, but is not, is the swid, another impermanent Moonvillian water creature. Unlike the waraver, swid lore is universal and unchanging. A swid is created when love magic (which famously pollutes Moonville’s waterways) and moon magic swirl together in an eddy. This type of magical organism can move but does not possess conscious thought like waravers, which display moderate intelligence and are skilled at evasion. Swids aren’t easily detectable, as they are invisible, and hover in clusters. As their matter is sticky, they tend to gravitate to one another and form clumps called swidbula. Contact with a swid results in a temporary but powerfully giddy, lovestruck feeling. Accompanying sensations include blurred vision and tingling extremities, which clears once the swid is no longer in close proximity.

Local Legends and Superstitions, Tempest Family Grimoire

We follow the huggle through dense, dark trees with sappy branches, which scurry out of our way as we approach. I glance at Morgan to see if he notices that the trees are clearing our path forward, but he’s focused straight ahead.

It all feels rather like being at the bottom of the ocean. How everything is colored in deep greens and blues, none of it visible until a lantern floods out murky shapes. The whispering of leaves well over a hundred feet above our heads could be undiscovered species of marine life, drifting along the current.

The huggle vanishes into brush. “Where’d it go?” Morgan asks, his breath skating across the top of my head, blowing the tiny curls that frizz along my hairline. I swing the lantern higher, light chasing up a tree trunk. “I saw a squirrel, but you saw something else, which definitely fits the brief for paranimals.”

“It changes when I question it, though. When I start to doubt, that’s when it suddenly looks like a squirrel again. Why does the Black Bear Witch do this to animals? Is it like a curse?”

“Maybe she’s made them dangerous.”

I contemplate that. “The huggle I knew when I was little was always friendly. Maybe with the way she enchants them, she gives them magic of some sort but wants them to still appear normal, because they have new value that could be exploited. Why do cuttlefish change their colors? To hide from predators and also to blend in while they hunt their prey. It’s the—”

The end of my sentence dies with the lantern’s batteries.

Morgan raps the bottom of the lantern, switching it on and off. Darkness prevails. “That’s not good. Do you have your phone on you?”

“No.”

“Damn. Me, neither.” With the world gone black, Morgan feels much closer now, even though I don’t think he’s actually moved. “Wait. What’s that?”

“Where?” I turn my head as he takes my hand. Uses it to point. Squinting, I’m just barely able to make out a light in the forest, far away.

“A streetlight?” I guess. “How far from the road do you think we are?”

“Could be. Might be a flashlight.”

I shudder. “It’s the person who keeps talking about clocks.”

“You’re gonna need to go into detail on that.”

I tell him what I heard, and Morgan stops moving. I can feel him go rigid.

“ The sorceress stuffed her inside a clock ,” he repeats. “Could that possibly be a reference to the Black Bear Witch? Who got stuffed? Do you think our mysterious voice was speaking to you, or to somebody else in here?”

I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. Still can’t believe you didn’t hear it.”

Morgan grumbles resentfully. “Careful, watch your step.” He laces his fingers securely through mine.

Images of steep drops rip through my mind. The terrain’s dangerous: narrow roads with no guardrails, no white edge paint to reflect headlights and help keep your car from plunging off. Out here in Falling Rock Forest, where citizens are strongly encouraged not to roam even during daylight hours, we’ve found ourselves in a veritable death trap.

“I know.” I swallow. “This was maybe a stupid idea.”

“Nobody ever made history by going home.”

“All right, so we’re going to walk very, very slowly,” I tell him, endeavoring to stay levelheaded and in control of all my senses. “Feel along the ground with your shoes before you step. It’s impossible to tell where any edges might be.”

Crack.

Morgan whips around. “What was that?”

“Sounded like a stick snapping.”

“But who snapped it?”

I give his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Probably just a deer.”

In the direction opposite the broken stick, leaves rustle. “I’m too pretty to die!” he whines. “I’ll end up as one of those terrible ghosts who can’t leave the woods, the ones that take over living people’s bodies, and the body I steal will definitely not be as hot as the one I’m in now—”

“Morgan.”

“And everybody will say ‘ Oh, this is what he would’ve wanted, Morgan was so interested in ghosts ,’ but it is not what I want, I want to die at the age of one hundred and two in my rocket ship. I assume they’ll have Hilton Hotel space stations by then.”

“Morgan.” I can’t believe this is the same man who looked me right in the eye and said in a husky voice, I’d love to be explicit, but for now I’ll be polite. I’m saying that you’re beautiful, and I want to spend time with you . Ha! I can’t imagine being seduced by Morgan now. He is utterly ridiculous.

“What will they do at the paper without me? I am the Moonville Tribune ! I write under six different pen names to make it look like we’ve got more people working there than we do, but it’s just me and Rick, who does the layout and printing, and Katy, who’s a sixteen-year-old intern. You know Marty Allgood in Sports? Me. Mariah Abernathy, who does the gossip column? Also me. Local News and Community? Me again. Mitch Appleton, who argues back and forth with Mariah Abernathy concerning the credibility of her gossip column? Guess what? Me!”

“You made up two journalists who fight with each other?”

“I do what I have to do, Zelda!”

“Breathe.” I grip his shoulders. “You’re hyperventilating.”

“Why aren’t you hyperventilating? It stresses me out that you’re not hyperventilating. I think you might be a vampire for real and you dragged me out here to drink my delicious blood.”

“If I were going to do that, I would’ve brought my knife straw.” I steady my hand over his pounding heart. “Deep breaths, Morgan. In, one, two, three, four . Hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven . Exhale, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight . Come on, keep doing it. In, one, two, three, four . Hold, yes…Just like that.”

We stay locked in, breathing together, for another minute, until he’s calmed down. Until my palm is blazing hot where it’s been molded to his chest. “Are you all right?” I ask finally, hand shaking slightly as I remove it.

“Never better. What about you?” His voice summons bravado, the whites of his eyes two pale embers in the darkness. “You’re the one who got scared there.”

I smile. “Oh yes. Petrified.”

“You don’t particularly love the dark,” he goes on. “Not that you’re afraid of it, but you do spend a great deal of time thinking about ghosts and how much you’d love to meet one, so now you figure they’re always surrounding you, invisible. Which is fun and fascinating to think about when you’re in a well-lit public room, with witnesses and a clear exit. Like at a Burger King. In a pitch-black forest with cliffs all over the place, turns out it isn’t as much fun to imagine dead people watching you.”

“I’m so glad you’re getting me through this.”

“Happy to be of service.” He pats my back. Then, after a pause: “But why aren’t you more scared?”

Good question. I frown as we take baby steps toward the faraway light. With all the trees, we have to do plenty of weaving to keep it in our sights. “I’ve never minded the dark,” I tell him quietly. “I feel peaceful here. I liked being in the woods as a kid.”

“At night?”

“No. I definitely would have, but I didn’t want my parents to come looking for me and find out what I was doing. If they knew how I was spending my days, they might’ve tried to push me into extracurriculars for forced mingling with other humans.” My laugh is rusty.

His reply is an awkward, hesitant “Ah.” Morgan can’t relate. I’m drained after a small dose of human interaction, but for Morgan, chatting with strangers seems to charge him. I don’t envy this. I have never viewed my personality as a hindrance to be changed or overcome—I like who I am, and the world needs personalities of all types. But it is captivating to watch people like Morgan engaging with others in high animation. He’s a great speaker, whereas I’m more of a listener and observer.

“Careful,” he warns as I get whacked across the shoulder with a tree branch. “Sorry. Tried to move it out of your way, but I keep forgetting how short you are.”

I accidentally step on the back of his foot. “Sorry.”

He stumbles, scraping my ankle. I fall sideways, and when he tries to catch me, his hands grab my face instead of my arm. “Ope. Sorry!”

I burst into laughter. “We’re going to kill each other. This is ridiculous.”

“So many mosquito bites, we’re gonna look like we have chicken pox. I wanna swat them away, but I’d probably end up smacking you on accident.”

“We’ve lost the light again.”

He tries to veer us to the right, but as we move, I’m suddenly hit with the oddest, most unpleasant sensation. It is exactly like…the feeling of being five minutes late for a doctor’s appointment, and then getting to the check-in desk and being told I’m in the wrong building.

I stop.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

My eyes fall closed, instincts strongly compelling me leftward. “This way.”

But he slides us right again, three steps, and sweat trickles down my spine. The sensation that arrests me this time is extremely specific, and once again, bizarrely unrelated to the situation at hand: I feel the coolness inside a pumpkin as I hollow out its seeds and stringy fibers with a big spoon. The back of my hand bumps against the rim, cold orange pumpkin slime smearing across my skin.

The thought is overpoweringly vivid. My hand twitches, and I drop his. “Gross.”

“Wh—” Morgan begins to say, but the rest sails off in an “Aghhh!” as he loses his balance, his voice growing louder as his body falls lower, to the ground, slipping downhill.

We’ve been walking at the edge of a cliff and had no idea.

“Morgan!” I throw myself to my knees, catching his wrist just as the top of his head slithers from sight, weak moonlight spackling his forehead and his wide, terrified eyes. My mouth falls open with a crush of pain when gravity stops carrying him off and I’m left bearing the full force of his weight, heavy and dangling over a vast, craggy pit. “Hold on.”

He lets out a choked noise. “Please don’t drop me.”

“I won’t.” But even as I say it, I can feel him slipping, the weight of his body staggering. It pulls against my every muscle, tendons standing out of my neck, skin burning like fire. “Climb up my arm.”

He tries to lift himself, and my shoulder turns the wrong way in its socket. I let out a sharp cry of pain. Morgan immediately stops. “I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly, laced with tangible fear. “Are you okay?”

“Keep going.” I hook my foot around a tree, teeth gritted. “Come on. We can do this. You are not leaving me alone with the forest ghosts.”

“So you admit there are forest ghosts. This is progress, Zelda.”

As if my brain is trying to resist the very idea, my muscles react and I tug on him, hard and swift, bringing Morgan close enough that he can find purchase and scrabble the rest of the way up. Together, we heave him back into safe territory, then lie in a panting, trembling heap.

“Well,” he manages after a while, still collapsed in the dirt and leaves. “That kind of sucked.”

“Pffft.” Air escapes me in a wheeze. His response to a near- death experience is, for some reason, the funniest thing I have ever heard in my life. Well, that kind of sucked.

Morgan starts laughing, too. “Oh, that hurts.”

“What does?”

“Everything.”

I can’t resist. “Told you we should’ve gone left.”

“That, you did,” he replies, instantly sobered. “I should have listened.”

When we finally get moving again, Morgan lets me navigate without complaint.

After a bit more stumbling around, we relocate that faraway bluish-white light. “Does it seem like we’re getting any closer?” Morgan wonders aloud.

“Maybe it’s a portal to the afterlife. We both fell into the gorge back there and died but we don’t remember, and our souls have actually been roaming this forest for years instead of an hour.”

I feel Morgan shiver. “You’re creeping me out.”

I grin as I clutch his upper arm, stretching on tiptoe so that I can speak close to his ear. “They say that Morgan’s and Zelda’s bodies were never found, absorbed by nature.”

“Oh god.”

“Wait.” I shush him, going still. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” His voice thins.

For a handful of seconds, neither of us moves.

“Someone’s speaking,” I whisper. “But it sounds distant.”

He doesn’t reply, straining to listen. My hand tightens on him. “There it is again. And don’t you feel the vibrations? I think it’s…footsteps. Walking over our graves.”