Page 18

WILLOW WAS EXHAUSTED.

One moment, she’d been riding high, strolling—no, strutting—out of Hemridge while Jefferson, that traitor, and Cotter and Moore, those deacon shitheads, had stood slack-jawed and foolish, pulling at their hair. She’d been untouchable, a shadow tucked between heartbeats.

But that high had long faded, as had the tingle of... whatever it was... that had offered her such generous protection.

Magic. Why couldn’t she say it? Admit it? Embrace it?

She, Willow Braselton, had magic in her blood. Hadn’t she always known it?

Magic didn’t keep her feet from hurting, though. She was trudging up a narrow mountain road, the trees crowding close on both sides like they’d grown tired of being left alone. She’d been trudging up this road for hours now. Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. Her tongue was dry as flint.

Dusk was coming on, although the light didn’t behave normally here.

It filtered through the branches in slanted ribbons, golden and green, like something seen through stained glass.

It was lovely. But her eyes were gritty, and she had a stitch in her side, and the only food she’d had all day was a lint-covered mint and a single bite of a stale pastry.

Magic didn’t ease those physical discomforts, either.

The asphalt gave way to dirt and gravel, and a stick she nearly stepped on hissed and rattled its tail. She shrieked and jumped back, and the rattlesnake slithered into the underbrush. But if it hadn’t? If she got bitten up here, all alone, what would she do? Rattlesnake venom was quick and deadly.

Maybe she should turn back. The thought pushed and nudged. Maybe she should. Maybe that’s what being grown-up meant: making deliberate decisions, scientifically tried and true, instead of being impulsive.

She thought of Ash, who’d never believed in her, and her resolve strengthened. Funny what an excellent motivator spite could be.

She thought of Serrin, and her heart swelled even larger. Spite could nudge her forward, but love was a hundred times more powerful. For Serrin, she would cross not just mountains but worlds.

A half-memory came to her, a velvety voice looping around her: He’s wasting away. Except, no, that wasn’t it. Wilting? Withering?

Willow couldn’t remember if Severine had spoken the words aloud or if Willow had only felt them, but she knew that Serrin needed her. Not like Ash needed her to fail. Not like her father needed her to behave.

Serrin needed Willow the way he needed breath. Warmth. Light. Willow needed Serrin in all the same ways, plus or minus infinity.

So she walked. And walked. Sometimes she stopped and leaned forward, pressing her palms to her quadriceps and breathing in deep.

Then she walked some more, more slowly, while craning her head up at the darkening sky.

She still felt exhausted, but in a brave sort of way that made her proud. Also? God , the sky was beautiful.

She had no idea if she was on the right road to Lost Souls. She hadn’t exactly had time to ask for directions. But the air here tasted older. The trees watched more closely. This had to be the way.

She crested a small hill and paused. In front of her was an enormous boulder spray-painted with white letters as jagged as teeth: “R U LOST OR R U FOUND?”

A creepy feeling whispered across the back of her neck. She turned around, but slowly, apprehensively.

No one was there. Just her.

She approached the boulder and brushed her fingers over it, half-worried that doing so would slingshot her into the flattened, sideways world she’d started to think of as the in-between.

It didn’t. Her dimensions stayed predictable.

Her feet stayed raw and tender, especially the webbing between her toes where the leather thong of her sandals dug in.

Her Jesus shoes, as her mother called them.

Her mother, back in Atlanta. Her father, no doubt fuming.

R U LOST OR R U FOUND?

Willow half-laughed because it was one more impossible question. Was she clever or foolish? Crazy or sane? Magic or delusional?

A bull goose looney if I ever did see one, the woman from the antique store had said. Was Willow a bull goose looney?

“Sometimes I see things,” she said aloud. She listened to see if anyone would answer—anyone or anything. A breeze rustled through the trees, and she felt an airlessness in her chest that made her smile.

She slipped off her backpack, then turned around so that the seat of her jeans was pressed against the boulder.

She kicked off her sandals, flattened her palms against the boulder’s rough surface, and jump-hop-scrambled to get to the top, using her bare foot to propel herself the last foot and a half.

From her high-up perch, she felt queenlike and savage.

She was nineteen and all alone in what was surely the most isolated mountain range in all the world. Her feet were bare, she could smell her own stink—not awful, just sweaty—and a pokey part of the boulder dug into her butt. She shifted to get more comfortable.

“Sometimes I see things, and I think they’re true,” she told the trees and the rocks and the slowly looming shadows. She leaned back against her palms. The wind caught and lifted her long blonde waves. “And sometimes—okay, once—I. ..” She paused, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

There are cracks between the worlds, whispered the unknowable voice. You slipped through one.

Willow’s heart gave a funny flop. “There are cracks between the worlds,” she whispered, “and sometimes—well, one time—I slipped through one.”

An owl hooted, and the sun sank lower behind the mountains.

The sweat on Willow’s lower back and beneath her arms cooled and dried.

She shivered. It sure got dark fast up here on the mountain.

The sky was the color of a plum now, with only a glimmer of gold radiating dimly from the far reaches of the horizon.

If there was a bear out here . . .

There wouldn’t be. But if there was... it could stand ten feet away from her, and she wouldn’t even know it, not until it snuffled and huffed its hot honeyed breath.

Bears didn’t eat humans.

Bears killed people sometimes, but they didn’t eat them.

“Yay, I won’t be a bear snack,” Willow said weakly.

The sky had deepened all the way to darkest purple when Willow heard it: the sharp pop-pop-pop of gravel crushed under tires.

She sat up straight, heart thudding. Her eyes scanned the road below, and there it was—a pair of headlights in the distance, cutting sideways through the trees. Should she hop down from the boulder? Movement would draw attention, but staying put made her feel exposed. Like prey on a perch.

The truck rounded the curve, and its lights hit her full in the face. Willow threw up an arm to shield her eyes.

The truck slowed. The lights dimmed to parking beams, then flicked off altogether. The engine growled for a few more seconds before going quiet.

She heard the creak of the driver’s side door, and her heart sped faster. Rabbit fast. She thought of hillbillies. Toothless men with chaw tucked between their gums and their lips. Mr. Chapman with a rifle.

“Didn’t mean to blind you. Sorry,” said the driver. He stepped into view from behind the cab, a broad silhouette cut from the deeper dark. The pickup stood between them, thank God. He braced his hands on the rusted rim of the bed. “Need a lift?”

Willow didn’t answer. Her rabbity heart had lodged itself in her throat, and sweat once more pricked beneath her arms. Fear sweat.

“I’m not trying to be creepy,” the guy said. He waved a hand vaguely. “But what are you doing up there? Why are you here? Are you lost?”

No, she was found. By him. Against her desire, against her will.

He circled around the tailgate, stepping into clearer view. Broad shoulders, shaggy hair, strong jaw. Mid-twenties, maybe? He leaned against the rear quarter panel of the truck, kicking one filthy boot over the other and folding his arms over his chest.

If he thought the casual posture would put her at ease, he was mistaken.

“My name’s Cole,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m headed toward Lost Souls.” His voice was low and measured, nothing flashy. His eyes, though—his eyes caught what light there was, and in them, Willow saw a keen intelligence. Watchfulness. “You headed that way, too?”

Her voice cracked when she tried to speak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You know it? Lost Souls?”

“I do,” Cole said. “Not an easy hike, if that’s what you’re doing.

There’s still a good ten miles to go. The road isn’t well marked.

Might find yourself walking up someone’s driveway without even knowing it.

And... you might not be so well received, a stranger showing up out of nowhere, unannounced. ”

Willow drew her thumbnail to her mouth, wedging it between her teeth. Her clean, white, orthodontically perfect teeth.

“Would you like a ride?” Cole asked with careful formality.

“I don’t know,” Willow said honestly. “You’re a stranger. You showed up out of nowhere. How do I know... ?” Her words trailed off. How did she know what sort of reception he was expecting from her?

He lifted his hands and showed his palms, as if that would prove his good intentions. “I’m not out here on the prowl .” The way he said it made her feel a little dumb. “Hell, I didn’t expect to round the bend and find a girl like you sitting barefoot on the point of no return.”

Willow frowned. Then she glanced down at the boulder that was her throne. Are you lost or found? “Is that what this is? The point of no return?”

“More like the boulder of fair warning. ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’”

She blanched. She was here to claim hope and hold it tight, not abandon it.

“Listen,” Cole said. “I’ll feel like hell if I drive off and leave you out here. If you want to get to Lost Souls, I’ll take you there.”

She slid off the boulder, landing barefoot in the dirt. Her heels smarted.

“Why ‘abandon all hope’?” she asked.