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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A va woke up, feeling almost as exhausted as she had when she had gone to sleep. She was seriously going to have to work out a schedule with Serrik, or else he was going to have a very tired and very cranky Ava on his hands.

And nobody wanted that.

Groaning, she rolled onto her side, and wished she could just bury her head underneath the giant pile of not-pillows and not-blanket and go back to sleep.

But she had to go find a magical not-door.

And go start releasing her magical not-friend.

So she could get access to more not-hers magic.

So she could murder the aforementioned not-friend.

Who she was definitely not attracted to.

Fuck.

Ava wanted off the stupid ride she was strapped to. One thing at a time, she supposed. Climbing out of bed, she brushed her hair, got dressed, and shoved her finally-dry clothes into her bag. Part of her was terrified to leave the relative safety of Nos and Ibin’s rooms.

The other part of her reminded that first part that they’d tried to sell her off to Rig against her will. And that they weren’t her friends. The first part patiently reminded the second part that she was the one who’d agreed to help Serrik murder all the fae first , so really, who was the asshole in this relationship?

Slinging her bag over her shoulder once everything was zipped up and put away, she went and picked up Book from where it was sitting on the nest of blankets. “Don’t worry. I’m not neglecting you.” It felt a little warm in her hand. She opted not to think too much about that. “At least when I finally lose my mind and start talking to myself, I can always just claim I’m actually talking to you.”

Tucking it under her arm, she headed for the door. Should she say goodbye? Ask for food for the road? Directions? She didn’t know what the etiquette was for this kind of situation. She didn’t think it was in a pamphlet anywhere.

The question was answered for her when she reached the door to the main hallway of the Web. Ibin was sitting on one of the sofas, her hands clasped in front of her. Nos was across from her, staring dourly at the coffee table.

At the first sight of her, Ibin shot to her feet. “Ava. Wait.”

“I—look.” Ava shut her eyes. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t tell them the truth—Serrik was watching. Any hint that she might betray him would backfire immediately. “I need to go and…I need to help Serrik. It’s not you, and it’s not personal, it’s?—”

“It’s that you are selfish. And that you are set on killing us all.” Nos grimaced. “I told you, Ibin. This is pointless.”

“It’s complicated , Nos.” Ava ground out. “Look, I don’t want to kill you all. I don’t. And it’s not that I’m only looking out for myself. This isn’t just about me. But I’ve seen what you people can do—what you have done. Shit, I’ve been here for what, two? Three days? How many horror stories have I heard?” She laughed. “Yeah. Pass. I’m trying to save the human race , Nos. And if I don’t try, he’ll just get the next idiot to help him. And the next idiot after that.” She shrugged. “Might as well be me, right?”

That had been what she’d believed before Book had shown her the true cost of Serrik’s genocide. Before she’d changed her mind. But a part of her still believed that it was worth it—that the fae still needed to die.

They were monsters. In the literal and figurative sense.

But she couldn’t do either thing—help Serrik or kill him—without starting to unlock the door that kept him prisoner. So, she figured she had time to make up her mind.

Besides, chances were good she was going to die long before she got to that point, anyway.

Ibin and Nos simply stared at her in silence.

Hanging her head, she shook her head. They didn’t understand. Why would they? She wouldn’t understand, either.

“I don’t have a choice,” Ava said, trying to convince herself as much as them. “Look, both of you got dragged into this shit show too.”

Ibin’s green eyes fixed on Ava with an intensity that made her want to take a step back. “There's always a choice, Ava.”

Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful fortune cookie wisdom she’d heard today.

“Great,” she muttered. “I’ll file that away with all the other useless platitudes that haven’t done shit with me so far. Right next to ‘noble things your parents teach you that will actually kill you’ and ‘all of organized religion.’”

Nos made a sound like grinding gears—she realized after a second that he was laughing.

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” Ava snapped.

“Your survival instinct.” He stood, towering over both of them. “ Pathetic . Endearing, but pathetic.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who looks like he survived a supernatural woodchipper.” The words were out before she could stop them. Ibin went very still. Shit . Maybe antagonizing the scary patchwork fae man wasn’t her brightest idea.

But Nos just made that grinding noise again.

“Better a patchwork man than a fool with sudden delusions of significance.” His smile was cruelty itself. “You think you're saving your world? Your race? You’re a pawn, little human. Nothing more.”

“Great talk. Love it.” She hugged Book closer to her chest. “But I’m still going. You don’t want me here. And I don’t think I want to be here.”

Ibin stepped forward. “At least let us go with you.”

“What?” Nos and Ava said in unison, which was just weird .

“You heard me.” Ibin crossed her arms. “Whatever you’re planning to do, I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“I’m not planning—” Ava started, then stopped. What was she planning? Help Serrik? Kill him? Get impossibly magical and somehow save both humans and fae? Drop more magical apples and trains on people? “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “Or where I’m going.”

“Precisely why you need us.” Ibin beamed, as if that settled everything. “You don’t know where this mirror is. And I do. ”

Shit. Shit.

“She’s made her choice,” Nos growled. “ Let her go .”

“And when have I ever listened to you?” Ibin shot back.

Ava got the impression this was an argument they’d been having for roughly the past century and change. “Look,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’m not asking for help. I’m not asking for company. I’m just trying to…”

Survive . The word hung unspoken.

Ibin’s expression softened. “I know, love. But the Web isn’t kind to lone travelers. Especially ones with targets painted on their backs. Here’s the deal. I’ll take you to the door—if you let me convince you we deserve to live along the way. For real, this time.”

Ava looked down at Book. It sat there, infuriatingly mute and unhelpful. If it had any opinions on her supernatural escort service, it wasn’t sharing.

“Fine. It’s not like I can stop you tagging along anyway, and I do need help finding the door,” she relented. “But if either of you try anything?—”

“We’ll behave.” Ibin crossed a finger over her heart.

Nos scoffed. “Speak for yourself.”

Ava ignored him. “Alright. Let’s do this. Not like my day can get any weirder.”

Famous last words.

The Web wasn’t just strange—it was aggressively strange. Like it was personally offended by the concept of reality and determined to prove a point.

They’d been walking for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes. Time worked funny here. Everything worked funny here.

“So,” Ava said, breaking the silence, “does anyone actually know where we’re going? Or are we just wandering until something tries to eat us?”

Ibin chuckled. Nos remained stoically silent.

“Serrik’s imprisonment has many layers,” Ibin explained. “Some physical, some…more abstract.”

“Abstract.” Ava kicked at a pebble that skittered across the impossible floor. “Like ‘modern art’ abstract or ‘reality is an illusion’ abstract?”

“More like ‘multi-dimensional chess where the pieces are concepts and the board is a probability’ abstract,” Ibin replied cheerfully.

“Awesome. Thanks for clearing that up.”

The path ahead of them split into three. One led through what looked like a doorway made of broken mirrors. Another descended into what might have been a doorway of water or might have been liquid sky. The third door seemed normal—which, okay, sure, made it immediately a little suspicious, but didn’t look like it was going to drown her or cut her to ribbons. So, it had that going for it.

“Which way?” Ava asked.

Nos and Ibin exchanged glances.

“The mirrors,” Nos said.

“The water,” Ibin said at the exact same time, before she sighed. “All three paths connect on the other side. We simply have to go through—this is just about what we endure to get there.”

Great. Just great. “Endure. Who designed this place? What kind of lunatic, sociopathic, murderous psychopath puts things like this”—she gestured at the doors—“anywhere where they have to be fucking endured? ”

Nos looked far too pleased with himself when he said the answer. “Serrik.”

Ava stared. “What.”

Ibin let out a groan. “He designed this prison. But not for himself. It’s—I don’t know the whole story. I don’t think any of us do. Can we just move on? Please?”

“He built this place to punish those who were sent here, Ava. This is a place to be endured. ” Nos folded his arms over his chest. “Now. Choose what suffering you will inflict upon us.”

God fucking damn it , she hated everything about this place. “Awesome. Awesome. Why do I have to choose?”

“Because this is your fault. So you should be to blame for whatever it is.” Nos smiled the most friendly expression she’d seen him wear. Namely, because it was entirely sarcastic.

She would really hate Nos if she didn’t agree with him half the time. “Fine. Fine! Whatever. I vote for door number three. The one that doesn’t look like it’ll shred me or drown me.” She pointed.

“That,” Nos said gravely, “would be a mistake.”

She stared at the completely normal-looking door. “Because? The safe-thing-is-deadly trope?”

“In the Web,” Ibin explained, “the more dangerous paths are the ones that look to be the safer choice, yes.”

“That is so cliché.” Placing her hand over her eyes, she groaned. “Have you people read a book from the last century? Seriously? What’s next? One door tells the truth, the other tells lies? So, the most dangerous option is always the answer?”

“Not necessarily.” Nos’s voice was dry as dust. “But suspicion is warranted when something appears…convenient.”

“Fine!” She looked between the mirrors and the water. Whatever. “Eenie, meenie, miney, sliced-to-ribbons-or-drowned.”

Ava took a step toward the mirror door. Serrik was behind a broken mirror, right? That felt like a good clue. But that might also be too convenient.

Stupid fae.

“ Careful ,” Ibin warned. “The mirrors show truth. Not everyone appreciates that.”

“Noted,” Ava muttered, but kept going. “I love watching the greatest hits of my life’s most embarrassing moments played back to me. That’s what these things are generally about, right?”

As they approached, she could see her reflection multiplied into infinity by the broken glass. But it wasn't her —not exactly. In one shard, she was older. In another, she had that tattoo from Book’s illustration. In another, she was covered in blood.

In one disturbing fragment, she was standing beside Serrik, his hand on her shoulder, both of them smiling. In another, she was tearing his heart out with her bare hands.

“Don’t look too long,” Ibin whispered, tugging her forward. “The mirrors can trap you in possibilities.”

“Like those threads we saw before?” Ava asked, remembering the gateway to Rig’s home.

“Similar,” Nos said. “Different facets of the same concept.”

As they passed through the mirror doorway, Ava felt a strange sensation—like her skin was being peeled away, examined, and put back on slightly wrong. It didn’t hurt. It just felt…invasive. Gross.

On the other side, they emerged into a vast chamber that seemed to be constructed entirely of light and shadow. No walls. No ceiling. Just varying densities of illumination.

“This is new,” Ibin murmured, sounding concerned.

“New?” Ava turned to her. “What do you mean, new? Haven’t you been living here for like a century or something?”

“The Web changes.” Nos’s tone was one of someone who was explaining something to a particularly slow child. “What was once is not always what is.”

“Thanks for more fortune cookie wisdom,” Ava snapped. “Any actual useful information?” Book felt warm under her arm. Almost hot. Like it was reacting to something.

“Ava,” Ibin said slowly. “Your book…”

She looked down. Gold light was seeping from between Book’s pages, like it was trying to open itself. “Um…Book, buddy? You okay?”

“That,” Nos said, “should not be happening.”

She held the book out in front of herself, looking down at it curiously. “What do you wanna say, Book? Speak, boy—speak.”

“You named it…Book?” Ibin arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s a long st?—”

The book flew open.

A blinding, golden light poured from the book. Ava, Ibin, and Nos screamed.

She couldn’t see anything. Shutting her eyes, she turned her head from the glow, but it was useless. It was so blinding, it didn’t matter if her eyes were shut or not.

It took her a second or two to realize there was a fourth scream mixed in with the three of theirs.

SLAP.

Book slammed shut in her hands.

And then they were standing in darkness.

Complete, absolute darkness.

“Well.” Her voice echoed strangely. “Ow. What was that about?”

Something brushed against her arm in the darkness—something that wasn’t Ibin or Nos.

Something with too many fingers.

“Don’t move,” Nos ordered, his voice tight.

“Why?” she whispered. Though she was pretty sure she already knew.

“Because,” Ibin whispered back, “we’re not alone.”

The darkness around them shifted. Like something massive was moving through it. Something ancient. Something patient.

“What is that?” Ava asked, her voice barely audible.

“The Eyes,” Nos replied.

Oh fantastic . Because that didn’t sound foreboding. Not at all. Not in the slightest. What was with this place and eyes, anyway?

“Are the Eyes…friendly?” she asked.

“No,” Ibin said simply.

“Are they…dangerous?” Ava pressed.

“Worse,” Nos rumbled. “They’re…curious."

The darkness in front of them began to…part. Like curtains being drawn back. Light seeped in—not the golden light of Book, but something older. Dimmer. More primal.

And in that light, she saw it.

The Eyes.

It wasn’t a spider. Not exactly. It had too many limbs, yes—limbs that seemed to fold in on themselves in ways that made her eyes hurt. But it also had features that might have been almost human once. Eyes—dozens of them—blinked from what might have been a face. Or maybe it was just watching them from every angle simultaneously.

“Oh,” Ava breathed, “fuck me sideways.”

The Eyes’s many, well, eyes blinked in unison, scanning, searching—but they were straining. They couldn’t see them. They were blinded. Holy shit. “Book, I could kiss you,” she whispered.

VISITORS , came a voice—not in her ears, but directly in her mind. Like it was plucking the concept from her brain and replacing it with its response. WE CANNOT SEE.

BUT WE CAN SENSE.

NEW THREAD .

“We're just passing through,” Ibin said, her normally confident voice wavering. “We mean no harm to you, or your threads.”

The Eyes’s attention shifted—Ava could feel it, like a physical weight moving from her to Ibin.

OLD THREAD. FRAYED. BUT STILL USEFUL .

It swung back to Ava.

NEW THREAD. STRANGE PATTERN . CANNOT SEE.

One impossibly long limb reached for her.

Nos stepped in front of her. “This strange pattern is not for you,” he said firmly. “This thread is spoken for.”

ALL THREADS ARE MINE .

“This one is different,” Ibin argued. “This one is?—”

SPECIAL? The concept came with what felt disturbingly like amusement. ALL THREADS BELIEVE THEY ARE SPECIAL .

Ibin spoke up again. “We are sorry to interrupt you. We are bringing this new thread to its owner. We’re simply looking for the exit.”

All those eyes blinked again. Slower this time. STRANGE PATTERN. CANNOT SEE. BUT THERE WAS SUCH LIGHT. YES, OLD THREAD. NOT FOR ME.

Ava didn’t know whether to be offended or not.

THERE IS NO EXIT .

Ava winced. This was not the place she wanted to wind up being trapped.

BUT THERE ARE WAYS .

The Eyes shifted, its impossible limbs folding and unfolding. The darkness around them rippled like water.

FOLLOW .

And then it was moving away from them, deeper into the strange not-room.

Ava looked at Ibin and Nos. “Are we seriously going to follow the terrifying leg-eye-spider-thing?”

“You have a better idea?” Ibin asked.

She didn’t.

So they followed.

The Eyes led them through passages that shouldn’t exist—corridors made of shadow and things that flashed like bits and pieces of memories from her childhood. Rooms constructed from echoes of lost conversations. Everywhere Ava looked, threads gleamed—some thick as ropes, others fine as hair.

The Web. The actual Web. Not just the place Serrik was imprisoned, but the thing itself.

“What is this place?” she whispered to Ibin as they walked. “Really?”

Ibin shrugged. “I don’t really know. As far as I can figure? Reality’s backstage,” she whispered back. “Where all worlds and possibilities…connect.”

“That’s not actually as helpful as you might think it is.”

“I know,” Ibin admitted. “But it’s the best I can do.”

The Eyes stopped abruptly. Before them stretched what looked like a perfectly ordinary door—wooden, slightly weathered, with a simple brass knob. The same damn door as number three.

Ava glared a hole at Nos.

Who studiously refused to look at her.

HERE .

WHAT YOU SEEK .

Ibin looked at the door suspiciously. “And what exactly do you think are we seeking?”

THE FIRST KEY .

Ava looked down at Book. It felt warm again, but not burning. Just…alert. When she looked back up, the Eyes were staring at her. All of them. It could see her. She froze. Shit.

WE KNOW WHAT YOU SEEK. WE WISH TO HEAR YOU SPEAK IT.

Ava swallowed nervously before glancing at Nos and Ibin. Ibin shrugged. Looking back to the Eyes, she did her best to sound firm. “Three keys…and a mirror.”

The Eyes’s limbs twitched in what might have been approval.

BUT BE WARNED , STRANGE THREAD.

THE KEY CHANGES THE LOCK. AND THE LOCK CHANGES THE KEY .

“Do you guys have some kind of supernatural requirement to be as cryptic as possible?” She was terrified. Absolutely terrified. But the stupid jokes kept her safe like a shield. If she kept making jokes, it meant she was still alive. Even if her pitch was an octave higher. “Like, is there a quota you have to fill?”

The Eyes’s many eyes blinked out of sync for the first time.

HUMOR. UNEXPECTED .

“Yeah, well, I’m just full of surprises.”

The Eyes moved closer to her—uncomfortably close. One limb reached out, almost touching her face.

YOU WILL NEED THAT. WHEN THE CHOICES COME .

And with that cheery thought, it retreated into the darkness, limbs folding in on themselves until it vanished completely.

Leaving them alone with the door.

“So,” Ava said, trying to sound braver than she felt, “who goes through first?”