Page 9 of Whisper Woods (Legends of the Whisper Woods #3)

Rafe

The room seems to grow smaller and smaller as I wait for Seff to return. With each long minute that ticks by, the irritation grows, made worse by my scattered brain. I cannot seem to catch a single thought, my brain rendered useless by the horrible, unfamiliar anxious feeling making me nauseous. I throw myself uselessly onto the bed, before hauling myself up to once again pace around the room. I poke at the curtains to look at the gardens and the Woods beyond them. I poke at my belongings in my bag but can’t seem to figure out what to do with them.

After the Gods know how long, I feel it.

Seff is gone. I have no idea how I know, but I know.

He has left the Godsdamned building.

From the window I watch his white truck drive away from the tavern on the path back to Twin Heads. The anxiety twists into something else, anger, disappointment, confusion boiling over while I watch the taillights disappear.

“He left .” I growl the incredulous words to the empty room. The empty room that still smells like him and me. Us together. The sheets of the bed are still twisted together from where we had lain. The towels are still damp on the floor in the bathroom from where I’d taken care of him last night.

And now he’s gone . Without so much as a word.

Impotent rage makes me want to tear the place apart. My teeth clamp together, grinding painfully to hold myself back. We have left each other before, but never like this. Like it was easy .

There is another tearing sound as I wrench the curtains back across the window, the sunshine a sudden affront to my horrendous mood. Turning on my heel I stalk away from the window. But there is nowhere to go.

Blinded by my temper, my foot connects with the chair, and I don’t hold back the snarl as my toes catch. The pain isn’t severe, I’ve certainly had worse injuries, but it feels good to give into the dramatics, snarling and cursing while I massage my foot.

It allows the fire of my anger to smoulder into something more controllable. Something that allows me to acknowledge the bruise to my pride. Even if I don’t like it.

My bag catches my attention again while I breathe my way back to sanity. The aged burgundy dragon-hide is well loved and well used. I received it as a gift from my parents before my first journey as a Tavisher. Swallowing down the last of the vile feelings inside, I haul the bag on to the bed.

My job. I am here to do my job and my job is what I am going to do.

I only just manage to unpack my portable phone charger and plug in my phone when there is a knock on the door. Between my emotionally heightened state and the thick wards padding the door, I failed to sense the approaching being.

Letting my instincts wander, I am not at all surprised to feel Tarook’s energy on the other side. He’s inspecting the door frame as I open it, tapping at the wood muttering to himself.

“Interesting wards you’ve got for yourself here.” He says in way of a greeting. His eyes bore into me for a moment, his eyebrow questioning as I prop my shoulder on the doorway, folding my arms over my chest and crossing my ankles.

“Yes, yes they are.” I smirk—he did teach me at least a half of them. As a dragonkin, magic isn’t something that is natural to me. It’s learned, drawing upon the skills we are taught as children in Tathys, where magic is an integral part of our daily life. But in my travels I’ve learned a trick or two, and so my magic has a rather unique quality to it. A fusion of all the flavours I’ve picked up along the way, if you will.

A gentle breeze blows through the hallway, ruffling the layers of the mages' robes dramatically. I know for a fact that he is doing it himself. Not just because the window at the end of the hall doesn’t open, but because he always has been far too much of a showman.

Tarook huffs, rolling his eyes, his robes flopping back into place. “Are you truly going to make me have this conversation in the hallway Rafe?”

Snickering fondly, I unfold myself, gesturing for him to enter.

“Thank you.” He huffs in his melodic voice. “I wasn’t sure what reception I was going to receive when you failed to acknowledge us at breakfast this morning.”

Tarook wanders about the room, immediately nosing about. I stand back and let him look, thankful I haven’t actually unpacked yet.

“It didn’t seem like the time.” Because it would lead to questions. Questions that would have distracted the table from their rather interesting conversation. Questions, which would have made it terribly difficult to eavesdrop. But I had needed to let them know I was here, in which case the phone had provided an excellent cover.

Tarook knows better than to ask any further. Just like I know better than to ask why there was a compulsion to stay away from the mages’ camp last night when everyone returned from the search. It’s an understanding we’ve held for years and it’s served us well.

Tarook’s clan, the Aestoria, reside on the Overlands, islands that are a part of Ulydessia, one of my regular districts for trade. Over the years, we’ve become friends of a sort. In truth, mages are probably the closest to Tavishers. As traders themselves, it’s natural that we are in regular business with them. And their flare for blending mystery and magic means they enjoy our secretive nature. In short, they don’t ask questions and we supply them with magical items unable to be obtained in the Mundane.

With a burdened sigh, he straightens and the energy of the room shifts with him. If I’m not mistaken, he’s added an extra veil to the room, protecting us from eavesdroppers. “I must be quick before we leave. But there is something I need to give you.”

“Is this for a trade?” Quickly, I mentally catalogue the things I have in my possession. As this trip was never about trading, I have little of value, but I have some dragon glass and herbs that grow on our hills that the mages favour. But Tarook surprises me by shaking his head. He stands on the opposite side of the room, the bed between us almost like a barricade.

“No. What I have for you is a gift. And a priceless one at that.” He grimaces, his tanned face going pale. “It pains me to hand it over. But the only price is safety. I have conferred with the Gods. The signs were clear.” Reaching within the many layers of his robes, he withdraws an ancient-looking leather tome. Closing the small rip in the physical realm he holds the book in a deathly tight grip.

“This… this book was retrieved from the Whisper Falls yesterday. It contains magic unseen for centuries. The power it could give a being…” He looks at me, and withdraws his hand, pulling the book closer to himself, obviously reconsidering his decision. Which is understandable. That must have been one powerful communication with the Gods to get a mage to not only part with power, but to do so without compensation.

But I want it. That grubby, tattered book has triggered my hoarding instinct.

“Why me?” I fold my arms over my chest, allowing me to tuck my hands and their grabby claws under my armpits.

“Because the Gods will it. The Whisper Woods will it. And it has been made clear the alternative would be… catastrophic.” Falyuk. That doesn’t sound positive in the least.

“For you or for me?”

“For all of us.” Is Tarook’s grim reply. It’s the reminder that he needs and he thrusts the book out, stalking towards me until the book is shoved into my chest. “Keep it safe from the witch, Edith. She’s been loitering around my camp all morning trying to take it.”

I take the book, the leather soft in my hands. Thankfully, Tarook is too busy adjusting his robes to notice the midnight blue scales on my hands. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Why would she take it? And why don’t you stop her?” Tarook snorts, finally happy with his robes, he takes a large step towards the door, like he is consciously moving away from the book.

“It is what she does. And this is me stopping her. Thanks to your quick thinking this morning, she has no knowledge of our connection and she will think we took the book with us back to the Overlands.”

“I will keep it safe, I swear.” I promise my old friend with a sincere nod.

Tarook assesses me, obviously hesitant, but whatever he sees must satisfy him, and he makes his way to the door, the room shifting again as the veil drops.

“Good luck, Rafe. For whatever is coming your way. May the Gods bless and favour you.” With that ominous goodbye, he takes his leave, his robes fluttering behind him as though in the breeze.

I lock and ward the door behind him. Leaning against it, I let my head thunk against the wood, the book heavy in my hand. At least I have one more piece of the puzzle. I learned some things last night in the tavern after the rescue. But not enough to form a clear picture. Everyone had been too shocked by the day's events to provide any actual information.

My eyes snag on the bag again. Brydon.

It’s been far too long since I’ve spoken to him, which is rather poor form.

I shove off the door to retrieve the small box from my bag containing my Tavisher’s altar, setting it up on the small round breakfast table by the window for easy access.

The altar is a smaller version of what every Tathissian has in their home. And while each being or family's altar is personal and reflects their association to the Gods and their magic, they all contain the basic elements—a white candle, a black mirror, and heatproof bowl. They are the items that allow us to send messages through the flame.

Rather like the Mundane postal system. Only harnessing the power of magic and accessing the astral realms.

My travel altar is arranged on a cloth hand woven by one of my ancestors or another, the protective magic still strong within the threads. Minimalism goes against my natural instincts, but I’ve tried to keep my collection of tokens to the Gods restrained. Charms collected over the years, crystals I have coveted, a beautiful pastel pink shard of dragon glass, created by the first dragon I ever cared for.

My hand hesitates over one item, a phoenix feather of the prettiest blues and greens. I leave it in the box and light the candle, adding the herbs to the brass bowl that would act as the vessel.

Obviously, I have been remiss in my duties, as the moment the small portal is opened a series of sparks explode in the bowl, leaving a pile of messages.

A hint of a smile tugs at my mouth, easing the coil of anger still wrapped around me. I recognise the acid green of the paper immediately. I bought the garishly coloured notepads for Brydon as a joke, but he’s been insistent on using every single one.

Don’t forget to send me an update when you’ve been to Slash.

And photographs! Lots of photographs.

Don’t forget my magazines. And books. Pick me up something nice.

I’m getting worried, old man. Send me an update. Let me know you are alive at least.

I visited Estella. The pups are well. She tried to stab me through the heart for getting too close. She’s such a good girl.

Okay, if you do not send through a message soon I am going to have to cross the portals myself.

Actually, that doesn’t sound terrible.

Vylushkiva, Rafe, answer me already. Things are bad here. We need your information. If you don’t reply by noon, the High Eminence and the Council have granted leave for me to come and find you. As exciting as that is, this is not the time.

The sacred flame is almost extinguished .

A harsh breath shudders out of me. The sacred flame, maintained by the Orun, embodies the magic of Tathys. Though to be completely honest everything in our city embodies the magic of Tathys, and in many ways, it has lost its mystique.

But this? This is serious. I read through the messages, guilt gnawing at my guts as I do. Falyuk. This is not good. I shuffle through the notes again, reading them over one more time and then stacking them safely to one side.

Helpfully, Brydon has packed me my own notepads so I don’t have to tear at my Tavisher’s journal. Unhelpfully, it is one that I had picked up for him to trade with the children in the town, pale pink and covered with adorable cartoon rabbits. It’s even perfumed with a disgusting fake cherry scent.

Grimacing, I withdraw my pen and write.

Brydon, My sincerest apologies for making you wait. Things developed quickly, and I did not have the opportunity to receive your messages.

Also, I failed to get you photographs inside the nightclub.

While I wait for his reply, I inspect Tarook’s gift. At first perusal it appears to be a mage’s journal. An old one at that. I wish I had my tools here with me; I loathe having to handle such a delicate item with my bare hands like this. Not to mention the added danger of accidentally triggering something catastrophic by reading the wrong incantation. A genuine risk without the protections we have at home, and Brydon’s knowledge of these long dead languages.

Tarook said this was recovered from the site of Theo’s kidnapping. So what does that mean about the being who kidnapped him? Were they aware of the magnitude of the power they wielded with this book? Or were they blessedly ignorant of the fact they held the key to magic long lost to the Mundane?

A spark in the vessel pulls me from the outline of a ritual for dream walking. Placing the journal to the side, I retrieve Brydon’s message, ignoring the residual heat on the paper.

Well, I WAS glad you’re alive. But now you can rot in the ether.

Are you well? What has happened?

It’s a surprisingly difficult question to answer because the answer is both, a lot, and nothing at all. But, nonetheless, I recount the details. From the ailing energy of the Whisper Woods, to the wreckage I found on the pulse point. When it comes to sharing the details of my running into Seff at Slash, I find that wretched lump forming in my throat once again. Unable, and unwilling to recount the extent of mine and Seff’s relationship, I find myself minimising us down to something like acquaintances, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I tell him of returning to the Black Stump and the kidnapping and the whispers of fae losing magic only for it to return mysteriously again, confirmed by the conversations I overheard this morning.

The ruptured pulse point and the ishke’s energy is certainly concerning. But I don’t understand how the rest of this is all connected?

Neither do I. But I’m going to find out. Have the others found anything?

I have no doubt you will, Rafe. There has been nothing of importance from the others. Those close to home have reported some shifts in the energy, but those further afield are unaffected. But for how long? The ishke are all connected… If the Whisper Woods falls, could the other sources of power fall too?

There are several sources of power spread throughout the globe—concentrated embodiments of magic. From these sources the magic runs through the ishke, connecting all beings, the elements, and magic. The Orun teach us that these places are actually where the Gods reside. That, in the time before time itself, the Gods laid down and became one with the earth, relieving themselves of their physical constraints and unleashing their magic into the world. It is why the first tenet of the Orun is to always honour the Gods for their sacrifice.

I do not know. Tathys is our main concern right now. I will be in contact when I have more information.

As the message turns to ash, I watch the last of the flames flicker. My stomach growls, loud in the silence of the room. Glancing at the small clock on the mantelpiece, I’m rather shocked to see how late it is. The awareness brings my hunger into sharper focus, reminding me that I’ve missed breakfast and lunch. Which means it’s definitely past time to head down to the tavern in search of some food. And information.

***

The Black Stump Tavern is busy. This isn’t surprising with yesterday’s dramatic events. I have absolutely no doubt that beings have come from all over the Woods to find out what has happened. Which is extremely convenient for me.

Keeping up a casual pretence, I wander through the tavern, listening in where I can, watching for every minor detail. Clusters of beings are scattered throughout the premises. Making my way out to the patio, I spot several mages doing last-minute trades with a centaur and orc. Their camp on the lawns is organised chaos while Tarook directs its disassembly.

Abandoning the mayhem, I head inside, taking a seat on one of the stools by the bar. I choose my seat strategically, close enough to be a part of the flow of traffic, but not in the way of things. Even how I sit is carefully considered, making sure I keep my body relaxed and open.

And, as always, it works. The patrons eye me curiously as they approach for their drinks, giving me a greeting or head nod.

“What can I get you?” The being behind the bar looks harried, running his hands through his short black scruff of hair roughly. His smile is forced and polite, but impatient. He was not at the meeting this morning, but he was behind the bar last night, helping to organise the search party from the tavern. His jaw flexes in impatience while he waits for my response.

“Ah, I was hoping to order some lunch. Do you have a menu?” The poor man looks spooked, his tired eyes popping wide momentarily.

“Yeah, sorry, forgot to give you one. It’s hectic around here and we’re short staffed. I’m sorry.” He grabs a couple of menus, thrusting them at me while shouting at a rather burly, hairy being who is currently reaching awkwardly over the bar to the taps. “Johan, if you grab your own drink, you’re outta here!”

The being freezes, caught in the act and shoots a filthy look towards us. They do stand back, though, folding their arms and pouting like a child.

“Not a problem at all.” My rumbling stomach begs to differ, but politeness wins. “Take your time.” I finally catch a glimpse of his name tag on his crisp white shirt—Woodsy. Woodsy throws a grateful look in my direction and all but skids down along the floor to deal with a group of fae demanding service.

I take my time with the menu, keeping an ear to the conversations around me. When I’m finally ready to order, there is a scuffle at the swinging door over at the other end of the bar. The horned being, Ran? Roman? is being shoved through it by the tiny faun who runs the tavern with him. She’s not exactly being gentle about it, either.

“Roan, for the love of the Gods, get your butt back to work and leave that boy alone. He’ll be fine . Tor’s with him.” She kicks at his calf and prods his back until he relents, throwing up his hands.

“Fine! Fine! I’m here! Go back to the kitchens!” He throws his hands in the air in surrender, a quick look of friendly affection passing between the two before the little one nods, pushing her round, gold-rimmed glasses up her nose. She leaves back through the same door, the sounds of her hooves under her long skirts clopping on the stone floors.

Roan sighs deeply, wiping a weary hand over his face and scratching at his beard, taking in the current state of the place. What he sees seems to trigger something inside him, because he shakes himself off, switching his demeanour instantly. Noticing the menus in front of me, he nods towards them.

“You ready to order?” He picks up a cloth, wiping at the bench before flipping the rag over his shoulder. There is a level of polite awkwardness while I order my sandwich and iced tea. Roan sort of hovers in the area, eyeing me just as curiously as the beings that come up to order. Only he has an extra layer of interest—Seff.

Accepting a clean rack of glasses from a male faun who runs back to the kitchen as though the legendary hounds of Vamir are on his tail, Roan begins unpacking them. Conveniently for both of us, the job requires him to stay in close proximity.

Clearing his throat—and avoiding eye contact—he finally asks a question. “Did Seldon tell you Seff had to leave?”

“Ah, no. But I was aware.” There is an awkward silence that neither of us quite knows what to do with, that is finally alleviated when a shifter of some mid-sized feline variety joins us at the bar, sitting on the stool next to me.

“Ah, you know Seff, do you?” He asks, nodding towards Roan. “Beer thanks, Roan.” The shifter seems rather shy and nervous but determined to project an aura of confidence, largely due to the colourful drink clenched in his hand, I have no doubt. I can smell the alcohol even through the pungent fruit aroma.

He lacks anything resembling grace, leaning awkwardly against the bar, angling his body towards me.

“New around here, aren’t you?” He asks, smiling just a little too brightly. I can see the hesitation in his eye, like he’s begging me to not notice the angry red flush of his cheeks. It’s rather endearing. Like a puppy.

“It’s not my first time here at the Black Stump, but it’s been a while.” I smile at the shifter, and he looks me over again. I’m not entirely sure if he’s flirting. But then, I’m not entirely sure if he’s sure either. His blonde hair flops into his eyes and he tucks it back behind his ear, smiling a thank you at Roan when he hands us our drinks. “Put his drink on my tab.” I offer.

“Thanks, I’m Finn.” He sticks out his hand a little too aggressively, but I take it all the same, introducing myself as my sandwich is delivered.

“Pleasure to meet you, Finn. So how do you know Seff?” Finn’s cheeks flame impossibly brighter, and he takes a rather large gulp of his drink. Probably a little too much, as he has to swallow hard to get it down.

Ah . I know his answer before he manages to spit it out, so at least I am able to squash my jealousy before it spikes again.

“Seff and I, we’ve known each other for a while.” Finn tries to skirt the question politely, but is circumvented when another shifter approaches the bar, snorting loudly as he claps his hand on Finn’s shoulder, shaking him roughly.

“That’s one way to put it.” The new shifter, reeking of wolf, snickers gruffly. “What’s this? Seff’s already ran through all the male beings in the Woods so now he has to bring in out of towners?”

He looks me up and down, and from the look on his face, he expects us to laugh with him. But it’s all I can do to not haul him up by the front of his shirt and toss him through the walls of the tavern. My jaw aches from the clenching of my teeth, not wanting to do anything that could endanger my position, even if it kills me. I cut my eyes towards the embarrassed Finn and enraged Roan, whose skin is now laced with the fine red of his veins.

“Be nice or get the fuck out of my tavern, Donny. I’m not tolerating your pack's shit here.”

Donny puffs his chest, holding his ground. “Wasn’t saying anything but the truth, Roan. Everyone in the pack knows Seff gets aro—”

“Out. Now.” Roan grinds out the words with a vicious rumble, thin tendrils of blue magic seeping out behind him.

“Are you serious?” The wolf flickers over Donny’s face in his anger.

The rage inside me somewhat appeased by Roan’s intervention, I take a sip of my tea and catch Finn’s eye. The poor man is huddling into himself on the stool, trying to become invisible with the power radiating off the two beings. Donny doesn’t seem to have the same strength to his aura that Seff has, but a wolf against a feline is no real match. Especially not with a berserker in the fray. Who is Seff to Roan that he’s so willing to go toe to toe with his customers over an insult?

“Deadly. Out, now, or you're banned for good. I don’t have it in me for your shit today.” For one tense second it seems as if the being is going to give into his wolf and take the fighting option, but he sees sense.

“Fine, fuck this place anyway.” He leaves with a maximum amount of fuss, dragging his friends with him. Our trio waits in silence, watching him go .

Finn lets out an audible breath when he’s finally out of sight out the door. “Man, the Everfyr pack are such dicks.”

The name sounds familiar.

“That’s Seff’s pack, isn’t it?” I ask the question casually, taking a large bite of my sandwich, forcing my raging emotions into a tight cage. Later . Later we can be angry. Now we have work to do.

It’s Roan that answers. “Yeah, they’ve gotten a lot better since Seff’s dad took over the pack a few years ago. But more than a few bad apples still spoil the bunch. They have a chip on their shoulder, considering they are the only predator shifter pack that belongs to the Woods.”

I take another bite to suppress my snort. I guess they’ll be in for a rude awakening when they meet the wolf shifters of Tathys, the other wolves of the Woods. Finn only hums in indifference, obviously not agreeing with Roan’s grace towards the pack.

“Have you, uh, known Seff long?” Finn asks, obviously trying to get back on to a safer topic.

“Actually, yes.”

Roan makes a small sound of surprise, moving up the bar to serve, while still being a part of the conversation. “Like I said, I’ve passed through the area before. We’ve run into each other over the course of the years.”

Finn smiles a genuine smile, toying with a coaster. “That sounds cool.”

Nodding, I finish off the last bites of my sandwich. “Yes, it’s always a happy coincidence when we run into each other.”

“So you’re just passing through then?” There is something in Roan’s tone that makes me think he’s rather disappointed about that.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, to be honest.”

Roan grunts in place of an answer. “Right. I better go check on Theo.”

“Oh! Yes! Theo! How is he today?” Finn interrupts, just as Roan nods towards a vaguely irritated Woodsy that he was leaving again. Finn manages to yell loud enough to catch the interest of the beings around us and more than a few join the request for an update, the metaphorical seal now broken.

Roan wipes his hands on the dish towel over his shoulder and then raps a quick beat on the wood of the bar.

“He’s okay.” He smiles, a grim line that doesn’t meet his dark eyes, but makes his beard twitch. “He’s insisting on working in the gardens today.” There is a murmur of laughter, and a few 'That sounds like Theo's before Roan ducks through the door. When he isn’t hustled back through by the fiery faun, I assume he has made it out to his love.

“Absolutely wild what happened isn’t it?” A crowd has formed around Finn and I, beings all too willing to engage in some gossip. I turn around further on my stool to face the newcomers. The woman who spoke shakes her head, her short brown curls bobbing around her face. “I can’t believe that was our Theo up there. And that guy? He got what was coming to him, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Pfft, kidnapping our Theo like that after all he’s been through?” Another being interrupts, an older man with a bushy moustache that wiggles like a caterpillar when he talks. “What he got was too good for him, I reckon. Wish we coulda had a go at him ourselves.” There is a grim murmur of agreement as the beings around me all envisage what revenge could have been enacted.

“Were you there when he was found?” I ask the group at large. All but the original woman shake their heads.

“I was. It was…” She stares off into the distance for a moment. “Horrible. The screams…” She shudders and then blinks rapidly a few times. “Who knew our Theo was able to pull something like that off?” She tries for flippant but misses the mark, her throat hoarse with emotion.

“What do you mean? You mentioned something too about what Theo’s been through?” I tip my head in the direction of Moustache. There is a rush to reply, everyone speaking at once, but it’s Finn who, quite unexpectedly, manages to cut through.

“Theo lost his gifts. It was a few months back now. His brother came through with his mate, Caelan, searching for Theo. He’d gone missing in the Woods in the winter—”

“They come from the city. Theo worked at the university there, but I heard their family is loaded—” Another being interjects, edging their way into the circle. Finn veritably hisses in their direction at the interruption, and then turns back, pushing his hair back from his face.

“ Anyway, they went into the Woods. Roan, Seff, and Edith ended up joining them. No one knows for sure what happened, but they came back with Theo, without his gifts, and he’s been here since.”

“Became one of ours he did.” Moustache adds on, nodding his head, arms crossed over his barrel chest.

“Yeah, but, apparently, his magic’s not one-hundred percent gone. Not from what I saw yesterday. And he’s been glowing for weeks now. I don’t know what his gifts were before—” the woman frowns when she’s interrupted, narrowing her eyes at the being who’d jumped into the conversation.

“ Knowledge . Not like the usual fae knowing. He was a genius. My cousin took some of his classes at LU. Said the guy was weird and a bit of a dork, but smart. Like, ‘answers to the universe’, smart. Never mentioned him glowing, though.”

I listen carefully as the group descends into a heated debate about what they believe happened to Theo, and Seff, in the Whisper Woods. There are stories of ghost giants and poltergeists run amok. Some are convinced that it was a vampire somehow stealing the magic to regain those they lost when they turned. Others are adamant it’s dragons or the black scaled beast seen lurking in the Woods on rare occasions.

Their suggestions are wild and outlandish. The only thing they seem to agree on is that whatever occurred, it occurred at the burnt wreckage I found on my way here. And that Theo, Roan, Caelan, Tor, Edith and Seff were involved. My Seff.

It takes every ounce of training to not haul Roan and Theo off to interrogate them about what happened in that cottage. To laugh and listen like it’s all okay, while inside my mind spirals.

What happened? What vile and wretched being had lived there? Had he been hurt? Had he been scared? What if he was injured—or worse, killed —and I’d never known?

The thoughts continue to torment me as I wait for Seff to return to the tavern. The afternoon drifts into the evening and despite the anxiety crawling under my skin, I stay busy, learning all that I can. Pretending I am not going out of my mind.

I play cards with a group of fae and minotaurs on the patio. It ends rather abruptly when the latter accuses the former of cheating and flips the table and a brawl almost breaks out. That is until Mauvy trotted out from the kitchens and threatened to dismember them all and serve them as soup over the winter.

I share wine with centaurs on the lawns in the late afternoon sun. I buy a pint of blood for a quiet vampire that lurks in a booth, who is rather disgruntled by the number of beings disturbing his usual peace at the Black Stump. I learn as much as I can without being obvious, and over the evening a picture begins to form about the events and the beings here at the Black Stump Tavern.

Before he leaves for the evening, Seldon stops me again, pressing a slip of paper into my hand.

“I meant to give you this earlier. But it’s been crazy, and I really thought he’d be back by now.” It’s Seff’s phone number. I thank him, but he’s already off, smiling and winking as he slips on his coat, ready to leave.

Seldon isn’t the only one who thought Seff would have returned by now. With a method of contacting him now in my possession I’m unable to hold on to the last shreds of my focus.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I bow to the group of beings at my table, who are discussing a lack of dasilus flowers blooming near the hot springs this season. I joined the conversation as the flowers, known for their healing properties, were uncommon outside of Tathys, blooming only in small areas of the Woods. Apparently, they are not the only wild flora crops that have become noticeably scarce recently. And more still have lost their potency.

In my room I send Seff a message on my phone. Agonising over the wording like they are a poem for the ages. Refusing to stare at the blasted device, willing some kind of response, I pull out my journal again, making note of it all. Then I send Brydon more details of everything I learned about Theo’s kidnapping. Both of them.

Only when I’ve completed my duties do I check my phone, swallowing down my bitter disappointment at the empty screen and crawl into the bed that still smells of him.

***

A message is waiting for me when I wake. But it’s not from Seff. A scrap of acid green waiting at my altar.

Gods, that poor Theo! Is he okay? Good news, it looks like everything seems to come back to those beings at the tavern.

Between the prophecy, happening upon someone you know, the mages being there as well as that book Tarook gave you and now this? The Whisper Woods isn’t being subtle Rafe, it’s orchestrating this all. Can you get to where everything happened the other day? Maybe there is still something to be found and we can end this all now.

A viscerally upsetting feeling curdles in my guts. I loathe the idea of returning to my duties. I loathe the idea that something is occurring, and that it is somehow connected to Seff—even tangentially. I loathe the slimy feeling that comes with the idea that our meeting may have somehow been a folly of the Gods.

The feeling doesn’t ease my already fraught feelings over not knowing what occurred at the pulse point. I consider cornering Roan and questioning him. Or perhaps even the witch. But through logic, or insanity, I want the story from Seff. And only him.

And considering he’s still not here, I want nothing more than to change into my other skin and rage. Stomp, and roar. Tear up a tree or two. I want to storm my way back to Twin Heads, find Seff and punish him for leaving me like this. Leaving me at all . Punish him for distracting me from my course. For leaving me. Abandon Tathys and the Woods and all that ties us here and tie him to me instead.

The idea has merit .

And I consider it for far too long before rationality takes back over and I make my way downstairs for a sensible breakfast. The tavern is quiet this morning. It’s almost too easy to make my way past the cottages behind the tavern and into the Woods.

As I follow the path, still well worn from the rescue parties barreling through the area, another way becomes clear. It’s overgrown and barely distinguishable, but my instincts tell me to follow it, and so I do—all the way to the top of Whisper Falls.

Creatures watch me intently from the shadows of the trees. The path is narrow and wild, and so I’ve changed my skin. The scales are far more protective against the onslaught of the branches that I crash through.

Unfortunately, while the Whisper Falls are beautiful, the trip turns out to be a waste of time. The Black Stump Tavern itself sits on a pulse point. I didn’t really expect there to be another here so close. There are signs that the area was once a sacred site for one group of beings or another, but the magic is long since dormant. And if there was anything remaining from Theo, the mages have taken it with them.

I return to the tavern hot, filthy and even more frustrated than when I left. When I see that there is still no response from Seff, I am nearly incandescent with rage at the situation I’ve found myself in. I feel impossibly close to the answers I seek, yet everything I am searching for is just out of reach, ever elusive and intangible.

Old enough to know that no problem was ever solved with a temper tantrum, with great effort I manage to calm myself in the shower. The water—combined with a special concoction I picked up from a witch on my travels—have a desperately needed soothing effect.

Finally capable of rational thought again, I remind myself of my priorities. Tathys, the prophecy, our safety. That is what matters.

Whatever occurred in the Woods is irrelevant. It doesn’t change the broken pulse point. I have more than enough information, and between the High Council, the Orun, and Brydon I have no doubt they will find the answer. There is nothing else for me here and I need to stop finding excuses to linger .

I dress quickly and return to my makeshift desk to add more notes to my journal from my day. Then I snatch out the ridiculous notepad from Brydon, scrawling out a message and setting it alight before I can second guess my intentions.

Brydon, I think I have enough information. I will begin my return to Tathys in the morning.