They. The things in the woods, he meant. It wasn’t a tithing month, though. So why would the Wood King take it?
When Pa left the house for the vineyards, Emeline didn’t walk to the bus stop. Instead, despite the warnings of her neighbors, despite their stories clanging through her mind, she went into the woods, looking. As if, maybe, she could find the Wood King and convince him to return her special tree.
But the deeper she went, the more the woods shifted and changed around her, until they were no longer the woods bordering Edgewood, but somethingelse.The trees were too big and grand, the birdcalls too strange. And the cloying scent of magic was everywhere.
What if she never found her way out?
She didn’t find her tree. But something found her. Emelinewas lost by the time it seized her, clamping its hand hard over her mouth to stop her scream.
“Be still,” her captor whispered. “Unless you’ d prefer to be eaten.”
Emeline couldn’t see her captor’s face, only felt him nod towards the river, where a long night-dark shadow was creeping along the dewy bank between the budding trees. It had no eyes and long,sharp talons.
She decided to take her chances with the stranger at her back.
Slowly, his hand fell away from her mouth. Just as slowly, his fingers twined through hers, tugging her quickly through the woods, silent as a tree, until they stepped through the hedge back in Edgewood.
“What’s your name?” she asked, turning to memorize his features: maple-dark hair, earth-brown skin, river-rock eyes. He looked roughly the same age as she was.
“Promise to stay out of the woods,” he said, memorizing her back, “and I’ ll tell you.”
But now that Emeline knew there weren’t just horrors in those trees, she wasn’t so sure she could promise that.
“There are things in this forest that will hurt you,” he said.
“You’re in the forest,” she pointed out. “And you didn’t hurt me.”
“No,” he agreed. “But other things will.”
Emeline canted her head. “If I stay away, how will I find you again?”
A smile tipped his mouth to the side as he ducked his chin, lowering his gaze. “I’ ll find you.”
“Then I promise,” she said. “Now tell me your name.”
He paused for a moment, as if he was thinking hard about it.Very softly, he said, “I’m Hawthorne.”
HAWTHORNE CAME BACK OFTEN. Soon, his friends tagged along: a shy, sharp-edged girl named Sable and a mischievous boy named Rooke. They were shiftlings from the King’s City, deep in the woods. They told her stories of fiery, stampeding ember mares. Of a curmudgeonly dragon forged from stone. More quietly, they spoke about shadow skins and the Vile and the Stain. About a curse that was eating the woods.
Their stories infected her. She wanted to see this world for herself.
But every time she asked, they glanced down and shook their heads.
“Borderlanders aren’t allowed anymore. It’s too dangerous.”
Soon, Sable started visiting on her own. Emeline introduced the girl to all her favorite albums. They’ d spend weekends listening to music in her bedroom, gorging themselves on Maisie’s apple strudel. Sable especially liked to watch Tom in his forge, working with copper and silver and iron. Sometimes Tom taught Sable how to make things from metal, while Emeline wrote songs on the lawn.
One day, when they were fifteen, Emeline invited Sable to watch her sing at a café not far from Edgewood. The owners needed someone to play live music, and Pa’s friend Corny—who was their favorite regular—couldn’t stop raving about Emmie Lark and her magic voice. So they asked Emeline to come and play.
Tonight was a trial run: if they and their customers liked her music, she could come every Thursday night. They’ d even let her put out a tip jar.
Emeline was terrified.
What if she fumbled her chords or forgot her lyrics? What if no one listened or clapped? What if they hated her songs?
“I can’t come,” said Sable, looking forlorn. “I’m sorry.”
“Shiftlings can’t go past the borderlands,” Rooke explained.
