Emeline’s gaze snagged on the only opening for miles: a space in the hedge. It yawned like a wolf’s mouth, marking the entrance to that dark, other place.
A tree had once stood in the gap. Pa planted it on the day Emeline was born and it had watched over her ever since—or so she used to imagine.
Pa cut it down after she left Edgewood, like a portent of what was to come.
The wind stung her cheeks and rustled her hair, bringing a smell from the woods with it: rotting wood and old bones.
Emeline shivered and pulled her cardigan closer.
What if the forest really was a dark and deadly thing that could steal from her?
She decided to believe it—just for tonight. What did she have to lose? Pa wasn’t in the house. Which meant there was only one place left to look for him.
Emeline let her feet take her to the tree line, scowling at the woods.
“I’m going to find him,” she growled. “I’m going to bring him home.” Her hands tightened into fists. “And then I’m leaving. You might have dragged me back, but you can’t trap me here. Once he’s safe, I’m never coming home again.”
Her footsteps crunched the bottle-green grass as she approached the hole in the hedge, where her tree used to stand. The grass was thick and long, as if no tree had ever stood there at all.
She tried to remember: what it looked like, what it smelled like.
But she couldn’t.
The wind rose up, snatching at her hair and stinging her cheeks. The leaves flickered, like a warning.
Beware of the Wood King, Emeline.
“Fuck the Wood King,” she said bitterly.
And she walked into the forest.
FOUR
THE MOMENT EMELINE STEPPEDacross the tree line, the wind stopped.
The leaves quieted.
The thick, piney smell of the forest enveloped her.
Awk!
Emeline jumped at the sound, looking up. A large raven perched on the branch of a maple overhead. Its feathers gleamed blue-black in the light of the setting sun, and its beady eyes shone as it cocked its head at her.
It was twice the size of a regular raven. Tom would say it was a shiftling.
Shiftlingswere another Edgewood myth—creatures who moved between forms. In Edgewood, people believed that a raven or a fox or a deer might be nothing more than an animal, or they might be somethingelse—spies sent by the Wood King himself.
You can always tell a shiftling by its shadow.
Awk!the bird croaked, and flew off, feathers shuffling.
Her skin prickled, as if the raven’s call had sounded some alarm and the eyes in the woods were turning to look at her.
Emeline pulled her cardigan tighter and trudged on, her feet crunching twigs and fallen leaves. Cupping her hands aroundher mouth, she called for Pa. As she walked, the forest closed in on her like a fist.
The trees blocked out the sky and the woods grew darker around her. At every creak and moan, Emeline turned sharply to look, only to find herself alone, and the way behind her as tangled and dense as the way ahead.
Will I be able to find my way out?
