Chapter Nine
They came out in shadows that seemed to stick to Bran’s skin, a chill in the air making him wish he hadn’t lost his sweatshirt in the woods back home. His palms skidded against damp earth as he clawed his way free of the dark, gasping as he came into the Otherworld. A flail of his arm sent a bone shard skittering away, and he gagged. Bran stumbled to his feet, swallowing against the nausea from the passage through the wyrding and the sound of bone crunching underfoot. He steadied himself with a couple of deep breaths, stepping out of the way so Cillian had room to crawl through after him.
He looked around, taking in the area they had arrived in, the wyrding a strange place of shadows that lingered. The day seemed gray through the fog crawling over everything, muffling the Otherworld. The air was cold and damp when he breathed it in, tinged with that same scent of rot that had existed in and around the tree back home. Large gray standing stones shot through with brilliant blue lines jutted up in a circle around the low mound they’d crawled out of. Bran thought the lines might mean something—they seemed too purposeful to be of nature—but he couldn’t be sure.
The Otherworld wasn’t natural.
He stepped forward, and his heel came down on something thatsnapped beneath it. He looked down at the gray bone he’d broken in half, not recognizing the shape of it. He followed the curved length to a flared end, the spine it should have connected to nowhere to be seen. Bran swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat. Wrenching his gaze away from the bones, he looked back at the entrance surrounded by the same tiny crimson flowers. Bran wiped at the sticky black sap-like substance that had dripped from both entrances, hoping it wasn’t poison. It smeared over his skin, leaving his fingers tacky.
Cillian came to stand beside him, staring in shock at the place they’d stepped into, voice hushed when he spoke. “I have to admit, I keep thinking this isn’t real.”
“It’s real, and we’ll be dead if we don’t get moving. The wyrding let us out in a boneyard, and we should find some cover before whatever eats here comes back.”
Jupiter flew through the fog toward them, startling Bran even though he’d sensed her approach through their bond. He stepped back out of reflex, running into Cillian, who steadied him with a warm hand against his hip. Bran had a split second of wanting to stay in Cillian’s hands before hastily putting some distance between them.
Jupiter made no sound, no greeting, as she circled them overhead before flying off again. Bran followed her without reservation, hoping she knew a safe path away from the boneyard they’d arrived in. Cillian kept pace, still clutching his rifle, and Bran wasn’t sure how useful it would be there in the Otherworld. Mortal technology didn’t work here, and the loud sound of the rifle would surely make them targets.
“I wouldn’t use your rifle right now. It’ll draw too much attention,” Bran said in a low voice.
Cillian gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m pretty sure a high-velocity bullet is better than me throwing rocks.”
Bran waggled his fingers at Cillian. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“The lights hunt witches. What makes you think they won’t find us because of your magic?”
He had a point. “Then let’s keep moving.”
“And go where? Have you ever even been here before?”
“No,” Bran admitted. “But I know my coven’s history.”
“Well, I don’t, so maybe you could share.”
“Now? When we don’t know what’s around that could hear us?”
Cillian grimaced but tipped his head in agreement. “How do you plan to find Aisling?”
Bran fingered the beads on the bracelet wrapped around his wrist, his mother’s magic embedded in them a cool wash of comfort. “It requires magic.”
Cillian’s earlier words haunted him, though, and for all the stories that had been passed down through the generations, Bran had never experienced crossing the wyrding to the Otherworld before now. But this was where Aisling had been brought, and he’d fight to get her back, even if it killed him, which was a distinct possibility.
“Jupiter seems to know where she’s going,” Cillian said.
“Yeah.”
In a strange land filled with Fae who wouldn’t think twice about murdering a witch, Bran didn’t have the time to question why Jupiter seemed intent on the direction she was flying in. The sooner they found Aisling, the quicker they could leave. First, they had to survive, which was easier said than done.
They crept out of the boneyard, passing by skeletons of animals neither of them recognized, stripped clean down to bone, and a few half-buried kills that buzzed with clouds of insects. The stench coming off those corpses made Bran gag and cover his mouth, lengthening his stride to get clear of the dead.
“The bodies look like deer,” Cillian said.
Bran thought of the monster that had battered down the Shoppe’s door only to disappear, letting a Fae lord walk inside. He didn’t know if they were one and the same, but both were dangerous. “I wouldn’t trust any animal in this place.”
They reached the edge of the clearing in the gray forest, passing the last standing stone with its strange blue lines that appeared carved into it. A faint vibration seemed to emanate from it, a thrum Bran felt in his teeth more than anything else. It made him hunch his shoulders, as if that would be enough to shield him from the sensation. Cillian didn’t seem affected, or if he was, it didn’t bother him.
Jupiter alighted on a branch up ahead, waiting for them. Bran and Cillian hurried to reach her, the dirt they walked on less muddy beneaththe skeletal trees. He was glad neither of them wore any bright colors that might attract attention. Jupiter spread her wings a little and hopped on the branch. She didn’t make a sound, but Bran heard her clear enough through the bond.
Danger comes.
