Page 80 of Immortal Game

She was inclined to agree. Everything she’d learned had been more or less against her will. But it seemed Ciara’s fun facts would come in handy again. “Ciara told me that the Otherworld is anchored to the mortal realm. If we do something to the elfmounds from this side, it has an impact in the Otherworld.”

“Okay,” he said, clearly impatient for her to arrive at the point.

“Bri Leith is anchored to a hill in County Longford. When we climb it, we won’t be able to slip into the Otherworld like people used to. But we can knock on the door until they let us in.”

Even through his sunglasses, she could tell he was fixing her with a deeply skeptical stare. “With shovels.”

“Knocking is a metaphor,” she said irritably. “We’re going to dig it up.”

“I’m sure that’s illegal.”

“So was renting this car underage.” She smiled a thin, unpleasant smile. “You got a better idea?”

Without any reply, he pulled the car onto the highway.

Their destination was no more than a two-hour drive along the M4. The two of them battled for control of the radio for a while, until Daniil emphatically turned it off. In the grim silence, Shea monitored chess media outlets forany updates on the final game. It was supposed to happen today. All of this would be for nothing if they didn’t make it in time.

It took some effort—and a lot of bickering—before they found the spot Grace had marked on the map. Shea had been puzzled by the phrase “wet rain” until she climbed out of the car and into what seemed to be a cloud. The rain was so fine, it was nearly invisible in the mist. Within seconds, her face was drenched and her jacket was quickly soaking through.

They stood in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but boglands and swathes of gray mist for miles. Some buried instinct warned her to turn around. Her unease wasn’t helped by the trio of cranes wading through the shallow pools of water, watching them with unseen eyes. Shovels in hand, Shea and Daniil trudged through up the hill. The trail looked eerily familiar. They’d walked this same path and foraged from these same bilberry bushes on the other side of the Veil.

At the summit, a single apple tree grew tall. Blushing fruit weighed down its boughs. No other vegetation dared touch it; it was as though the earth had been burned and salted around it. They approached it slowly. With every step, the air grew warmer and thinner. Her ears popped, and her skin prickled. Here, the Veil felt painfully thin.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” Daniil said.

Together, they began to dig. At first, it was horrible—and far more difficult than she’d expected, even with the earth damp with rainfall. The wooden handle scraped against her skin and rubbed blisters into her palms. Every strike of the spade reverberated through her bones. As the seconds wore into minutes, it became rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

Give me back my sister, she thought, with every shovelful she lifted.Give her back. Give her back to me.

Her mind glazed over. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or food—or how she still hadn’t recovered her sense of time since returning from the Otherworld. Or maybe it was something about this place. She could practically taste the honeyed air of the Otherworld. The wind rustling through the tree’s branches whispered to her:Come away, come away.

Daniil’s hand clamped down heavily on her shoulder. “Let’s take a break.”

He sounded winded, just barely—enough to remind her that she couldn’t plow onward with no regard for him. He studied her with his usual affected disinterest and scorn, but Shea could see the faintest glimmer of concern. Maybe he’d felt it, too. If they didn’t keep their senses, they could be lulled into working themselves to death. The thought sobered her.

“Right,” she said. “Good idea.”

They ate a picnic lunch—sandwiches and chips they’d bought on the trip down from the city. When they returned to their task, the hole they’d dug was gone. Shea stared at what should be there—but wasn’t—uncomprehendingly. There were two sets of footprints in the boggy soil. There were their shovels caked in drying mud. The earth beneath the apple tree was undisturbed, as though they’d never touched it at all.

“What the hell?” Shea muttered. “This is…”

There were no words to capture the depths of her confusion and frustration. They’d spent hours onnothing. Daniil remained silent.

“Well,” Shea concluded weakly. “They know we’re here.”

Daniil’s brittle patience apparently could withstand nomore. “I cannot believe I let you talk me into this half-baked scheme of yours. We’re doing things my way now.”

With that ominous pronouncement, he pulled his phone from his pocket and stormed off a few paces. Shea massaged her temples. It was all she could do to beat back her own meltdown. This was a sick game the fae were playing. If they could undo their work in a matter of seconds, then they could’ve easily disposed of the shovels as well. It was like theywantedthem to try again, just to see how long they’d keep at it.

She listened to Daniil swear and bluster over the terrible cell service. When he finally managed to make a call, he spoke lowly and gruffly in Russian. Then, after about ten minutes, he began yelling in Russian. She didn’t speak a word of any language but English, unless you counted chess terms borrowed from French or German, but she got the gist of his conversation. Someone had told him something he didn’t want to hear.

He returned to her, simmering with unspent outrage. “No one will bring an excavation crew here.”

Shea was unsurprised. Grace hadn’t even wanted to tell them where this place was. “No?” she asked, as casually as she could.

“Apparently,” he said, his voice oozing pure disdain, “it’s bad luck.”

Shea retrieved their shovels and held one out to him. He snatched it from her without a word. What else was there to do? They settled into a rhythm of quiet desperation: dig, take a break, return to find their work undone. On and on they went as the light drained from the sky. When sunset arrived in bands of purple and orange, Shea gritted out, “Let’s try one more time.”