Page 66 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

Moth scuttled out of the window, clicking his paws with delight. Frida followed behind more slowly, trying to shake off the unease Moth’s words had stirred in her. In the end, she was the one who could have done with some lubrication, and when she finally landed with a thud, knees scraped and her shirt torn on a rusty nail, Dian was beneath the elm tree, looking high and mighty.

‘All ok down there, dragon-who’s-not-a-dragon?’ Their voice rustled with laughter.

Frida scowled up at them from where she sat nursing her dignity on the ground, but when Dian beamed back, she caught her breath. A full-double-eye-twinkle, as if they’d surprised even themselves. Maybe they hadn’t been sure if they could magic themselves out of there. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. It was the first time Dian had smiled at her. It looked easy, as if their face had simply forgotten for a while, and now they were back, lips wide, white teeth gleaming, skin crinkling around the edges of their luscious eyes, eyelashes glittering. Dian reached out a hand, and she grabbed it without thinking.

She hadn’t noticed before, in the throes of being pulled in and out of their magic, but now when her fingers scaped against their calloused palm, her breathing hitched. She’d just assumed their palms were silken. A fairy who could do magic didn’t need to get their hands dirty, did they? But when their callouses met hers, she couldn’t help the warmth that flooded her, as if they’d let her learn a secret. For a moment, they both just stood there, surrounded by buttery moonlight, the fallen fruits of the elm tree, and the heady scent of freedom.

‘What do we do now?’ Frida whispered. The green darkness around them smelling of freshly cut grass and flowers.

Dian looked so young and joyful, their face totally luminous, that she wished the two of them could stay just like this, forever. She wished she could freeze this moment in time. But then their ears pricked up, and their head snapped around. The moment died as she watched the familiar bite of fear flood back in as the dappled patterns on their cheeks flared, then paled under the toothy leaves, their pupils swelling, swirling with dread.

‘Someone’s coming,’ they hissed, the two broken words falling from their tongue.

She bit back a whimper. ‘Humans?’

Dian’s chin dipped, a muscle in their jaw feathering. A question brimmed in their burning gaze, in the urgent rapid tilt of their brows. She looked up at them, understanding without them having to speak. They were asking her permission this time.

‘Yes.’ Then she nodded wildly, her voice almost disbelieving. ‘Yes! If you can.’

Relief touched the corners of their lips, and their fingers curled around hers.

Moth, wherever he was, let out a tinkling, long-suffering sigh. ‘Here we go again.’

Then Frida heard the voices, male and loud as the gravel crunched, but the raindrops had already started to descend, and they all – even Moth – breathed a blessed sigh of relief as Dian’s calm waters enveloped them.

Chapter Thirty-Six

It was darkness that they emerged in, the raindrops dropping away in a soft sparkle that smelled of ancient fields of moss. Frida’s ears were ringing, the closeness of Dian’s heartbeat making her feel dizzy. She wondered how it felt for Dian, but then they’d slipped their fingers out of her grip.

She wiped the light mist from her forehead with the back of one stale sleeve and focused on getting her bearings. It was hard to see much. Just the unearthly hue of Dian’s cobwebs a half step away. She felt the heaviness of trees. It might have been a cave, if she hadn’t been able to hear the unmistakable swish of leaves.

‘Where are we?’ she asked, her voice hushed. She had the feeling that they were in some kind of church, but not like anything human-built.

Dian’s face tilted up into the darkness above, thicker than ordinary night, woven from deeper stuff. A tingle ran down Frida’s spine, despite the warm air, as Dian shot her an unreadable look and then, without saying anything, strode away into the dark.

She was getting used to Dian’s mercurial personality now. She quickly hurried after them, thinking it felt a bit like being caught in the wake of a glitzy tornado. A few steps ahead, their lace glittered like evening dew. A profound silence surrounded them, as if there was no one else here at all, just them, and the dark. A part of her seized, realising that Dian was taking her away from Forge House. Away from the keens of the terracotta dragon, away from the Jewel she had to find, away from Lucky, away from everything she had to do, with time trickling through her fingers. She wanted it, she wanted to be away, she wanted to go with Dian, but then the faces of Antony and Hamish – and, oddly, Dian – flooded her vision, all of them entombed in vines and thorns.

‘Please,’ she gasped. ‘Where are we—’

Just as Dian stopped abruptly, and she slammed into them, jumping back with embarrassment. She was about to apologise, when she saw what lay beyond them.

She drew in a gasp.

It was a forest pool.

Even without moon or starlight filtering through the non-existent gaps in the trees, the water emanated a strange, powdery glow. Mist curled off the surface, and heat seemed to pulse in the air, along with the awesome sense of the spaces between the stars, the earthy scents of thyme, wild garlic, and mint coiling around her feet. She watched, her mouth open, as Dian hunkered down and trailed long, graceful fingers through the steaming water. Her heartbeat was in her ears, the sound an echoing boom. The golden green gleam off Dian’s skin through the mist was mesmerising. She felt reckless and hot, beneath her sternum.

‘What is this place?’

They glanced aside, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘I thought you might want to dip your toes in the water. Those don’t look comfortable.’ With a shy smile, they gestured towards her feet.

Frida didn’t know what to say. The moment their words washed over her, a level of exhaustion hit that she’d never experienced before. They were a fairy, and she was a human. The problems of cross-cultural miscommunication were endless. For an odd moment, she thought of her mum, a white immigrant from Russia, a cleaner, waitress and single parent, and Antony’s mum, a Black neuroscientist from Hounslow with five children and a Jamaican husband of thirty years. Walking Peter the Poodle, talking about the extortionate price of coffee at the LEZ, the latest episodes of their favourite soaps, and the fact that the man on the commercial for frozen fish fingers was the sexiest person alive.

Dian was a fairy, so how on earth did they know that in her boots, her toes had been cramping for hours now, and what she would like more than anything was to take them off and dip them in a fairy pool? ‘Thank you,’ she whispered carefully, for she was afraid her voice might fail her. Then she hesitated, her hands stilling on her laces. ‘My toenails won’t turn silver, will they?’

Dian’s upturned lips twitched. ‘Would that be so bad?’

Frida grinned, her head emptying. ‘No, I guess not.’ Within seconds, she’d tugged off her boots and scooched to the edge of the pool. The damp moss sagged around her as she sat with a moan and slipped her poor, wrinkled, pinched feet into the water, any thoughts of time and urgency tumbling away with the steam. It was warm, like a hot spring. She gasped, ‘I didn’t know there were hot springs in this country.’