Page 9 of Tell Them That I’m Coming

“I know, but⁠—”

He swishes his tail.

“Of course you can come, but⁠—”

He nuzzles the side of my throat. I swallow the lump that suddenly lodges there.

“Okay, Binx. We go together.”

He chitters softly, and I let out a soft sight, ready to try again. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll try and I’ll try, and whatever’s keeping me out will have to push forever because that’s how long it’ll take before I stop.

It doesn’t occur to me to ask Rafe’s dad for help. Loki’s a mage and a whizz with travel spells, but this… this is something I have to do.

I’m lifting my hand when, suddenly, a flicker of movement catches my eye.

I turn just in time to see it drift in my path. To my stunned surprise, it’s a butterfly, but so unlike the faripoz in Sombra. Instead of glowing white against the shadows, this butterfly has orange-and-black wings. They’re tattered at the edges, one side nearly completely torn, making it wobble as it flaps toward me.

My breath catches.

Binx goes very still.

I’ve seen one of those before. One of the first paintings I remember Dad making for me was a landscape that featured Sombra on one half of the canvas, Earth on the other. Dark shadows, fiery ash fields, dark trees, and Sombra’s two moons compared to a blue human sky, green ground, and so much light.

That’s not all, either. After my rescue as an infant, it became clear that the faripoz in Sombra had imprinted on me. Dad painted white butterflies on the Sombra side. On the Earth side? Butterflies in so many different shapes and sizes and colors.

Including one with orange-and-black wings.

Later, when me, Mom, and Dad took one of our trips to her world, she pointed out the very same butterfly pasting through our mist, concealing us from the mortals. Tucked in Dad’s shadows, she giggled when the butterfly landed on my nose before fluttering away.

A monarch butterfly, she called it, and one that’s native to Earth.

So what is it doing in Brille Rouge?

When it lands on my outstretched fingers, the contact sends a jolt through me. My shadows surge in response, no longer unyielding as they struggle to create another portal, but pulling me somewhere.

Pulling me to Noctavara.

Because it doesn’t belong in Brille Rouge, does it? It belongs in Noctavara—and, suddenly, the rift between this realm and that one is open.

At the same tie, the ground beneath my feet darkens, shadows stretching and twisting, opening into a rippling rectangle as I finally summon another portal.

My heart hammers. Fear coils tight in my chest, but I banish it. And then I hear Mom’s worried words echoing in my ears again.

Her broken wings will only end the curse when her own heart stops…

I look down at the butterfly, its broken wings trembling against my skin.

“I don’t care,” I tell the strange creature. “Not if it means saving him.”

Binx chirps once in agreement before scrambling fully onto my shoulder, resuming his usual pose.

With one hand on his rump, I step forward.

For a heartbeat, the shadows close in around us. In the next, they’re spitting us out again.

I stumble forward, boots skidding on ground that’s too solid, too real, and barely catch myself before I would’ve ended up pitching face-first into the damp earth. The portal snaps shut behind me with a sound like a breath being sucked in, and the sudden silence that follows is worse than the noise in Nuit ever was.

I straighten slowly.