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“Because it’s . . . well, it’s not the same thing,” she said, trying to picture how she would do something like that. “That’s teleporting, not worldjumping.”
“You’d think it’d be easier,” Breakfast said. “I mean, a universe is farther away than Salem, right?”
Lily looked up at him, so tired she couldn’t see straight. “No, actually it isn’t. Every universe is only a vibration away.”
Breakfast shrugged. “Maybe Salem is, too.”
Lily squinted
at Breakfast, trying to order her thoughts enough to explain why he was wrong. If she’d taught him to spirit walk, like she’d intended to months ago, he’d know the difference. Or maybe he wouldn’t. The shaman had only taught her to spirit walk into other universes, because his reason for teaching her was to restore the balance. He’d only taught her enough to get her back to her world, but now that she thought about it, there had to be a way to spirit walk and stay in one universe. She’d just never learned how.
Those first few times she’d spirit walked, before she really knew what she was doing, she remembered rising up and looking around. Her spirit was still in the same world that her body was in, but everything had looked gray. What had the shaman called that gray spirit world she’d walked in? The overworld? Lily couldn’t be sure he’d ever said that, but she felt like that was its name. It was like the Mist. It dawned on Lily that maybe they were the same thing. She rubbed her forehead, confused.
“He said that I had to be close to death to spirit walk—starved, dehydrated—and every time I met Lillian in the Mist we were both near death or in pain. I think the Mist, or overworld, or whatever you want to call it, could be a path. A bridge across this world, not just into another one,” Lily mumbled.
“Who’s he?” Rowan asked cautiously.
“The shaman,” Lily replied, distracted. An idea was building in her and she wanted to follow her train of thought. “If I could spirit walk to Salem and find the vibration, maybe I could worldjump us there physically. But do places have vibrations, or is it just universes?”
“The shaman?” Tristan asked carefully.
“Yeah. You see, the shaman had his own agenda,” she continued, thinking out loud. “He wanted me out of his world, not able to jump to any part of it I wanted. Maybe it was the same with Lillian. He never taught her about the overworld or how to travel across it, so she made up her own name for it. The Mist.”
Lily glanced up and saw that her coven was looking back at her with wide, worried eyes.
“The dead shaman,” Breakfast said, as if to clarify.
Her coven thought that the shaman had been long dead when she was put in the oubliette.
“Do you get it? The worldfoam is the bridge to other universes, but the overworld—or the Mist, or whatever you want to call it—is the bridge across one world. It’s how Lillian and I were able to meet face to face on the raft,” Lily announced.
“Raft?” Una asked dubiously. “You met Lillian on a raft?”
Lily gave a frustrated growl. “It makes sense! The shaman hid the overworld from me so I’d have no choice but to leave his world or die. If I could just use the overworld to teleport myself out of the oubliette, he wouldn’t have gotten rid of me like he wanted.”
“I think Lily’s had enough,” Rowan said. “Let’s deal with getting back to Salem after some rest.”
“You think I’m crazy,” she said to her coven. “I’m telling you. The shaman was there in the oubliette with me.”
“Okay, Lily,” Una said, placating her. “I believe you. But right now you need to rest.”
The coven settled down in a far-flung circle. They all needed a moment to grieve for Juliet, and this was one of those times when the deep bond between them only intensified their emotions rather than helped alleviate them. Lily wished she could hole up behind the thick walls of a citadel so she wouldn’t feel what the others were feeling. She wandered among the trees until she couldn’t take another step and sat down inside the living cathedral, staring up at dawn’s paint on the ceiling.
She reached out to Juliet, hoping some part of her was still in the overworld. She stretched and strained, pressing her will into a tight ball that she sent up and out of her like a prayer. There was no answer. Just silence and mist.
Finally, Lily let herself cry. She cried until she choked and her stomach was sour from swallowing tears. She cried until her sides ached no matter how tightly she squeezed them. Rowan lay down on the ground behind her and put his arms around her. It felt like her ribs were cracking and she’d come apart if he didn’t hold her together. He didn’t say a word. She didn’t push him away.
Lily dreamed about the Queen. She was drowning in honey, reaching out to Lily in a wordless plea. Her insect head had Juliet’s eyes. Lily woke with a start. Rowan was asleep next to her. He was still thin and bronzed from the trail. His grown-out hair fell over his sharp features, giving him a lean and wild look that made her ache. Rowan felt her staring at him and opened his eyes, his head pillowed on his bicep.
I left Juliet’s body behind, she said in mindspeak.
You had to. It was that, or we all would have died with her, he replied.
What do you think the Hive will do with it?
Don’t think about that. Please, Lily. Don’t try to picture it.
I left Tristan’s body behind, too. I can’t even bury the people who die for me.
