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I shove my wet hair from my face and survey what I can see of the island. It takes me far too long to understand that the reason I can’t see the village is because I’m looking in the wrong place. It’s not on the ground at all; it’s in the trees themselves.
At this point, I have to assume that everyone in Threshold is an enemy. I’m sure there are people here who don’t fuck with the Cwn Annwn. There have to be. The problem is that I don’t know who they are, and I can’t risk being turned back over to Bowen and his crew. I highly doubt they’ll be sympathetic to my attempted escape. Entering the village is out of the question.
No, the better option is to stick to the shoreline …
Except even as I think that, I see the vicious-looking cliffs on the other side of the beach. Maybe I could scale them in good weather, but if I try to do it right now it’s a death wish. “Okay, inland it is.”
I skirt the edge of the town slowly, curiosity a live thing inside me. I think every kid goes through a stage where they’re sure a tree house is the greatest invention mankind has ever made. I even had one when I was young, a little room that was built with more twigs than anything else, but it was mine. A place where I could hide when the world became too much. I kept little treasures there, pretty rocks and flowers I found in the trees that bordered Bunny’s house.
This village is … not like that at all.
It’s difficult to see in the rain, but these are very clearly buildings created with living in mind, rather than a childlike escape. Some of them seem to be carved into the giant trunks of the trees themselves, while others are built in great spirals through the branches.
I pick out little hints of the people who must live here. Flowerpots line one of the walkways, their blooms spilling over the railing in a brightly colored stream. Someone forgot their laundry hanging on a line and a dress flaps wetly in the storm. Down here on the ground there’s a painting that was obviously done by children, judging by the vibrant colors and the awkwardness of the figures. I stop in front of it and study the lines that are slowly beginning to run as the rain washes them away. Humanoid figures that appear to be dancing. A rainbow. Flowers. Kid shit.
I wish I had more time to explore. I would love to see what kind of things shops here might sell, or to spend a night at an inn so high above the ground, with only the sway of the branches in the wind as company. To meet the kind of people who live here and in the realm this island connects to.
Fanciful, foolish thoughts. The village isn’t more magical than any other. It just happens to exist high off the ground. Dawn is already making its presence known. I have to move if I want to get out of here before someone notices I’m missing.
If I can find this island’s portal out of Threshold, then I am one step closer to being home. Traveling between the realms might be all but impossible, but that doesn’t mean it’s flat-out impossible. There are bargainer demons who are able to do it, and I bet my best spell that there are other types of paranormal who can as well. I just have to find them.
But first, I have to get out of this godforsaken realm.
I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and start for the trees. I like being outside, but that doesn’t mean I like being active outside. Up until this point, the thought of going for a hike has ranked right up there with bamboo shoots under my fingernails, but surely it won’t be that bad traveling through an island connected to a strange realm. Yes, I can hear something skittering in the underbrush. Sure, those spiderwebs look like they’re made by something about the size of a small pony. And I guess maybe I should be worried about that pair of yellow eyes glowing in the distance, too.
“Damn it.” I grab my bag with white knuckles. “I am the baddest witch around. If anyone fucks with me, I’ll blow a crater in this damn forest.”
Unsurprisingly, my attempt at bravado does little to actually make me less scared. I faced down murderous pirates and a cranky Lizzie. I fought in the tournament that’s held at the Shadow Market every Samhain. I’m a fucking witch. Creepy forests should be perfectly within my wheelhouse.
Except that’s a shitty stereotype with no basis in reality.
After a brief debate with myself, I drop my stealth and invisibility spells. Both work well against humans, but if what I’m facing in this forest is more animalistic in nature, then scent will betray me faster than anything else. Better to have something defensive prepared.
I take a couple steps into the trees and fight back a shiver. The air was hardly balmy without the sun warming the sky, but within the trees, it’s downright frigid. “I get it, okay. Creepy forest. Spooky chills.” I wave my fingers. This is fine. There’s no one else around. If I have to talk myself through this fear in order to keep going, then it’s a small enough price to pay. It’s not like anyone is witnessing this weakness.
The eyes in the distance have disappeared, and I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. The creature they belong to may have decided I am more troublesome than I’m worth … or it may be stalking me right now.
Cheerful thoughts. Happy thoughts.
I pull out the dagger I lifted from Bowen and press its tip to my thumb. Not all magic needs a blood component, but it’s a nifty shortcut in a pinch. My tattoos do most of the heavy lifting. Each one is inked with a specific combination of components unique to that particular spell, and I have to reink them after I’ve used up that particular spell. Some of them are single-use only. Some I can tap a few times before I need to recharge them. Either way, the tattoos are one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Putting in extra effort for no damn reason doesn’t make you a saint. Efficiency isn’t a bad thing, as long as you don’t forget your roots.
If I get stuck in Threshold any longer, I’ll be forced back to those roots. Somehow, I don’t think they have tattoo guns lying around. I want to get out here before I have to find out.
I am most definitely stalling.
I press my thumb to the glyph that triggers a medium-strength defensive spell I can hold for a prolonged period of time. It won’t save me from getting bruised up, but it should stop a killing blow.
Now there’s nothing left but to get moving. I curse under my breath and pick the direction where the trees seem not quite so impossible to navigate. “I can do this. I have to do this.” I take three large steps …
And run face-first into an invisible wall.
I bounce back and land on my ass, my nose smarting fiercely. “What the actual fuck?”
Something grabs me by my ankle and lifts me into the air. I fire off a spell on instinct, but there’s nothing to make contact with. It just flies off into the trees with a faint sizzle. When I bend and grasp at my ankle for the rope that must have snared me, my fingers find nothing to unwind. Only air. I’m not being held in a trap of any earthly making. It’s magic. And I know only one aggravating motherfucker who can move things with his mind.
I twist and flail, my hair making it nearly impossible to see. “Where are you, you asshole?”
