Page 13 of The Girl in the Forest

“Don’t mind Aine. She and Fee… they’ve been together for eons. One rubs off on the other, if you know what I mean. They’re both a little fracky.”

“Fracky?”

“Fish-eyed? Squid-spittled?”

Her curls bobbed, and Aine was right. We would become close friends if I stayed long enough.

“That sounds more like Metis,” I said, “with all the water references.”

“I stay far away from that one.” The nymph smoothed her clothes—she wore a style I’d never seen before and could not describe other than it was a ballet dress fashioned out of green leaves, and a white ruff collar that made her head look like it was the center of a flower.

“What you should know about Aine,” Effa continued, “is the way she handles magic. Like… if you think of magic as food, Aine is picky about what she eats, while Metis consumes everything, bones and all. Remember that, if they ever ask you to dinner.”

I thought of the warning Metis gave me, about being invited by a friend to a blood feast. Then my throat tightened when Grayson’s teasing answer flashed through my mind.

“I’d never invite you to a secret blood feast, Noa. I’d order you to go.”

What did he think of his weapon now? I was no use to him where I was, or the way I was. Grayson understood me better than anyone. He had healed my bruised body when I needed it, but he couldn’t heal the dark, feral thing I’d become, and every time I woke screaming and covered in sweat, I knew I was broken. He’d never be able to heal that part of me.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed how perfect everything is,” Effa murmured as she looked away.

“Hard to miss.”

“It’s Fee. He wants everyone happy. Aine’s the same way. I guess this wrinkle is all about making a choice.”

“About what?”

“Going left or right.” Effa bent to touch a small butterfly that flitted away. I’d never seen a color like that on a butterfly’s wings—dark purple and glittering silver.

“They’re both bound by the magic,” Effa said. “I mean, they can’t tell us what choice to make. But they can still use magic to help a person go one way or the other.”

“That sounds more like manipulation than neutrality.”

“The magic believes in providing clarity. It finds your secret fears, what you desire. Reminds you of the details maybe you forgot. Or the pitfalls you overlooked.”

As if to prove the point, she led me along a gravel path. Our shoes crunched in unison. The air turned fragrant with forest scents—earthy, piney—refreshing after the heady floral garden. I glanced to the side, and in the shade from tall trees, I recognized the purple mushroom waterfall I’d admired during the first hike to the old watchtower. Months ago, now. A living waterfall tumbling over a moss-covered slope, made up of hundreds of delicate mushrooms, all shades of white, pink, lavender.

The domed mushroom caps touched at the edges, and I’d thought of a mob of faeries hiding beneath their umbrellas. All of them scurrying in the same direction. Never seeing who was next to them. Until Grayson hiked along the path. Then, they’d turned in unison, honoring the Alpha of Sentinel Falls as he walked past before rippling in a pink wave, moving back into place.

Effa smiled when she saw me gaping. “See?”

“Absolutely.”

But I couldn’t stop the sting in my eyes. It was stupid, of course. I didn’t understand Fee’s magic, and I didn’t want it to know my secrets, then offer clarity. How would I even wrap my mind around the concept?

Before the magic clarified anything, it would need to read my mind, the worst form of privacy invasion. Finding where the pain lived and dragging it out into the open. Where I’d need to face the details I’d forgotten, or the pitfalls.

If I said that made me happy, then I’d be lying. I wanted to forget, and I thought about asking Effa how the magic worked, if defending myself against it was even possible. But then I couldn’t remember why I wanted to know, so I let the question go.

“You’re over here.” Effa nudged my shoulder, pointing. I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped walking. But I had.

Because in front of me was a rocky cliff.

My skin dampened. Effa’s white ruff bobbed. Her corkscrew curls matched the movement.

She grabbed my hand and locked it between her two mahogany ones; her fingers were smooth and warm while mine were cold. “Don’t you just love it?”

Earnestness creased her forehead before she looked back at the door.

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