Page 14 of The Girl in the Forest

I supposed a door in the rock was a necessity in the wrinkle, since the door didn’t match the memory. No door had existed for that cave. Instead, a veil of magic had shimmered when I’d raced through the opening with the wolf at my heels and the reek of battle still thick in the air.

Effa clicked the door open, widened it so I wouldn’t miss a thing—and the pain was so real, it felt like she’d hit me in the chest.

I took a step back. I could have handled anything except this.

Effa hopped, birdlike, as she entered the cave. Her feet left indents in the sand, and after a heartbeat, then another, I followed, mute while she rattled on about the what-and-that—she had such a peculiar way with description, and I wondered at her cheery tone, as silly as the clothes she wore. Wondered at the magic.

At the brief, sharp flare of hope I hated.

I followed the rock passage, knowing it would turn and widen into a cavern with pale mushrooms covering the walls, ebbing, flowing with a soft blue light that brightened as we entered.

The stones around the fire ring were exactly the way Grayson left them, with one stone out of place; he’d kicked it when he’d stood. There—the enameled pot he used for the tea waited, filled with water and ready for use. And here—where the sand still bore the imprint of his body. I stared, remembering how he’d lounged like a waiting, predatory cat, watching me.

Carved into the rocky wall were the niches that held stacks of his clothes.

Other niches held soft blankets. Food supplies that must have been there because the magic pulled them from my memories.

This had been his private place, he’d said.

The place where he inked the runes on my skin after our first battle with the creatures.

Left his mark on my wrist.

And I realized the real danger in this magic.

How easily it recreated images locked in my mind, the way the Green Man’s magic made me forget the scent of roasting coffee and the sounds of the city.

Creating an emotional lure. A trap where I’d never want to leave. Instead, I’d linger in the delusion, lost in the touch of his hand against my skin. The puncture of the bone needle each time he marked the runes. Our rising scents had been unforgettable. Even now, I squirmed with the memories. The remembered ritual. How I’d thought it meant something more.

My hand drifted, my fingers pressing against the inked wolf on my wrist. But no warmth remained because, somehow, coming into this wrinkle had broken the connection.

For a reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted to cry.

Effa wrapped her arms from behind, her warmth revealing how chilled I’d become.

“The magic sucks,” I choked out.

“Is it too much?”

The crush of her ruff prickled my back. I shook my head. Words escaped me, and I stepped away, swiping at my face.

“Is there a bed? Or a kitchen?” I forced a tight laugh, tipped my head and shouted at nothing but the magic. “And there gods-damned better be a lavish bathroom with hot water and my favorite shampoo. Fresh towels every day, heated. And clean linen on the bed.”

And I swore that the magic answered, brushing invisible fingers against my cheek. As if wiping at tears that weren’t there.

CHAPTER 5

Noa

As it turned out, the magic was remarkably eager to please. Effa described it as an excited puppy prone to slobbering over a new toy.

After venting my frustration, the magic went to work. I listened to the tortured sound of grinding rocks, then the meadow nymph walked me through another door, out of the cave and into a perfect replica of my house in Azul.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows; beyond was the view that always caught my breath, the hills and the azure lake. Wildlife photographs hung on the walls, my photographs, the ones Laura had framed. The table in the dining room was where I’d shared a meal with Hattie and Oscar. Leo had been there. Mace across from Fallon. Grayson—that day, he’d given me a gift I never expected, confronting my stepfather, defending both my mother and me. He’d threatened the man who abused us and proved he meant it when he’d said: blood in, blood out.

I was pack by birthright.

I’d never come closer to having a normal family than that night, and perhaps the magic recreated the memory because it would comfort me. Each chair was in place, as if expecting guests for another meal, even the chair Grayson used; it was still at the head of the table. He’d lounged there, leaning back, his indulgent smile not quite hiding the loneliness.

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