Page 34 of Kings of Sherwood

Maren nearly spits out her wine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Er.” My ears go nuclear hot. “That’s just what it’s called. Named for a guy named Wiener. Anyway”—dear Lord, how am I going to land this plane—“I treated the terrain like a volatility surface, right?Plugged in things like seismic anomalies and magnetic field disturbances from the USGS datasets, migration paths of apex predators, unusual weather patterns. But also less, um, concrete data.”

“As in?”

I grimace. “Fairy rings, thin places, feng shui dragon lines, Aboriginal songlines, Icelandic elf paths, paths of the dead, corpse roads—”

“Whoa.” Maren holds up a hand. “I get it. I think. And that’s...”

She looks back at the map.

“And that’s...how I drew these lines up,” I finish. “Now, I could be wrong. I mean, modeling is justmodeling,right? It’s theoretical. Unless the outcome can be externally confirmed. And in this case...you see how the lines overlap in all these places?”

I point to one cluster in particular.

She follows my finger. Her eyes light up.

“Sherwood County, Virginia,” she says. “A convergence.”

“Exactly,” I say.

Outside, lightning crackles, right on cue. I almost jump.

“Tuck,” Maren says, shaking her head slowly. “This is incredible. I mean, who else would have thought to combine all this stuff, let alone knowhow...”

“Oh, it’s notthatimpressive.” I grab my elbow, hanging back. “Anyone could have done it if they knew what inputs to—”

“Absolutely not,” Maren interrupts. “Fixing a car, that anyone can do.”

I draw my eyebrows together. “I beg to dif—”

“You could,” she interrupts, finger in the air, “if I showed you. But this? No.” She smiles, and her smile is so lovely and warm that I think I’m actually...proud of myself. Somehow. “This is beyond.”

“Thanks.” My face feels like it’s on fire. “I’m glad it worked. Or...well, proved Guy wasn’t lying, anyway. There really is something about this place.”

Maren nods again, eyes back on the map, wine clutched to her chest. “But...so what? What does that mean?”

I sigh. “Yeah, see, I don’t know. That’s the frustrating part. I know there’s one here. A convergence of ley lines. Supercharging things, somehow. A bunch of other ones in various places. And...that’s sort of it.”

She traces the map again, meandering over to other clusters—down south, up north, zigzagging along the coast.

“Fun fact,” I say, watching her route. “That’s right near where I grew up.”

“Really?” she asks. “You’re from...Paterson, New Jersey?”

“Just outside, yeah.” I nod, a little sheepishly. “It was just another suburb. Nothing remarkable. But yes, there’s some deep Tuck lore for you. And make all your Jersey jokes now. I’ve heard them all.”

“Hah.” She tips her head. “You know what, Tuck? I’m distracted.”

“Really?” I smile. “Glad to be of service.”

“Ormostly,anyway.” She grins wickedly. “Better have more wine, just in case.”

I pour her another glass.

The storm growls against the windows as Maren settles into one of the armchairs. I plop onto a footstool and mainline some cheese. Talking about differential equations makes me hungry, I guess.

I’m about to suggest a game of Scrabble or something when Maren speaks up suddenly.

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