The Wicked Things

GEMINI: T HE WICKED THINGS

…Travis yanked open the door, expected to be met with slapping rain and endless darkness. But the wind was blowing the opposite direction, carrying the rain away from him. And another bolt of lightning touched down on the other side of the gate. The air hummed for the nanosecond before the explosion, and his eyes burned from the light. The red outline of a huge dog hovered in front of him no matter how many times he tried to blink it away. So did the unmistakable shape of a man. “Who’s out there?” He shouted, the wind whipping the words away. “Hey! Mate?” No response except the roaring wind. Travis’s fingers were slick and hot on the doorknob, and a line of sweat slowly crawled down the side of his face. Jeremy had once told him not to ask a question if he didn’t want to hear the answer. He supposed that wisdom applied to both relationships and dark, stormy nights. Even so, he didn’t have the sense to shut the door. He cupped his hand against his mouth and took a deep breath before shouting, “Who’s there? Show yourself!” The lightning flashed again, and this time there was no mistaking the fact that there were two creatures in his garden. The dog and someone—something—else. The figure stood over the crouching animal, his arms raised over his head, hands wrapped around the handle of a long knife. It looked like the knife his mother used to carve the roast. In an instant, he felt the thick texture of fur beneath his fingers and saw the strange trust in the beast’s brown eyes…

ALSO BY P EPPER ESPINOZA …And To Hold A Busted Afternoon The Devil Went Down To Georgia Elected A Farewell To Angels Forward Progress Four O’Clock Fumble Recovery (Just Like) Starting Over The Major And The Minor Making Waves Maybe I’m Amazed My Only Home The Obsolete Man Peanut Butter Kisses The Prince Who Never Smiled Quarterback Sneak The Streets Of Florence Surrender’s Edge To Bend You And Me And The Moon

GEMINI: THE WICKED THINGS BY PEPPER ESPINOZA

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

GEMINI: THE WICKED T HINGS AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2010 by Pepper Espinoza ISBN 978-1-60272-694-9 Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

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PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Gemini: Flexible, quick-witted, and cunning. A Gemini will adapt to any situation and form intense bonds with the people he loves.

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CHAPTER 1 “I’m so tired of seeing you sit around all day. Why don’t you go for a walk?” Travis didn’t look up from his laptop. His mother repeated the question so often he barely heard it anymore. The words drifted around him, not anchored to any particular meaning and completely void of significance. He wasn’t worried about missing anything important, but that was only because she never said anything important. “Did you hear me? I said why don’t you go for a walk? It’s perfectly lovely outside. If you hurry, you’ll see the sun setting, and the sunsets are so beautiful here. You haven’t seen a single sunset since you arrived. All you do is sit in here in front of that bloody machine. That can’t be healthy. A young man your age 1

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should be outside moving, exercising, getting fresh air. Your father would have never spent so many hours just sitting around. He worked hard to put food on the table for you and your brothers. That was when men knew how to be men.” “I’m working, Mum.” “That is what I’m saying. You work too hard. It’s not healthy. You need to relax, Travis. Your father was as spry at forty as he was at twenty, and that’s because he always knew when it was time to get out of the house. He knew the importance of walking. He took a walk every day of his life.” “Dad’s dead, Mum.” “I know your father’s dead. I was there, wasn’t I? I buried him, didn’t I? I kiss his picture every night and say a prayer for his soul, don’t I?” Travis finally looked up, sensing a change in her tone even though he didn’t register any of the words. She was looking at him with watery eyes and her bottom lip quivered with barely restrained tears. Travis cast his mind over what he remembered of the conversation and realized it was the casual mention of his father’s death that set her off. Never mind that he had died over twenty years earlier. “What would you like me to do, Mum?” “Go for a nice walk and get some exercise.” Travis blinked. “Is that all?” “Is that all? Is that all, he asks. Of course, that’s all. It’s all I’ve been trying to get you to do for the past hour.” He glanced at the clock. It had been an hour since she wandered into his office and began fluttering and clucking around his head. The deadline was still looming and he still had more work than time, but Agnes Olsen was not a woman to be denied 2

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once she set her mind on something. She would harp on him until after midnight to take a walk. Sometimes, when the stakes were small, it was easier to humbly do whatever she wanted him to do. “You know, Mum, I was just thinking that a bit of fresh air sounded perfect.” “Oh, good. You can go along the Coleridge Way, which I hear is splendid.” Yes, you heard it from me . Travis saved his work, closed his laptop, and pushed away from the desk. Agnes followed him from the small office to the front door, papery skin whispering as she nervously rubbed her hands together. He had over a foot on her, and had been a self-sufficient adult for nearly two decades, but he always felt like a little boy when she herded him out the door like that. “I’ll be back in time for tea.” “I’ll keep it warm for you, love.” She cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. “Be careful out there. The hills get a bit dangerous after dark.” Travis couldn’t suppress his grin. Nothing got dangerous in Nether Stowey, regardless of the time of day. “Oh? What’s out there?” “You laugh, but you know there’s a black dog out there.” “A black dog? You mean somebody’s got a stray wandering around out there? That’s annoying but hardly dangerous, Mum.” She gave him a withering look, as though she couldn’t believe she had raised such a dunderhead. “You know I’m not talking about anybody’s stray dog.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “The black dog.” “Oh, that black dog. Well, why didn’t you just say so?” 3

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“Don’t go making a fool of yourself. Just be careful out there after dark.” “If you’re worried about me, I don’t mind staying in,” Travis said. “No, no, you need to get some fresh air.” She pushed him out the door, like he expected she would. He wondered if somebody told her at some point that a body would die if it didn’t receive a certain amount of fresh air. He didn’t doubt she was sincerely worried for him, he just didn’t understand the source of her anxiety. “If I cross paths with the black dog, I’ll tell him you said hi,” he said lightly. Agnes looked stricken. “Don’t even joke about something like that.” For a moment, he considered asking her what she meant. Then decided it was best just to nod and promise he’d never joke about something so serious again. The door slammed shut behind him, and he sighed with relief in the abrupt silence. She was getting worse. He didn’t understand why or how, but she was. Perhaps he should speak to Dr. Thorsten? But then, he didn’t have anything new to report. Driving him crazy didn’t actually count as a symptom or indicate a worsening condition. A breeze blew through the small village of Nether Stowey, and his first impulse was to go back in the house for a jumper. But she was probably waiting to snag him at the door, doubting the sincerity of his commitment to fresh air and a good, brisk walk. On the other hand, the breeze wasn’t that bad. After the stuffiness of his office, it was a relief. The sun was already low in the sky, partially obscured by the hills and casting long shadows over the quiet village. He estimated there would only be minutes before the 4

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blue turned into a lofty shade of pink, and then the pink would dull into a bruised purple. That was one good thing about moving to Nether Stowey—he did get to enjoy a wide range of pinks and purples at dusk. If he had been an artist instead of a marketing analyst, Nether Stowey might have been a dream location. Nothing to do during the day but work, and nothing exciting to distract him from his art at night. He understood why Agnes had chosen to retire there after her husband died. It was just the sort of safe, quiet place that a person would yearn for in their twilight years. Or at least, a person like Agnes would yearn for. She hated crowds, she hated noise, she hated dirt, she hated being around too many children and too much laughter. Most of the time, it seemed like she hated anything that might remind her of the fact that she was alive. Her little cottage wasn’t unlike a coffin. Travis certainly felt like he had been buried alive. Travis strolled down Castle Street, waving politely to the familiar faces he passed. Nether Stowey boasted about a thousand residents in total, and it was amazing to Travis just how many of that thousand he was beginning to know. Most of them had visited the cottage to extend their personal welcomes, inviting him to their house for tea any time he liked, catching him up on all the good gossip, and generally trying to be good neighbors. He would have been touched by the show of good will if he had wanted to live in Nether Stowey in the first place. By the time he reached the edge of the village, the breeze was stronger and the sun was lower. A blue signpost directed him along Coleridge’s Way. After a moment of thought, he turned onto the footpath. It was familiar enough to be comforting now, and his feet followed the trail as though he had walked it a thousand times 5

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before. When he’d lived in London, he had walked everywhere. He never bothered with a car and had never owned one. But he never went for walks when he lived in London. He never strolled the streets just to look around and see what there was to see. He never left his flat unless he had a destination in mind, a goal to reach, and a time limit. Walking for leisure, for fun, was still a foreign concept to him and left him with a nagging sense of frustration. Like he was wasting his time. Since his arrival in Nether Stowey, that nagging sense had never left him. Once his thoughts drifted back to London, they refused to go anywhere else. He had only been away from the city for two months, but it felt like a lifetime. Time took on a different dimension in the country. It was a slower way of life, but Travis failed to see why that was a good thing. It just made the days drag on and on, and the nights were even worse. They were cold and lonely. In two months, Travis never crossed paths with another gay man, let alone one who was approximately his age, single, and with no visible scars. When Travis had decided to move in with Agnes, it was with the knowledge that his private life would suffer, but he hadn’t been aware of just how extensive the suffering would be. He stayed in contact with his friends and a few of his old lovers, but they never had the time to drive out to Somerset to visit. It was just a bit too far out of their way to drive, their weekends were always full, they couldn’t find a sitter for the kids, a new show was opening up, and on and on it went. There was always some excuse, and Travis accepted them all with a smile. Not even the promise of walking through the same hills as a poet none of them cared about could lure them away from their glass and chrome mountains. They would probably agree that going for a 6

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stroll was a waste of time. Travis approached a familiar sign, announcing that he was approaching the site of Walford’s Gibbet. The villagers encouraged the tourists to detour from the carefully laid trail to view the site of the gibbet, though it was long since gone. Travis didn’t understand the fascination, though he supposed it wasn’t unusual to find a perverse thrill in such mundane horrors. The children liked to tell each other ghost stories of John Walford. About how he still roams the hills, looking for his lost love Ann so he could finally give her a proper goodbye. Travis thought he’d be far more likely to stumble across the ghost of Jane Walford, the poor woman John had murdered with his bare hands in a fit of rage. Not that he had any desire to meet any ghosts, or even any beliefs in spiritual apparitions. John Walford was hanged for the crime of murder, and his body had been left in a gibbet for a year and a day. Travis tried to imagine what it was like to walk by and even beneath a cage holding a rotting, stinking corpse. It was no wonder to him that there were so many ghost stories associated with the crossroads and gibbets. Just the thought of one was worth a shudder of disgust. The sight of one must have been horrific. Though a part of him, a very small part, was just a little bit curious. The breeze died, and the night air was surprisingly still. Usually, he heard the traffic in the village, even at that distance, but now there was nothing. It was so silent, he could hear his own heart beating. The moon wouldn’t be out that night to guide him home, and Travis turned back to the trail, already regretting the minutes he had spent thinking about John Walford. It would be pitch black by the time he returned to the village, and his mother would be in a frenzy of worry, her fragile mind forgetting that he 7

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was a grown man and not a little boy who needed to be protected from the dark. One day, he’d like to return to the cottage and open the door to find the woman he used to know. The one who didn’t relive the same conversation one hundred times a day. The one who had smiled and made jokes because she just couldn’t take everything so seriously. He thought about how it would be to open the front door and see her standing there, except not her. Somebody else. It would be somebody twenty years younger and she’d hug him and welcome him back and he wouldn’t ask her where she’d been all that time. But that was never going to happen. He couldn’t turn his fantasies into reality by sheer force of will, and there was no miracle of science to mend a broken mind. As Travis approached the intersection that turned the trail back to the village, he realized he wasn’t alone on the road. He called out, but the shadow in front of him didn’t turn or otherwise acknowledge him. It was a big, bulky shape, and his first thought was that a calf or a pony had escaped a barn. If it were an escaped farm animal, he wasn’t going to try to herd it back to the village. He approached slowly, mindful of the potential harm that could result from startling livestock, and tried to pick its shape out of the darkness. It blended in with the shadows around it to such a degree that Travis couldn’t even be sure anything was there at all until he was practically on top of it. Only then did he realize he wasn’t looking at a calf or a pony. The beast in front of him was a black dog with eyes burning like coals.

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CHAPTER 2 Travis stood motionless, his fingers tingling, his legs unresponsive. He wasn’t normally frightened of dogs, even strange ones, but this was not a normal dog. His instincts told him to flee, to put as much space between himself and the beast as he could. But there was nowhere to flee to. The dog stood between him and Nether Stowey, and there wasn’t another village for another few miles. He was fit, but he didn’t think he could sprint through the night for miles with a massive dog chasing him down. Not that the dog gave any indication that he intended to chase Travis to the ground. The most intimidating thing about the animal was his size. But the red eyes locked on Travis didn’t help. The dog didn’t snarl or show a hint of white teeth. It remained so still that Travis could almost believe he was hallucinating the beast. Or 9

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it was just a trick of light and shadows, and the outline of its massive head and shoulders was really the outline of a boulder, and the glowing eyes could have just been…well, Travis didn’t know what else they could have been if they weren’t eyes. Deciding he had to do something, he took a tentative step forward. “That’s a good dog. Just stay right there. I’m not going to hurt you.” The dog didn’t react at all. It held its stance, as still as before, its eyes never leaving Travis. The weight of the gaze made him itch. A low-grade fear crawled up and down his spine, marching like a thousand tiny ants until he tingled all over. The dog probably belonged to a local farmer and didn’t have an evil bone its body. Maybe it was just lost and confused, looking for a familiar human. That possibility seemed entirely likely to Travis, as the dog had to come from somewhere and it clearly wasn’t aggressive. “Where do you belong, huh? Is somebody out here looking for you?” Another step closer, and the dog still didn’t move. Travis swallowed down more of his nerves and continued to walk, his hands held out in front of him. He wished he had brought a torch. Even a crescent moon at that point would be helpful. If the beast did decide to attack, Travis wouldn’t be able to see any of the warning signs. His only hope would be to hear the growl in time to hit the ground and curl into a fetal position to protect his most important bits. Once he got within a foot of the dog, he had the strongest urge to reach out and pet it, as though it was nothing more than somebody’s pet in a park. He did reach out, palm upward, to allow the dog to smell his skin. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please don’t bite my fingers off. See? We’re all friends here. Nothing at all to be worried about.” 10

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The tip of the beast’s cool nose touched his palm for just a second before the dog jerked back. Hoping that meant it had lost all interest in Travis, he sidestepped it to continue on the trail. Four more paces, and he was past the dog. His heart hammered in his ears, and the ants were still marching up and down his spine, but he took deep, steadying breaths and forced himself to keep his stride even and regular as he stared straight ahead. Some dogs would only give chase once their prey started running. Travis had no interest in giving his new friend a reason to chase him. After several feet, he looked around to see if the beast was still watching him. It wasn’t. It was walking beside him, as silent as the shadows pressing around them. The dog’s shoulder was nearly level with Travis’s waist, and the muscles rolled beneath its dark coat as it easily kept pace with him. Travis watched it with wide eyes, his heart lodged in his throat. Would a dog walk quietly beside him if it intended to rip his throat out? Probably not, but what did he know about dogs? He did have an ex-boyfriend who had a French bulldog, but his experience with the mild-mannered and adorable little Annabelle really wasn’t proper preparation for a beast the size of his new friend. “Are you just going to keep me company?” Travis asked amiably. “That’s fine. I don’t mind a little bit of company. It’s pretty lonely out here. Not that I need to tell you that, right? Fortunately we’re not far from the village. I hope you don’t intend to tear my throat out, dog.” At that, the beast looked up, its red eyes flashing in the darkness. Travis knew it didn’t mean anything, but it almost felt like the dog was meeting his eyes. Acknowledging him. As though it understood and was maybe even agreeing to leave him unharmed. The thought should have been amusing, but it left him 11

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feeling even more disquieted. To counter that, he kept talking, stringing together words without any thought of their meaning. It was better than walking in silence, and once he started talking, he couldn’t stop. Everything he had been suppressing sprung to the surface, from the frustration and fear he felt when he thought of his mother to his boredom and restlessness. The dog’s pace never faltered and he never fell away. He behaved as though he was stuck to Travis’s side and had no intention of ever leaving him. Travis half expected him to stop once they reached the outer edge of the village, but the lights and sounds of civilization didn’t frighten the animal away. Which would point to him being somebody’s pet. Maybe somebody was already out looking for their beloved Fluffy and would offer a nice reward for his safe return. A few quid would certainly be worth his small scare. “Is this where you live? You’re free to go find your master. I just live up this street here.” Travis was glad there was nobody around to hear him talk to a giant dog like it was a human in a fur suit. It didn’t help that this felt like the best conversation he’d had since moving to Nether Stowey. If the very sight of the animal wouldn’t give his mother a heart attack, he would have considered inviting it into the house. Under the yellow streetlights, the dog didn’t seem quite as terrifying, though it was just as big. Its head was large and narrow, almost like a wolf, and its coat gleamed without a single white hair to disrupt the inky darkness. Its size was a bit misleading. It was tall and had a wide frame, but it looked almost scrawny. Perhaps it had once been somebody’s pet, but now it looked as though it hadn’t had a decent meal in months. A dog like that ought to be able to hunt up rabbits and other small critters to keep itself fed, 12

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but if it was sick with worms, no amount of hunting would keep meat on its bones. The dog followed him up to the front door and then sat and tilted its head. It was such a surprisingly dog-like move that Travis had to laugh. It was difficult to believe he had ever been frightened of the animal, but his shirt was still damp from sweat, and he still felt that strange little buzz from the adrenaline. “You look like you’re hungry. Are you hungry? Stay right here. You know what that means?” He pointed at the ground. “Stay.” Travis opened the front door tentatively, half expecting Agnes to be waiting for him in the foyer. But she was in the sitting room, watching an old sitcom that wasn’t funny ten years ago when it first aired. Travis slipped into the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for anything that might be suitable for a dog. He found a half used package of ground beef. A quick sniff told him it was just about to spoil. Would Agnes even notice if it went missing? Probably. He’d have to go out in the morning and buy more. He dumped the meat into a bowl, paused and considered it, then added two eggs. Jeremy always gave Annabelle eggs with her food. He said that it helped her coat, but Travis always suspected it had more to do with the fact that Jez saw the little dog as a child to be spoiled. He filled another bowl with water and very carefully carried them both out the back door. Agnes never looked away from the television, and he couldn’t even be sure she had heard him enter the house. The dog was still waiting for him on the porch, his mouth partially opened, his tongue lolling. Now he looked like every other dog Travis had ever met. His eyes weren’t even glowing red. They were a normal, healthy shade of brown. Travis set the bowls down and the dog immediately set in on the food, gulping down 13

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the meat in big, half chewed bites. He ate like an animal that hadn’t been fed in months, and Travis’s heart twisted a little at the thought of this magnificent creature wandering through the hills, lost and lonely and hungry. When he finished with the mince, he shifted his attention to the bowl of water. Travis squatted low and reached out slowly, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the dog’s thick fur, just below his ear. The dog didn’t respond, which only emboldened Travis. He stroked the fur behind his ear and then ran his palm down the back of the dog’s head. The animal didn’t look up or pull away, but his tail did begin to wag. “Well, you’re just a big sweetheart, aren’t you? Do you like to have your ears scratched? Yeah, that feels nice, doesn’t it?” The dog lifted his head and looked at Travis directly in the eye. Once again, he had the unsettling feeling that the dog was acknowledging him. He saw a clear intelligence in those brown depths, like he was looking into a man’s eyes. Neither one of the blinked. Travis didn’t even breathe. He felt like he was falling, but at the same time, he felt like he was tethered to that spot, chained there, imprisoned. A car parked in front of the house roared to life, startling them both from their trance. Travis swung his head around to find the source of the noise, and the dog jumped to his feet. Before Travis even realized what was happening, the dog sprung over the side of the porch and disappeared. “What the fuck?” “Travis? Is that you?” “Yeah, I’m out here, Mum.” “Tea is on the table.” Travis sighed. There hadn’t been any tea on the table, or any 14

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sign that she had cooked anything. No point in mentioning it, though. He gathered up the bowls and pulled the door open. He’d make her some soup and himself a bit of tea and be sure to compliment on her excellent meal. *

*

*

“There’s going to be a thunderstorm tonight,” Agnes announced. “A big one.” Travis briefly glanced at the mild blue sky through the open window. The air smelled fresh and clean and the temperature had been perfect all day. It was the sort of spring day that made him want to chuck his computer and spend the afternoon lying in the garden and watching the clouds. He imagined it was the sort of day that distracted Sam Coleridge from his poetry and lured him into the dancing blue air. Some days, Travis wished he could be a poet. “How do you know?” “I can feel it.” “What did the weatherman say?” “He said it’s not going to rain at all this week, but he’s mistaken.” “So the man with thousands of dollars of state-of-the-art weather tracking equipment is mistaken?” “Yes. I can feel it.” “Where?” “What?” “Where can you feel it?” “In my bones.” Travis considered asking what a thunderstorm felt like in one’s bones, but dismissed the question. Agnes would only take offense 15

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and claim he was taking the piss. “Do you want me to close the windows?” “No, I can do it. You’ll just get lazy and leave them all open.” “Well, I promise to be back before the storm hits.” “Back? Where are you going?” Travis closed his laptop and smiled. “For a walk. Didn’t you just tell me yesterday that I need to get out more?” “It’s too dangerous.” “It’s not dangerous, Mum. It’s perfectly safe.” “You’ll get caught in the thunderstorm.” “I’ll bring an umbrella.” “Don’t take that tone with me, young man. You’re not too old that I can’t box your ears.” “Mum, go watch telly.” “What?” Travis stood and gently took her by the shoulder. He guided her out of the small office and didn’t release her until they were standing at her chair in the sitting room. “Watch your shows. I’ll be back before you know it.” “I don’t understand of this.” She clutched his arm and looked up with frightened eyes. “Travis, I don’t understand any of this.” “Any of what?” “I can feel it.” “The storm?” She released him and clutched her head, pressing her hands to her temples. “The storm, the storm. Yes, the storm. I can hear it, bunny.” Travis reeled back at the familiar nickname. She hadn’t called him bunny since he was six. He had informed her that he was a boy and boys were not to be called bunny, and she’d laughed and 16

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promised she’d find a more suitable nickname for him. Now the word just scared him. “What do you mean you can hear it?” “The thunder. It’s crashing in my head. I thought it had already started but when I went outside there weren’t any clouds.” “Oh, Mum…” He wrapped his arms around her and tried to ignore the fact that she felt as small and vulnerable as a child. “I’m so sorry.” “I don’t know what to do.” “You don’t have to do anything. Do you want me to call Dr. Thorsten?” “No, no. There’s no reason to bother him with this. I’ll be fine.” She wrapped one slim arm around him and rested her head on his chest. He wanted to call Dr. Thorsten anyway and demand an explanation for all of this. He wanted to be told what was wrong with her, and then he wanted to find a way to fix her. “This happens sometimes.” “It does? Do you hear things often?” “No,” she said quickly. Travis cradled his fingers beneath her chin and gently tilted her head back so she would meet his eyes. “Mum, tell me the truth. How often does it happen?” “Every day.” “What do you hear?” “Everything,” she whispered. “Voices and singing and crying and thunder and rain. I hear dogs and cats and cows. I hear demons. I hear…everything.” The last word was nearly lost in a sob and he pulled her back to his chest. She cried like a child, without any sense of shame, not self-conscious about her tears. Travis stared at the wall behind her, 17

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his heart breaking at the wretched sound, desperately searching for something to say. He would promise anything, offer any condolences, to soothe her. But when it came down to it, he didn’t know what to tell her. He never did. In the distance, the heavens boomed.

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CHAPTER 3 Darkness fell early on Nether Stowey and brought curtains of rain with it. Water slapped against the house in endless torrents and thunder rattled the windows. Travis couldn’t stop thinking about visiting the beach and watching the waves crest and fall in an endless rhythm. He turned on the television, but it did nothing to block the sounds of the storm or of his mother, hiding in her room, whimpering with every deep rumble and flash of light. Travis had tried to stay with her, sitting on the foot of her bed and rubbing her feet, but she pushed him away. “Go. Go, I want to sleep.” When he protested, she kicked at his hand, as petulantly as any child. Knowing he wasn’t going to change her mind or make the situation better by staying, he stood and told her if she needed 19

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anything, just to call for him. She didn’t call for him. She was far too lost in her own world to remember he was in the kitchen. With the reassuring voice of Stephen Fry keeping the worst of the storm at bay, Travis puttered around the kitchen, absently going through the motions of putting on tea. It was a familiar ritual, and sometimes comforting. But not this night. This night it just made him think of all the nights he sat at the table, watching Agnes as she prepared his tea just the way he liked it. Or, much worse, it made him think of Jeremy moving around the kitchen as though he had been born to it, that damned dog hovering under his feet, waiting patiently for her scraps. He always felt a special affinity with Annabelle. He felt they really understood each other on a fundamental level. Except for the fact that Jeremy had actually loved her. “No,” Travis said firmly. “I’m not going down that road again. Not tonight anyway.” He carried his cup into the sitting room and settled in front of the television, prepared to lose himself to some mindless entertainment. Sky was supposed to start rerunning episodes of Doctor Who. That should be good to distract his thoughts for a few hours. He remembered spending long afternoons watching Peter Davidson, half in love with the Doctor and half in lust with him. There had just been something about his smile that twisted Travis into unspeakable knots. Now he could barely remember what it was like to want somebody so intensely and with so much innocence. It had been nothing more but harmless crush—and many harmless fantasies—but in hindsight it seemed like his life’s most fulfilling relationship. The thought depressed him beyond words. 20

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Travis sighed and sipped from his cup. A gust of wind slammed at the door like a giant demanding entry. When Travis didn’t answer his summons, the giant tried again and again and again, until he thought the hinges would surely break. The lights flickered, dimming and brightening in erratic patterns. If the power went out, he didn’t have a torch, and he didn’t know where Agnes kept the candles. Or if she had candles at all. But he could handle sitting in the dark. The silence and the cold would be much worse. He settled back in his chair and defiantly took another sip. He was a grown man, the storm wasn’t going to scare him. His mother was finally silent, and Travis hoped that meant she had fallen asleep. When she woke up in the morning, the world would be a new, different place. The storm would be long gone, the skies would be blue and the flowers would be blooming. She’d forget about the thunder and how frightened she’d been. Travis had no doubt she’d forget. That was one blessing, at least. The lights dimmed almost to the point of blackness and then flared back to life with vibrant intensity. Travis gasped and put a hand up to block his eyes a split second before everything went dark. “Oh…fuck.” Time froze with a flash of lightning, and then he was in darkness again. The giant was tired of battering the door, but now it roared its frustration with unrestrained anger. “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down,” Travis murmured, carefully placing his cup on the table beside him. “Good thing this place isn’t made of straw.” The sharp, unmistakable sound of a dog’s howl pierced the air, rising up in the air between claps of thunder. A chill zapped through him and the air on the back of his arms stood on end. He 21

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knew it wasn’t any normal dog out there. Any of the village dogs would be safely tucked into their homes and sheds, hiding from the cold rain with their full stomach and their content dreams. Only a wild dog would be out in such a storm. Travis slowly stood, his legs trembling. He tried to tell himself he was just cold. The temperature had dropped with the onslaught, and he hadn’t taken the time to turn on the furnace. That would explain the chills and goose pimples as well. It was funny how he couldn’t remember the last time he was so cold. Lightning flashed again, burning the image of the room into his mind’s eye. With that snapshot in the front of his mind, he carefully navigated his way around the furniture, narrowly avoiding slamming his shins into the edge of the coffee table. With the aid of another bright flash, he made his way to the back door. The dog howled again, the mournful sound climbing higher and higher until it met another wall of thunder. Travis took several deep breaths, telling himself that the dog couldn’t be in his garden. Telling himself that it was just a trick of the night and the wind. Telling himself it was just a stupid storm and he should go to bed. The thought of tucking himself beneath his blankets and pulling them up to cover his head was strangely alluring, but he dismissed it. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need to hide from loud sounds like one. Travis yanked open the door, expected to be met with slapping rain and endless darkness. But the wind was blowing the opposite direction, carrying the rain away from him. And another bolt of lightning touched down on the other side of the gate. The air hummed for the nanosecond before the explosion, and his eyes burned from the light. The red outline of a huge dog hovered in front of him no matter how many times he tried to blink it away. 22

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So did the unmistakable shape of a man. “Who’s out there?” He shouted, the wind whipping the words away. “Hey! Mate?” No response except the roaring wind. Travis’s fingers were slick and hot on the doorknob, and a line of sweat slowly crawled down the side of his face. Jeremy had once told him not to ask a question if he didn’t want to hear the answer. He supposed that wisdom applied to both relationships and dark, stormy nights. Even so, he didn’t have the sense to shut the door. He cupped his hand against his mouth and took a deep breath before shouting, “Who’s there? Show yourself!” The lightning flashed again, and this time there was no mistaking the fact that there were two creatures in his garden. The dog and someone—something—else. The figure stood over the crouching animal, his arms raised over his head, hands wrapped around the handle of a long knife. It looked like the knife his mother used to carve the roast. In an instant, he felt the thick texture of fur beneath his fingers and saw the strange trust in the beast’s brown eyes. There was no conscious thought, no sense of right or wrong or the potential danger. Something stirred deep inside of him. An instinct that scalded cool logic and common sense, burning it away until there was nothing beyond the need to act. He sprang forward, unmindful of the slicing wind or the hard pellets of rain slamming into his mouth and eyes. He didn’t know what he thought he was going to do. Wrestle the knife from the man’s hands and hope he didn’t get stabbed himself? But by the time that occurred to him, he was already in motion. The world erupted in bright blue, and now the figure was less than a foot away. He was facing Travis, his eyes blazing a violent 23

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shade of red. But he didn’t have a face. Even in the perfect light, there were no features, no shapes or planes. It was as though the light had simply stopped there, the darkness too deep to be penetrated. Travis stopped short, and he shouted something, but even he couldn’t hear the words. The sonic blast of the accompanying thunder nearly knocked him to the ground, the sound echoing in his skull with endless vibrations. A growl followed the thunder and Travis’s blood turned to ice water. Any creature with a sense of self-preservation would recognize that sound and would know to run. It was the voice of hunger, the last, terrible warning before blood spilled. But he didn’t have anywhere to run. He braced himself against the inevitable attack, but when he saw the shadow lunge, he realized the growl hadn’t been meant for him. In a final blast of light, Travis witnessed the struggle. The dog’s mouth was pressed to the figure’s throat, and blood mingled with rain as it flowed to the slick mud. Perfect darkness enshrouded him once again and a sharp pain pierced his skull, directly between his eyes. The last thing he heard was thunder rolling, crashing, down the hills. The angels are playing nine-pins, he thought before his mind surrendered to the darkness. *

*

*

“I’m going to Margaret’s today. She’s hosting a quilting bee and I told her I hadn’t done that in years, but she insisted. She said it would be fun, and I’m sure it will be. But she’s going to be serving tea, so I won’t be making anything tonight. Will that be fine?” “I’m sorry, Mum. What was that?” 24

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“Do you mind if I don’t make tea tonight?” Travis looked up from his coffee and nodded. “Sure.” “I thought you could go to the pub.” “Yeah, I’ll do that.” “Don’t you like the pub?” “What? The pub is fine.” “Son, are you all right?” Agnes leaned forward and covered his hand with her thin fingers. “Did the storm upset you last night?” Travis asked himself for the hundredth time why he made the effort to drag himself out of his room that morning. His body had protested every step, and his brain felt like porridge. He tried to concentrate on what Agnes was saying, but every syllable needed to filter through his sludgy brain. It took too much energy to parse her questions and then form a coherent response. “No, Mum, the storm was fine.” “I still can’t believe I fell asleep so early last night. I must have been more tired than I thought. I didn’t miss anything good on the television, did I?” Travis studied her face and didn’t see any hint of selfawareness there. She looked at him with the same absently pleasant expression she always wore. “No, it was nothing but a bunch of repeats. And then the power went out.” “So I guess I did miss a bit of excitement. Did you see the neighbor’s garden? A lightning struck their tree and split it right in two. It’s a miracle that the tree didn’t go right through their house. It’s lucky nobody was hurt last night.” He rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, lucky. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get to work.” Agnes only gripped his fingers tighter. “Are you sure? Why don’t you take the day off?” 25

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“I can’t take the day off, Mum,” Travis bit out, pulling away from her. “I’ve got work to do.” “I know, dear. But you push yourself so hard. And you look like you didn’t get a bit of sleep last night. Are you sure the storm didn’t upset you?” “I’m fine.” Agnes regarded him with skepticism, but she didn’t stop him from leaving. Despite his claim that he had work to do, he bypassed his office for his bedroom, a sigh of relief escaping him as soon as he closed and locked the door. A glance in the mirror revealed ashen cheeks, an unshaved jaw, and sunken eyes. He really did look like he had been awake for the past forty-eight hours, but he knew that couldn’t be the case. He had woken up that morning, which meant at some point, and for some duration, he slept. Even if he had no memory of sleeping at all. Travis slumped on the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing over the disrupted sleep. It appeared that only one body had slept in that bed. There wasn’t even room for two people to fit comfortably, especially not two adult men. He grabbed the pillow and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply to catch the smell of something besides his own shampoo. But he only smelled himself on the linen. There wasn’t a single speck of evidence that he hadn’t been alone all night, yet Travis knew the truth. For one thing, somebody had dragged him out of the storm and into the house. The mysterious person had undressed him and put him to bed with not one, but two extra blankets. For another thing, Travis hadn’t woken up alone. As he swam back to consciousness, he had become increasingly aware of the strong arms wrapped around him and hard chest cradling his head. An earthly, slight bittersweet smell had assailed him, and he couldn’t put his finger 26

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on it, but he recognized it. It was masculine and wild, and Travis had literally shivered in delight. He knew if he ever experienced that scent again, he would recognize it immediately. “Am I going out of my mind? That couldn’t have been a dream.” Except that it could have been. All of the previous night’s events could have been a dream. It all made sense if Travis wrote it off as a pure fantasy or a nightmare. There was no evidence of a dog in the backyard. No paw prints in the mud, no blood on the grass, no mysterious dead bodies. He should be able to push it all out of his mind and get back to work. But as much as he wanted to do exactly that, he knew he couldn’t. He still had faith in his own reason and objectivity, and he knew what he saw. He couldn’t explain it, and that was more than a little troubling, but he couldn’t deny it either. But who had held him? Who had saved him? And who watched over him? Was it all related to that black dog? Had there been some merit in Agnes’s ramblings? Travis decided he needed to take a mental health day from work and get to the bottom of the mystery. The sooner he did, the sooner he would be able to concentrate again. There had to be a reasonable explanation for who had been in the garden, and what had hit him, and how he’d made it back to his room, and why he could still feel secure, strong arms wrapped around him. There had to be.

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CHAPTER 4 Travis never liked mysteries. Agnes had a whole bookshelf dedicated to Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, and she never missed an episode of show like Midsomer Murders, but Travis never understood the appeal. Now he regretted never reading her books or watching her shows like she always asked him to do. Maybe if he had, he would know what to do now. Or maybe it wouldn’t have prepared him anymore than reading science fiction prepared him to be a starship captain. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it. But he didn’t know what his other options were. He certainly wasn’t going to ask around the village to find out if anybody else had seen the dog. They already viewed him with a healthy dose of skepticism, and thought he was suspicious by virtue of being from London. 28

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He might not have had the appropriate background in solving mysteries, but he was a reasonable person. And his reason told him he needed to find that dog. Once Travis ascertained it actually existed, he would figure out his next move. He was no longer convinced the dog necessarily belonged to a farmer, but he knew nobody in the village owned such a beast. Which meant he needed to trek back up the trail and look for any clues that would lead him to either the animal, or better yet, the dog’s owner. Travis was just grateful that Agnes would be kept busy quilting all day. The last thing he wanted to do was try to explain the situation to her. If he did, he would sound like he was the one who needed medication. The trail was almost impassable due to the thick, gloppy mud that caught his feet and pulled him back with each step. He mentally wrote off his shoes, knowing they would never be the same again, and pushed forward, ignoring the burn in his legs and his lungs. The incline of the trail was so mild that he usually barely noticed the passage of three or four miles. But each mile felt like ten as he fought for every step. Travis wasn’t a superstitious man, but it almost felt like the hills were trying to keep him away from the spot of Walfrod’s gibbet. Like they were actively resisting him and they wouldn’t stop until he’d been completely defeated. Well, that’s not going to happen. Not today. I don’t care how muddy it gets out here. By the time he reached the crossroads that took him up into the hills, he was beginning to regret his bold declaration. But if he turned around, he’d just be exhausted, filthy, and no closer to any sort of explanation. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, searching for a sign of the dog, or any tracks at all. There weren’t any. Nobody had passed on the trail since the sun burst through the 29

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clouds. At least nobody that would leave a print. That thought sprang from nowhere and sent a chill down his spine. What sort of creature wouldn’t leave a track? The reasonable side of him asked. The other side of him simply shuddered and refused to consider the possible answer. The dog was not waiting for him when he reached the former location of the gibbet. Travis had known it wouldn’t be, but he still whistled softly and snapped his fingers, hoping to call the animal to him. It didn’t work and nothing rustled in the underbrush. Travis stood in the center of the trail, his hands on his hips, and his shoes gradually sinking into the mud. On his right was the path back to Nether Stowey and his safe, dry home. The trail he considered to his left, twisting and turning through the hills for another thirty miles. Straight ahead of him was nothing but the dense woods. Home wasn’t an option, which gave him two possibilities with equal potential for disappointment and failure. Travis chose to leave the trail. He took a deep breath and pushed into the underbrush, unmindful of the sharp twigs and brambles stabbing at him. Sunshine filtered through the trees, and the untouched leaves and grass glistened in the light, fat drops of rain still clinging to the tips. The air was sweet and fresh, and each breath brought the pleasant hint of earth and blossoms and life. The trees were dark, their bark still damp from the storm. The long grass tickled his ankles and left thin trails of water on his legs as they dragged across his pants. After the first dozen feet or so, Travis realized it was better to be off the trail. The ground was still wet, but the vegetation protected him from sinking too deeply into the mud. He lost track of the time that passed and the distance traveled as he ventured deeper and deeper. Travis expected to hear birds 30

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singing and animals moving and the wind whispering through the trees, but there was nothing. In the perfect silence it was difficult to remember that Nether Stowey even existed. He felt like the only person alive for miles and miles. The thought was more than a little unnerving because he could believe it. After what he experienced in the thunderstorm, he felt like anything was possible. Finally, he couldn’t take another step. His body was drained from fighting against the mud, and his chest ached. The stitch in his side grew larger with each step, until he couldn’t take a breath without wincing. He might have spent most of his adult life walking around London, but the nicely paved roads couldn’t have prepared him for an endless hike through the deep woods in search of something he couldn’t even name. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for any hint of the black dog, but the beast was as absent as the birds. Travis leaned heavily against the closest tree, cursing himself as ten different kinds of a fool. He was no closer to solving the mystery that plagued him, but now he was filthy, sweaty, exhausted, and lost. And that was by far the most troubling aspect of his current predicament. How could he trace his steps if he didn’t leave any tracks? He finally understood the wisdom of Hansel and Gretel and wished he was as intelligent as two kids in a doomed fairy tale. At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t even have the sense necessary to escape the witch’s house. Almost as soon as the image of the gingerbread house rose in his mind, he noticed a lazy halo of smoke climbing into the sky. With a squint, he peered through the trees and thought he saw a hint of something red. He pushed away from the tree to creep closer, not truly believing his own eyes as the unmistakable shape 31

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of a cottage began to solidify in front of him, as though it was literally made of the shadows that surrounded it. At thirty meters, he could see the shutters on the windows were real. At twenty meters, he realized the cottage was built of stone, not wood and not gingerbread. Smoke came up from the chimney, but that was the only sign of life. There were no lights in the window, nothing in the small clearing around it, and still no hint of birds. Travis swallowed the sudden scratching of fear in his throat. There was nothing to be afraid of. He was probably trespassing on private land, and in that case the worst that could happen is an old man waving a gun at him. On the bright side, said old man might know who owned the black dog, or even be the mysterious owner himself. Travis approached the house like he had every right to be there, his attention never leaving the closed door. He knocked smartly once he reached it, pasting a pleasant smile on his face. The seconds crawled by with no response. He knocked again, his knuckles rapping against the hard wood. But that wasn’t any more successful than the first attempt. Hoping the third time would be the charm, he tried again, knocking harder in case the occupant was in the back or asleep. This time, the door swung open on quiet hinges. If he were in a movie, he’d choose that moment to spin on his heel and march back into the woods. But he wasn’t in a movie, and the monsters that lurked in mysterious cottages and dark woods didn’t exist. Travis pushed the door open wider and peered inside. “Hello? Is there anybody here? I’m lost and I was hoping you’d have a phone.” Still no response. Gathering up his courage, Travis stepped into the small home. 32

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It was like stepping into another century. A fire merrily danced in the hearth, a caldron hanging above it. There were no electric lights, no televisions, no radios, and no phones. The walls on either side of him were covered by bookshelves full of old, leather bound volumes, and the only pieces of furniture were a table, a chair, and a small pallet that must have served as a bed. Despite being so small and old-fashioned, it was in good repair and the floor was clean. Travis didn’t see a speck of dust anywhere. Travis had heard of people who lived in cottages and shacks like that. Tired of the fast-paced world, they chose to become hermits, sequestering themselves in the wilderness with their books to live off the grid. Did a survivalist live there? Some crazy man with more guns than sense? There weren’t any weapons in plain sight, but that didn’t mean anything. “Hello?” His feet led him to the nearest bookshelf, and he scanned the titles searching for a clue of their owner. Shakespeare, Dickens, Milton, Pope, Wordsworth, Coleridge. “Great, now I know an English guy lives here.” “Yes. Are you looking for a particular English guy?” Travis spun around, his heart thundering in his ears. The owner of the voice stood in the doorway, his tall frame and broad shoulders blocking the sun. Travis couldn’t see his face or his hands. Everything was obscured for the briefest of moments, like a deep shadow covered him, or his skin had turned into static. Travis blinked, and when he looked again, everything was normal and solid. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I got lost and I knocked on the door but nobody answered. Obviously. I don’t usually just invite myself into a stranger’s house, but the door opened and I just sort of 33

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wandered in. I’m sorry. I’ll get out of here. No harm, no foul, right?” Travis moved as he spoke, approaching the door. But the man didn’t step in or step out. He simply stood there, impossibly large in the tiny doorway. “It’s fine. I was expecting you.” “You were expecting me?” Travis still couldn’t see the man’s face, but his voice was deep and almost pleasant. “What are you talking about?” “You’re a bit earlier than I thought you’d be. But that’s not a problem.” “Who are you?” The man stepped forward, and sunlight hit his face. His features weren’t familiar to Travis, but the soft brown eyes grabbed his attention and held it. “We’ve actually met. But I guess you don’t remember.” “Remember? No, I don’t remember. Why don’t you refresh my memory?” “And if you don’t remember me, that probably means you don’t remember how I told you to get here.” The man looked down at Travis’s boots. “Looks like you took the long way. It’s okay. We can get that mud cleaned up.” “Who are you?” Travis repeated, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “What do you remember of last night?” “Last night? What do you know about last night?” The stranger smiled. “Perhaps you should answer my question first.” “Why should I?” “Because you’re standing in my house. I think that implies you owe me some measure of consideration.” 34

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Travis felt his cheeks turn bright red, ashamed of himself and equally embarrassed to be in the situation at all. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable telling you.” “Why not?” “Because you’re a stranger and it makes me sound like a crazy person.” “I’m not a stranger, Travis. You just don’t remember me. There’s a difference.” “Not from where I’m standing.” The man inclined his head and gestured at the chair. “Why don’t you have a seat? I can make us some tea.” “Over the fire?” He grinned. “No, I don’t live like a complete savage out here. Do you like it?” “Your house or tea?” “Both.” Travis sat with a soft sigh of relief. He was going to have some serious cramps that night, he could already tell. When had he let himself go? He needed to start exercising more. “Yes, I like both things very much. I feel like I should apologize again.” “Don’t. I want you here. That’s why I told you how to find me.” “You must have people stumbling over you all of the time.” “No. Nobody has ever stumbled over me.” The man moved to the back corner of the cottage and Travis noticed a small generator and a double-burner hob. “Nobody would find me if I didn’t want them to.” Travis swallowed. “Is that so?” “Yes.” “But you wanted me to find you?” 35

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“No.” “You just told me I wouldn’t have been able to find you otherwise,” Travis said, frowning. “You asked the wrong question.” He filled an old-fashioned kettle with water from a deep bucket and placed it on the hob. “I didn’t want you to find me. I needed you to find me. I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time.” “What’s your name?” He almost didn’t ask the question at all. Something deep inside of him, some sixth sense, told him that he didn’t want to know the answer. But he had gone that far, he couldn’t turn back now. Whatever was going on, he was involved. Maybe he had no choice in the matter or maybe he had blundered into the middle of something he could never hope to understand. But that didn’t change the fact that he was there and he needed to know the answer. “John Walford.” Travis had never fainted in his life. Not even when he was playing football and Jack Thompson slammed his foot into Travis’s face, breaking his nose and blackening both eyes. The pain had been so intense that the world bent and wavered around him, coming perilously close to slipping away entirely, but he kept his wits, he clung to consciousness. Unfortunately for Travis, he didn’t win the battle a second time.

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CHAPTER 5 When Travis woke up he noticed two things at once. First, his head was pillowed on something amazingly soft. It felt like what he imagined it’d be like to sleep on a cloud. The second was the man who called himself John Walford watching him with anxious eyes, his face only inches away. “Are you feeling all right? You’re not injured, are you?” “Injured? No, I don’t think so. Did I bump my head?” “No, I caught you before you hit the ground.” “Then why did you ask if I was hurt?” “I meant last night. Were you injured last night?” “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Travis asked irritably, the last thread of his patience gone. “I don’t remember what happened last night. What the fuck is going on around here?” 37

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John sighed. “It’s difficult to explain.” “You should try anyway.” “How do I know you won’t pass out again?” “I’m just tired.” John didn’t look convinced, but he straightened and left Travis’s side. “Would you still like tea?” “I think it’s more like I need the tea.” Now that he was fully awake, he felt more than a little ridiculous that he had passed out when he heard the man’s name. John was the most common name in the world, and Walford wasn’t exactly obscure, especially in that area. So what if he shared the name with a man who had been hanged for murder three centuries earlier? Travis probably shared his name with more than a few murderers. “I’m sorry, by the way.” “For what?” “Being such a nuisance. Returning your hospitality by passing out and then snapping at you. I’m not usually like this.” “I know.” “You know? How could you possibly know? We’re strangers.” “No, we’re not, as I tried to tell you before. We’re not strangers, Travis.” He felt his irritation returning to the surface and quickly squashed it. His apology wouldn’t sound very sincere if he followed it up with another burst of temper. “When did we meet?” “All in good time. I’ll explain everything after you have some tea. You’re sure you’re not hurt.” “Yes.” “Good. And your mother? How is she today? The storm didn’t upset her too much?” “She’s fine,” Travis said flatly. He wasn’t about to tell the stranger of her panic the night before or her memory lapse this 38

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morning. He didn’t even tell his own brother about things like that. “Does she know you’re here?” “No.” “She probably would have tried to stop you if she had known of your intentions.” He poured the hot water into a mug. “Not that I would blame her.” “Why’s that?” “Because she’s your mother. She supposed to protect you from the wicked things in the forest.” Travis swallowed. “Oh? Does that include you?” “No.” He crossed the room, a cup in each hand. “But she doesn’t know that.” Travis accepted the cup and took a deep breath, trying to place the scent. It definitely wasn’t good old Earl Grey, or any other blend that Travis was familiar with. He remembered watching Snow White with his mother when he was seven or eight and yelling at the dumb girl for eating the apple. Everybody knew you shouldn’t ever eat anything a stranger gave you. Travis pretended to sip the murky liquid, and then lowered the cup. “Perhaps you should go introduce yourself to her.” John laughed at that, a sound that almost surprised Travis into spilling his untouched tea. “I have.” “And she still thinks you’re one of the wicked things? Maybe I should take that into account.” “She’s met me, but she doesn’t know me.” John sighed, all hints of mirth gone. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for somebody like you, Travis.” “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” “I know. I’ve had years to think about this conversation. I’ve fantasized about a million different scenarios, playing the parts for 39

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both sides. But I’m no closer to knowing how it should go.” John settled on the floor beside him, sitting cross-legged. It gave Travis a chance to study the other man more closely. If they had met on the street, Travis would have stolen a second and a third glance. His black hair hung in loose curls to his neck, and a black mustache and beard framed a full mouth. His eyes were surprisingly expressive, accentuated by high cheekbones and a slightly sloped brow. “Maybe you should start at the beginning,” Travis suggested, debating whether or not he should make a break for it. If he saw this same scenario unfolding on the silver screen, would he be shouting at the protagonist to pull his head out of his ass and start running? Or would he be sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for the explanation? “Why am I different? Why have you been waiting for somebody like me?” “You are a kind person.” “You’ve been waiting for somebody as kind as me? I’m kind of a jerk.” John shook his head. “You spoke to me. You touched me. You fed me. You tried to save me.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Yes, you do.” “No, I really don’t,” Travis insisted, setting the cup aside and sitting up. He needed to get out of there in case the crazy was catching. “Thank you for not calling the cops and for offering me tea, but I need to go.” John grabbed him by the wrist, his strong fingers biting into his flesh. Travis was sure a bit more pressure would shatter his bone like it was made of nothing stronger than sugar. “You need to hear me out.” 40

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“Are you giving me a choice?” Travis asked softly. “No.” “Very well. You can let go.” “I will, but you need to understand that if you run, I will catch you.” “I understand.” “I have no wish to harm you, Travis. We can help each other. But you need to listen to me and…accept what I have to tell you.” At that point, Travis would say anything, promise anything. If the very strong man who was currently holding him captive wanted him to listen to a crazy story, what choice did he have? “I’ll listen.” “We met the day before yesterday on the trail. I saw you were alone after dark, and I wanted to make sure you returned home unmolested.” “Are you trying to tell me that you were that black dog?” Travis asked, surprised that he was even in the position to ask such a question. Saying it out loud only made it more ridiculous. “Yes.” “Let me guess. It’s a curse?” “It is. Most of the time I’m just as you see me now. But during the new moon, I turn into the black dog. I’m supposed to haunt the hills and do what all the black dogs do.” “All of them? What do they do?” John tilted his head. “You don’t know? I thought you would be familiar with the legend.” “I’m not.” “Black dogs are harbingers of death and disease. I suppose it is easiest to think of us as minions.” “Of who? The devil?” 41

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“No. Maeveen.” “What’s a Maeveen?” “Not what, who. She’s a very old witch.” Travis sighed. “Of course she is. How silly of me not to realize that before. So if you’re the minion of an ancient and powerful witch, what were you doing helping me?” “She might have cursed me, but she didn’t remove my free will or the ability to think for myself. Unlike her, I still care about the difference between right and wrong. I resist her when I’m capable of it.” “What about when you’re not capable of it?” “That happens rarely. You recognized my name?” “Everybody around here recognizes the name of John Walford. The children use it to scare each other when they’re telling ghost stories. But I suppose it’s a pretty common name, right? You’re not going to tell me that you were killed in the eighteenth century.” The other man inclined his head. “That’s how I became cursed. But that’s not important right now. I need your help. It is possible to kill Maeveen and break the curse, but I cannot do that without your help.” “Why would I even want to help you? This is crazy. This is a crazy story and for all I know you’re a crazy person. Or maybe I’m the crazy person. Either way, I don’t want to get mixed up in curses and witches, I want to go home.” “To your mother? She’s involved in this, too.” Travis stiffened. “You leave her out of this.” “I would, but it’s too late. It’s far too late for that. She needs your help, too, Travis. Can you turn your back on that?” “Why does she need my help?” “Maeveen has cursed her, too. The two of them have an ancient 42

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feud.” “How could my mother have an ancient feud with anybody? She’s sixty years old. Or are you going to tell me she’s immortal?” “No, not quite that. This might be easier for you if you drank the tea.” Travis eyed the cup suspiciously. “That just makes me think I was right not to touch it. What did you put into it?” “It’ll help you see everything for what it is.” “Somebody said that to me in university once, right before they gave me a tab of acid.” “I already told you I don’t wish to harm you. This is perfectly safe.” “Right, but if you did wish to harm me, that’s exactly what you would say to set my mind at ease. You don’t need to give me some sort of drug to tell me the truth. Not that I’m convinced I’ve heard anything resembling the truth since you started talking.” John’s lips thinned and Travis saw the first spark of impatience in his eyes. “You saw me last night in the storm. Do you remember that?” “Yes.” “Do you remember seeing a man?” “Yes.” “He was sent by Maeveen to kill you. You do not have to believe me, but what if I’m telling the truth? Are you willing to risk your life? Or your mother’s life? I may not be able to save her next time. If Maeveen has her way, I’ll be dead by then. That’s why I need you. You can save her. You could save us both.” “Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe all of this. You’re some sort of werewolf, and my mother who’s suffering from dementia is really locked in an epic battle with a witch who 43

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lives in the same hills where Samuel Coleridge once walked and wrote poetry. Let’s say I buy all of that. What on earth do you think I can do about it? Should I shoot her? Are witches vulnerable to bullets?” “You’re not powerless, Travis. You just haven’t discovered what you’re capable of.” “How do you know what I’m capable of?” John held out his hand. “Because you can touch me.” “What?” “Your fingers don’t pass through me. You’re the first person who has touched me since I died.” Travis’s stomach shriveled to the size of walnut. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t talk about being dead.” “But I am. Yet for you I am solid. You’re special, Travis. Maybe your mother has always known that, and she wished to protect you from the truth. Or at least protect you from Maeveen. She thinks you are nothing but a typical mortal. If she finds out otherwise, she’ll target you next.” “What the hell? If that’s the case, maybe we shouldn’t be discussing this at all.” “If she doesn’t know you’re special, she won’t see you coming.” It made sense. Travis had seen enough movies about the special farm boy called for a magical quest to understand the logic. But he never wanted to be the one called up for such a journey. Even when he was a child and those stories excited his sense of adventure, he never imagined himself going off to battle the evil sorcerer or witch. He never imagined himself fighting evil in any guise. “Did you…after I passed out, did you put me to bed?” 44

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“I couldn’t leave you in the rain. Not after what you did for me.” “And what was that, exactly?” “I told you.” John leaned forward and touched Travis’s cheek. The same strong fingers that had held him in place now touched him with tenderness. Without thinking, Travis covered John’s hand with his own, holding the warm fingers against his skin. It should have repulsed him, but John didn’t feel like a dead man. “You saved my life. At the risk of your own. You ran out into the storm and stopped Alberich from destroying me.” Travis released him and pulled away from the contact, his stomach feeling even tighter than before. “I need a chance to think about all of this.” “There isn’t time.” “There’s time. If even half of what you said is true, there’s time for me to go home and sleep on this.” John inclined his head. “I’ll take you home then.” “That’s not necessary.” He smiled, and the gesture was so alien, so out of place that Travis didn’t know what to make of it. “It is necessary. If it makes you more comfortable, I can be the dog.” “You can shift at will?” “When there’s no moon.” “You don’t have to do that. I mean, I don’t find this form objectionable or anything.” John stood and held out his hand. Travis took it, though he didn’t quite know if he needed the assistance or if he just wanted another excuse to touch the strange man. Perhaps John had wanted another excuse to touch him. If what he was saying was true, it’d been several centuries since anybody touched him. If. If he was 45

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telling the truth. And how could he possibly be telling the truth? But Travis realized he didn’t want to doubt him. As crazy as it seemed, he wanted to believe John’s story. He wanted to believe it all depended on him and he could save his mother. Who didn’t want to be the hero of his own story? John pulled him to his feet and Travis realized they were the same height. It shouldn’t have mattered at all, but Travis felt a little thrill at the realization. Their mouths were even, as were their eyes. At that small distance, it was easy to get caught in the brown depths. He wished the eyes really were windows to the soul. He’d look into John’s soul, read everything there, and then it would be easy. Several beats passed before Travis realized that they were still standing there, neither of them making any effort to move. With a rush of embarrassment, Travis pulled his hand free. “It’s difficult to believe you’re really a dead man when I can do that.” “Would it be easier if you see me try to touch somebody else?” “It might be.” John nodded, though all traces of his earlier smile were gone. Travis felt a strange pang of regret at that, as though it was his duty to keep the other man smiling. John gestured toward the door, indicating he would follow Travis out. As he walked through the entryway, he wondered if he would ever return to that strange little cottage. And if he did, would he risk drinking the offered tea? Did he want to see the world stripped of enchantment? It sounded like it would be a very bad trip. John led him back into the woods, but instead of crashing through the trees like an idiot, he found a narrow trail that took them past the worst of the undergrowth. Travis watched his feet, wondering if he would float over the ground, but he walked like 46

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any man. The only difference was that he didn’t leave fresh prints in the slick mud. Travis looked over his shoulder more than once, marveling at the single set of tracks leading away from the cottage that shouldn’t have been there. “Are there any other…cursed souls in the area?” “A few.” “I would expect there to be more than a few.” “Why?” “I don’t know. Because everybody dies. There should be ghosts all over the hills, I figure.” “Not everybody who dies becomes a ghost. Most don’t.” “Then what makes somebody a ghost?” “Bondage.” “Bondage?” “Being bound to somebody else. It’s my understanding that intense emotional bonds can lead to ghosts. But Maeveen cursed me to be bound to her for her existence.” “So what happens if she’s destroyed? I mean, what will happen to you? Will you die?” “I’m already dead.” “Will you die again?” “Yes. I’ll be set free. I’m not sure where I will go after that. I fear I’m damned.” “So…if I do whatever it is you think I should do, I’ll never see you again?” “Yes.” “Does that scare you? Death scares me.” “Perhaps it would if I had something to live for. But I have been waiting to be freed for a very long time.” “So has my mother,” Travis murmured, feeling a new weight 47

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settle over his chest. He wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth of anything John had told him. The part of him with both feet firmly planted in the modern world demanded far more evidence for all the claims that were outlandish and bizarre on their face. But the rest of him knew that once he found the evidence he needed, he would do whatever John asked of him. Because it was the right thing to do. Because if he could have his mother back just for a day, it would be worth any fighting any battle.

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CHAPTER 6 Travis leaned against the sink, absently listening for the teakettle as he surveyed the garden. There was a dog-shaped shadow at the far end, beneath the hydrangea bushes. Travis had finally relented and allowed John to stay, thinking the two of them would pass the afternoon drinking tea in the kitchen. But John had quietly thanked him and told him he would be back shortly. John didn’t actually return, but about thirty minutes after he left, Travis saw the giant black dog standing in the middle of the lawn. It wasn’t complete proof. John could have been sitting in the pub and the black dog’s arrival could have just been a coincidence. But Travis couldn’t pretend he believed in that level of coincidence. There wasn’t any ground beef left in the fridge, so Travis 49

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brought a big bowl of ice water to the black dog and murmured an apology for not having more. The beast looked at him with undeniable gratitude and then lapped greedily at the water, swallowing more than half before looking up again with water dripping from his muzzle. Was John still himself? Did he still have a man’s consciousness? Or did he turn completely into a dog? “Do you know who I am?” Travis held out his hand. “Lick my hand if you recognize me.” The dog promptly licked the back of his hand. “Touch my wrist with your nose.” The cold, wet skin brushed against his pulse point. Travis swallowed, trying to wet the back of his tongue, and turned his wrist so his palm was skyward. “Open your mouth.” The dog promptly obeyed, the length of its teeth temporarily stealing Travis’s breath. The beast could tear him apart, its fangs more than capable of shredding his flesh. Its mouth was large enough to fit around Travis’s arm—or leg, or even his head. The animal was the perfect killing machine. Travis couldn’t have designed an animal more frightening or capable. Slowly, he extended his arm and fit his hand in the dog’s mouth, his knuckles brushing its tongue. The dog could have severed his hand with one bite and swallowed it with a single gulp of its massive throat. But it didn’t. He stood motionless, gazing up at Travis with trusting eyes. Only the sound of Agnes’s voice drifting over the garden fence could make Travis pull away. “Go hide. She’ll just be frightened if she sees you.” John bent his head to take another quick drink and then trotted across the lawn. Travis had watched him settle under the bushes, and now his attention and thoughts kept drifting back to the beast. 50

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The man. The ghost. “God, what the fuck am I thinking?” “What’s that, dear?” “Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.” “Is the tea ready?” “Almost, Mum.” He turned around and gently took her elbow to lead her from the window. “Why don’t you have a seat? It sounds like you had a long day.” “I did. But I can’t even remember the last time I had so much fun.” “That’s good. Are you going to go again next week?” “I think I should. It was wonderful to get out of the house.” “I’m glad you had a good time.” She even looked better, as though being around her friends had replenished her. Looking at her, he knew there wasn’t going to be a better time to talk to her. Her eyes were clear and aware, and she was watching him like she was fully aware of just who he was and just where they were. The question he wanted to ask settled right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t give it voice until he was sitting across from her, a cup nestled between his palms. “I was down at the pub earlier today for a pint and lunch, and I heard some tourists talking to Rex behind the bar. They asked him about the Gurt dog. Are you familiar with the legend?” “Of course, dear,” she said mildly. “Everybody knows about the Gurt dog.” “I couldn’t really hear Rex’s answer. Who is it?” Agnes smiled. “Remember when I used to tuck you in and tell you stories?” “Yes. That was a long time ago, Mum.” “It was, wasn’t it? I can’t believe I never told you about the Gurt dog.” She rubbed her brow just above her eye. “But maybe I 51

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did. You know how things are muddled now.” “If you did, I forgot it, too. What does Gurt mean? Great?” “Yes, the Great Dog. It’s said to be larger than other dogs, even bigger than a calf. It’s a black dog.” “What is that?” “A ghost. A portent. They only come to you when you’re about to die. A single look from a black dog will make you feel…depressed.” “What do you mean? Like you want to cry?” Agnes shook her head. “Like you want to kill yourself. Like you should kill yourself, because you understand for the first time how terrible the world is.” “Jesus, Mum. That’s awful.” “That’s only the beginning. A single touch from a black dog can stop your heart. But most often, they are signs of death and disease. They bring evil with them.” “And the Gurt Dog? It’s evil, too?” “Oh, no. The Great Dog protects the children and lone travelers. He’s…” She looked down, studying her tea. “He’s different. He watches over children who play in the hills and makes sure nothing happens to them. He watches over lone travelers to make sure they make it out of the hills safely. There’s even an old story that he once found Samuel Coleridge one night and escorted him back to his cottage.” “What makes him different?” “I don’t know, dear. Maybe he was a good man before he died. Maybe he’s trying to repent for an evil life.” “If you knew that the black dog in the area wasn’t dangerous, why did you try to warn me about him?” Travis asked gently. “He’s…” Agnes slumped in her chair and traced her finger 52

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along the edge of her cup. “Mum?” Her posture was familiar. He’d seen this happen before, and he knew he needed to keep her focused or he’d risk losing her for the day. “What were you saying? He’s what?” Agnes looked up again, but something was different. Something in her eyes. The light that had encouraged him to talk to her at all was gone. She was blank, like a thousand shadows obscured her face, hiding her from him. He knew if he reached out and took her hand the skin would be cold. “Don’t go near the black dog. Have you seen him?” “No.” Her hand darted across the table, quick as a snake. “Don’t you lie to me, son. I can see it when you lie. God can see it when you lie. Do you understand me?” “I’m not lying to you.” “If you ever see the black dog, you tell me right away. Do you understand me? He’ll curse you, bunny. He’ll kill you.” “It’s just a legend.” Her grip tightened and she leaned over the table, half laying on top of it. “It’s not just a legend. The black dog is dangerous. He works for the Father of Lies. He wants to destroy you, bunny. He knows you’re special. He can see you and he wants to destroy you.” Travis yanked away from her and stood. “It’s a legend, Mum. It’s a folk story. Nothing more than that.” “It’s more than that. You know it’s more.” She stood as well, her back stooped over, her face twisted with malice and fear. “You saw it. What do you know? What did you see?” “You’re kind of freaking me out here. Sit down and drink you’re tea.” 53

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The open-handed slap echoed in the kitchen, shocking him to his core. He barely felt the sting in his skin, but in the entire course of his life, his mother had never raised her hand in anger. Neither of his parents had ever struck him or even threatened him with the possibility. Travis opened his mouth, perhaps to chastise her, but the shock was still too strong to speak through. She stared at him with a mirroring look of horror, her eyes wide, her hand covering her open mouth. “Travis, I’m sorry.” Tears pooled in her eyes and slid down the ridges of her skin. “I’m so sorry.” “You’ve had a long day,” Travis said slowly, measuring each word. “Perhaps it would be best if you went and had a lie down.” “I don’t know what came over me.” “I know, Mum.” “I would never hurt you.” “I know that, too. Come on.” He wrapped his arm around her, marveling at how small she felt tucked against his body. She let him take her out of the kitchen and down the hall, not protesting at all as he ushered her into her room. She obediently shuffled to her bed and collapsed onto the mattress with a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know what happens to me. I don’t know.” “You’re sick,” Travis said softly. “That’s what happens to you. You’re ill. There’s no shame in that, Mum.” “I’m not sick.” “Yes, you are.” “No, no, no.” Travis gently pushed on her shoulder until she lay back to cradle her head on her pillow. “Yes, Mum. Yes. That’s what the doctors have said. All of the doctors. It happens when you get older. It’s not fair and it’s not right. But it happens.” 54

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“I’m being destroyed,” Agnes muttered. “Inside.” Travis dropped to his haunches beside the bed. “What would you do to feel normal again? What would you give?” “Anything. Everything.” It was nothing besides what Travis thought. He could see the self-loathing in her eyes, in the moment right after she realized she didn’t know where she was, didn’t know who he was, didn’t know what they were doing. And now there was a different type of look on her face. More fear. She was so afraid, and he was, too. “The black dog, Travis. Stay away from him. Stay far away from him.” “You said he was good, don’t you remember?” He smiled encouragingly. “He watches over the children and helps the travelers. Isn’t that what you just said?” “Yes.” “So why should I stay away from him?” “He’s dangerous. I know he is.” “What if he could help you, Mum? What if he brought you home when you were lost? Would you trust him then?” Agnes looked troubled, and she bit her bottom lip, working it between her crooked teeth. She reminded him of a small child, doing her absolute best to work out a particularly vexing problem. He saw the determination in the set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow, as though she was fighting her way through invisible veils. “Yes. I would trust him to bring me home.” Then so will I. Travis understood the wisdom of taking any sort of advice from Agnes in this state was questionable, but his options were limited. He couldn’t rely on her to tell him exactly what to do, but when 55

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her instincts matched his own sense of reality, how could he deny that? How could he deny her the opportunity to be normal again? He was going to have to trust John. “Mum, I’m going to go out tonight.” “Where?” “Out. I’m going to ask Betty to come over and sit with you.” “That’s not necessary.” “It is, because I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” “Travis, you’re scaring me.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be scared. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” And that was a promise he intended to keep, no matter the cost.

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CHAPTER 7 “John? John, I need to talk to you.” Travis shut the door behind him and scanned the garden. “John, I need to talk to you right now.” “I’m here.” Travis spun around, his heart in his throat. John stepped away from the corner of the cottage, bare from the waist up. “Did you hear that conversation?” “Some of it.” “That’s not my mother in there. I’ve seen glimpses of her, but that’s not her. We need to change this. We need to fix her.” “We can get started right now.” “Good. First, I want you tell me everything about Maeveen. Everything. I want to know exactly how she knows my mother. I 57

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want to know what she’s vulnerable to. I want to know how she curses people. I want to know why she’s doing this. How much can you tell me?” “I’ll tell you everything I know. But I’ve got to warn you, it’s not a lot. I’m not exactly her favorite minion right now. I’ve been defying her rule for a long time.” “Any information is better than no information. Where can we go to talk? Back to your cottage?” “No, I have a friend here in Nether Stowey. It’ll be safe to speak there.” “Is your friend another witch or ghost or something?” “A puka.” “A…puka? You mean like Harvey?” “Who’s Harvey?” “It’s a movie. But I guess you’ve never been to a cinema.” “No. He lives on the other side of the village.” “Lead the way.” Travis didn’t even know if he believed pukas existed, but it didn’t matter anymore. He was putting his sanity and his mother’s life in John’s hands, and now that the decision was made, Travis wasn’t going to take it back. He rubbed his cheek, though the sting had long since faded. He thought he could still feel the heat from her hand on his skin. Just the day before, Travis would have said with confidence that witches and pukas were more likely than Agnes being moved to violence. The house John approached was slightly larger than the surrounding cottages, and slightly newer. Perhaps it had been built a mere one hundred years earlier, and it was immaculate. The garden was carefully tended, as though the occupant hired a professional to see to the trimming and weeding. Tall trees towered 58

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over the house, shading it and blocking it from view. Something about the home set him at ease. Despite how pristine it was, it was normal. It was standard. He passed it every time he went to the butcher’s shop. John opened the front door without knocking. Nerves tickled at the back of Travis’s neck, but he followed the other man into the cool foyer. The house was perfectly still. There were no hints of the television or a radio, no hum of electricity or central air. It had a sharp, fresh smell, like nobody had ever cooked or lived in the space. “Are you sure anybody’s home?” “He’s home.” “He’s not the jumpy sort, right? I make it a rule not to sneak up on jumpy people.” “He knows you’re here. You can’t feel him in your mind?” “In my mind? Why would I be able to feel him there?” “He reads minds.” “What? Why didn’t you warn me of that before? I don’t want him in my mind. Jesus. Could I really feel him doing that? What does it feel like?” John gave him a sideways look. “It itches.” “Your brain?” “Yes.” “That’s…really weird. And it’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve heard today. I wonder why I don’t feel anything? Where is he?” “The cellar.” “Great. Can’t we have this discussion at the kitchen table? Maybe out in the garden? Somewhere not as dank as a cellar.” “I believe he likes the dark.” “Is that a puka thing?” 59

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“It might just be a Roger thing. He’s a strange man.” “And coming from you, that’s saying something. You call him strange even though he can read your mind?” “Why not?” John took him through the small kitchen and pushed his shoulder against the cellar door. “He knows he’s a strange man.” “How long have you known him?” “A long time.” He held his hand out. “It’s dark.” “We can’t turn on the light?” “There are no lights.” “Oh, this is sounding better and better. Does he not have power? It’s one thing to live off the grid in the woods, quite another to do it in the middle of the village.” John responded by taking Travis’s hand. The tight grip on his fingers should have bothered him, but he just liked the warmth and the strength he felt. At first, Travis couldn’t force himself to take the first step. His legs were frozen, numb from his thighs down. The culmination of all his childhood fears lurked at the bottom of those stairs. The monster who lived under the bed, the unspeakable horrors in the darkness, the ghosts and the ghouls that had haunted his dreams for so many years. They were all there, and the final joke was that they were all real. Agnes had soothed him to sleep countless times with reassurances that the terrors lived only in his imagination. But they weren’t limited to his imagination. They were there in the woods and in his garden and in his mother’s head. “You won’t be harmed,” John reminded him gently. “I’d never allow any harm to come to you.” “That’s…actually reassuring.” He squeezed John’s fingers and took the first step in his descent. 60

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At first, he easily made out the edges of each step, relying on the light that filtered down from the kitchen. But after four stairs, the shadows overcame his vision. He extended his other senses as much as he could, but there were still no sounds, no smells. John could be leading him to his death. Fairy tale monsters were real, apparently. How did he know that an ogre didn’t live in the cellar, patiently waiting to grind his bones into flour? What assurances did he have that he wasn’t about to be murdered horrifically? None. He had zero assurances of that. “Roger? Are you here? I brought somebody I think you should meet. He has many questions.” “Who is he?” Travis moved his head from side to side, trying to find the source of the voice. There was no hint of light, no outline or shape to study. In that moment, there was nothing except the pressure of John’s fingers holding his. “Travis Olsen. He wishes to learn more about Maeveen.” “Well, Master Olsen, you may have a seat if you wish.” “He can’t see the chair, Roger.” “Right. Of course. How thoughtless of me.” A bright light flared above their heads, its source impossible to find. Not that Travis was particularly interested in why he could see as much as he was interested in what he was seeing. A very large, very dark horse with glowing yellow eyes. Travis knew his mouth was hanging open, but one never expected to find a horse at the bottom of the cellar steps. “You can sit anywhere you like,” the horse said, its upper lip moving. “Would you like some tea? I haven’t brewed a pot in ages, but I always keep some on hand.” “You’re a horse.” 61

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“Yes.” “A horse.” “That’s right.” “But…you’re speaking and you’re a horse.” The animal’s sides heaved in with a long sigh. “Well, I’m not a horse. I’m a puka. But for now I am living as a horse because it’s the only safe form. A puka like myself is most powerful as a horse.” “It’s more difficult for Maeveen to tap into his mind when he’s like this,” John added. “Maeveen can read minds, too?” Travis asked. “Yes, though not all of them, and not all of the time. But she can read my mind because I can read hers, if I wished. Not that I ever would. I took one peek into her subconscious once and I was sick for days. Would it make you more comfortable if I changed forms?” “No, it doesn’t matter.” Travis sat in the nearest chair, grateful that he didn’t have to remain standing while conversing with a horse. He looked around the small cellar, trying to take in as many details as he could, but none of them mattered when compared to the room’s occupant. “So are you down here because of Maeveen? Are you hiding from her?” “I’m not really hiding, since she knows exactly where I am. But I am trying to avoid attracting her attention. If she forgets I exist, then I can be of some service to you. Lately it’s been easier to avoid her. She’s been quite distracted.” “With my mother,” Travis said flatly. “Yes. Among other things. Johnny here certainly hasn’t been making her life easier, from what I understand.” “I’m doing what I can.” 62

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“Do you know my mother?” Travis asked. “I do. I’ve known her for a very long time, though she doesn’t remember that.” “Why doesn’t she? Because of Maeveen? John told me that she cursed Mum.” “No, it has nothing to do with Maeveen. She doesn’t remember me because of you.” Travis jerked back, feeling as though he’d been slapped for the second time in an hour. “Because of me? I never did anything to her. Never.” “You were born.” “Excuse me?” “There’s no need to sound so offended, young man. I’m merely trying to tell you the truth. Isn’t that why you’re here?” “Yes.” “What’s that?” “Yes,” Travis repeated, raising his voice. “Yes, that’s why I’m here. I want to know the truth.” “Are you sure? Humans have the amazing ability to request the very last thing they’ll ever need. It never fails. I can offer you the world, young Travis. I can grant you any wish, if I so desired. But instead of choosing to do something truly amazing with that power, your kind is always so…short-sighted. So petty.” “I know what I want.” “And what’s that?” “I want my mother to be well again. If that means I have to deal with some difficult truths, well…” Travis held his hands out and shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I?” “Yes, you are. You’ll forgive me if I’m rude, I hope. But as I’m sure you know by now, I can’t get into your mind at all. I can sense 63

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you’re thinking of something, but it’s all just out of reach. Quite remarkable for a human.” Travis looked up at John, trying to gauge the dead man’s reaction to the conversation between human and horse. Is this really my life now? How did this happen? I’m going to take a nice long holiday after this. “I hope you’re not trying to root around in there.” “You have nothing to fear. There’s no sense in wasting energy on a hopeless task. Not when I have so little to spare.” “How have you been feeling?” John asked. “I can go find food for you.” “No. I’m sure young Master Olsen would prefer you stay here. Or am I speaking out of turn?” Fear rushed through him at the thought of being alone with the puka. “No, I would rather John stay. What did you mean before? When you said that it was my fault my mother doesn’t remember you?” “I imagined that statement was self-explanatory. But I’ll tell you everything I can. You’re a foundling, Travis. A child abandoned in the woods with no identification, no clothes, no link to a name or a family.” “No…no, that’s impossible.” “I assure you, it’s quite possible. And it used to be more common, but now it’s gone out of vogue to take unwanted children into the woods. Anyway, more times than not the child would die before anybody found it. But not you, Master Olsen. You were a little fighter, you were. When Agnes found you, she fell in love. I’d never seen anybody so enchanted. From the moment she held you, boy, there was nobody else in the world.” “Who was she?” Travis asked softly, knowing in his bones that 64

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Roger was telling him the truth. “She was a very old fairy called Áine. But despite her years and her power, there was one thing she could never do. She could never be a mother. Until she found you.” “Are you telling me that Agnes Olsen is really a fairy? Seriously?” “Was a fairy. She became human so she could raise you, rejecting her gift of immortality and all of her magic. It was better that way for you. Safer. She never wanted you to know this world. If she knew what was happening now…” “Why doesn’t she know?” Travis pressed. “What’s wrong with her? Is it related to her being human? Does she need to become a fairy again?” “Perhaps, but that’s not the source of her current problems. Maeveen tricked Áine into gifting all her powers to her. But Áine hadn’t reached her age by being stupid. She attached a stipulation to the gift. Should Maeveen ever use her newfound abilities to harm humans, Áine would return and take all her powers back and kill Maeveen. But Áine cannot enforce a contract she does not remember.” “So Maeveen is destroying her memory.” “Yes. The human mind is a tricky, complex thing. Maeveen has had very few dealings with its intricacies. What she is attempting takes very careful, subtle work. It’s as though she’s performing delicate brain surgery with a chainsaw. She’s attempting to nullify Áine and destroying Agnes in the process. If she’s not stopped soon, your mother will die and there will be no check on her powers.” “Am I a fairy or a puka or anything like that?” “No, you’re a human.” 65

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“Then what chance do I have of defeating her? Honestly, I don’t even know how to kill a person. If I did have that knowledge, I would never get close enough to touch her.” “You’ve got something that Maeveen has never had and could never understand.” “What’s that?” “The gift your mother so readily gave you.” Travis couldn’t even be surprised that the talking horse communicated in riddles. Did he mean life? Love? Something else? Had Agnes ever given him a weapon? That would have been useful. Something heavy and with a sharp point. Or a gun. Not that he thought he could ever shoot a person, even if they deserved it. He didn’t even know how to hold a gun, much less aim one. Maybe John could actually strike the killing blow. He was older and stronger than Travis, plus he was already guilty of murder. “How do I find her?” “She lives in the fairy mound.” “Where?” “It’s impossible to say. She’s enchanted the entrance so nobody can see it and nobody can remember it if they do stumble across it.” “I know where it is,” John said softly. “I can take him there.” “What happens if I kill her? That’ll make my mother normal again, right?” “Yes. With Maeveen no longer in her mind, she will become the woman you remember.” “What about the woman you remember?” Travis asked. “Is she going to be a fairy again?” “I cannot answer that question. It’s up to her.” Travis would have preferred a flat out denial. He wanted to 66

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hear that it was impossible now for her to become a fairy again. He wanted to hear that Agnes would always be his mother, no matter what happened. The lack of that reassurance didn’t change anything, though. He’d rather Agnes become Áine again than remain a stranger to him. “I think I need some time to think about all of this.” “That’s understandable. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that there isn’t a great deal of time.” Travis rubbed his cheek. “No, you don’t need to mention it.” “You’re welcome to stay here if you like.” Roger lifted his head and shook his forelock away from his eyes. “As I’m sure you noticed, the house is empty.” Travis looked to John again. He didn’t want to stay in Roger’s cold, dark house. John’s cottage didn’t have power either, but at least it was cozy. Comfortable. It was also miles from his mother. “I would like him to come with me. I can prepare him for Maeveen,” John said. “But Mum…” “I can watch her,” Roger said. “She might be suspicious of a horse,” Travis pointed out. The horse disappeared, and a small bunny with a twitching nose stood in that space. “Is this better?” “It’s definitely stranger.” “Stay with John until the moon returns. I’ll watch over Agnes.” John touched his shoulder briefly. “He’ll keep her safe until we can kill Maeveen. I promise.” “Maeveen’s already tried to attack the house. If you weren’t there, that…man or whatever it was would have broken into the house and killed her.” The form in front of him changed again, this time taking the 67

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shape of a large dog. It was as black as John’s canine form, but he was slightly smaller, his head more rounded and broad. “Perhaps this is better.” “A bit, yes. I would rather trust my mum’s life with a dog than a bunny.” Travis stood. “Why am I special? Why can I touch John? Why can’t you read my mind? Am I something, too? Some sort of fairy?” “No. You’re a human,” Roger repeated. “Nothing more or less than that.” “Then what is the difference between me and everybody else?” “Maybe you were born special. Maybe you’re special because of Agnes. Does it make a difference? Regardless of the reason, it doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change what you can do.” “I’m not sure I know who I am anymore.” He turned and moved back up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the door. It felt good to step out of the enchanted darkness, but it would have felt better if he had stepped into a world of electricity and sound. A world that he knew. He blinked against the sunlight, waiting until the blurry lines became concrete shapes before stepping forward. He didn’t wait for John. He let himself out the front door, and though everything looked exactly the same as before, he couldn’t see it. The world was a different place.

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CHAPTER 8 John reflexively sniffed the air once they left Nether Stowey, but he sensed no difference on the currents. Normally the hills were a canvas of smells, painting a vivid picture of every man who passed through, every animal grazing through the woods, every bird drifting above the trees. He knew the woods better than he knew any part of himself. He knew the people in every village. He knew the beasts and the tourists, the pukas and the fairies, the ghosts and the witches. But when he shed the animal’s form and wrested his consciousness back from ancient instincts, his beloved home became alien. He had no choice but to be the dog when the moon disappeared, but the rest of the time, he had the option to exist as he pleased. When he had the choice, he remained a beast. He’d spent more 69

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time as a man in the past forty-eight hours than he had in the past two centuries. Roger had taught him early that he was less susceptible to Maeveen as an animal. The ancient magic keeping him bound to his mortal body was greater even than Maeveen’s ability. But after fifty years of an existence that would never end, John had realized he was simply too lonely to continue on in that way. Since death was not an option for the dead, he chose the closest he could get to oblivion. Now the foundling reminded him of everything he lacked. John had only seen Travis once as a child. He’d been a beautiful baby, with golden curls and bright, laughing blue eyes. Áine held the baby close to her breast, her long dark hair falling over him in a protective wave, her power emanating from her in a soft glow, holding John back several paces. He’d circled the clearing, fascinated and frightened at the same time, his stomach close to the ground. She disappeared from the woods after that day, taking the foundling with her and traveling far from the Quantock Hills. John had never expected to see her again. He certainly never thought he would see the child become a man, his hair darker, his eyes lighter. The few fairies he’d met since his death were nowhere near as beautiful as the man walking beside him. Roger claimed Travis was nothing but human, but John doubted that very much. He had the look of the fairy folk in his eyes. Perhaps his mother had been a young woman with fair skin who found herself with child and no memory of the baby’s father. Or perhaps the memory had been all too prevalent when she left her defenseless son in the woods. “Why are you staring at me?” Travis asked. “My apologies.” “You don’t need to apologize. I just want to know what about 70

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me is so fascinating.” Everything. “Your bravery.” “Is it still bravery when you don’t have a choice?” “Yes. You always have a choice. A man with less courage might have refused to believe me.” “A man with less courage probably wouldn’t have approached you to begin with,” Travis pointed out. “Or maybe that would be a man with more common sense. Mum always told me not to pet strange dogs.” “Are you frightened?” “Yes.” “You hide it well.” “You can’t smell my terror? I thought dogs could do that. Or do I need to piss myself first.” “I don’t have the canine’s senses as a man.” “Oh…well, I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.” “I enjoy answering your questions.” John chose each word carefully, relying heavily on the mental conversations he’d had with Roger over the years. He feared saying the wrong thing and sending Travis fleeing. The stress of speaking to Travis made his stomach and head ache with each word. “Do you? I thought you’d be tired of the stupid questions by now.” “No.” “Let me know when you do. I’ll take a break for a few hours.” “You should ask me anything you think you need to know,” John said solemnly. “I was joking. Trying to lighten the mood a little. Or maybe I just like to hear the sound of my own voice.” “So do I.” 71

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“What?” “I like hearing the sound of your voice.” “What…” An impossibly large shadow moved over them, and Travis raised his eyes heavenward. “What is that?” “Rain.” “Normal rain or something else?” “We’re close to the cottage.” “How close?” Perhaps not close enough. If he shifted, he could beat the coming storm. But Travis wouldn’t be able to match his speed, and he wasn’t large enough to carry the other man on his back. The clouds gathered in number, growing darker by the second. The sun was obliterated, and John felt a chill rolling down his spine. The chill echoed through him, and he felt the familiar pull. The darkness reached for him with infinitely long fingers, coaxing him into shedding what remained of his humanity. “Travis, if it gets too dark…I may not be able to control what happens.” “What do you mean? You’ll become the dog?” “Yes.” “That’s fine, as long as you’re not ravenously hungry.” “We need to hurry.” He took Travis’s hand without thinking, his only desire to pull Travis close and keep him safe. It was too dark, even accounting for the clouds, like twilight had fallen early. A cold wind encircled them, wrapping around them in icy chains. Travis shivered, his face reflecting John’s own uneasiness. The urge to shift intensified, this time fueled by the cold. The weight of Travis’s hand stopped him. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Travis muttered. “My 72

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stomach…God…” John quickened his pace, willing to drag Travis through the woods if he had to. He felt a tightness in the back of his neck and his own stomach began to churn. If they made it to his cottage, they would be safe. The magic he used to keep it shielded from Maeveen would easily defend against her. But the cottage had never seemed so far away. “Did you see that?” Travis asked breathlessly. “What?” John kept his attention on the trail straight ahead. “I saw something. In the trees ahead of us. It looked like a shadow.” “It was a trick of the light.” John didn’t believe that, but it was more important to keep moving. Thunder boomed above him, loud enough to hurt his ears. The sound was a physical assault, slamming into him like a brick wall. Travis made a small choked sound, and John risked a brief glance over his shoulder to see that Travis’s skin had a strange, green hue. “There it is again,” Travis said. “We’re almost to the cottage. It’s just past those trees…” John looked ahead again, only to see that the trail he’d been following was gone. There were no signs of any trail at all. The woods had swallowed up the path. He knew that couldn’t be happening. The trail was older than him, maybe even as old as the Quantock Hills themselves. It had to be a trick. A cheap glamour courtesy of Maeveen. But he wasn’t entirely reliant on his eyes. His heart knew where he should go. If he risked becoming the black dog again, his nose would lead him home. Another loud clap of thunder slammed through him. He felt it a split second before he heard it as the ground vibrated beneath his feet. “It’s not thunder,” Travis shouted at the same moment. “It’s 73

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not thunder.” The air suddenly stilled, the cold wind dying as quickly as it had arrived. The trees ahead of them began to buckle and bend, the swish of leaves loud enough to mimic a gale. The sound like thunder didn’t stop, and the ground continued to shudder and shake, one mini-earthquake following another. “What is it?” Travis asked. “Maeveen’s ogre.” “I see. How far are we from your cottage?” “I don’t know. I can’t tell. Can you see the trail?” “Yes.” “Then the glamour doesn’t work on you. I can’t see it. All I see are trees.” “What are we going to do?” Each word was harder to hear over the sound of the ogre’s approach. But the question on Travis’s face was obvious. Hating himself for it, John released Travis’s hand. The distance he immediately felt from Travis told him that it was the human shielding him from the worst of the glamour. “Listen…run to the cottage. No matter what happens.” He struggled with every syllable, his mouth resisting the human speech. “Stay there. You…you will…be safe.” “What’s wrong?” Travis demanded. “What’s happening?” “Please…do not argue. Just run.” “There’s a fucking ogre coming! I’m not going to leave you!” John pushed him with both hands, sending him stumbling into a tree. “I’ll keep him at bay. You need to run.” Travis didn’t look convinced that running was the best option, but a roar unlike anything John had ever heard stopped the man from arguing. He looked up at the angry sky, then back to John, his 74

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wide, blue eyes full of questions and fear. Without speaking, he sprinted down the trail John could no longer see. The darkness broke around him, as though he lived inside a bubble of light. As he ran, John could see the trail when his feet touched the ground, and the woods within touching distance of his fingers looked normal and sunny. John held his hands up in front of him, palms facing outward. Silver light extended from his nails, shining weakly in the darkness. A rush of heat pushed through him, followed by another chill. His muscles tightened, preparing for the change, and his flesh throbbed. It should not have hurt. John hadn’t felt pain since the day he was hanged, but it hurt now. He dropped his head, a harsh scream ripping through him, shredding his throat. He felt the bones in his face shift, and the scream became a howl. It echoed off the trees and reached the ears of every living thing within ten miles. He dropped forward on ready paws and stretched his back. A long shadow fell on the ground in front of him, and John looked up for his first sight of the ogre. It was difficult to gauge the height from so close to the ground, but the exact measurements mattered less than the fact that it looked like he could crush John under one massive foot. John curled his lip in a silent growl, his tail going up and his ears lying flat, and the ogre responded with a roar of his own. The monster didn’t have a weapon, but he probably never needed one with his great fists. John darted forward first, dodging fists and feet as he aimed for the ogre’s leg. His teeth closed in the thick flesh of his calf, and he ripped a mouthful free as the ogre shouted in pain. Blood flowed over his muzzle and down his throat, feeding the fire in his chest. Soon it would be burning out of control, and he would lose himself to the bloodlust. He had only ever been in that state twice before, 75

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but his memory of both events was hazy at best. John ducked out of the way as the ogre swung for him and then returned to the same leg, ripping another hunk of flesh away. This time, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the ogre’s rage. One meaty hand caught him in the side and sent him flying into the nearest tree. He barked in surprised pain and tried to push himself to his feet, but his ribs were too sore. The ogre loomed above him, its ugly face twisted in a broad smile of triumph. I can’t die. How can I die? I’m already dead. But it sure as hell felt like he could die. His sides heaved with broken breaths, and the pain paralyzed him. It might not have been severe, but it was new. Nothing had hurt like this in centuries. He didn’t know how to process it or explain it, and that more than anything kept him pinned to the ground. Each breath cost more energy than he had to spare. His heart hammered in his aching chest. His heart. Blood rushed through him and out of him, matting his fur. The ogre caught the scent of it, his nostrils flaring, his chest rumbling with another growl. He bent low, putting his head close to John’s prone body with pointed teeth bared. John braced himself for the sharp slash of teeth through his soft belly, but the teeth never touched him. The only warning either of them had was a deep shout and then there was the thwack of a steel blade connecting with flesh and tendons and bone. Black blood sprayed over John and across the tree, leaving behind the sickening smell of sour eggs. He looked up in time to see Travis pull the blade free from the ogre’s neck, raise the axe high overhead, and bring it down again. By the third blow, the head hung from a single thread of flesh and the ogre had collapsed in a lifeless heap. “Nice axe. I found it in your cottage. Which is just on the other side of those trees, by the way. John?” Travis crouched beside him 76

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and tentatively touched his ear. “You’re really hurt, aren’t you?” John lifted his head and whimpered. Travis’s gentle touch helped, distracting him from the pain and the indignity of his situation. “How did this happen? I thought you were a ghost?” John lowered his head and closed his eyes. At least being a dog saved him from having to answer honestly. “Can you get up? Or are you too hurt?” John rolled to his stomach and put his feet under him. He shakily pushed himself into a seated position, and the fresh wounds in his side screamed in protest. His breath stopped, frozen in his tender chest. But he couldn’t stay like that. He needed to stand. He needed to do that much at least. With a low growl, he straightened his back legs and took a tentative step. Pain erupted in red flames before his eyes and he almost feel again. He would have if weren’t the projective arm Travis put around him. “I thought you were supposed to be protecting me,” he said lightly. “And here I am, saving your life. I’m going to have to carry you. Fortunately, we’re not too far, but I doubt it’s going to be very comfortable for you. Lay down again.” John didn’t move. His knees shook and he knew he’d be on the ground again one way or the other, but he didn’t want to force Travis to help him. The thought of being so weak in front of the man hurt worse than his broken ribs or the gash through his hide. “Don’t be so stubborn. We don’t know if this guy has a friend, and I’m not sure how many giants I can kill in one day.” He put his hand between John’s shoulders and pushed him down to the ground. John didn’t have a choice but to obey Travis’s silent order, and he stretched out on his uninjured side, miserable and trembling. 77

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Travis bent at the knees, slid his arms under John, and then stood. He staggered back a step and almost tripped on the dead ogre. John automatically tensed, preparing for the fall, but Travis’s arms tightened around him, and John knew he was going to be safe. “God, you’re heavier than you look. My back is going to be killing me tomorrow. I hope you have some tea besides that questionable brew you tried to serve me yesterday. I think we could both use a cuppa, don’t you?” John was only half aware of the world around him, but each step that took them away from the ogre carried them into the light. Whatever magic Maeveen had weaved around him was broken now. Did that mean he would be returning to normal? John hoped so. Everybody feared death, but he had embraced it. Death was a lack, an absence of pain and of pleasure, of fear and anticipation. John had always preferred that, more comfortable as a spirit than he’d ever been as a man. But in Travis’s arms, he’d never felt more alive. His sharp senses picked up every smell on Travis’s skin and, even in his pain, that excited him in ways he didn’t understand. “See? It’s right there.” John could see it, much to his relief. Everything would be all right again in his own home. There he’d be safe from Maeveen’s enchantment, out of the reach of the magic she used to inflict his pain. The musky, slightly bitter, slightly dry smell he now would always recognize as Travis’s filled his head and became the center of his world. How had he lived so many years, so many centuries, without knowing this scent? It already felt like a basic requirement for his existence. Before long, Travis would return to his own world, but that only made each second with him all the sweeter. He felt stronger as soon as Travis stepped past the threshold. 78

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The pain disappeared as soon as he heard the heavy click of the lock. But he remained still, patiently waiting for Travis to lower him to the bed. As soon as Travis stepped back, he painlessly became a man once again. “Thank you,” he said softly. “It was my pleasure. What happened?” “I am…unsure. I was flesh and blood. I’m not sure how that’s possible.” “Is it my fault?” “Why would you think that?” Travis touched his named arm. “Because I can do this. You said nobody else could.” “I don’t know,” John admitted. “I know the past three days have been very strange for you, but they have been equally unsettling for me. There hasn’t been much variation in my life for the past three hundred years.” “I hadn’t really considered that.” Travis moved his hand from John’s arm to his side, his fingers gently pressing into John’s ribs. “Does this hurt?” “No.” “Are you sure?” Travis didn’t pull away. “Yes.” The word almost choked him. “Quite sure. It feels…” “It feels what?” “It feels nice,” John admitted. “I don’t believe anybody’s ever touched me like this.” “I guess that means you never jumped off the roof of your house because you wanted to be Superman. Mum nearly went crazy, she thought for sure I must have broken my leg or my ribs or something. She dragged me to casualty even though I told her I was fine. Not even a scratch. I was more traumatized by the four79

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hour wait.” Travis’s fingers finally stopped their slow massage. “How old are you?” “I’m not sure.” “How old were you when you died?” John swallowed. “Twenty-five.” “And what year was that?” “The year of our Lord 1789.” “Two hundred and forty-five years. That’s a very long time,” Travis said, finally pulling his had back. John immediately regretted the loss, feeling cold where Travis had touched him. “Yes, it is.” “I’m assuming Maeveen sent that giant, right? Are we safe here?” “Yes, of course.” “What about Mum?” “I doubt she has another ogre. Besides, she wouldn’t send something like that into Nether Stowey. There are still consequences if she directly harms a human. That’s why she’s trying to hurt Áine.” “Would I be out of line if I asked for a bit of a break? I’m not sure if I could face a witch right now.” He rolled his shoulders back. “It’s harder than you might think to decapitate an ogre.” “You’re not out of line. We both need to rest.” Travis smiled and his eyes darted sideways. “Should I get you some clothes?” “Oh…” John looked down at himself with a frown. “That’s strange. Wait.” His bare skin instantly changed, becoming the standard jeans and shirt he saw around Nether Stowey. “How’s that?” Judging from Travis’s face, not good. “What did you just do?” 80

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“I’m a ghost. I can change my appearance at will.” “But how can you do that if I can touch you?” Travis demanded, grabbing John’s arm. He slowly rubbed his fingers over the material, tugging on it to test its reality. “Look, I can touch this.” “Magic.” “One of these days, that answer isn’t going to be enough.” “I’m afraid it’s the only answer I have.” Travis nodded and straightened. He walked to the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle. “What else is here because of magic?” “Everything. All of it. A long time ago, a fairy gave me a gift. Sanctuary. When I rebelled against my mistress, I needed a safe place to hide. Áine took pity on me. She created this place to be a haven. I can change it at will, though your own perception also shapes it.” “Does that mean nothing here is real?” He paused and tilted his head. “The axe. I needed an axe. I wanted one and then there it was. Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” “It is.” “I’m peckish. Do you want some tea?” John said he did, watching as the kitchen transformed itself into something more modern. Travis didn’t mention that, or act like anything strange had happened. “How did you learn to swing an axe like that?” “My Nana lived out in the country and had a fireplace. I’d spend holidays there every year and made sure she had enough firewood put away for the winter. You get good with an axe if you don’t want to lose a foot.” “Yes, I recall that lesson. Thank you.” 81

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“Did you think you were going to die?” “I didn’t know what to think. It just hurt. It hurt more than…” More than he felt comfortable saying. “I guess experiencing pain for the first time in over two hundred years would be difficult to deal with.” “It was a bit, yeah.” “That must have been terrifying.” John tilted his head and studied Travis thoughtfully. His whole world had gone topsy-turvy, but he was genuinely sympathetic. He had every right to focus on his own problems, his own fears, but his words were steeped in real concern. Throughout the ordeal, he’d adjusted to each new revelation quickly, not stubbornly clinging to his own view of the world when faced with the truth. It was true he’d expect nothing less from Áine’s son, but he also knew Travis possessed an innate strength. A willpower that couldn’t be denied. “It was. But you must have been frightened as well.” “Everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to really be afraid. Something about you inspires that in me, I guess.” “Fortunately for me.” “Indeed.” Travis carried a tray over with two cups and a plate of biscuits. Balancing it gracefully in one hand, he folded his legs and settled on the floor beside him. “Would you tell me about yourself?” “What do you want to know?” “Anything you’d be willing to share with me.” “I have no secrets now. Not anymore. Ask me anything you wish.” Travis sipped from his cup, his eyes never leaving John’s face. “I guess I want to know about the legend. Did you kill your wife?” 82

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John looked down. “It’s complicated.” “Tell me,” Travis invited, shifting his weight. “I want to know who you are.” “Very well.” After a moment of thought, he began.

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CHAPTER 9 Quantock Hills, 1789 Ten smoky fingers stretched from the earth to touch the moon’s yellow glow, winding up slowly from the ever-burning fires. John walked between the glowing mounds, poking at the heaped dirt to ensure the wood still burned. The mask he wore over his mouth and nose barely protected his throat and lungs from the smoke, but he had long since grown accustomed to the persistent irritation. After fifteen years of burning the coal, he didn’t notice the smoke or the heat anymore. He kept both ears trained for the telltale sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crunching beneath quick feet, but for the moment there was only silence, magnifying each pop and crackle of the flames at his feet. 84

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At the end of the line of fires he paused and looked back to his hut. It barely counted as shelter. It had always been rough, but after years of use, it was finally starting to look its age. The roof couldn’t be said to protect him from anything, and the chill winds swept over him as he lay on his back and watched the rotation of the stars. The walls were weak and would offer no real shelter if any of the creatures in the woods decided to make a meal of him. The small pile of rags he used for a bed neither warmed him or cradled him. He’d spent so many nights fantasizing about the cottage he would build in Over Stowey, imagining his beautiful Ann sitting by the fire while she saw to the sewing. That had been his hope. His paradise. That simple fantasy had made his life worth living. And now it was gone. Now there was nothing to live for. And the rough little hut he’d been so eager to abandon was now his sanctuary. Every second he spent with the charcoal fires was another moment he did not have to spend with Jane. Five days a week, every week, he lived in the hills, his body trained to stir every two hours to tend to the fires. The endless isolation had fooled him into believing any company was good company. It had fooled him into believing he could do anything in the quiet woodland. That was why she always joined him. She crept through the woods on her bare feet, the hem of her shift pulled up high, her pale thighs exposed. She’d slip into his hut as quietly as a mouse, and there was never anywhere to go after that. If he left, she would follow. If he pushed her away, she would sidle closer. If he told her to leave, she would cry, or worse, threaten. He’d already been arrested once because of her, but some days he wondered if the gaol was really worse than Jane. John turned and peered into the dark woods. He knew the area 85

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well. Far from frightening him, the darkness offered a welcome respite. Away from the smoke of the fires, away from the reality of Jane’s twisted visage, and the memory of Ann’s sweeter smile. Away from his long-suffering parents and the maddening selfishness of his brother, William. Hiding in the woods for the rest of his life didn’t seem a feasible plan. If he were only running from Jane, he could do it. But then, if there were only Jane in the equation, he would have never married her. She carried his child, and when he thought of his unborn son he lost the urge to flee. The boy was the new focal point of John’s best fantasies—and the only thing that kept him tending his fires. But nothing could distract him from the pain of losing Ann and the child they should have had together. If only her parents had allowed them to marry. If only Ann had agreed to leave Somerset with him. If only he’d never loved her. There were rumors in Over Stowey and Nether Stowey about the real parentage of Jane’s child. As she grew fat with it, the rumors only intensified. John had heard them, of course, and it stung that he couldn’t deny them. She did not spend every night with him. And those nights she didn’t sneak into the hills to visit his hut, what was she doing? Laying with his brother, most likely. Or with James Poole. Or with the stable boy at the Castle of Comfort. Even after they were wed in the church, she refused to deny it. She laughed at him when he watched Ann with longing, but she would never deny anything, not even the worst of the rumors. “John! John, where are you?” “William?” “John, can you hear me? Where are you?” “Stay where you are!” 86

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John sprinted around the fires, his feet touching the ground lightly before he sprung forward again. He heard William crashing through the trees, but he couldn’t quite place his location. William had been to his hut countless times. He even lured girls up there during the day when he knew John wouldn’t be around. The only person who knew the area better than John was William, but now he sounded lost and frightened. John ran into the thicket of trees without pausing to grab the lantern, relying on his other four senses to find his brother. “William?” “I’m here. Oh, God in heaven, John. I feared I wouldn’t find you.” William grabbed him with frantic hands, bony fingers digging into his arms. “I feared I’d be lost in the woods forever.” “What happened? William, calm yourself and tell me what happened.” “I am sorry, John. I am so sorry. It was nothing more than a mistake, but nobody will believe me. I just lost my mind. Everything went red and then black and then I woke up like I was waking from a dream.” His grip tightened and he pulled John against his chest. “I am so sorry.” “What happened? Take a deep breath and tell me.” “Are we safe up here?” “If you’re asking about Jane, I haven’t seen her all night.” “My God. My God. My God.” John gently led him past the trees with their bony, bent fingers and back to the clearing. Nothing had changed in the minutes since he left it, but there was something different. He didn’t know what, but he could detect a change. The wind had shifted slightly, carrying the smoke toward the hut instead of away from it, but that was it. Perhaps the difference wasn’t in the fires, but inside his 87

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own person. William’s obvious fear was infectious, and he felt it crawling beneath his skin. “I am so sorry, John. Please believe me.” “Tell me what you’re sorry about,” John encouraged, guiding his brother into the hut. He thought they would both feel more secure inside the makeshift walls, as weak as they were. “I’ll believe you. You’re my brother.” “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even plan to see her tonight. She was at the Castle when I showed up with Sam.” “Who?” John asked, though he knew the answer. “Jane. She was there by herself and she already had a few pints of bitters. She was behaving quite…disrespectfully toward herself and you. I had to put a stop to it and remind her of her place.” John nodded. He understood exactly how Jane had been behaving. He’d hoped their marriage would change her, but his hopes had all been in vain. Nothing would change that girl. Not even the child growing inside of her. “Did you take her home?” “I tried.” “What does that mean?” “I dragged her out of the Castle to my carriage. She fought me every step of the way, screaming all sorts of obscenities. I could tell that she’d had quite a bit to drink because she kept addressing me by your name.” “If you didn’t take her home, where did you take her?” “I…” William held out his hands beneath the lantern, allowing the light to shine on his dirty hands. No, they weren’t dirty. They were bloody. John looked down at his shirt and saw the same red stains. “What did you do?” “Before we reached Over Stowey, she realized who I was. She 88

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told me…I won’t repeat what she said. But I struck her. She said it again, and I struck her again. And then I couldn’t stop. All the anger I’ve harbored for the past two years…all the betrayal…it just poured out of me. When I came back to myself, she was…struggling to breathe. She was crying, making this horrible sound. I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted it all to stop.” “Where’s your blade, William?” “With her body,” he confessed. “I slit her throat and tried to put her in the ditch. I didn’t know what else to do.” John’s heart froze and the numbness spread to his arms and legs. “But my son…my child…” “I forgot she was with child.” “How could you forget that? She was my wife. She was going to have my child.” “How do you know that?”William asked. “How could you know for sure? Because she told you?” “Of course. Why would she lie about that?” “Because I already told her I would not marry her.” John swallowed. The numbness was moving to his throat now. He couldn’t breathe. “Are you saying the child was yours?” “It wouldn’t be the first time, John.” He turned away from William, from the blood, from that awful light. The mounds were glowing orange and red, looking like doorways to hell. No Ann, no Jane, no child, and soon, no brother. Everybody knew about William’s history with Jane. The villages were small, and Jane was brazen. How many people saw William pull her out of the pub? How many people heard them fighting? How many people were fully aware of the fact that Jane had already been with child once before because of William? “They’ll all know in the morning, won’t they?” William asked 89

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softly. “Yes.” “I’m going to be hanged.” “Yes.” “We went to the Castle to celebrate. Mary’s father gave me permission to marry her. She’s with child, too.” He almost smiled. “I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I know that I made mistakes, John, but I thought things would be better now. I love her.” John didn’t care about that. Not anymore. He once had been concerned for his brother’s happiness, but now that seemed like another lifetime. His mind went to Mary Poole, a sweet girl with black hair and blue eyes. Who would marry her now? Without William, her life was over. And what kind of life would her child, John’s own nephew, have if William hung for murder? John knew he could see to their needs himself, but the boy would always be a child of a murderer. “Stay here tonight. If anybody asks, you were tending to the fires all night.” “Everybody saw me at the pub.” “No, they didn’t. They saw a man who bears a striking resemblance to me fighting with my wife while she shouted my name. That’s all that matters. That’s all they’ll remember.” William’s mouth fell open. “What are you saying?” “I think you know.” “You can’t.” “You still have the woman you love. You still have a child. What do I have? Ann will never marry me. My son is dead. It should be me.” “No.” “Do you want to hang? Do you want Mary to see you 90

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swinging?” “I don’t want to see my brother hanging.” “Stay here, William. I’ll go down to the village tonight. When they find her, I’ll confess.” “And you’ll die.” “One of us is going to die, William. You’ve made sure of that. My life is already over. Don’t make me live without you, too. I couldn’t bear it.” “John…” “Don’t show your face until tomorrow afternoon. And when you do return to the village, just keep your head down and stay out of everybody’s way. You might be called to speak at my trial. If you are, speak against me.” “John, wait.” He didn’t wait. He couldn’t. With his mind made up, he ducked out of the hut. William continued to say his name, but John didn’t acknowledge him. There was only one way to make the situation better, and John was not going to let William divert him from his intentions. He slipped into the woods, his feet automatically finding the trail that would take him down to the main road. William hadn’t specified where he hid Jane’s body, but John still knew. William was many things, but he wasn’t a particularly bright person, and it was easy to anticipate the way his mind worked. Unable to deny the desire to see her one final time, he followed the road to the spot where he knew she’d be left. The ditch was some distance from the main road, but easily accessible, and the shepherds often brought their flocks through there for water. He found her under a steep bank, her head resting at an awkward angle, her arms and legs splayed like a broken doll. John’s stomach churned, and he turned his head quickly as his gorge rose. He’d 91

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never liked her. He often wondered if she was a devil sent to torment him, but he never wanted her to die. Especially not so horribly, with such fear stamped onto her features. John slowly made his way home, his head detached from the rest of him. He couldn’t feel his hands or his feet. He couldn’t feel anything except his roiling, sour stomach. Everything inside of him cried out for Ann. A single glimpse of her would be like a balm to his bruised spirit. A touch, or even a word, could make him feel like a man again. But she was as untouchable, as far away from him, as Jane now was. He told himself she would understand, but he knew it was nothing but a lie. Nothing would make her understand. He barely understood himself. The cottage he shared with Jane was oppressively silent. He stripped off his bloodstained clothes and washed his face with the cold water left in the pitcher, but they were mindless motions. Ones that brought him no degree of comfort. The cradle he had begun carving was still sitting by the fire, half finished. Looking at it, he felt tears welling in the corners of his eyes. It had only been one month since Jane informed him they would have a child, but in that month he had embraced his responsibilities. He’d made peace with his life. John spent his final night of freedom sitting in his chair, staring at the cradle. The moon sunk away, and when the first rays of the sun stretched across the floor, he knew his time was almost out. But the knock on his door didn’t come until well past noon. John was just beginning to wonder if he had misjudged the situation when a sharp rap on the door told him the sheriff had arrived. “John Walford, you are under arrest for the willful murder of your wife, Jane Walford.” He momentarily considered his protest of innocence. Would 92

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they believe him if he told them the truth, or had they already decided that as her husband he was the guilty party? He was forced to ask himself if they were just in their assumptions. Would he have done the same thing sooner or later? Could he have beaten his own wife? Could he have cut her throat? The answer was selfevident to him—he would never and could never do anything like that. He didn’t believe himself capable of it, but the men who came to arrest him clearly did. John didn’t speak a word in his own defense as they shackled him. He didn’t speak while in jail. He didn’t speak when they transported him to Bridgewater, and he didn’t say a word during his own trial. Everybody understood his silence to be a confession of his guilt, and the witnesses called to speak against him were mostly strangers to him. They stated without hesitation that John Walford was the man they saw at the Castle of Comfort, that he was the man who pulled the shouting and fighting Jane from the pub. He didn’t even speak when they handed down the sentence. He was to be hanged on August 20th, and then his body would be put in a gibbet over the spot of the crime to act as a deterrent for all future murders. “What’s your final request?” the executioner asked as he placed the noose around John’s neck. “I wish to see Ann,” John whispered. “I wish to tell her goodbye.” “Very well.” The crowd around the wagon cleared, and Ann stepped forward. John watched as they lifted her onto the back of the wagon, his heart aching from the sight of her. His hands were tied behind him, making contact an impossibility, but he didn’t care. Just seeing her bright eyes and her familiar, dear mouth gave him 93

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strength he didn’t have before. “One kiss before I go?” “Oh, John.” She leaned forward, and he almost felt her lips. He almost felt her breath. He almost caught the scent of her hair and remembered the texture of her skin. He almost felt free, as though the shackles that held him to the world were broken and he could fly above it all. He almost felt the love that she’d once possessed for him. And then they yanked her away. She reached for him, her hands outstretched as the wagon jerked beneath him. Her fingers were the last thing he saw before the rope snapped his neck.

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CHAPTER 10 Travis only pretended to sleep. Once the darkness descended and John excused himself, Travis closed his eyes and counted back from one thousand. Normally, that trick would knock him out before he reached eight hundred, but he made it all the way to zero and then started counting up again. Then he gave up counting, along with any hopes he had of getting any rest. John had left him in the cottage to check on Agnes, and though he knew he was perfectly safe from Maeveen, he couldn’t relax. His thoughts drifted to John, returning to the man’s story again and again. John had delivered the details without rushing through the story, each word careful if not deliberate. The inflection of his voice didn’t change when he spoke of his brother’s confession, or his last sight of Jane, or the final words he spoke to Ann. But 95

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Travis could still feel the depth of John’s emotions while he spoke. The regret was evident, but so was the anger. It emanated from him in wave after wave, his rage echoing through time, as fresh as it’d been the day he lost his life. Travis was bitterly angry himself, and he wished he could change everything. William deserved to suffer for what he did, not only to Jane, but to his own brother. Yet John didn’t seem to bear his brother any ill-will. His anger was less defined than that, as though he couldn’t bring himself to hate the one man who deserved it the most. I don’t believe anybody’s ever touched me like this. Travis was quite sure that John hadn’t been completely honest. They both knew that nobody had ever touched him with kindness or compassion. They hadn’t even allowed him that final comfort before they killed him. With nothing but pain and betrayal, anger and frustration, loss and death, how had John held on to his humanity? Travis wasn’t amazed that John knew the difference between right and wrong, but he was deeply moved by the fact that John still cared. He still cared enough to watch over the children that played in the hills, and he still cared enough to walk with lonely travelers. He cared so much he put himself in danger and to deny his very nature as a black dog. At dawn, Travis gave up every pretense of sleeping. Despite the fact that he could shape the cottage into anything he wished, he didn’t bother, except to create a new toothbrush and a change of clothes. By the time John opened the door, Travis had the table laid out with tea and toast and jam, though he had no appetite and he knew John would only politely pretend to eat. “How is she?” Travis asked. “She’s well. Safe. Roger is still with her.” John sat across from him. “I know you’d rather be with her, but this is safer. For both of 96

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you.” “I know.” “How did you sleep?” “I…didn’t, really.” John frowned. “I’m sorry. Did something disturb you?” “No. I mean, nothing new. The cottage wasn’t attacked by another ogre or anything.” “You need your rest.” “Yes, I suppose I do. I need to eat, too. But I don’t really want to.” “What do you want to do?” “Can I show you?” Travis stood as John nodded. He knew he was taking a risk. A serious risk. John was a supernatural being, after all, with serious power at his disposal. Trying to pull the wrong man at a pub could result in a black eye and a bloody lip, but surprising a ghost in his enchanted cottage might have more disastrous results. But everything had already gone pear-shaped and Travis didn’t know the rules of the world he inhabited. He was learning everything for the first time, and that included boundaries. John turned to face him fully, and their knees touched. Just that bit of contact sent a jolt through him. Travis held out his hand as he’d done before—do you know who I am? John didn’t move, his gaze locked on Travis. He turned his wrist and cupped the side of John’s face, holding without really touching him. His thumb brushed over the very corner of John’s mouth, and the desire that drove him to his feet crystallized into a million points. Some small part of him knew it wasn’t the right time to think about his attraction, much less indulge it. But the need—for both of them— was too much to deny. 97

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Travis bent at the waist, tremors running down his legs. Mentally, he was prepared for rejection, for anger, for fear, even for violence. But he knew on a purely emotional level that the disappointment would crush him. He couldn’t remember wanting anything as much as he wanted this kiss. With a final breath, he pressed his mouth to John’s. John didn’t respond. Disappointment clutched him and he pulled back slightly, mind racing to find some way, anyway, to save face. But just as he broke contact, John leaned forward. Their lips met again, but this time John’s moved against his, asking for as much as he was giving. Travis moaned and sank to his knees, holding the back of John’s head to keep their mouths fused together. Their tongues touched briefly, broke away, and touched again. Travis couldn’t decide which was worse. He throbbed at every touch and ached at every second separating them. “Travis…” “Do you want me to stop?” Travis asked. “No, but what are you doing?” “I’m kissing you.” “Is this…customary for you? Men didn’t kiss other men like this when I was alive.” “No, they probably did. You just didn’t know about it. But men are more open about it now. You know, if that’s the sort of thing they enjoy.” “Do you enjoy it?” “Yes. Do you?” “I…I do not believe I’ve experienced anything more pleasurable.” “Would you like to do it again?” “Yes,” John murmured, sliding off the edge of his chair to 98

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kneel in front of Travis. Their mouths were level, and their chests pressed together. Travis smoothed his hand down John’s spine before pulling him into a tighter embrace. He didn’t feel like a ghost. Travis had never touched anybody who felt so alive, so warm, so perfect against him. John moved into the kiss without prompting, eagerly opening to Travis’s lightly probing tongue. He wrapped his arm around Travis, and he detected the lightest of tremors where John touched him. Travis’s cock pushed against his zipper, his balls aching with every hard thump of his heart. If he were with anybody else, the pants would already be gone and he’d have his fingers wrapped around their shafts. But the long kisses weren’t a means to an end. He didn’t even care about the end. He wanted to show John how something so simple could feel better than anything else in the world. He wanted John to forget about his earlier pain and about the kiss he never had the chance to taste. Travis kept one arm around John, holding him in place, but his other hand was free to explore where it would. He slid his fingers through John’s hair and traced the shape of his ear. He skimmed his fingertips along the edge of John’s jaw, trailing them through his long whiskers. His mustache teased Travis’s lips as John deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue over Travis’s and moaning deeply with the caress. Travis responded by dragging his hand down John’s side, letting his fingers linger over each rib. He felt John jerk and gasp, and the fact that the ghost was ticklish amused Travis more than it should have. John was an eager partner, and he wasn’t too shy to mimic Travis. His touch was light, his large fingers gentle but undeniable. Heat flowed through Travis at every brush of contact, and he thought he would melt beneath the ministrations. Pleasure slinked 99

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through him, rolling and rebounding beneath his flesh. As his skin flushed and his groin tightened, he wondered if he was the victim of enchantment. If John had put him under some sort of spell to intensify every second they spent together. When they broke apart again, Travis’s lips were swollen and his head was spinning. John held his gaze while his fingers gathered up the material of Travis’s shirt. He pulled it off without speaking and let it drop from his fingers. John’s attention dropped to his chest, and he skimmed his fingers down the length of Travis’s torso, pausing long enough to circle his nipple with a thumb. “Let’s go to the bed,” Travis said. John nodded and stood. He took Travis’s hand and pulled him to his feet, and Travis couldn’t resist the chance to run his hands down John’s muscled arms. His mouth was drawn to the smooth skin, and though it was his idea to move to the other side of the cottage, he couldn’t pull himself away from John long enough to walk. He pressed his mouth to John’s throat, kissing a path from one ear to the other. He wanted to scrape his teeth over the warm flesh, and then soothe it with his tongue, but he knew John was sensitive and he didn’t want to push too hard and ultimately cause more pain than pleasure. “I can make the clothes disappear,” John said as Travis tugged at his shirt. “No, I’d rather undress you.” “Why?” “Because I just want the two of us to be…normal. This one time.” Travis wasn’t sure if John understood, but he didn’t question him further. He patiently waited for Travis to strip him of his shirt, 100

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gasping softly each time one of Travis’s knuckles brushed against his bare skin. John explained that he’d been a charcoal burner, and Travis hadn’t really considered what that meant for his physique until this moment. He would have had to chop down the trees, drag them to the clearing, cut them into pieces small enough to burn, and then tend to the fires. Every single day. As a result, his body was thin but perfectly defined, carved into hard ridges and valleys. Travis unbuttoned John’s jeans and pushed them down his legs. He itched to touch John’s cock, but again he forced himself to take his time. He mapped John’s body with his hands, rubbing his back and then his torso, outlining his shoulders and his arms, gripping his hips as he claimed his mouth in another long, slow kiss. Each time their tongues touched, it sent another thrill down his spine. John returned the favor while they kissed, working at Travis’s pants until the zipper was down. They moved as one, stepping away from their forgotten clothes and moving closer to the bed. Travis pulled an image of a giant, comfortable bed to the front of his mind, and when his leg touched the edge of one tall mattress, he wasn’t surprised. He pushed John down to the bed, their lips still sealed together, and straddled his legs, pinning him there. “Now don’t move,” Travis murmured. “What are you going to do?” “Hopefully, I’m going to make up for a lot of lost time.” Neither of them had even brought up what would happen once they killed Maeveen, but Travis was sure they’d part company. In fact, if it worked and Agnes was cured, he would probably go back to London. This very well could be their only time together, and if that was the case, Travis wanted to make every memory count. John may never meet another person who could touch him, and if he was cursed to spend his eternity on earth, roaming the hills as a 101

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spirit who could never truly find what he needed, then Travis wanted him to at least have one good thing to hold onto. “Can I ask you something?” John said. “Yes.” “Why are you not married?” “Because I don’t want to be.” “What about having a family?” Travis smiled. “We can talk about that when I’m not distracted by your naked body.” John smile bashfully, and something about it struck Travis directly in the chest. Perhaps it was a glimpse of the man he’d been once, before the darkness encroached on his existence. Before he’d been called to sacrifice himself for the good of a man who didn’t deserve it. With his heart twisting, he bent and pressed his chest to John’s, claiming his mouth. John’s cock was hot against Travis’s stomach, the shaft throbbing, the tip already wet. Travis rolled his hips, sliding his abdomen up the length before shifting back again. John moaned at the friction, and he lifted his hips off the bed, seeking more contact. They rocked against each other, spreading the strings of pre-come over their skin. Travis wasn’t sure how much John could tolerate, but he knew he would come if they continued like that for too long. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so on edge, and John’s soft, hungry moans certainly didn’t help the situation. John’s hands went to Travis’s ass and he gripped the round cheeks with firm fingers. Travis shuddered with pleasure as John began controlling each slow thrust of his hips, bringing the tempo down to something almost lethargic and all the more exquisite. He sucked John’s tongue between his lips, rolling his own tongue over it like he planned to do to John’s cock. He responded by pulling 102

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back and pushing it between his lips again. Travis moaned encouragingly as John continued fucking his mouth with his tongue, and braced his hands on the mattress above John’s shoulders. He felt like the two of them were touching everywhere, inside and out. How would he be able to tolerate more actual contact? He already thought he was going to burst. “Travis…” It was more of a gasp than a word. “What?” He caught John’s lower lip between his teeth and sucked gently. “Tell me what you want. Anything you want.” “I…I don’t know. I’m so close. Anything, please.” Travis lifted his head and saw a curious mixture of lust and confusion, with more than a hint of desperation. He obviously understood the greater goal, but he probably had no idea how they could reach that point together. His innocence was strangely touching, and it solidified Travis’s resolve to give him as much pleasure as he could. With a final kiss, Travis slid down John’s body. His mouth tingled at the sight of John’s hard cock. He didn’t even know where he wanted to begin. Every inch of it looked delectable, and the skin had a clean, musky scent that only increased his desire to taste it. He finally chose to trace the thick vein on the underside with the tip of his tongue, following it from the base to the slick head. John tensed, his body lifting from the bed, and his breath caught in his throat. Travis looked up to study his face, watching every flicker of surprise and pleasure as he closed his lips around the tip. Travis teased the head with his tongue, lapping at the sensitive skin until John bucked his hips, like he wanted to push for more and escape the torment at the same time. Travis slid his lips lower, encompassing more and more of John’s length until he reached the 103

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base. He eased back, prolonging the contact as long as he could until his lips were at the tip again. There was more pre-come to gather up from the slit, and John was completely silent. But even though he wasn’t making a sound, Travis still felt every minute response to his attention. Every flex of every muscle, every tremor racing through his flesh, every quickened beat of his heart. What heart? How can you taste him? How can he breathe? Why is his skin salty? He’s not alive. But he looked alive. He sounded alive. He felt and tasted alive. He could feel pleasure, which meant he could feel pain, too, if they were suddenly attacked. If his own cock wasn’t throbbing like a sore tooth, he might have been able to spend more time with those questions, mulling over them until he finally had an adequate explanation. But John probably didn’t care about those questions or their answers at that moment, and so neither did Travis. It was something they could deal with later, if they needed to. Later, after Travis showed John exactly what his body was capable of. The third time his mouth met the base of John’s shaft, he relaxed his throat and guided the thick cock even deeper, until he was swallowing around it. He gripped his own cock and began stroking himself, pumping his wrist in time with the tempo of his mouth and throat. At first, John seemed happy to let Travis control everything, but it didn’t take long until he was moving his hips again. He fucked Travis’s throat, his flesh warming as the blood ran closer to his skin. Travis felt flushed as well, and salty sweat rolled down his face to catch on his dry lips. “Travis…don’t stop…I beg that of you.” Travis moaned in response, hoping John understood he had no intention or desire to stop. He got lost in the rhythm, absorbing each thrust, his body taking over for his mind. The thoughts and 104

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questions he had were pushed aside, and Travis became entirely focused on his goal. He climbed higher and higher, his body straining for his release while John jerked his hips and continued to beg Travis in gasps and moans. He curled his fingers beneath John’s sac and cupped it. John responded with a low shudder. Travis flexed his fingers, squeezing him gently and John shouted—though the sound was more like a howl. The bed shook beneath him, and he looked up to see the walls were shaking as well. John threw his head back as another shout tore from his throat, and this time, Travis didn’t just hear the sound. He saw it in glorious colors escaping from John’s mouth. It was the first reminder that he wasn’t with a normal man, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that. John’s thick cock was jerking against his tongue and the walls of his throat, shooting streams of come into Travis’s welcoming mouth. The pleasure that had been building finally erupted at the first taste of John’s come. Come shot out of him as quickly as he swallowed John’s down. Wave after wave of bliss flowed over him, making him tingle in all the right places. He kept his mouth glued to John’s cock until he softened and every drop of come was swallowed. “Oh…Travis…” “Was that good?” Travis asked, licking the corner of his lips. “Amazing.” “It can be better,” Travis said, crawling up the bed again. “I can show you.” “Yes. But after you rest.” “Are you tired?” John frowned thoughtfully. “I am.” “Is that something else you haven’t experienced since you were 105

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alive?” “It is.” Travis felt a pinch of guilt. Giving him pleasure was a good thing, but on the flip side of that was pain and exhaustion. If he could make John feel good, it was only because he could hurt him, too. He’d have to be careful never to forget that. *

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John slept deeply and without dreams in Travis’s arms. When he finally woke, he felt clearheaded and better than he knew was possible. He only opened his eyes because he wanted to see Travis again, and he wasn’t disappointed by the sight of his peaceful face framed by golden hair. He had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on John’s shoulder, fitting snugly against John’s body, and he hadn’t moved once in the intervening hours. John had never slept with another person cradled in his arms, and he thought it was the closest he would ever come to heaven. He still had vague memories of the Unitarian ministers who traveled through the area, speaking of paradise and God’s love and His greater plan. John had always been desperate to believe them, but the pain in his own life had been an obstacle to his faith, not an incentive. And then he’d died and that eternal love had been farther from his grasp than ever. Now John understood the desire to hold on to that sense of peace. The men who found it through religion could never let it go. If he had the power, he would never let Travis go. He filled the hollow places inside of John and the thought of being empty and alone again was too painful to consider for long. But he would always have these moments, and he’d hold onto them as the years 106

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stretched onto eternity, as the earth shifted and changed around him, as the magic withered and the great waves of humanity crested and fell. He watched Travis sleep without keeping track of the time. It was only when the sun began its downward journey and John felt night tugging at his flesh did he dare to lower his head and place a soft kiss on Travis’s mouth. The other man’s eyes opened slowly, and as they focused on John’s face, he smiled. “I can’t remember the last time I slept like that.” John answered the smile with one of his own. “Me, neither.” Travis reached up to touch John’s beard. “Is this how you wore it before? When you were alive?” “Yes. Would you like to see me without it?” “I’m a little curious.” John closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Travis was touching his bare cheek. “How’s that?” “Good, but you looked good with the beard, too. You’re a handsome guy.” “What did you do to the cottage?” Travis looked up to where the ceiling had once been. “Oops. I guess I can even impose my will on this place when I’m dreaming.” “You dream of light?” “Not usually.” Travis rolled onto his back and looked around. “Do you mind it?” “The cottage was only for your benefit.” “What would you like?” Everything but the bed was gone. The walls and ceiling had been replaced with a soft golden glow. He could see the outline of the trees, and the disc of the sun, but all of the details were 107

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obscured. The light pulsed around them, and he put a hand on Travis’s chest, marking each beat of his heart while he watched it in the walls. The light touched Travis’s skin and hair, giving him an ethereal quality. John’s suspicion of Travis’s parentage only strengthened. He didn’t look like any human John had ever seen. There was magic in his blood. Maybe just a trace of it, but it was there. “I’d like to be with you,” John whispered. “You are with me.” “I want more of you.” “You can have whatever you want, John. Anything.” John wanted to question the offer. He wanted an explanation for Travis’s kindness, for his openness, for his desire. But at the same time, he didn’t need it. A part of him understood why, even if he wasn’t entirely confident in the answer. Travis pulled him from his thoughts by sliding his hand between their bodies and touching his prick. It’d been soft, but at the first warm brush of skin against skin, he hardened. Travis smiled, but the amusement dancing in his eyes wasn’t unkind. He began stroking the length, sliding the heel of his hand from the top to the bottom and back again. John moaned, the sound barely escaping before Travis caught it with his mouth. John immediately responded to the kiss, his senses overwhelmed. He should have been listening and watching for any sign of Maeveen, but when Travis touched him like that, nothing else existed in the world. They pressed against each other, safe in their bubble of light, unmindful of the world moving on, of time marching forward. Travis could never fully forget about his mother or his mission to save her, but John could. He could put his own desires ahead of everybody else, and he wanted to. If he held 108

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Travis there, he could keep him forever. If Travis was descended from the fairy folk, didn’t he belong there more than he ever did to the human world? It took a huge effort, but John forced himself to turn away from those thoughts. Travis wanted him as a partner, but he’d never love John as a jailer. Ultimately, his selfishness would be punished. John didn’t want or need more punishment. He only wanted to indulge in what Travis freely gave him. Travis straddled him again, sliding over to cover John’s body with his own. He liked the way Travis’s weight pinned him down. The kisses continued, each caress long and thorough. It’d never occurred to John that he could receive so much pleasure from such a simple act. Travis’s lips were soft but firm, his tongue both playful and demanding. “I dreamed about you,” Travis said against his mouth. “It was like I never went to sleep at all.” “What did you dream about?” Travis squeezed John’s prick. “You fucking me. Thrusting this cock as deep as you could inside of me.” The bluntness of his language actually sent blood to John’s cheeks. He didn’t think he’d ever blushed in the entire span of his existence, but he’d never heard anybody talk like that, either. “Would you like that?” Travis asked. John could only answer that question one way, though he had never had relations with another man. It’d never even occurred to him when he was alive. Why should it? There had been plenty of women to sate his desires, and while not all of them acquiesced to him, a good number of them had. But if he’d known Travis then, he would have had the same answer. “Yes, very much.” 109

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“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” “Did you really dream about that?” “I really did. It was so vivid that for most of it, I wasn’t sure that it was a dream at all.” “I don’t really know what to do.” “Yes, you do. But I’ll make it easy for you.” Travis leaned over, halfway off the bed, and then sat up again holding a small bottle of something John didn’t recognize at all. He watched as Travis poured it over his fingers before gripping his cock again. It was cool and slick, and seemed to awaken every single inch of him. He cried out and pushed his hips forward, thrusting into Travis’s hand, hoping Travis would spread the mysterious substance over every inch of his length. “Do you like that?” Travis asked. “Yes. Yes.” “It’ll get better,” he promised as he pumped his wrist. “Did you dream?” “No,” John said before it occurred to him that Travis might have been searching for another answer. “I just…slept. It was peaceful.” Travis answered with a small smile, his palm still gliding up and down John’s prick. “Good. You deserve a bit of peace, I think.” “This…what is it?” “Lube.” “Lube.” The word sounded strange and felt even stranger to say. “Is it to help when I fuck you?” “Yes, it’ll make it easier for both of us.” John nodded and wrapped his arm around Travis. With a small groan, he rolled Travis onto his back and caught his mouth in one 110

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of the deep kisses that made him feel like he was dying again. Everything might not have been exactly the way he knew it, but the basic mechanics were still the same. He reached for the bottle of lube and lifted his head, studying Travis’s face to gauge his reaction. His eyes were wide and the color was high on his cheeks, but he didn’t look displeased. Far from it, in fact. John carefully poured some of the lube over his forefinger and slid his hand beneath Travis’s body, pushing gently between his buttocks. He found the hole, so much smaller and tighter than anything John was accustomed to that he genuinely wondered how it’d be possible to give them both what they wanted. Travis planted both feet against the bed and pushed his ass off the mattress. “Just go slow,” Travis murmured as John pushed the tip of his finger past the resisting muscle. The clear substance did make it easier, and once he worked the tip in it was easy to slide his entire finger into Travis’s passage. The walls immediately clamped around him, the raw heat squeezing him with more force than he expected. “Pump your wrist a little… Yes…like that…oh yes…now add another finger….good….good…” He spread his legs wider, opening himself up to John, becoming completely vulnerable in his lust. The power he had over Travis was heady and addictive, but no more than the shot of pleasure he received from doing exactly what Travis said, giving him exactly what he wanted. “God, I’m ready for you, John. I don’t think I’ve ever been this ready.” “Are you sure?” John asked, looking doubtfully at his hard cock, which was quite a bit thicker than two fingers. “I’m sure.” John slowly eased away from Travis’s body, and then positioned himself between his legs. Travis immediately hooked 111

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his legs around John’s hips and urged him closer. His body thrummed with desire, and Travis’s flesh seemed to be echoing that desperate hunger. As John watched him, he realized he would die again for Travis. He would die again every single night if that was asked of him. John guided the blunt tip of his cock to the slick hole and pressed his flesh against the heated muscle. It resisted him again, but this time he knew what awaited him. He pressed until the tight ring opened for him. The heat that met the tip of his cock was almost too much for him to withstand, and he stopped, but Travis gripped his arms and pulled him forward. He slid into Travis’s prepared channel, sheathing himself completely in his body. “Oh God…John…John…” He wrapped his arms around John and pulled him even closer. Their chests touched first, and then their mouths. “You know the rest.” John had no desire to ever leave the warmth of Travis’s body. Instead of shifting his hips back, he just rolled his hips, letting that slow, soft movement create the friction between them. Travis only clung to him tighter, embracing him until it felt as though they were truly moving as one.

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CHAPTER 11 John put his muzzle to the ground, nostrils flaring as he searched for any hint of unwanted visitors. Agnes’s cottage was still, all of the windows dark, the doors locked tight. He saw Roger’s familiar form at the other end of the garden, his massive head resting on his paws, his eyes closed. A hazy, silvery light over the horizon hinted at the moon’s impending return. Soon, he would be able to spend a whole night with Travis. But by then, Travis would be free to go to London, or anywhere else he wanted to see. He made it clear that he wanted to fight Maeveen before the quarter moon, and John had agreed though he already felt Travis’s absence. John circled the cottage with silent steps, staying low and sticking close to the shadows. Maeveen could blend just as well as 113

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he could, and she could move silently through the night, but she could do nothing to mask the smell of magic. It stood out prominently against the more human smells. It hadn’t always been that way. John remembered when the scent of magic blended in nicely with the natural occurring smells of the village, but as humans entered a more modern age, the bitter, coppery, earthy scent John associated with fairies and witches became sharper, harder to ignore. Satisfied that everything was secure, John settled outside the front door, his stomach on the ground. He dropped his head and partially closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. His thoughts naturally drifted back to Travis. He’d left the other man with a stack of books, most of which were Roger’s. Travis wanted to know everything about witches and ghosts and pukas and fairies. He wanted answers that John didn’t have to questions he never thought to ask. Knowing it would be easier to let Travis learn that information for himself, he happily gathered what books he could for Travis’s perusal. Though he could tell that Travis did not understand why John couldn’t answer his relatively straightforward questions. But being dead didn’t mean he understood everything. In many ways, he understood less than he’d ever had before. Maeveen had always been the greatest enigma to him. He could never predict her mood or her desires. When he woke up to watch his own body swing from the gallows, she’d been there, waiting for him in the moonlight. He’d been disoriented and frightened, but he had no need to question what happened. Travis had a difficult time accepting the idea of ghosts and magic, but John had spent most of his life in the woodland. He’d spent endless hours on his own, and he’d seen things while he tended the charcoal. John 114

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might not have known the names of the creatures surrounding him, but he’d always been aware of their presence. The first sight of Maeveen had made him quake where he stood. He would have rather met the Prince of Lies himself. She wore the moonlight, letting it drape around her naked body like a veil. The ends of her black hair danced around her ankles, and her eyes had been the color of the silver disc above her. She stepped toward him and held her arms out, as though greeting a lover who’d just returned from a long journey. John had naturally taken a step back, perhaps following some stubborn self-preservation instinct that refused to die even when his body did. The welcoming smile on her face had instantly turned into a hard frown. “I saved you.” “I’m still dead.” “You’re not in hell, which is where you belong. I snatched you away from the jaws at the last moment.” “Why?” “Because I want you for myself.” With that, she stepped forward again. When John tried to get away from her, he realized he couldn’t move. “It will only cause you pain to resist. I’ve been watching you for a long time, John.” “Leave me alone.” Maeveen had shook her head in silent denial, and John could still recall with perfect clarity how her hair had swished softly against her back and thighs. The closer she got, the more he saw of her beauty. Her skin was scrubbed clean and free of blemish or infection. Her teeth were all present and strong. Her fingers were long and graceful, and when she waved her hand they cut through the moonlight like they were moving through water, leaving behind a trail of ripples. 115

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“No, I’m afraid not. You’re mine now, John Walford. From this night until the end of eternity, your soul will belong to me.” She’d kept him chained in irons for an undeterminable number of days. Maybe it had been years. John could barely remember it at all now, and except for the fact that when she finally released him the gibbet had been taken down, he wouldn’t have even been sure she’d held him at all. He’d been a man when she captured him, but when she released him again, it was with the curse. The one that turned him into a low dog, with no greater thoughts or abilities than carrying out her will. John couldn’t recall the specifics of how she’d broken him down, but sometimes when he slept the pain still echoed through his dreams. Like flames from the darkest depths of hell, the pain reached out for him and twisted around him, bending him until he was broken again. Why had she chosen him of all people to be her minion? It was a question he asked himself a million times, but he’d never found a satisfactory answer. Had she been drawn to the tragic spectacle of his death? Did she believe him guilty of the murder and wished to punish him? Had she always had some sort of obsession with him or was it only born after his death? If it weren’t for Áine, and the sanctuary she created for him, he would have never had a second of peace. He knew why it had to be Travis, why he was the only one who could end Maeveen and save Áine, but he feared greatly for Travis’s life. Maeveen had been powerful before she tricked Áine into making a gift to Maeveen of her powers. It was a wonder to John that Maeveen hadn’t yet been successful in her attempts to destroy Agnes. Perhaps some part of her was still Áine, was still fighting and resisting the old witch’s attempts. John just wished Agnes had prepared her son for the possibility of this fight. Had 116

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she truly believed Maeveen would allow them to live? Perhaps she never thought Maeveen would be foolish enough to cross her. If Maeveen successfully destroyed the last remnants of Áine, nothing and nobody would be able to stop her. With no restrictions on her powers, she would lose what was left of her mind. Nobody would be safe. Threats would be summarily destroyed, and Roger would be at the top of the list. John hadn’t explained the full stakes to Travis. It seemed unnecessary to burden him further while he was so worried about his mother. The breeze died down to nothing, and a certain stillness settled over Nether Stowey. He stood without thinking and trotted down the cobblestone path to the street. He knew it wasn’t possible, but his heart told him his brother William was at the Castle of Comfort. Ann was in her father’s home, sitting by the fire with the Bible. The next day, he would clean himself up for church, and then he would have the whole afternoon to call on Ann. No, no. That was another life, another time. Ann isn’t waiting for you. Travis is. John looked back to Agnes’s house, hoping that would ground him more firmly in the present. But in the darkness, everything was as it had once been. No matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t change the sight in front of him. It’s a trick. Maeveen is tricking you. She’s used a glamour on you before. Go back to the cottage. He hesitated, half turning toward the road, tempted to follow it but unable to leave his post. He knew William wasn’t at the Castle, but it felt like he was. John stepped back with a low growl of frustration. He shook his head, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling thoughts free. “You’re very stubborn, John. Why do you resist me?” 117

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John spun around, curling his lip. She stood in the middle of the road, looking exactly as she had the first night they met. Then, even in his disgust he felt a tug of attraction to her. Now, he saw her for what she was, and what had been beautiful before was twisted and vile. He tensed, ready for the inevitable attack, hoping that he wouldn’t be weakened by an inexplicably mortal body. “She’s not going to be safe forever, John. Soon, very soon, she’ll be out of my way and that foundling of hers will be crushed. Whose side will you be on then?” John growled in response, his fur standing up on his neck. It had no effect on her, but in that form he had no true handle on his emotions. It was all instinct. And every instinct told him to attack the monster threatening what was his—Travis and anything Travis loved. “Come to me, John. Make the right choice for once in your existence. I know you. You’re always making the wrong decision. With Ann, with William, and now with Travis.” She smirked as she delivered that line, the points of her teeth showing. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? Your little sanctuary isn’t as safe as you’d like to think. I can still see you.” She moved toward him, but he held his ground. He knew the sanctuary spell would hold against all of Maeveen’s efforts. It had been specifically meant to do just that. But he still wanted to race back and check on Travis. “John, this is your last chance. I’m not going to make this offer to you again. I’m a patient woman, but I’m not going to chase after you for another two centuries. Come to me, John. All you have to do is take the first step forward. It’s easier than you think it is. You can be my right hand. For the first time, somebody will appreciate you for who you really are.” 118

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John did the only thing he could. He took a step back. “I’m sorry you did that, John. You had so much potential. All of that rage that used to burn through you like the fires you used to watch. You hated Jane. You loathed your brother. If you had joined with me, you could have made him pay for the crime of stealing your wife’s life, your life, and the life of your unborn child. Perhaps you would have been able to protect Ann’s unborn child.” John dropped back on his haunches, gathering up his strength to spring forward. Maeveen continued to smirk, watching him with unflinching humor as he prepared to leap at her. He was past caring about the danger of such an act. He wasn’t thinking of the peculiar effect Travis had on him, or his near miss with the ogre. He wasn’t thinking of the other ways Maeveen had hurt him. Long ropes of slobber dripped from the corners of his muzzle, and his throat was tight for the wild taste of blood. She might have laughed at him. That might have been the sound of amusement echoing through his ears when the chain caught his back, driving him to the ground. Another heavy chain joined it, and another after that, landing across his shoulders and haunches, effectively strapping him to the stone. Something gritty rained on him, falling in his ears and eyes. A moment later, it began to burn. He howled and shook his head, but the burn only deepened, searing through his flesh. “Iron and salt, John. If you insist on drawing on the power of the fairy folk, you’re going to be answerable in the same way. Take him away. And be careful.” She walked up to the tip of his nose and stopped just out of biting distance. “Even though he doesn’t know his own strength.” Another shower of salt over his snout silenced another howl. A 119

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patch of yellow fell over the street, and John caught a glimpse of Áine’s shadow before the pain blinded him. *

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There were no signs of a struggle on the street or in the garden in front of Agnes’s modest little cottage. There were no indications that Nether Stowey was anything except exactly what it appeared to be—a quaint village in the countryside, far away from the hustle and bustles of modern life. Mrs. Harris and her daughter waved at Travis as they passed on the way to their morning errands, and the school bell echoed off the stone buildings, calling the children inside. Everything wasn’t just normal, it was perfect. Even so, an oppressive sense of terror weighed on him with every step. He wanted to run into the cottage shouting his mother’s name, but he couldn’t force himself to quicken his step. His legs were numb, his heart hammering. Travis walked up the pathway to the door, still trying to pretend it was a normal day. Hoping John would step around the corner and greet him with a smile. Hoping Agnes would open the door and ask him where he’d been, didn’t he know she was worried? There were no lights and none of the windows were open. He stopped at the door, his hand resting on the latch, his breath frozen in his chest. When he woke up alone that morning, he knew he couldn’t—shouldn’t—wait any longer for John’s return. He’d hurried through the woodland, glancing over his shoulder at every unexpected sound and watching the sunlight stretch long fingers through the dense trees. Now he wasn’t sure if he was fully prepared to deal with whatever he might find on the other side of the closed door. 120

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It wasn’t locked. He wanted to take that as a sign that everything was fine, but the silence assured him that nothing was fine. “Mum?” Travis left the door hanging open behind him and walked to the back of the cottage. Like outside, there were no signs of a struggle. There was no indication that anything was out of place, that anything was at all wrong. “Mum? John? Anybody?” Her bedroom was his last stop. When he saw the messed up bed, his heart fell in his chest. Agnes never varied from her daily routine, and the first thing on that routine was making the bed. She was simply gone. Her slippers were on the floor near the nightstand, and her glasses were on the pillow where she always left them. Travis’s legs turned to rubber, and he almost dropped to his knees. She was gone and where had he been? Sleeping in his lover’s enchanted bed, dreaming of John and what they would do when he finally returned. He should have been standing guard outside of Agnes’s door. He should have been planning his attack on Maeveen. He should have been preparing for battle. Agnes had given up everything for him, and when it really mattered, he’d let her down. Standing in the center of her room, Travis spun in a low rotation. Nothing looked out of place or lost. On the surface, everything was perfectly mundane, but did she have something tucked away? Something hidden in some drawer or box that could be helpful? He’d never snooped through her private space before, but if she had something, anything, that could help him, didn’t he have an obligation to do it now? “Fuck it,” Travis muttered, crossing the small room to throw 121

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the wardrobe doors open. He pulled her clothes out first and tossed them to the bed, clearing the space before focusing on the bottom. He mostly found shoes, but then his fingers caught against the sharper corner of a small jewelry box. Travis lifted the top slowly, knowing he’d probably just find Agnes’s strand of pearls and diamond earrings, but hoping for so much more. “Salt?” He pushed his finger into the tiny grains and dragged it back and forth. Salt spilled from the sides to the floor at his feet, but he kept digging. Finally, he caught something with the tip of his finger. Something solid and heavy. Something large. He turned the box over and dumped the salt, catching the key before it clattered to the ground. It was huge and heavy, clearly designed to fit an old-fashioned lock. Unfortunately, Travis had no idea which lock it might have fit. He’d never seen anything that would require a key like that. After a moment of debate, he slipped it into his pocket. “Travis?” He spun around at the little voice, but the doorway was empty. “Travis. Down here.” He looked down as the little black bunny hopped closer to his foot. “Roger? Is that you?” “Do you know any other talking rabbits?” “Can I pick you up?” “You may.” Travis bent and carefully scooped the tiny body into his hands. He held him up so they were eye level, and held back the smile at the sight of his little twitching nose. “What happened? Did you see anything?” “Yes. I’m sorry, Travis.” “You’re sorry. Sorry about what? Is it Mum? John?” 122

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“Maeveen was here last night. I hid and—” “You hid? Maeveen was here and you went off to hide? What the hell is wrong with you?” Roger looked at him reproachfully. Travis wasn’t sure how a bunny could look reproachful about anything, but there was no mistaking it. “If I had tried to find you, she would have caught me. And then where would you be? Do you even know where Maeveen lives?” “No.” “Then you need to listen. We need to make a plan.” “Is she here? In Nether Stowey?” “No, but she isn’t far from here. I’ll take you to her.” “What do we need? I’m sure I can’t just fight Maeveen with my bare hands.” “No, you’ll need a weapon. And you will need to weaken her. She’s part fairy now, so we’ll need salt and iron.” “How much salt?” “As much as you can find.” “What will I do with the salt? Throw it at her face? Or will it weaken her if she doesn’t touch it?” “If we have enough of it, it’ll weaken her.” Travis nodded and carefully set Roger on the floor again. He could go to the shop and buy more salt, but even if he cleared the shelf, it might not be enough. An idea struck him, and he hurried out of the room, his mind racing to find other potential sources. He heard Roger behind him, running on four paws to keep up with him, the bunny shape gone in favor of his dog form. Travis raced down the narrow staircase and out the backdoor, hurrying across the garden to throw open the shed door. “What are you looking for?” Roger asked, following him 123

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inside. Travis’s only response was a grunt as he began moving boxes. When he first moved to Nether Stowey, he’d been forced to store most of his belongings in the shed, arranging the boxes in perilous stacks. At the time, he’d noticed the bags of salt in the far corner, but he hadn’t thought too much about it. Agnes certainly didn’t need bags of salt to melt ice—the government saw to all of that when it was necessary—but he’d figured she suffered from dementia and people who had dementia did strange things. Now the salt represented something else entirely. Rather than a sign of her deteriorating condition, it hinted that she was still all too aware of her reality, but was mostly helpless to do anything about it. “Will this be enough?” Travis asked, turning on the overhead light. “Yes, certainly.” “I’ll get it loaded in the car.” It took three trips to clear out the shed of anything that might be of help, including a tire iron and chains. On his final return, he found Roger sitting in the front seat, his big round head tilted to the side as he watched Travis. The world tilted beneath him, and he experienced a strange moment of vertigo. A moment where the world he used to believe in came into sharp relief with the world as he knew it now. A moment where Roger the Puka could have been nothing more than his pet dog, and he was loading up a car for a perfectly mundane errand. He missed that mundane life. Even if he wanted to know the truth. Even though the truth brought him John and gave him a true appreciation for his mum. But he had never been the sort of boy who lived in a fantasy world. He’d always had a level head and he was firmly grounded in the real world. But what could he do about it? That world had been an illusion and 124

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now he needed to be the star in his own fairy tale—the knight in shining armor. Maybe that had always been his role. “How are you?” Roger asked as Travis opened the driver’s door. “Good. Why?” “You seemed distracted.” “I was. But I’m not anymore. Where are we going?” “Into the woods.”

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CHAPTER 12 Travis, like all children, had known about the fairy mounds from an early age. Of course, he’d also known from the age of ten that they weren’t really gateways to a strange fairy world. They were the remains of Neolithic cultures, each one providing an interesting piece of the puzzle of England’s earliest inhabitants. He’d taken a few courses at university about the so-called fairy mounds, fascinated by the levels of history found in each site. He especially liked the ones with the old Viking graffiti, Nordic runes announcing that Erik Hardaxe had been there, and he had something to say about it. But besides those small attempts to learn more about them, they hadn’t even been on Travis’s radar. Now he was pouring rock salt in a wide circle around one with a stone door. Roger stood guard, his attention shifting from Travis 126

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to the door. The salt would not only weaken Maeveen’s power, but it would also stop her from following them out the door if it came down to a foot race. Travis knew it shouldn’t. He knew Roger fully expected Travis to kill the witch, and he also knew that it would probably be necessary in order to free both John and Agnes. But he was having a hard time conceiving of himself as a killer, as a man who kills. Even if the death was just and necessary. “All done. Now how do we get in?” Travis asked. “I thought these were only supposed to open on Samhain.” “Fairies can open them any time.” “I’m not a fairy,” Travis pointed out. “You said it yourself. I’m nothing but a human.” “We can’t wait until Samhain.” Travis sighed. “Yes, I know. But it’s not like I have some secret knowledge on how to do this stuff. Mum never instructed me on what to do if I found myself in this position.” He squatted in front of the stone door, surveying it for any cracks or hints of weakness. He ran his fingers along the perimeter, but the seam was perfect. There were no drafts of cooler air or light pushing through cracks between the stone and the earth, no knob to turn, no buttons to push. Travis pressed his ear against the rough surface and tapped his knuckles against it, but the rock appeared to be solid. He ran his fingers from the top to the bottom again, and a bit of the stone flaked off. He dug his nail into it, flaking off more and more, until he formed a shallow hole about the width of his finger. Travis pulled the key from his pocket and experimentally pushed the blunt tip against the hole. It fit quite well. With a frown, he pushed harder. At first, nothing happened. He pushed harder and met momentary resistance, but then the stone gave way, and 127

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the key slid into place. Travis looked over his shoulder to Roger’s vaguely disinterested face, but the puka was of no help. Then something clicked into place, and the stone door swung open, exposing an empty void. Travis dug out one of the two torches he’d tossed in the bag and flicked it on. The light barely penetrated the blackness, and nothing responded to the glow. “Don’t get distracted. You’re going to see things you won’t understand. Things that might frighten you. Just don’t forget your mission.” “You’re not coming with me?” “No. I can’t.” “But you’re a puka. If you can’t, then why can I?” “It has nothing to do with what I am and everything to do with who I am. But don’t fear. I’ll be waiting here for you.” “How am I going to find her in there? I’m sure she didn’t leave me a trail of bread crumbs.” “Don’t try to find Maeveen. She can disguise herself from you. You’ve got to search for Áine and John.” “How?” “You love them, don’t you? More importantly, they love you. Use that.” “They love me? You’re saying that John loves me? Did he tell you that?” “He didn’t have to. Go, Travis. Time is a luxury you do not have.” Travis turned back to the darkness. He couldn’t see the floor or the walls. He could be about to step off the edge of a cliff and he had no way of knowing for sure. The first step required a leap of faith. Travis put the bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath, 128

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trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. There could be all kinds of horrible creatures waiting for him just inside the entry. Another ogre, or a black dog that didn’t have John’s humanity and integrity. There could be gremlins or trolls. He was about to step into a giant hole in the ground, which meant there could be spiders or venomous insects. But what choice did he have? Travis squeezed into the tiny opening, taking his first step into the darkness with his pulse still beating a rapid tattoo against his throat. After three steps, he turned back around, and the door seemed to be at least a hundred meters away. By the fifth step, Roger’s form was only a dark spot on a distant horizon. When the door swung shut, he knew he was well and truly on his own. There was nobody left to rescue him if something went wrong. There was nobody left to blame. He took another shuffling step forward and the torch fell from his damp and slick fingers, clattering to the stone ground. The light immediately blinked out, leaving him in perfect darkness. “Oh, this is just great,” Travis muttered, bending to try to find it. His fingers skimmed across the ground, and he expected to feel hard stone, but instead long blades of grass tickled his palm. He pulled back like he’d been burned, and then tentatively reached down again. Definitely grass. Soft, full, cool grass. He craned his neck back, looking up to what he expected would be a low cave ceiling. Instead, he saw stars. Millions and millions of stars flung across the black canvas of the sky, twinkling through a curtain of green and purple light. He’d seen the Northern Lights before, and it was almost like that, except brighter and bigger. Travis couldn’t tell if his eyes were merely adjusting to the blackness he encountered before, or if that blackness was simply dissipating. More and more came into focus around him, revealing 129

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a land that looked just like the Quantock Hills and yet nothing like England. There was no moon or sun, but the stars and the lights seemed to grow in intensity, glowing with more and more vibrancy. The hills were all of the rolling green variety, but they seemed to be alive. Not just alive, but breathing. The trees stretching into the diamond-studded heavens were tall and ancient, gnarled and twisted, their arms flung up like old women with their heads tossed back. There wasn’t another living being near him, and yet, he was surrounded by energy. The air positively vibrated, and he was infused with it. He was aware of every nerve ending, every red blood cell racing through his veins, every breath, every drop of sweat forming on his skin. Travis took a tentative step and then another, venturing farther into the enchanted world. Fear tugged at him like a particularly annoying companion, reminding him in a high, thin voice that his old pal terror wasn’t going anywhere. Travis ignored it, too focused on his task to be distracted by the very real danger he was in. He spun around, but the door was gone as though it’d never existed. It was almost possible to forget the door had ever existed at all. How long would it take before this world began to feel like the real one? How long before he became too enchanted to be of any good to anybody? He looked up to the stars again, and a group of them began to swirl together. They fell out of the sky while he watched, racing toward him in a cloud. He automatically put his arms up to protect his face as they swarmed around him, a thousand tiny points of heat. Their wings fluttered against his cheeks and arms, too tiny to see but not too tiny to feel. At first, it almost felt pleasant. But it didn’t take long before the delicate sweep of wings turned to something much sharper, like a thousand nettles embedding in his 130

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skin. He screamed in surprised pain, desperately trying to wave the things from his face, but no matter how much he tried, the pain didn’t leave. They seemed to glow brighter and brighter, and each pulse of light sent a corresponding sting of agony through his flesh. When he couldn’t wave the swarm away, Travis began to run. The strange little lights kept up with him, and they might have been multiplying. The pain certainly was. In the distance, he saw a large lake. He ran toward it, forgetting he was no longer in his own, safe world. If he were being attacked by a swarm of bees, he would have tried to drown them. His mind wasn’t capable of making the distinction in his current state, and he jumped into the small waves, crashing and splashing through the water. The water was cold enough to steal his breath, but it also eased the burning pain. The lights fell away from him and disappeared into the cool depths. Travis didn’t know what they were or if he had killed them, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that the pain had stopped. He ventured deeper, until he was standing in water up to his neck, forcing himself to take in air with huge gulps. Once his heartbeat returned to normal, he turned back to the shore, only to freeze again as he felt something slither around his ankles. It was thick and cold, its scaly body rough around his bare skin. A scream escaped him, high-pitched and startled. He floundered, trying to run even though the thing—whatever it was—pulled tighter around him, hobbling him. He slipped, falling forward into the water, his mouth filling with the cold, brackish fluid as he tried to scream again. The bag in his hand nearly slipped from his numb fingers, weighed down by the iron and Travis’s own terror. He surfaced again and lunged toward the shore, his mind racing to create an image of whatever was trying to pull him under. He didn’t want to know. He had a deep fear of snakes and anything 131

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resembling snakes, and he was sure if he had any visual evidence that it was some sort of massive water snake trying to drag him into its lair, he’d start screaming and never stop. With another herculean effort, he dragged himself even closer to safety, tugging his foot away from the icy grip. With one more lunge, he threw himself on the grassy bank and began to crawl on his stomach, putting as much distance between himself and the water as he could. Travis heard something break through the water behind him, and the ground vibrated from a deep roar. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the dragon, its red eyes rolling wildly, its mouth open to expose several rows of vicious looking teeth. Its neck was at least ten meters long, and Travis didn’t want to stick around to see if it would actually breathe fire. It roared again, and Travis tried to get his feet beneath him, but he kept slipping in the slick mud, landing on his ass again and again. One time he came down hard enough to bite his tongue, and coppery blood flowed down his throat as the incredible pain almost distracted him from his very real danger. Travis finally stood, and once he was secure on both feet, he didn’t lose his balance again. With the heavy bag still gripped tightly in one hand, he started to run. He moved across the ground blindly, his ears sensitive to any sound of the massive animal moving from its watery home. When he dared to look behind his shoulder, the dragon was still watching him from the water, no less menacing in its stillness. “Okay, okay. You’re fine. You just have to be aware of the danger, that’s all. Some of the stars are actually horrible stinging things, and the lakes have dragons. Now you know. Just be on the lookout. You won’t be any good to anybody if you’re dead.” 132

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The dragon sank back into the shifting depths, its eyes blinking at Travis before it disappeared. Travis studied his arms and legs, trying to gauge the damage, but the light was too dim to really get a good look at his skin. Telling himself there’d be time enough to deal with it later, he resumed walking, pointedly putting more and more space between himself and the dragon. They love you. Use that. But how? If Maeveen had them, she probably locked them away some place. They wouldn’t be able to shout for him or hear him approaching. He didn’t have the time to blunder around the strange world randomly, hoping he’d stumble across Maeveen’s house—if she even had them in the house. They could have been in a cave or a tree or a castle or something Travis hadn’t even conceived of. “Mum, if you can hear me or feel me at all, give me something. Some sort of sign. Please.” Travis hoped for a bolt from heaven, or a glowing arrow pointing him down his path. Neither of those things happened. With no other option, he started to walk. The strange world wasn’t perfectly analogous to the world he left behind, but after a moment, he had his bearings. He imagined that the fairy dimension was like a transparency laying over the map of the Quantock Hills, which would put the site of John’s cottage approximately two miles to his right. Since he didn’t know where Maeveen lived, and he doubted villages like Nether Stowey existed in this realm, that seemed like as good a place as any to begin. The first mile passed without incident. Travis could almost believe he was going for another moonlit walk along the Coleridge trail. He could almost believe the lights overhead were actual stars. The same stars he’d spent hours staring at, the same ones that had 133

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been studied and watched for thousands of years. But the air was too heavy, and the lights were too dynamic. The stars moved in the heavens, darting back and forth. Everything was in constant motion. Even the grass beneath his feet. “Hail, stranger. Who art thou?” Travis spun around to find the source of the question. The woman sitting on the rock hadn’t been there just a moment before when he passed by, and yet she held herself as though she’d always been there. Long red hair covered her shoulders and guarded her otherwise bare breasts. Her pink nipples peaked out from behind her locks, and she had one creamy leg crossed over the other, modestly protecting her virtue, but not hiding the fact that she wore nothing at all. “My name is Travis.” “You sound quite strange. Are you not one of the fair folk?” “No. I’m human.” “What are you doing so far from home, child?” “I’m searching for my mother.” The woman smiled and unfolded herself from the rock. She stood, her hair swept behind her perfect body. “Thou are lost. Poor child. I will help you.” “No, I’m not lost. Thank you, but I don’t need your help.” “Is your mother human, too?” “No.” “What is she called?” “Áine.” The very sound of his mother’s name transformed her. Within a blink of an eye, the beautiful woman was gone, replaced with something twisted old. She reared back, as though Travis had slapped her, and he realized she was no longer on the ground. She 134

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hovered in the air above him, her eyes twin black holes, her mouth a gaping void. She howled, or screamed, or cried. Her hair flew away from her face, each strand moving like it had a mind of its own. “You do not belong here,” she said, her voice like the buzzing of a thousand bees. “Be gone.” “Tell me where to find her. I know you know.” “Be gone!” Travis plunged his fingers into the bag and closed his fist around a handful of salt. He held it up over his head and let her see the grains rolling down his wrist and arm. Each one that hit the earth burned it, creating a bitter, sickly odor. “Tell me where she is.” Air escaped her mouth in a low hiss and she extended her arm. “There. Thou are on the right path. Continue if you must.” He wanted to question her on Maeveen, but she disappeared before he could utter another word, drifting higher and higher until she finally faded into the green lights. Travis could still hear her voice on the wind though, bidding him to leave, to return to his own world and leave theirs alone. “Sorry, I can’t do that. Not until I find Mum and John.” Travis resumed, feeling strangely strengthened by the encounter. The fear that had been a solid companion was gone, and each step was lighter. He had no idea why the woman (banshee?) reacted so strongly to him, but clearly he had some power over her. Even if it that was just the result of the handful of salt. Whatever power he had over her, he could reasonably expect to have over Maeveen. Perhaps he wasn’t just gamely trudging forward to his death. The second mile passed quickly, his long strides eating up the 135

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ground. When he reached the top of a ridge and saw a perfect replica of John’s house in the valley below him, he wasn’t surprised. He scurried down the other side of the hill, striking a precarious balance between running and falling. He didn’t have a plan for what to do once he reached the door, but that didn’t stop him. There was nothing left to do but to rush headlong into the danger. Even so, he stopped short, stunned, his insides liquefied by sudden fear when the door flung open and a woman he never saw before but knew down to his core stood in the doorway. “Travis. I knew you’d come.” “You must be Maeveen.” She smiled pleasantly. “I am. Please, come in.” She held the door open wider and stepped back. “Make yourself at home.” “Are you going to try to push me in the oven?” “Do you think I would go to all this trouble if I only planned to eat you?” She tittered at that. “Trust me, I wouldn’t need to bother. We have much more important things to discuss.” “You went to a lot of trouble? For me? I’m flattered,” Travis said, trying to keep his voice even as he accepted her invitation and stepped inside. He hoped to see his mum and John waiting for him, but the room was empty and comfortably familiar. “I had something truly great planned for you, Travis. But you always get in your own way.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means I made a palace for you.” She shut the door, and Travis heard the unmistakable sound of the lock sliding into place. “A castle of riches beyond your wildest dreams. I had every luxury you could ever hope for. It was a true paradise. And you…turned it into this.” “I didn’t do anything.” 136

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Maeveen smiled again. “Of course, you did. That’s why you’re here, Travis.” “I’m here for Mum and John. Where are they?” “I’ll show you after we’ve had a chat.” “I want to see them now.” “Sit down or you’ll never see them again,” Maeveen said sweetly. “What is this all about?” “That’s what I am trying to tell you, dear. You know, it hasn’t been easy getting your attention.” “Did you really do all of this just to get my attention? You kidnapped my mother? You kidnapped an innocent man?” She laughed. “Áine isn’t your mother, you silly boy. And John isn’t an innocent man. But that’s neither here nor there.” “What do you want with me? I’m just a regular human. Some guy.” Maeveen laughed again. “You really believe that, don’t you? You think a fairy as powerful as Áine would give up everything just to take care of a regular human? John knows better, too. He’s spent a great deal of time trying to puzzle you out, and he’s just not smart enough to put his finger on the difference. But I know, and soon, so will you.” Travis crossed his arms, doing his best to appear several degrees cooler than he felt. “Enlighten me.” “I want to make sure you’re paying attention first.” Maeveen raised her hand above her head and snapped. Her hair flowed around her like water, the strands brushing against the floor, and her arm was perfectly shaped. He’d never considered the shape of arm before, but if he were an artist, he would use her as the model for his masterpiece. “Look. Don’t be afraid.” 137

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Travis heard them before he saw them. The low, exhausted whimpers. The soft, labored breathing. Maeveen couldn’t quite disguise her smirk of triumph, and her eyes remained locked with his, daring him not to move. Daring him to keep his gaze averted from the suffering they both knew he couldn’t aid, couldn’t stop. He wanted to beat the smirk off her face, wanted to wipe her from existence. The sudden desire for violence had him clenching his fists, and he turned slowly. The first glimpse of his mother stunned him. She looked like she was in a very deep sleep, maybe even a trance. Her wrinkled skin was smooth and tight again, revealing sharp, youthful features. She wasn’t a traditional beauty, but she was striking. More than striking. Even in her unconscious state, she was regal. The iron gray was gone from her hair, and it shone like a rich gold. Her arms were bound above her head, and thin lines of blood dripped from beneath the thick ropes. There were bloodstains on the hem of her nightgown and around her slippers, but there was no obvious injury. There was no mistaking the fact that Agnes was gone. The woman he had called Mum was in that other world. There, where they stood in that moment, there was only Áine. But it was John that nearly drove Travis to the ground. Unlike Áine, John was awake. His eyes were swollen and damp, unmistakable pain reflected in the brown depths. He looked at Travis with such sick desperation that Travis actually felt like he’d been struck. John was completely stripped, and the iron shackles around his wrists and ankles had burned him almost to his bones. The charred and blackened flesh made Travis’s stomach churn. There were other marks, too. Tiny burns no bigger than grains of salt peppered John’s skin, discoloring the flesh into an array of red and black patterns. Maeveen had pushed a thick chain between his 138

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lips and wrapped it around his skull to act as a gag, and a matching chain hung around his neck. “What did you do?” Travis breathed, surprised he could speak at all. “I am merely ensuring that I have your attention. I wasn’t surprised when I learned of your interest in John. He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Especially when he’s like this.” “Let him go.” “Why? Because you wish it?” “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you.” “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Travis. We still have much to discuss.” “Do you really need to keep him in all that iron?” “It’s for his own safety. John has many fine qualities, but he’s just not that bright. If I loosened his shackles, he would try to attack me, and then I would have to destroy him. I’m only trying to keep everybody’s best interests in mind.” “How magnanimous of you. Look, you’ve got me here. You’ve got my attention. What do you want from me?” “One more thing before we begin. Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable in your kitchen with a nice pot of tea?” “What is that? A trick question.” “Imagine yourself there now.” Travis wanted to tell the old witch she could go fuck herself, but a small moan of pain from John stopped him. If she wanted him to imagine his kitchen, he would do that. Whatever it took to make her happy. Maybe then she would show John a measure of mercy. He closed his eyes and imagined every detail of the kitchen, right down to the color of the tea towels his mother had picked out when he was still a child. When he opened his eyes 139

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again, he found himself in that room. The only thing missing was the pleasant morning sunshine streaming through the window above the sink. Maeveen laughed and clapped her hands with all the genuine wonderment of a child. “Look at that. You could shape this entire world, Travis. You can rearrange it to be anything you like. We could do that together.” “What do you mean? I…I did this?” “Yes, and it’s only the very tip of your powers. You could be a god here, Travis. Think of it. I know you have. Everybody’s imagined what they would do with unlimited power.” “You…” Travis sank down to his chair. “This was never about Mum, was it? You’re not trying to free her powers to harm humans.” “Of course not. Why would you think such a ridiculous thing? What do I need with humans when we can control the fairy folk for eternity?” “How?” “Don’t you know who you are?” Travis shook his head mutely. He didn’t know anything anymore. It seemed pointless to point out again for the hundredth time that he was nothing more than a human. Pointless and stupid, since he was clearly much more than that. Even if he didn’t understand what or how that could be. “No. Just that I’m a foundling.” “You’re descended from a goddess, Banbha. She’s been dead for an eon now, but once she was the most powerful goddess of both fertility and war. She led an army of fairy folk, and regularly made war on the humans, who worshipped her in an effort to appease her. She was destroyed in one of the wars she loved so 140

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much, and her remaining followers were either killed along with her or driven underground. She was supposed to have had one remaining son who refused to avenge his mother, but instead chose the coward’s way. Despite his divinity, he married a human woman. His family moved freely between the two worlds, but eventually, the divinity became so diluted that his descendents lost the ability to open the door. But somehow, there’s you.” “So, I’m some sort of deity?” “No, I wouldn’t quite say that. Who knows the bloodlines that are brought together in you? You’re definitely a descendent of Banbha. Your father might have had a fairy somewhere buried deep in his family history. But your power was evident from the moment you were discovered. Instead of teaching you how to use your power and allowing you your birthright, Áine stripped it all from you. If it weren’t for her meddling, you could already be a god. Think of everything you’ve lost because of that.” “But think of everything I’ve gained.” Maeveen waved her had dismissively. “What have you gained? Your life is an empty shell of what it could be. You haven’t realized a tenth of your potential.” “And that’s why you’re tormenting the people I care about most? So I can realize my potential?” “They’re not people, Travis.” Maeveen crossed the room, and John’s eyes widened as he watched her approach. His fear was obvious, his pain more so. “John was once a man, but now he’s not. No matter what he looks like, no matter what he sounds like, no matter what you feel for him, he’s not a man.” She cupped the side of his face, holding him gently. Neither of them moved for a long beat, and then her fingers began to sink into his flesh. John began to scream against the chain in his mouth, 141

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trying to yank his head away from her touch. No matter how much he bucked and thrashed, he couldn’t escape her long, narrow fingers. “I can do this because he isn’t a man.” “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Travis said tightly. “And as for your poor, dear Mum…well, look at her. She played at being human, Travis. Nothing more. It was a mask she wore, and she didn’t wear it to protect you. She wore it to protect herself. Because you have a power here nobody can control.” “You keep saying things like that as though you expect me to be angry. Why should I even care about ruling this place? Everything seems fine without my meddling.” Maeveen’s face soured and she yanked her hand away from John. “Don’t you have any ambition?” “Yes. My ambition is to have a good job and put aside some money. I want to settle down and have a family, and once the kids leave the nest, I want to take that money I’ve saved and do some traveling. I admit, it’s not the highest ambition ever, but I think it sounds pretty damned good.” “This is exactly what I feared. And exactly why I had to collect John and Áine first. We’ve barely met, but it seems I already know you better than you know yourself.” “If all you want is me and my power, then why don’t you just let them go?” “Don’t be stupid, Travis. I’ve got the tiger by the tail now. You don’t just let that go. Not if you want to walk away with your body intact.” “Then at least let me take care of him. You’ve got me here. I’m not going anywhere without my mother. You can let me see to John’s injuries.” 142

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“Very well. I never wanted to hurt John anyway.” Travis schooled his features to suppress his elation at the minor victory. He couldn’t just gather John up in his arms and run back the way he came, but he could at least stop John’s suffering. Once the iron was removed from his skin, it should begin to heal. He could wash away the grains of salt that still clung to his damp flesh, and remove the blood from his mouth and eyelids. As Maeveen unchained him from the wall, the room changed around them again from Agnes’s kitchen to John’s cottage. It happened so easily that Travis barely noticed it, but Maeveen did. Maybe she always wore her emotions on her sleeve, but it was obvious she was thrilled by the seamless transition from cottage to cottage. “He’ll fall if you don’t catch him,” she said as she unlocked the irons around his wrists. Travis moved quickly, just getting his arms under John’s frame as the bracelets around his ankles fell open. “Travis…” “Shh. Don’t try to talk. Your mouth…just don’t try to talk.” “Travis…just…kill her.” Heat sliced through his back and then exploded in agony. Travis cried out and nearly dropped John to the floor, his muscles spasming from the intense pain. His lungs seized and his heart stopped mid-beat. For an endless second, Travis was sure that was it, Maeveen had killed him. As quickly as it started, it was gone, and he almost dropped John a second time as relief overtook him. “Consider that a warning shot, Travis. I need you and I don’t want to kill you. But I will if you give me no other choice.” “I understand,” Travis choked out before dragging John over to the bed. They collapsed together, John’s moan of agony as they hit the mattress was enough to make Travis’s eyes sting. “John…John, I’m sorry. It’ll be okay. I’m so sorry.” 143

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“What…are you going to do?” “I don’t know yet,” Travis murmured as he carefully ran his fingers over an uninjured patch of John’s skin. “I’ll think of something. I promise.” “Don’t try to save me,” John whispered, his mouth close to Travis’s ear. “Leave me. Take Áine and leave me.” “I’ll never leave you. I’ll think of something,” Travis said, carefully lowering John’s head to the pillow. “I promise.” Maeveen didn’t interfere with Travis while he saw to John, but he didn’t really have the time to properly tend to all the wounds. The fact that John was technically a ghost and thus not in any true danger of permanent harm didn’t matter. He might not die from his injuries, but he was still suffering. Anybody with eyes could see that. And Travis knew that it was all his fault. Maeveen would not have had any interest in hurting John if the two of them had never met. He hated that. He couldn’t apologize enough to make up for it. He couldn’t do anything to make up for it. It was especially galling the way John looked at him without a hint of recrimination. Regardless of his condition, he didn’t blame Travis. That much was obvious, and it only made Travis feel worse. Áine never stirred. Her face remained lax, her breathing even. While Travis helped John, Maeveen sat beside Áine’s sleeping form, quietly watching the other woman. Maeveen’s face was almost as peaceful as Áine’s, and there were no hints of anything bitter or angry. He knew he couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around the relationship between Áine and Maeveen. After all, Áine had given up everything to keep Travis safe from Maeveen, yet she had given the witch all of her powers. Why? Surely there had been other fairies, other witches, other better candidates. Travis would have asked if he thought Maeveen would have given him a straight 144

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answer. Maybe she would have, but then, Travis wasn’t really sure he wanted to know. Everything was more complicated than Travis would have ever guessed, and that included relationships.

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CHAPTER 13 When Travis first opened the door of the fairy mound, his internal clock had been exactly aligned with the sun. He’d always been good at gauging the passage of time, and rarely even needed to check his watch to mark the hours. But within Maeveen’s prison, there was no sense of time. He might have been kneeling beside John’s bed for minutes or hours or days. He tried to imagine Roger sitting outside the door, patiently waiting for his return, but a part of him knew that Roger might have long since left. He might have died. The world might have moved on. The more he tried to wrap his mind around the timelessness of this new world, the more anxious he became. How much time had he already wasted? Or was he moving too quickly? With no clocks or external way to measure time, Travis was 146

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forced to rely on John. He marked the changes on the surface of his body the way one might mark the changes in the seasons or the tide. As long as he continued to heal, then Travis knew they hadn’t stopped. He wished Áine would wake, but clearly Maeveen had enchanted her. She seemed peaceful, though, and as long as she wasn’t in clear distress, Travis counted it as a blessing. He didn’t leave John’s side, if he could help it. The other man mostly slept, but when his eyes fluttered open, Travis wanted to be there. He wanted John to know he wasn’t abandoned, though the ghost clearly believed he should do just that. “You’re still here,” John said, his standard greeting when he opened his eyes. “Of course.” “You should go. Áine can look after herself. And I…I’ll be fine.” “Don’t try to tell me you’ll be fine. Just because you’re already dead doesn’t mean she won’t hurt you.” “It doesn’t matter.” “It matters to me, John. How would I live with myself knowing I left you behind?” Travis whispered, his attention constantly darting to the door. Maeveen had left them, but she would return soon. She always did. “You wouldn’t leave me.” “That’s different.” “How is it different?” “It just is. And you know it is. Leave the fairy mound. Leave the hills. Leave the country, if you have to. Maeveen can never travel far from the door. She couldn’t follow you to London or across the ocean.” “It doesn’t have to be that way. If I leave…you know what she’ll do to you. She will hurt you, because you matter to me. How 147

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can I let you be punished like that?” John reached up and took Travis’s hand, engulfing it in his much larger fingers. “The time I had with you were the best hours I ever had with anybody. You showed me what happiness could be like even in the midst of pain. If I have to suffer at Maeveen’s hands, it seems a fair trade.” “It’s not. It’s not a fair trade at all. It’s a shitty trade. Look, you would have been safe in your cottage if it wasn’t for me. She was only interested in you because of me. I know that people have sacrificed a great deal for me, and now I’m finally going to have the chance to prove myself worthy of that.” “But you are worthy,” John said softly. “You are. Just because of who you are.” “And you shouldn’t be left to be tortured by a psycho.” “What are you going to do?” “I have a plan. I think it’ll work. I know that isn’t entirely reassuring, but it’s better than having no plan at all, right?” John sat up. “What do you need me to do?” Travis put a hand against his chest and gently pushed him back to the bed. “You’re doing it. As long as she thinks you’re too weak to help me, she won’t chain you again. And this won’t work if you’re all chained up.” “You want me to just lay here and watch you?” “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, John.” Which was a huge understatement. “But if she puts you in those irons again, you’ll be too weak to actually make the escape. And I’m not leaving you behind.” “Travis…” He leaned over the bed and gently kissed John’s lips. He tried to limit the contact between them in order to limit Maeveen’s 148

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interest in John. But as soon as their mouths touched, he realized how much he needed the contact. “Trust me. No matter what I say or do, just trust me. Please.” John sighed softly against his mouth, his breath warm. “Of course I will. I do trust you.” “Good. You’ll be back home, safe and sound before you know it.” Travis ached for another kiss, but he forced himself to sit back. John watched him, his eyes heavy, and Travis could tell he wasn’t the only one who longed for more contact. “We all will be.” John’s face creased with another question, but Travis stood before he had a chance to voice it. Maeveen hadn’t enchanted the house to keep him trapped there as far as he knew. She hadn’t needed to. He wasn’t going to leave either Áine or John at her mercy, and they both knew it. She used his love against him as surely as Snow White’s stepmother had used her love against her. “Oh. Oh John, oh my God. I’m so stupid.” “Why? What’s wrong?” “Maeveen’s plan. Jesus Christ. Her plan doesn’t make any sense. She’s holding you and Mum here to force me to cooperate with her, right?” “Yes.” “But she told me it’s my destiny to rule the fairy realm, that she wants to be by my side. Does she think I’m just going to let her trap me for an eternity? Isn’t she scared that once I agree I’ll double cross her? I’m more powerful than she is by her own admission.” “What is she doing then? Why is she keeping you alive?” “Mum. Maybe she can’t kill me as long as Mum is alive, and she can’t kill Mum as long as she’s human. Unless…she has the ability to change the rules of magic. Then she can lose the 149

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restrictions against hurting humans.” “Once you agree, she’ll just…take it.” “Right. Maybe that’s how she got Mum’s, too. And she would have killed her already if she could have. She wouldn’t have needed to keep Mum alive to lure me here. I would have come no matter what.” “What are you going to do?” “What do you think? I’m going to burn that bitch to the ground.” “I don’t know if that’s the smartest…” “No, you know what? Fuck her. She’s the reason Mum has had to keep me hidden. She’s the reason Mum’s been out of her right mind for the past five years. She’s the reason you’re hurt…she’s the reason you’re even here, isn’t she? She cursed you, didn’t she?” “Yes.” “Then fuck her. This ends here. Tonight.” Travis kneeled at the side of Áine’s bed and tentatively reached for her hand. He hadn’t touched her once since his arrival in the fairy realm. It hadn’t seemed right. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it because even if his heart told him the woman was his mother, his eyes told him something else entirely. But now he needed to do more than touch her. He needed to find whatever magic Maeveen used to hold her in her sleep and he needed to change it. He would have preferred to never have to do anything like this at all—at the very least, he would have liked his first attempt to be on somebody besides his own mother. But time was of the essence, and he needed her to be awake. He cupped her face between his hands, his fingers pressed to her temples. He felt John watching him, but he didn’t look up from 150

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Áine’s face. He focused on gathering up every good memory he had of her—she always walked him to his class on the first day of school, and she took him to the movies every Saturday and let him choose what they watched. Even after his brothers were born, she found time to spend with him. Time that was just theirs. They learned how to cook together, going through one of Julia Child’s books a recipe at a time. She had taken him to his first concert when he was twelve, and always gave him Doctor Who toys for his birthday. He’d always known she would do anything for him, but now he had the proof she would give up her whole life for him, and whatever minor irritation he’d felt toward her over the past year was completely gone. “Mum, I don’t know if you can hear me or feel me at all. I don’t know if you know what’s going on around here. I don’t even know if you’ll remember me when you wake up. But I need your help. Please. One more time. Tell me what to do. Give me some sort of sign, okay? At least let me know I’m doing the right thing.” He felt a jolt through his fingers, but it didn’t startle him into releasing her. Warmth flooded through him, and he could smell the lavender sachet she kept in her linen closet—a scent that would always be linked to her and Sunday afternoons. Buoyed by her encouragement, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the connection between her body and his. Beneath the warmth and the lavender, he caught something bitter—something yellow and electric. Something that didn’t belong there at all. An image of a fine golden net filled his mind, and he could imagine it draped across Áine’s body, holding her in place as surely as iron shackles. Travis imagined a pair of silver scissors with a sharply honed edge. The scissors began near her feet, cutting the edge of the fine mesh before gliding up the line of her body. The net fell away from 151

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her, evaporating into thin air as each strand fell away. When he finally opened his eyes, the bitterness was gone away, and his mother’s clear blue eyes were locked on his face. “Mum?” “Travis.” She touched the side of his face. “You’re here. Are you hurt?” “No. I’m fine. How are you? Did I do it right?” “You did. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to be involved in any of this. I wanted you to have your own life.” “It’s not your fault. It’s Maeveen’s. And she’s going to be back soon. We’ve got to be ready.” “We’ve got to get out of here.” Travis shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Not yet.” “What do you mean?” “I mean I’m going to kill her.” Áine reached out, her fingers closing around his wrist. His pulse raced, and he knew what she was going to say before she said it, but he didn’t care. His mind was made up. “You can’t, Travis.” “I can and I will. If I don’t do it now, she’ll just try again and again until she gets what she wants. She’s already taken too much from all of us.” “I never said she shouldn’t die,” Áine said softly. “But killing somebody changes who you are. I don’t want you to change.” “I’ve already changed, Mum. Things aren’t going to be same again. She came after me and the people I love. I’m not going to let her get away with that.” “What are you going to do?” John asked, moving to stand at his side. He could see Áine’s concern reflected on John’s face, and he 152

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knew if he didn’t stand his ground the two of them would do their best to bully him out of his plan. “I’m going to burn her. If she’s going to insist on treating me like we’re in a fairy tale, then I guess I’m going to have to treat her the same way. I want you two to leave first.” “We’re not going to leave you,” John said flatly. “You don’t know how powerful Maeveen is. It’s too dangerous for you to face her down yourself.” “No, it’s not. Don’t you see? She can’t hurt me. Watch.” Travis snapped his fingers and flames immediately engulfed him, burning without consuming. He didn’t even feel the heat on his skin. He saw the flames reflected in John’s dark eyes, and they stared at each other wordlessly while the fire spread from his feet, across the floor, and then raced up the side of the walls. Soon it was dancing over the low ceiling, eating at the wood until the light from the stars reached them. With another snap of his fingers, the flames died and everything returned to normal. “This whole world is nothing but an extension of my body. She knows that. She was counting on me never figuring that out. Please go. I just want the two of you to be safe.” “I’m going to hold the door open for you, Travis. You join us as soon as you’re finished. Do you understand?” The tone of her voice told Travis she was not going to accept any arguments. Of course, it would never occur to him to do anything but obey her when she spoke to him like that. “Completely. Now go. She’s going to be back soon. Will you be able to defend yourself if she finds you?” Áine smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not weak here like I am among the humans.” “I don’t want to leave you,” John said. 153

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Áine took his hand. “Come, friend John. You’ve watched over him well, but Travis is right. He needs to do this and he needs to do it by himself.” John didn’t look pleased, but he apparently couldn’t argue with her either. He looked to Áine with plain adoration, and Travis felt a curious twinge just below his heart. They had known each other for a long time, and they’d still know each other long after he was gone. He had so little time to live anyway, but it seemed particularly minuscule when compared with the span of their existence. An argument could definitely be made that they should stay and fight while he ran to safety. But Áine had kept him safe and strong for so many years, devoting her life to watching over him. Surely she had done that because he had a purpose, a role, a destiny to fulfill. “John…will you wait for me?” “Yes.” “No matter how long?” John cupped the back of his neck and pulled him close. Travis’s body immediately woke up and longed for another kiss, for more contact and more warmth. “I’ll be there when you come through the door. If I have to wait for a hundred years, I’ll be there.” “You don’t have to wait for a hundred years.” “I’ll wait for a thousand,” John said with perfect sincerity. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.” John released him and stepped back. His eyes were haunted, like he’d already resigned himself to losing another person. Áine pulled Travis into a familiar embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around him. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask her about Maeveen and the fairy realm and his own powers and 154

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parentage. But the answers would all be too late now. So he kissed her cheek without voicing a single one. A certain weight seemed to evaporate from his shoulders as he watched them walk away, and he couldn’t deny the sudden flash of brutal excitement in his chest. The walls began to change around him, taking on new shapes as he prepared for his final showdown with the witch. He didn’t realize it, but the rest of the realm was changing, too, alerting Maeveen to Travis’s new understanding. His anger boomed through the fairy’s world, and she had no choice but to respond to it, compelled to go to him despite her own wishes.

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CHAPTER 14 The moon floated overhead like a giant white skull, laughing soundlessly at the man waiting in the cold. John ignored the chill as long as he could, but as the rugged winter winds blew over the hills he realized he had no choice. He shifted into the dog form and laid down in front of the fairy mound, watching the solid stone door that hadn’t opened in a little over six months. Roger slept under a low bush, his tiny black body tucked up tightly to fend off the cold wind. In the summer months, Áine had waited for him, but now that winter had descended, it was too cold for her to tolerate. She still spent most of her days with them, her face marred with a permanent frown. They kept each other company, but they had stopped reassuring each other that everything was fine. Soon, one of them would insist on opening the door. Soon, they wouldn’t 156

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have a choice. At first, they’d passed the time by talking. Áine had told John everything. She explained the friendship that had once blossomed between her and Maeveen and how she had cherished it. Maeveen’s ambition had outstripped her abilities, but John could tell that Áine had never stopped loving her. She wouldn’t stop Travis from killing her, but she’d still keenly feel that loss. She admitted the fear she had felt when they found Travis and realized how powerful he was. Even as an infant, he could use her fairy magic to change the world around them. “He called me to him,” Áine had said. “He needed a guardian. He needed love. He was so frightened and so lonely. It was as though he had reached out and grabbed the first thing he could find, and that was me. I loved him. I couldn’t give him to somebody else to raise. But I knew he could very well kill us all if he had access to my magic. So I gave it all to Maeveen. I never thought I would have to protect him from her as well as himself.” John had tried to give voice to his own feelings, but he found them impossible to explain. Áine never asked him to try. She never pushed him into revealing anything about himself, even though his vigil revealed everything. He especially didn’t try to explain the myriad of fears haunting him, chasing him through his dreams and into his waking hours. If he spoke of them, they might come true. He was afraid Travis would never emerge. He was also afraid that the Travis that ultimately did step out of the fairy realm would be another man. Somebody who had lost the humanity that John loved so much. Travis might have been able to manipulate magic, but he was good. He was so good, and he was so beautiful, and the thought of that man being replaced by somebody hard and cold nearly killed John. Fairy folk weren’t exactly friendly creatures. 157

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But if he had changed, John would still follow him until the end of time. He spent a great deal of time imagining the final confrontation between Maeveen and Travis. Travis had seemed so confident in his abilities and who he was, it was difficult to imagine that Travis would allow Maeveen to defeat him. At the same time, Maeveen’s magic was ancient, her power undeniable. Travis might have technically been stronger, but he lacked experience. As a result of that, a part of him deeply resented Áine. He understood her impulse to give her son the best life possible, the most normal life possible, but couldn’t she have taught him more? If she had been honest with him, he could have been home safe at that very moment. It wasn’t fair to be critical of her—he certainly didn’t know what he would do in her shoes—but a part of him felt like he was right. And Áine knew it, too. She brought him food while he waited and never tried to coax him from the door. He thought she appreciated the fact he was willing to wait, regardless of how long it took. Sometimes, she told him stories about Travis while he ate. He consumed those stories like he consumed the ground beef, hungry for any detail of the other man’s life. It sustained him through the darkest nights, when the moon disappeared behind angry clouds and the temperatures dropped and the whole world was nothing but lean shadows. One morning, Áine had brought a blanket from her home and silently offered it to him. As he wrapped it around his shoulders, he caught a whiff of something spicy—Travis’s soap. The blanket was from his bed. John slept with it wrapped around him every night. When the door trembled, John didn’t quite believe it. It could have just been a trick of light and shadows, combined with his most fervent wishes. But the door moved again, shaking against its 158

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frame. John sat up, his entire body shaking with excitement. He wanted to change back to his other form, but he stopped himself. If Maeveen opened that door, he would need to run as quick as he could through the woodland to warn Áine. The door sank into the mound an inch, and a sliver of green light stretched from behind the crack. He considered waking Roger, but what if it was Travis standing on the other side of the door? He’d want to have at least a few private minutes. The crack slowly widened, allowing more and more green light to spill out. It crawled across the dark ground until it finally reached John’s paws. It spread up his legs and chest, warming him in the cool night. His flesh tingled and the hair on his ears stood on end. Fairy magic had a certain energy—the same sort of energy one might feel during a thunderstorm when lightning cracked through the air. John didn’t dare close his eyes, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to look, either. The hope he still had made his chest ache. What would he do if all his hopes were dashed to the ground? How could he even go on in the face of that disappointment? His brother’s betrayal, the loss of Ann, Jane’s death, the loss of his unborn children had all hurt in ways he couldn’t express, but every single one of those experiences would be preferable to losing Travis. A dark figure towered above him, starkly outlined against the green light. Travis’s scent filled his head. He inhaled deeply, becoming drunk off it. A cloud passed over the moon as the stone door closed, and they were plunged into a moment of perfect darkness. “John? Is that you?” John shifted forms at the same second Travis dropped his knees. He felt the other man’s arms wrap around him, and then 159

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Travis buried his face in his neck. “Oh my God, it is you. Oh my God. Oh my God, John. I was so afraid. You have no idea.” “I told you I’d wait.” “I know, I know. But I was there for so long, John. I was there for years. She kept me for years. It was so…I had to wait. I had to wait for the perfect moment.” Travis lifted his head. “Do I look different? Have I changed?” His hair was longer and his face was lined with exhaustion, but besides that, he looked exactly the same. John shook his head. “No. You’re…you’re you. You’re still you, right?” “I’m still me. I’m still me.” Travis buried his hands in John’s hair and pressed their mouths together. John moaned into the kiss, immediately parting his lips to welcome Travis’s tongue. All of his relief and anxiety was too close to the surface. His love and his hunger were there, too. He couldn’t rein any of it back, and it didn’t occur to him that he should. He kissed Travis with everything he had, opening himself up to Travis, offering him everything he had to offer and patiently waiting for Travis to take what he needed. Whatever doubts he had about Travis were washed away as the kiss continued and John realized Travis was not holding anything back, either. “John…oh John…you’re just like I remember.” “Is that a good thing?” John asked against his mouth. “It’s the best thing.” Travis kissed the corner of his mouth and his jaw and his throat and everywhere else he could reach. John dropped his head back, basking under the attention as Travis continued his exploration. “I almost forgot how you taste and how you feel. How long were you waiting?” “About six months.” 160

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“Oh, I was worried it was longer. It was so long.” “What happened?” John asked. He knew Travis probably didn’t want to talk about it, but he also knew that they’d never discuss it again if John didn’t ask now. Travis lifted his head. “Maeveen fought me. I knew she would. But when she couldn’t actually hurt me and she couldn’t stop me, she tried something else. She trapped the two of us in her mirror. She was as helpless as I was, but she was alive, and that was all she cared about. It took me a long time to break that enchantment. But when I did…everything changed.” “What do you mean?” “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. But I realized…I realized who I am. I finally understood what she had been trying to tell me. It was like I unlocked a piece of myself.” John’s heart sank. He was happy Travis broke away from Maeveen, but he knew how the rest of this story would go. He had been given a taste of power. How could he ever be happy as a regular person again? How could he ever be happy in the human realm? “What piece was that?” “I had more power at my fingers than you can imagine, John. I really could be a god. And in that moment, when I felt all of creation spinning beneath me, when I could have torn down the walls that separated the worlds and shaped a new creation, do you know what I wanted? More than anything?” “What?” Travis smiled. “I wanted to go home. That’s all. I wanted to see Mum. And I wanted to kiss you and take you to bed. Unbelievable cosmic power and I just wanted to be a market analyst from London, living in Nether Stowey with his boyfriend and his mother. Is that the dumbest thing you ever heard?” 161

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“You mean that?” “Absolutely.” “That’s definitely not the dumbest thing I ever heard. I think it’s the best thing I ever heard.” Travis smiled. “Good. I want to go home.” “I’ll take you.” Roger hopped out from beneath the bush and transformed into a horse. “Both of you.” “I hear it’s good luck to ride a puka,” John said, helping Travis to his feet. “If you want to just take me to my cottage first…” “Why would I do that?” Travis interrupted. “Because it’s on your way to Nether Stowey.” “No, I want you to come home with me. I thought that was pretty clear due to all the kissing and everything.” John smiled shyly. “I didn’t want to just…assume…” “John…I had a lot of time to think while I was trapped. I missed you. And I want to be with you. And I don’t just mean tonight, either. Of course, if that’s not how you feel…” “I love you,” John blurted, his face instantly flushing with heat. “And I wasn’t going to say it that way, but it’s true.” “I believe you. You waited for me, after all.” Travis brushed his thumb over John’s mouth, and he knew Travis was thinking of the wounds Maeveen had inflicted. “And I came back for you. I chose you. Don’t ever doubt what you mean to me. In fact…would you like to be alive again?” “What do you mean? Real flesh and blood?” “Real flesh and blood. A second chance.” “Can you do that?” Travis smiled a little. “I can do whatever I like. But you’re a walking, talking mess of magic, between the curse and what Áine did for you. I can change all of that into whatever I wish. But only 162

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if you want to.” “I want to,” John said quickly. “I want to. I miss being alive. I miss being a man. I want to have a family.” “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.” Travis cupped John’s face between his hands, the same way he held Áine before waking her up. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, and John felt a surge of power, as though Travis was pulling something up from the earth and sending it directly through John’s body. He wanted to keep his eyes open so he could watch Travis’s face, but it all became too much. Shafts of light shot from Travis’s body and funneled into John’s flesh, and finally, he was forced to look away. He felt everything changing inside of him, but at the same time, he didn’t feel any different. The world fell away, and the bundle of rage that had lived for so long within his chest finally disentangled itself from his heart. That’s what was keeping me alive for so long. Maeveen wouldn’t let me let it go. “Open your eyes, John.” He tentatively obeyed Travis’s order. Nothing looked different. Everything looked different. He took a deep breath and felt the air fill his lungs. His heart hammered in his ears. His body was full of sounds he’d long ago forgotten. “I think that sapped me dry,” Travis murmured. “It was worth it, though. You’re a real boy now.” “I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?” “Right here in the woods?” Roger whinnied with more than a hint of impatience. “I think we better go before he takes back his offer,” John said. “After you.” John turned and used the long mane to pull himself onto the 163

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puka’s back, then extended his hand to Travis. Travis took it with a smile, allowing John to lift him off the ground. He should have felt weak, but John had never felt stronger in his life. He’d never been happier. Travis wrapped his arms around John and not even a centimeter separated them. They clung together as Roger raced into the night.

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P EPPER ESPINOZA Pepper Espinoza lives in southern California with her husband and her cats. She has spent the last year working as a full time author, and intends to start graduate school in the fall. You can learn more about Pepper by visiting her website: http://www.pepperverse.net *

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Don’t miss The Devil Went Down To Georgia, by Pepper Espinoza, available at AmberAllure.com! Hell has no limits, but neither does a friend’s love… Actor Simon Kidd can’t believe his ears when he learns that his former costar, Alan Ricks, is part of a traveling theater company in Georgia. Just a year before, Alan had been one of the hottest names in Hollywood. What was he doing performing Doctor Faustus in a tent? Simon decides to investigate, but when he finally tracks down Alan, he learns that hell is breaking loose in Georgia, and the Devil deals it hard. What’s the true value of a soul? And how much is Simon willing to risk in order to win Alan’s freedom?

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