“Luna!” I remember she’s standing outside with all her dogs. She should have asked me before she got all these dogs. I would have been so good at naming them. To come up with characters, I utilize BabyNames.com more than an expecting parent.
We run back out, Morgan stripping off his shirt. “The sun is looking at me!” he cries, streaking into the trees. “The sun is looking at me!”
We run and run, until we reach the right tree. “Oh, thank god it’s still here.” I pat the tree. “I thought it was gone.”
Morgan weeps. “This is the best day. What would we do if our tree was gone?”
“Morgan, look!” I drop to my knees, hugging his lower half. “Your legs work again.”
“It’s the tree,” he says breathlessly. “It fixed me.”
“We have to tell people about this tree.”
“No.” He shakes my shoulders. “They’re not ready.”
“Kiss my hand,” I demand. “It’s the only way off this planet.”
“Makes sense.” He charges. We take turns kissing each other’s hands, because it’s impossible for us both to do it at the same time: if we do, we won’t be able to breathe. I make sure we don’t make any eye contact, so that his dad doesn’t get upset.
“Into the cocoon!” Morgan declares, grabbing my wrist. “We must transform.”
The tent appears right behind us, and we dive in. “Good. I hope I become a sprite instead of a moth when I wake up.”
Thirty-Two
It is not uncommon to find what appears to be nature-made or human-made landmarks growing out of ley lines possessing high concentrations of energy. Examples are a rock column locally known as the Devil’s Tea Table (for more about the mysteries of King Hollow Trail, see pages 21, 34–36, and 97), and several old, ramshackle buildings scattered throughout Vinton County that remain standing in spite of demolition attempts. Legend has it that one of the buildings on Vallis Boulevard was not put there by humans but by a ley line.
Local Legends and Superstitions,
Tempest Family Grimoire
I come back toconsciousness with a thumping headache and the inkling that I have made a bad decision. “Morgan, wake up.” I poke at him until his eyes open. He grumbles, ill-tempered.
“Why?”
“I feel weird.”
His hair doesn’t have the decency to look hilarious first thing in the morning. It’s every-which-way in a sensual, throaty-voicedAre you coming back to bed for round three?kind of a situation. His face is drained of life, eyes purple-shadowed, and the general zombie-ish pallor is inappropriately doing it for me. “Do you want me to feel you and see if I agree?”
I flick his ear.
He sits up. “Ouch. Fuck, my head.” He moans, cradling his skull. “That is not nice at all. I do not like it.”
“I’ve got a headache, too. I think it must be early yet.”
“What’s this stuff on my knee?” Morgan rubs a white flake between two fingers, bringing it to his nose to sniff. “Deodorant? Why is there deodorant on my knee?”
I unzip the tent, peeking out. “Where’d Luna go? I swear she showed up last night.”
“No, she had to take the dogs home.”
Morgan and I stop, then slowly look at each other. It clicks. “Ohhh.”
“Was it something we ate?” he wonders. We take a moment to dissect our meals yesterday. Maybe the filter on my water bottle has been tampered with. “I can’t figure out what parts were real and what parts were fever dream.”
I dig graham cracker crumbs out of my neck. “At least some of it was real. I remember putting these crumbs on you.” I reach for my glasses. Beside them sits a glass vial with four drops of gold potion remaining.Morgan’s Miracle Cure.“You!” I seethe, trying to grab for him. Morgan scuttles backward. “You did this. You poisoned us with slow-cooked mischief and mayhem.”
I can see it in his face: the flash of recognition, the probability that I’m right. The struggle to dodge responsibility.
