“What’s this then?” he asked, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
Catherine jutted her hand out again. “I’ll help you back to the road. My husband can’t be very far. We’ll take you back to Thornwood,” she said with more conviction than she felt.
He studied her outstretched appendage for a moment before he grasped it. The feel of his palm against hers was warm and alive. She tensed, but the moment was brief. She’d braced herself for his touch. She took a deep breath and guided his arm around her shoulder. A wave of anxiety crashed over her causing her to think of that strong arm encircling her, crushing her windpipe, grasping her, and dragging her to the room. She exhaled a ragged breath. His arm hung limply around her shoulder, and he did not rest his palm against her, though it would have made balancing easier for him. He kept his arm bent just so as to not touch her more than necessary. No one had been that considerate of her comfort before.
“Human remedies are useless against an Oshrin bite. There will be an anecdote in Faery,” he said.
She broke out in a cold sweat. She must have misheard him. Faery was the place the small folk had begged her to go. That was where they said they came from. The same place she’d been running from since then.
“What?”
He gestured toward the right. The faint notes of a song tugged at her, and the sensation of a current pulled at her legs. But she still dared not look.
“Hnng.” Mr. Thorn sucked in air sharply.
There was no time for second-guessing. She couldn’t risk a man’s life while she questioned her own sanity. She looked up, and the same vine-covered gateway she’d seen in the garden at Thornwood greeted her. She took a faltering step toward it, and as she approached, the vines rolled back and opened onto a moonlit forest. Faery. The word whispered through her mind. Her skin prickled, and her heart raced. This was madness surely. But the pull was undeniable now, the ache so painful she feared it would rend her apart.
“Not to rush you, but if the venom reaches my heart, I will die. If you do not wish to enter, I will not force you.”
Catherine swallowed down her fear. “No, I will take you.” And together, they stepped through the gateway.
10
One step before the other. Catherine passed through the gateway, and a slight tingle touched her skin. A chill wind blew, and she trembled. In the moonlight, the trees had a faint blue sheen, their leaves silvery with dark purple veins. Thick grass grew in clumps at the base of the trees, the green so vibrant it glowed faintly.Catherine drank it all in wide-eyed. It felt as if she had stumbled into a dream world.
“We need to just follow this path,” Mr. Thorn said with a groan. His arm trembled as he balanced on her shoulder.
Flowering bushes hip-high grew along the narrow path. She followed it, and as her skirts brushed against the brush, tight pink buds bloomed, releasing a tantalizingly sweet scent. It reminded her of honey cakes and buttery caramels she’d loved as a child. If this were a dream, it was the most vivid one she’d ever had. She glanced over her shoulder back to the gateway, but it had disappeared. She snapped her head forward. Don’t think about it. Keep moving. Get Mr. Thorn to safety.
Her throat still ached, and now a lump had lodged itself there. She could only manage a nod in reply. Where were they going? His home? Did he live in this strange forest as the small folk who’d visited her as a child had? What did that make him? Her heart stuttered in her chest to think of it.
Glowing eyes blinked at her from the shadows. The too-bright grass rustled as they passed. High pitched voices chattered to one another in the treetops, shaking branches and raining leaves down on their heads. Catherine kept her eyes forward.
“Ignore them; they smell the human realm on you. But they are harmless,” Mr. Thorn said.
Catherine swiveled her head toward Mr. Thorn, mouth slack. It was still a surprise to hear him acknowledge the small folk. No one ever seemed to see them but her. In her surprise, she miscalculated how close they were together. With his arm around her shoulder, his face was inches from hers. Sweat plastered his brow, and green ooze streaked his hair to his forehead. His dark eyes transfixed her; she could see her own reflection in them. His cheekbones were sharp and the hollows of his cheeks a little more sunken, but combined with his dark eyes and full soft lips, his beauty was both dazzling and terrifying. Was this his true face, the one the fae hid away? She blushed and turned away. This was inappropriate, or perhaps the more accurate term was this was ludicrous. The fae weren’t real. And yet here she was helping one who was deathly injured to places unknown.
Something brushed past her ankle, and she leaped back, causing her side to graze Mr. Thorn’s accidentally. He pressed his hand lightly on her waist, and she stiffened. Panic jolted through her. This was it, the moment he’d turn against her and harm her. As quickly as he’d brushed against her, he pulled back. Taking his arm from around her shoulders, he stumbled and braced himself upon a nearby tree with long, tan fingers.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I can walk on my own from here; it’s not much further,” he said as trembles racked his body.
Mr. Thorn pushed off the tree, shoulders taut as he clutched his bleeding arm and ambled down the path. She followed after him. She had not much choice otherwise. She wasn’t sure she knew where to go or how to find home. It felt as if she were floating, or better yet drifting down a river, and the current was moving faster and faster, her head dipping underwater, and no matter how hard she tried to stay at the surface, she would be pulled under. Her chest felt tight. She was in Faery with one of the fae. Catherine balled her hand into a fist at her side to hide its trembling. She could hardly comprehend the reality of her situation, let alone voice it aloud.
As they walked, the song she’d heard outside of the gateway drifted over her. It felt as if it were all around them. Before, she’d mistaken it for a single singer, but now she could hear the individual voices as they wove together into one. It filled her with a sensation that was both joyful and mournful. Though she couldn’t understand the words, she felt as if they were telling her a story, one both familiar and foreign.
She looked around the forest, seeking out the singer. They were alone but for the trees... it couldn’t be coming from the trees? For as long as she could remember, she felt a certain connection to plants and all things that grew. At times it felt like they were speaking to her without words. She knew when they needed more sunlight or more water. If the soil were too wet or missing a certain nutrient. At Elk Grove, they’d called it a knack for growing. But secretly, she’d kept inside how they whispered to her without words. She feared if she confessed that they would take away even the garden from her. She inched closer to the trees, her hand outstretched to press against their smooth trunks. They were faintly warm and thumped a pulse like a slow heartbeat. It sent a small thrill through her.
“You can hear it, can’t you?” Mr. Thorn said. He frowned slightly.
Catherine yanked her hand away and turned toward him. She’d lost herself for a moment in the song. Even now, it pulsed against her, a hunger that threatened to consume her. He saw the small folk; did he hear their singing as well? But if he did... if he did...
The mournful cry of a wolf cut the forest’s song short. A yawning silence followed in the absence of the tree song. Mr. Thorn’s wide-eyed gaze swept over the forest surrounding them.
“Come, there isn’t much time.” He gestured for her to follow, and he quickened his pace.
She didn’t question the urgency in his voice and kept close to him as they followed a trail through the trees. It ended at an oak that was three times the width of her arm span and whose canopy stretched far above the treetops and disappeared against the dark night sky. The roots grew up to her shoulders, and thick blankets of moss coated them. A divot between them led to a wooden door that disappeared into the bark of the tree.
Mr. Thorn shuffled closer and pressed his face nearly to the wood and whispered something against the bark. It was lost as the sound of the wolf howl had gotten closer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Edward had mentioned wild dogs killing the livestock of his tenant farmers. What if they hadn’t been wild dogs at all but something much more deadly? She scanned the forest, expecting a slathering monster to leap out at her at any moment. A brush of warm air hit her back, and she turned to see the door open onto the golden light of a room beyond.
