“Crowsbridge Hollow is hungry tonight,” she continues.
Confident she’s got this, I grab the railing again and jump over the side of the sleigh, landing on the pavement with a bone-jarringthud. I take a step into the frozen grass. My boots slide but I catch myself and keep going, heading for the trees.
The cemetery. That’s where he’s headed.
The fog is already thinning at the edges, the way it does once it’s taken what it wants.
I shove Emery’s key into my pocket and run.
The road curves away from the lit portion of the route here, toward the darker stretch where the actors like to jump out. The line of trees looms on my right, thick and black, snow clinging to branches. The lanterns strung along the path swing gently, lights wobbling.
I scan the ground.
Hoofprints.
There—deep divots in the thin crust of snow where something heavy landed. But then—nothing. The prints aren’t consistent. They don’t trail like a normal horse would.
Cold burns my lungs but I keep moving. The cemetery has to be where he’s headed.
I’m not losing her.
I hit the tree line and push through branches, ignoring the sting across my cheeks. Snow showers down the back of my collar. I keep moving, tracking by instinct.
The noise from the hayride disappears.
A bell chimes through the woods. Low and off-key.
Ice spreads through my veins.
Then silence. Pressing in almost as thick as the fog.
I close my eyes for half a heartbeat.
Memories slam in hard and sharp—my sister’s braid whipping as she ran, the crunch of snow, my own feet too small to keep up.
I open my eyes.
My vision narrows.
I run faster.
Branches claw at me. My coat catches and I rip free. My pulse hammers in my ears so loud it drowns out everything else.
A pocket of shadow appears ahead of me.
My hand tightens around the key in my pocket.
The soft, unmistakable jingle of a bell that doesn’t belong on this side of reality rings.
My heart slams faster. I’m close.
Hang on, Emery. I’m coming for you.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Emery
Ice bitesinto my knees as I hit the ground.
