Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire
Shakespeare’sA Midsummer Night’s Dream
Shea startles awake to silence, a pit in her stomach.
She’d been dreaming of Christmas. Snow in the window and her mother on the couch, humming as she threaded a needle along a cranberry garland. Her father in his chair, his legs thin beneath a woolen blanket. No fire in the fireplace. No food in the pantry. Sound in her ears, grating enough to make her weep. Bing Crosby on the turntable, his baritone indecipherable.
The room she’s awoken in looks nothing like home. A faint yellow film clings to everything. The ceiling is dark with water rings. On the narrow console sits an old television, the screen fractured. It takes her a single, panicked moment to remember where she is—a roadside motel, the curtains drawn, sunlight falling in at a slant. The bed is lumpy, the comforter covered in yellow-gold carnations. Everything smells cold and wet. There’s a stain on the floor that looks like blood.
They’d come upon the motel in the final moments before dawn, pulling into the abandoned lot just as the first bit of sun broke over the trees. After Asher cased the building and found only raccoons in the lobby, they’d stashed the bikes and headed inside. Wind-whipped and motion-sick and cold to her bones, she’d fallen asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Awake, she stretches out a cramp in her thigh. She feels curiously battered, her body fatigued from the ride. Poppy lies curled on the bed beside her, breathing deeply. The chair where Asher kept watch, his shotgun across his lap, is empty. Lys is nowhere to be seen. Sliding out of bed, Shea slips on her hearing aids and pads toward the bathroom, pulling the door shut partway behind her. The mirror over the sink is hackled, disfiguring her likeness in the glass. She tests the faucet and finds it dry. Only a single, fat droplet plops into the sink.
She doesn’t notice Lys until she turns to leave. He lounges in the empty bathtub, his knees bent and his head tipped back against the tile. She gives a violent start at the sight of him, her elbow catching on the towel rack.
“Shit!”
“Hi,” he says.
“What are you doing in there?”
He flicks a baseball card between his fingers, considering her with one eye pinched shut. The corner of the card taps against the yellowed fiberglass in a restlessrat-tat,rat-tat, rat-tat.
“It’s too bright out there.”
“Oh.Oh.Sorry.” She pushes the door all the way shut. The last of the daylight snuffs out with a click. “Better?”
“Infinitely.”
Another drop of water plops into the sink.
In the near-total dark, she asks, “Can I sit with you?”
Lys is quiet. She hears the rustle of the curtain and the slide of a shoe, his heel stuttering as he shifts to make space. It’s as much of an invite as she’s going to get. Fumbling along the tile, she feels her way to the tub, climbing in across from him and tugging the curtain closed.
By what little light slips in beneath the door, she can just make out the angular lines of his face. Her knees slot into place between his. Her heart stutters against her ribs. She wonders if he can hear it. Rat-tat-tat, goes the card against the tub.
“I used to imagine it was a wolf,” he says. “My soul, I mean.”
The declaration feels immense, though she can’t say why. She scoots back against the tile and wills her eyes to adjust. “Why did you stop?”
“Because make-believe is for children.”
She can’t make out his expression in the dark, but she can feel the hard impact of his stare. Quietly, she says, “I used to be jealous that everyone else could hear the Gravewood except for me.”
There’s a brief pause as he considers her admission. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know.” She suppresses a smile. “Logically, I knew that it was because I couldn’t hear as well as everyone else. But when I was younger, it felt like maybe I wasn’t worthy. Like maybe everyone else could hear the trees whispering to them because they’d done something right. I used to sit at the edge of the Gravewood and make wishes. I’d ask the forest to send me a protector.”
“What did you need protection from?”
“Nothing, really. Nothing that matters anymore, anyway. Kids can be mean, and hurts feel bigger when you’re small.”
