I feel it, like a tuning fork somewhere deep inside of me, off-key and unpleasant.
I’m not alone.
I scan the area around me, keeping my movements subtle, certain that I would have heard it if someone had approached. Besides, who can? This rock is far, far away from any paths or trails or lost maps.
Still, I can feel another presence, dark and oily. I can smell it on the wind. In my mind, I see lit torches and red cloaks.
I know it’s impossible, but the abject horror and slimy feeling that pools in me feels a whole lot like some top-tier death goddess shit.
I want to stay and see for myself. I want toseewhat’s either chasing me specifically or is just ... up here in the most remote part of these mountains for fun.
I want to see what it thinks isfun.
But if I stay here, I’m done.
I know this as surely as I know my own paws and the rock I’m on. And one thing about being in my wolf form—I don’t overthink.
I run.
I run until I can see the town of Ashland before me. I run and I don’t look behind me. I run no matter how it feels inside me, and how dark and thick the night is as it seems to cling to me and tug and me and make as if to drag me back—
I won’t go back. I don’t.
I skirt the actual town of Ashland and its humans, who exist in another supposedlymostlysafe area, thanks to the intercession of some very old magical things that like it that way. Green magic. Earth magic.
They spill blood here to grow things, not to cause them pain. But they also don’t like monsters that tip the balance, so I keep to the edges until I can make my way up the slope of Mount Ashland, and then around it. I don’t slow down until I reach protected land.Savi’sprotected land.
Only then do I let myself breathe, though I still don’t look back. I can feel the darkness, a putrid thicknessright therebehind me. But I know I’m safe on the sorceress’s land, so I shake myself off. Then I pad away from that warded boundary and head deeper into her woods, which might accept anyone—but don’t necessarily let them leave.
With ago fuck yourselfin every step, I can only hope.
Like everyone, I know that Savi lives up here, with her bird’s-eye view of the valley on one side, the high hills of California on the other, and a line of volcanos to the east to keep her company. Also like everyone, I’ve never actually been here before.
I can feel the power here, swirling around like fog, but there’s also a beating heart at the center of it. That’s what I aim for as I walk throughpristine, untouched snow beneath a canopy of high pines. I don’t look back, but if I did, I know I’d see only my paw prints out here.
I walk and walk, because somehow I thinkrunningwould be rude, having already decided to appear uninvited. A docile show of casually wandering into her space, I’m hoping, will be seen less as an invasion and more ... friendly. Because that’s what we are.Friends.
I hope.
You never can tell with these big, powerful creatures. They’re a lot moodier than you’d think. I know this too well, given I spend a lot of my time sleeping with one of them.
I keep walking, aware that Savi knows I’m here. This is a demonstration on her part. Shewantsme to know that she knows.
I choose to take this as a warm welcome and keep on going, trudging through the snowy forest until I find myself on the edge of a clearing. I pause there on the outskirts.
Sorcery requires drama, so maybe that’s why Savi lives in a sprawling, palatial sort of house that makes me think of pictures I’ve seen of places like Italy. Greece. Or maybe ancient temples—and the moment I thinkthat, I’m sure that’s what she was going for. Still, it looks airy and open, stone and tile and bright, blooming flowers that should be dead this time of year.
Instead, they’re as vibrant against the snow and the night as if they think it’s high noon.
The moon is up now and still close to full, so I follow its silvery light as I move toward the house, transforming back to human form as I go. There’s a flicker in the moonlight, like its path changes as I walk it, and then I see her there before me. Standing at the entrance to her home.
Savi Wynn, sorceress of old, goes out of her way to make herself look fragile. Pampered, perhaps, but decidedly weak.
I don’t think she’s any of those things.
Anyone who’s spent any time around power can sense the intense punch of hers immediately.
It strikes me as funny that if anyone were watching this, they would see a girl underdressed for the December night—jeans and flip-flops and a T-shirt—walking from deep snow to grass that ought to be frozen, but isn’t. Making her way toward a fragile-looking woman in cozy-looking sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt in a lovely rose-gold shade that glows against her dark hair and warm brown eyes and makes her seem almost doll-like.
