Grimlock spreads below us in all directions, a perfect circle of civilization carved from wilderness. To the west, the Pacific stretches endless and gray, punctuated by jagged rocks where waves crash in silent explosions of white. The harbor curves around the town’s edge, its piers reaching into water that disappears into mist.
To the east, the Witchwood Forest begins where Grimlock’s last houses end. Ancient trees stretch unbroken toward the horizon, their canopy so dense it looks solid from this height. Somewhere beyond those trees, past miles of wilderness that would swallow a man whole, the Crow have carved out their territory. They’re outthere right now, in clearings we can’t see from here, planning their next move and counting their dead.
“It’s perfect,” Saylor says, gripping the iron railing as wind whips her hair around her face. “You can see everything from here.”
“That’s the point. This building was built as a watchtower, to spot trouble before it reached town.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s just a good place to think.”
She turns to face me, eyes bright with exhilaration from the climb and the view. Wind has brought color to her cheeks, and the way the afternoon light catches in her hair makes something tighten in my chest.
“Thank you for bringing me up here.” She grips the railing tighter, taking in the view again. “I’m falling in love with this place, you know. Grimlock. I can see why my father kept coming back here.”
“He really never mentioned it to you?”
“Never. Not once. But being here now, I can feel what drew him to this place.” She pauses, watching the mist roll in from the ocean. “I’m surprised I never even heard of Grimlock before. A place this beautiful should be famous.”
“That’s how the residents prefer it. We’re not exactly eager for tourist buses and vacation rentals.” I lean against the railing beside her. “Small town living works best when it stays small.”
“There’s so much I want to explore. The shops, the neighborhoods, those walking trails I saw marked on signs.” Her eyes drift toward the forest. “I’d love to go hiking in those woods. They look untouched.”
“No hiking in the Witchwood,” I say immediately. “But there is something happening tomorrow night in the forest. Something you might find interesting.”
“Oh really?”
“The Dryad’s Dance. It happens three times a year when conditions are right.” I point toward a section of forest closer to town, where the trees thin slightly. “There’s a grove where bioluminescent mushrooms grow. Tomorrow they’ll be at peak brightness, and the whole town turns out to celebrate.”
“Glowing mushrooms?” Her face lights up with genuine excitement. “That sounds incredible.”
“It’s quite a sight. Music, dancing, food you won’t find anywhere else.” I watch her carefully. “The folklore says the glowing mushrooms only light up when the barrier between our world and the fae realm grows thin. The paths they create through the forest are supposed to be doorways. Places where you can step from our realm into theirs.” I lean against the railing. “Most people just go for the party, but some swear they’ve seen things. Heard voices that don’t belong to anyone human.”
“You mean like actual fairies?”
“Dryads, mostly. Tree spirits. That’s why it’s called the Dryad’s Dance. Legend says they come out on these nights to dance with mortals.” I shrug. “Could be the spores from mushrooms causing hallucinations, could be something else. Either way, it makes for an interesting evening.”
“And everyone really goes?”
“Everyone. It starts after midnight, goes until dawn. Think you can handle a night in the Witchwood?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.” She turns back to the view, but I can see her mind working. She nods, still staring out at the forest with new interest. “A midnight celebration in a glowing mushroom grove. My life has gotten very strange.”
“Good strange or bad strange?”
“Definitely good strange.” She smiles at me. “I’m never going back to boring after this.”
“Boring’s not your style anyway.”
She laughs, and the sound gets caught by the wind and carried out over the water. For a moment we just stand there, taking in the view and the weight of everything that’s brought us to this point.
Instead of saying anything else, I step closer and cup her face in my hands. When our mouths connect, she tastes of gin and lavender.
Her hands find my jacket lapels, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens into something that makes my head spin. When she bites gently at my lower lip, I groan against her mouth and back her toward the solid stone of the tower’s central column.
“Here?” she whispers against my throat, breathless.
“Here.”
