“You’d rather swim?”
“I’d rather stay on the boat,” he said.
Kiela sighed and rubbed her eyes. She’d never felt this bone-marrow-deep tired before. Even when she stayed up all night with her books, it was never like this. Between the stress of their escape and the effort of their night-and-all-day sail, she felt like a book so well read that its pages curled and spine cracked. “I can carry you.”
He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “That’s undignified.”
“You think the shrubbery is going to mock you?”
If he’d had eyes, she expected he would have rolled them at her. “Fine. Carry me. But only if you tell no one.”
“Who am I going to tell? I don’t know anyone here and don’t want to.” She scooped him up, careful to gather all the soil that clung to his exposed roots. It felt like holding a very plump and very leafy toddler. His tendrils draped over her shoulders, and he grumbled as she adjusted her grip. “We’re going to lay low, keep to ourselves, and avoid trouble,” she said. “With luck, none of the locals will even know we’re here.”
Kiela tapped the nearest slat of wood with her toes. It seemed sound enough. Cautiously, she shifted her weight and was pleased when the dock held. Caz’s leaves flattened around her back. She carried him carefully as she stepped from slat to slat, testing each one before she trusted it. At last, she reached the shore.
He climbed down from her arms to the ground. Shaking out his leaves, he groomed himself with a tendril. He looked a bit like a cat licking his fur. “We won’t ever speak of that again.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
She looked up at the knot of greenery in front of them. There used to be a path, with stairs carved into the rocks, but all she could see was a tangle of vines cascading down the hill. Frowning at it, she paced in front of the green. The stone steps should still be there, if she could find—Ah, there!
Kicking away a few vines, Kiela uncovered the first step. “Found it.”
“Found what?” Caz asked.
“The way home.” She felt the word vibrate through her.
Step by step, she climbed, with Caz behind her, clearing the steps as best she could. Some, she was only able to uncover a few inches, but it was enough. By the time she reached the top, the sun was completely down.
Bathed in the silvery gray of twilight, the cottage waited for them. She wanted to feel as if they’d made it—she was home, they were safe, and everything would be easy from now on. But the cottage was nearly as enveloped in vines as the stairs. She couldn’t tell where the walls ended and the green began. Her former home looked one gulp away from being swallowed entirely.
“It’s nice,” Caz said.
“Now who’s lying,” Kiela said.
“It has a roof. And walls.”
He was right about that. It could be worse.
An owl hooted much too close, and Kiela jumped. Caz skittered behind her. She forced herself to breathe and calm down. It didn’t look as if anyone was living in the house, which was good. She could have come back to find squatters. Or new owners, if the locals had decided there were no more living relatives who might return to claim it. She couldn’t vouch for how many mice, birds, or other critters had taken up residence inside.
She wished they’d arrived earlier so it wouldn’t look so dark in there.
“Should we go in?” Caz asked.
Yes. Maybe. No. She wanted to retreat to the boat, sail back to Alyssium, and sequester herself in her nice, warm, safe cubicle deep within the stacks of books, where she knew what to expect out of every night and every day. If she went into this house, what would she find? And if she didn’t, what would happen then? She hated not knowing which was the right choice.
Have I made a terrible mistake coming here?
The owl hooted again.
“We go in,” Kiela said.
They approached the front door. It felt like walking up to the mouth of a slumbering beast. It was ajar, with dead leaves clogging the entranceway. She nudged them out of her way with her foot and leaned against the door to push it open farther. It squeaked loudly, as if it hadn’t been moved in years, which was entirely possible.
Stepping inside, Kiela waited for her eyes to adjust. The last gasps of day shed a grayish light through the few windows that weren’t blocked by vines. It was enough to see shapes: chairs, she guessed, and a table. She matched the shadows to her memories and was surprised to find that it felt familiar, like a half-remembered old tale. The wood-burning stove was . . . ahh, yes,there,squatting like a hulking creature, with a chimney rising from its back. A daybed used to be in the front corner—that’s where she used to sleep—and her parents’ bedroom budded off the back. A kitchen area with a sink and a window that overlooked the back garden should be to her left, beyond the table. She couldn’t see that in the darkness, though, and it made her feel like she’d walked into a surreal kind of dream, with pieces of memories overlaid by shadows. She wondered how Caz felt about this place. “If you’d rather, we could spend the night in the boat, and explore this in the morning,” she offered.
“Sleep on the boat?” Caz sounded appalled. “With fish under us?”
