Faerie Winter

Spring

Green light burned against the insides of my eyes, spreading through my arms, my legs, my thoughts. Green things whispered to me, speaking of hunger and soil, of pounding rain and searing sun. Pinpricks of pain raced along my body, thorns being torn away.

“Hang in there, Lizzy. I’ve got you.”

I tried to put a name to the voice, but I couldn’t think through the whispers and the light.

“Wake up, Liza!” A child’s call—it had no power over me. “No sleeping! Wake up!” The child began to cry.

Darkness threatened at the edges of the green. I fought it. I wanted light. I wanted spring. A wolf howled. I tried to answer it, but darkness closed in around me, darkness and ice.

“Come here, Liza.” A cold voice—the Lady’s voice. “The worlds wind down, and no mere human shall escape their fate.” I had no choice. I followed her down into the endless dark, knowing that winter took everything in the end.

“Oh, no, you don’t, Liza.” A girl’s voice. Silver light flooded my sight, chasing the dark away. “I tell you and tell you that you can’t leave us but you just—don’t—listen.” The light grew colder with every word, a cleaner cold with nothing of darkness in it. My arms and legs tingled, as if thawing after a walk in the snow. The tingling hurt—I bolted upright, fighting it, sending new pain through my shoulder, over my torn and bleeding skin.

“Stay still, Liza! Caleb’s with Karin, so I’m on my own, and I don’t want to push too hard—” The girl drew a gulping breath.

I knew her then. “Allie?” That made no sense. Why was Caleb’s student here?

“Please, Liza,” Allie said. She eased me down again. “I know this is hard. Don’t make it harder.”

“Allie, how—”

“Later,” Mom said. I knew her now, too. “There’ll be time later.” Mom’s hand grasped mine—my right hand, because something was wrong with my left—as Allie’s light washed over me again. Too cold—I screamed, and for a time I did nothing but scream. After that, I heard someone crying, and I didn’t know whether it was Allie or me.

“You’re going to be all right, Liza. You know that, don’t you?” Allie sounded so tired. “Only you need to rest now. I’m sorry, but you do.” The darkness that wrapped around me was warmer now. Gentler. I fought it, but it pulled me under just the same.

I woke to a feather mattress beneath my back and a dull aching pain that filled my whole body. From someplace out of sight, I heard talking.

“You said you could heal her.” Elin’s voice was bleak.

“And so I have.” Caleb’s voice, hard and grim. His being here made no more sense than Allie’s being here.

“Why should this world be saved,” Elin demanded, “while ours falls to dust?” Caleb had no answer for that.

I opened my eyes. Light stung them. Bright afternoon sunlight, shining around the shutters of Kate’s bedroom window. From a chair at my side, Mom reached for my hand. Her face was covered in scratches, her arm bandaged, her wrist in a splint. “You’re hurt,” I said. Why was she hurt? The plants hadn’t attacked her.

They had attacked me. Memory returned slowly, in tattered bits and pieces. Karin and I had called the plants back into the world, but then they’d attacked, because that was what plants did when they were awake.

In a chair at the foot of the bed, Allie jerked awake, and she hurried to my other side. Mom released my hand.

“Allie, what are you doing here?” Allie had followed me before, but that had been long ago, before winter.

Her red hair was tangled, and her eyes were shadowed, but she gave me a lopsided smile. “Taking care of you, of course. I’m your healer, remember?”

Caleb stepped into the room, his clear hair falling to his shoulders, a coin from Before hanging from a chain over his sweater. He looked no older than Karin. His silver eyes were sunken with weariness, but he smiled when he saw me. “Liza. It is good to see you awake.” He and Mom exchanged unreadable looks, and I thought of how he’d held Mom under glamour, how Mom had fled when he’d let the glamour go—but when he moved to Allie’s side, I also saw the healer who’d saved Mom’s life. Mom’s hand brushed the leaf she wore, as if for reassurance.

Allie drew the blankets back. I wore a loose nightshirt. A green plastic frog, a yellow duck, and a pink pig were all tucked in beside me. Scar tissue peeked out from beneath the shirt, and I felt more scratches, itchy and half-healed, rubbing against the wool. I reached for them.

My hand wouldn’t listen. Something was wrong—it was too heavy, too stiff. “Oh.” I lifted my arm toward me and stared at the gray stone where my hand had been. My stone fingers were half-curled, as if they still clutched the Lady’s hand. My hand itched, somewhere deep inside, but when I touched it, I felt nothing. I couldn’t hold a bow with such a hand. I couldn’t hunt.

Allie bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Liza. There’s nothing there to heal. It’s stone, but it’s perfectly healthy stone. Maybe one day you can find another changer to fix it, but I can’t. I tried.”

I traced the stone where it softened into skin just above my wrist. I would get used to this. I had no choice.

I shouldn’t even be here. “The plants killed me.” I’d fallen into their green embrace.

Allie laughed then. “No,” she said. “They didn’t.”

“Karinna’s command stopped the plants in time,” Caleb said soberly. “Or stopped them enough that Tara and Elianna could pull you free.” He reached out and ran his hands over my body, not quite touching me, sending a shiver over my skin just the same.

“It is well,” Caleb said. “You’re going to be sore for a long while, Liza, but Allison has healed the worst of the damage the newborn plants did to you, as well as the deeper hurts that came from touching the winter sleep that held them.”

Allie let out a breath and clutched the edge of the bed. “Told you you were going to be all right.” She was shaking, as if she hadn’t been as sure as she’d sounded.

Mom held my good hand tightly. “You’re hurt, too,” I told her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Not all the plants stopped at Karinna’s command, that’s all. Some of them fought Elianna and me when we wanted the two of you back. They lost. Kaylen can heal me later, once he’s had time to recover.”

I glanced at her splinted wrist, her bandaged arm. Not all Mom’s injuries had come from the plants. More memories slid into place. Karin had broken her wrist, but her arm—I rolled away, unwilling to face her.

“Don’t you dare.” Mom reached out and brushed my hair back from my face. “I will not let you blame yourself, Liza. Not for this.”

I focused on the stone where my hand should have been. “You don’t—”

“I do understand.” The steel in Mom’s voice surprised me. She’d put a knife through the Lady’s heart—I shouldn’t have been surprised. “If anyone understands the effects of glamour, it’s me.”

Allie tugged on Caleb’s arm. “What’s glamour?” she asked. Caleb looked down, as if ashamed, and didn’t answer.

Mom rubbed my back. “I do not blame you,” she said firmly. “I will never blame you. I know what it’s like.”

I knew what it was like now. I knew why Mom had been so frightened when I’d used my magic on her.

“Look at me, Liza.”

I’d once gone through fire and glass to save my mother, but just then, nothing was as hard as turning back to her. “You have my word,” I said, speaking the promise she’d wanted before I’d left. “I will not use my magic to compel you ever again, not without your consent.”

I sat up. Mom drew a shuddering breath and pulled me close. “I had no right to ask that of you,” she said.

“You had every right.” And I would keep my word, even were magic not compelling me.

When Mom drew away, Allie pressed a cup to my lips. The thin meat broth within soothed my parched throat and calmed my stomach. When I was done, I stood on unsteady feet. My stone hand made my balance strange. I let Allie tie a strip of old sheet into a sling to rest my arm in. The pain in my shoulder was gone.

I moved to the window and pushed the shutters open one-handed. Green flooded my sight. The window faced the forest, and beyond the town the trees were in full leaf, so bright and deep they made the gray sky above seem green as well. A cold breeze blew in, and it smelled of wet growing things. I inhaled deeply. Our crops would grow now. I knew it down to my bones.

Allie hovered by my side. How had she and Caleb known to come? “The trees,” I said. “The townsfolk—”

“They’re fine,” Mom said as I turned back to her. “When you called spring, you called them free from the trees, too. Or maybe they would have changed back anyway once spring came—there’s a lot I don’t know about magic.” Her fingers brushed Caleb’s. Forgiving someone for the things they’d done under glamour was one thing, but forgiving them for the glamour itself—I still didn’t understand it.

“Ethan’s holding on, too,” Mom said. “It’ll be touch and go for a while, but turning him into a tree was probably the best thing anyone could have done for him. It slowed his dying enough for Kaylen to tend him, though Kaylen only had power enough left to stabilize him, for now. He’ll do more later.” Mom shook her head. “I wonder what the Lady would think, knowing she’d saved a human life.”

I rubbed my arm in its sling. Just thinking about the Lady made me feel cold.

I heard more talking down the hall, from Matthew’s room—but it wasn’t Matthew I heard. Kyle had sent Matthew away, beyond the Lady’s grasp. Why, then, was I suddenly afraid?

I focused on the voices, pushing the fear aside. “I need to return soon.” Karin sounded terribly weary. “The Wall will be waking, and the plant speaker I’ve left behind is largely untrained.”

“I don’t understand,” Elin said. “You risk everything for them.”

“Then you shall have to settle for simply accepting it.” Karin’s footsteps moved down the hall. Caleb hurried out the door. His steps made no sound—faerie folk never made any sound. Something was wrong. I stumbled as I crossed the room. Mom steadied me as Caleb led Karin inside.

Her eyes were bandaged. “Liza? Give me some sign that you are well, for though Kaylen could not tell me so if it weren’t true, I would know for myself.”

I remembered thorns reaching for her eyes. “Are you—”

Karin moved toward my voice, and I heard the slight hesitation in her steps. “They may yet heal.”

I hadn’t thought I’d made any sound, but I must have, for Karin said softly, “It is all right, Liza. The trees are no longer silent. I hear them all around us, speaking of spring, of rain, of turning their leaves toward the sun. You have done more than I dared hope for, and it is an honor to be your teacher.”

I glanced at Caleb. Surely he could heal this. He could heal so much.

“Injuries involving connections between body and mind are never wholly under the healer’s control.” Caleb’s voice held steady, as if he were delivering a lesson. “I can only repair the pathways the plants damaged. I cannot make the mind decide to follow where they lead. That will happen or not, over time.”

“It is all right,” Karin said again, with a faint note of impatience that made me think she’d told Caleb as much before. “We did what needed doing, and in the end the cost was less than I was willing to pay.” Karin reached for me. Her hand was crossed with thick pink scars. I took it, and she squeezed my fingers in her own. I’d have given my life to bring back spring, and I knew she’d have done the same. It didn’t need saying. We made the decisions we needed to make, paid the prices we had to pay to save what we could.

“You give up much for our people.” Mom’s words had a strange edge.

Karin lifted her head toward her. “That surprises you?”

Mom looked away to smooth the blankets one-handed. “I have grown accustomed to being surprised, since the War.”

“You were wrong, Tara, when you said I would enjoy watching your people die.” Karin brushed a hand over the wool nightgown she wore, as if the fabric were strange to her. I saw the outlines of more bandages through the coarse cloth. “I did not enjoy it. I still wake to the memory of their screams. Does that please you?”

Nightmares, I thought. There were worse nightmares than mine.

“No. It doesn’t.” Mom set the toy frog, duck, and pig atop the blankets. “I’m sorry, Karinna.”

I heard an indrawn breath from the doorway. Elin stood there, her arm bandaged as well, the silver butterfly back in her hair. “They cried out when I killed them, too,” the girl whispered. “Humans do not die as quietly as our people do.”

“No. They do not.” Karin released my hand to turn to her daughter. “And were you glad, when they died?”

The sleeves of Elin’s brown dress were ragged with tiny knots, as if she’d been worrying them. “No. I thought it necessary, but I was not glad.”

Karin stepped toward her daughter. “Later,” she said softly, “we will talk.”

With a sound that might have been a sob, Elin turned away. She fled down the hall, her steps making no sound against the hardwood floor. Karin sighed, rested her head against her hands, and didn’t try to follow.

Outside, rain began pattering gently against the roof. Other footsteps barreled up the stairs, not silent at all. “Liza!” Kyle threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around my legs. “Not sleeping!”

Hope ran in after him, flashing me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Liza. We tried to keep him out so you could rest.” The acorns were gone from her hair, and her usual mischievous grin was missing as well. She’d been subject to glamour, too, at least for a short while. Long enough to be turned into a tree. There was no one in my town magic hadn’t touched now. “Though keeping the other Afters out has been almost as hard,” Hope said. “You’ve no idea how good it is to see you’re all right, Liza. We’ve all been worried. I hear it’s thanks to you we don’t still have roots and branches, by the way.” She laughed uneasily. “We’ll make sure the Befores all know that it’s you who saved us. They need our magic, whether they like it or not.”

I held Kyle close with my good hand. Seeing him was reminder enough I hadn’t saved everyone. I looked at Mom. “You know about …”

Mom squeezed the plastic pig. “I saw Johnny’s shadow. Kyle told me the rest.” She looked across the room to Hope. “Brianna?”

Hope muttered a few rude words. “She won’t talk to any of us. Told Jayce she’s through with magic and won’t have it in her house any longer.”

Kyle quivered against me. I wouldn’t let him go back to Brianna, even were she willing to have him. My responsibility. “He’ll stay with me.” I’d promised to take care of him, and one way or another I would.

Kyle stopped shaking and looked up, his eyes wide.

Mom set the plastic pig back on the bed, picked up the frog. “Liza. You can’t do everything. Especially when, if I understand properly, Karinna is to teach you now. You’ll be leaving, for a time at least, whether I want it or not, won’t you?”

I pressed my lips together. “I’ll figure it out. This needs doing, too.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t. You’re good at many things, Liza, but has it occurred to you that maybe you don’t know much about how to raise a child?” I opened my mouth to protest, but Mom went on. “And has it also occurred to you that if Kyle is going to live with you, he’ll be living with me, too? Charlotte and her father are working on the house. We’ll be able to go home soon.” Mom handed me the frog and reached down to wipe a smudge of dirt from Kyle’s cheek. “We’ll do this together, Liza. He’ll stay with us.”

“Stay with you?” The strained hope in Kyle’s voice made my chest hurt.

I let out a breath, surprised at the weight Mom’s words lifted. I handed Kyle the frog. “You’ll stay with us. Me and Mom.”

“I like Tara,” Kyle agreed. He solemnly tucked the frog into his pocket.

Hope nodded. “We’ll all help, too. Afters stick together. I’ll tell the others.” She slipped out of the room and down the stairs.

Kyle smiled slyly and drew something out of his pocket for me in turn. A small plastic dinosaur.

“Oh, Kyle, how did you—” I thought of Ethan and Ben, of that walk with Matthew through the forest not so long ago.

“Matthew.” I squeezed the dinosaur so hard my hand ached. “Where is he?”

“Hurt,” Kyle whispered. “Outside.”

The last of my thoughts came clear. When I’d seen Matthew, he hadn’t known his name. A wolf running, his shadow dissolving behind him. I shivered in my thin nightshirt. In the vision he’d been lost beyond all calling back.

But that was—had been—the future. It might not have happened yet. I headed for Kate’s dresser, searching for clothes.

Allie grabbed my good arm. “Liza, you need rest—”

I pulled away and removed my sling. I managed to get a pair of Kate’s pants on one-handed and dug through a drawer for some socks.

“He’s all right,” Mom said quietly. “As far as any of us can tell, he’s just frightened and not ready to change back. He ran all the way to Caleb’s town and back. That would take a lot out of anyone.”

He hadn’t known his name, but he’d known to run for help. Or maybe he’d just remembered the journey he’d started what seemed so long ago, to bring Caleb to our town, and the promise he’d made then was what had set him back on the path. “Matthew’s in trouble.” My visions had been clear about that much.

“It can wait,” Mom said, though she didn’t sound happy about it.

“If Liza’s visions speak true, it may not be able to wait.” Karin walked around the bed toward me, one hand guiding her along the frame. “And her summoning may be some help. I will go with you, Liza. We will do what we can.”

Caleb frowned at that. So did Allie. “You’re terrible patients,” she said.

Karin laughed. “Knowing us both, did you expect otherwise?”

Allie helped me pull a sweater on over my nightshirt while Kyle lined all the plastic animals up on the dresser in front of me. Somewhere among the blankets he’d found Matthew’s hair tie, and he set that in front of the toys, like a path for them to follow. Caleb searched the drawers, digging out more clothes for Karin.

As I stepped into my boots, I remembered something else I ought not have forgotten. “Caleb, you have to see to Mom, too. Not just because of her wrist. She’s ill again, though she won’t admit it.”

“No, she isn’t.” Allie sounded puzzled. I looked to Caleb. Maybe Allie couldn’t see it, but surely Caleb could. He’d healed Mom before.

Caleb seemed very interested in staring at his own feet. So did Mom.

“Oh my goodness.” Allie burst out laughing as she buckled my boot. “You haven’t told her, have you?” Karin lifted her head as she pulled on a sweater, and I knew that whatever Allie meant, Karin didn’t know about it, either.

“Told me what?”

Allie kept laughing. “No one’s sick, Liza. The baby-to-be is as healthy as any baby can be this early on, and your mom’s healthy, too.”

“What?” I got to my feet, my other boot still unbuckled. Questions I didn’t have time for flooded me. Why hadn’t Mom told me this, either? How could she let me worry? I seized on the least important—the safest—question. “It’s been six months since your last visit,” I told Caleb severely. If Mom was six months pregnant, we all would have known.

“Baby?” Kyle asked, as if he’d only just heard.

“There have been … other visits,” Caleb said gravely. I hadn’t known that faerie folk could blush until then.

“To check for any lingering effects of the radiation.” Mom was blushing, too, even as she took Caleb’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry, Lizzy. I wasn’t sure myself at first, and then I wasn’t sure how to tell you. It didn’t seem possible, honestly.”

“That’s because it isn’t supposed to be possible.” Karin quietly pulled on pants and wool socks. “Or so we were taught. I am glad, for once, to be wrong.”

“Truly?” Mom asked her.

“Truly,” Karin said.

I felt more questions welling up. Another sister or brother—a half sister or brother—I couldn’t think about this now. It could wait, and Matthew couldn’t. I bolted for the stairs, not waiting for Karin to find shoes so she could follow. Allie ran after me, and Kyle, too. At the bottom of the staircase, Allie stopped me long enough to buckle my other boot. I’d forgotten my sling, and my balance was off again, but I didn’t go back. In the living room I caught a glint of light. Kate’s mirror—someone had drawn the wall hanging back from it. The light grew brighter, and in that light I saw—

Elin, putting her hand to the silvered glass. “I’m sorry, but I cannot stay here with you—with them.” Elin’s eyes were puffy with tears, but her gaze held steady. She took the butterfly from her hair and set it down. “I’m going home. Someone has to look after what remains of our people, too.” She stepped through the glass. I caught a glimpse of blackened trees beneath a hot blue sky, and then Elin was gone.

Her silver butterfly lay on the floor beside the mirror. A message, but not for me. There’d be time to worry about that later, too. I left it there and headed out the door.

Cold rain fell on my hair and my sweater. I held my left arm close and looked at Kyle. “Can you take me to Matthew?”

Kyle nodded and took my good hand, pulling me along. Allie followed right behind. The world around us was so green—I stumbled beneath the weight of it. Townsfolk were outside their houses, pulling up new weeds, because of course I’d called the weeds back with everything else. You didn’t get to choose what you called when you pulled life into the world.

In Kate’s backyard I saw the shed where Ethan must still be healing, its ruined roof covered with a blue tarp. Seth stood guard outside. Perhaps some of the townsfolk would be grateful that magic had healed them, but others would be more uneasy about strangers than ever.

Kyle led me on, past the Store and into the forest. Around us, oaks and maples moaned as they stretched new leaves toward the rain. A length of bright ragweed crept toward our feet. “Go away,” I whispered, and it drew back, more quickly than it would have last spring. Perhaps the plants had grown a little tamer while they’d slept.

We found Matthew hunkered down in a clearing among the trees, his fur soaked and tangled, his belly pressed into the mud. Kate knelt a few paces away, making soothing sounds, but Matthew didn’t seem to hear his grandmother.

I knew this place. It looked different without the snow and with the green, but it was the same place we’d found Ethan.

“Matthew wore his paws raw running to our town,” Allie whispered. “He made it clear he wanted Caleb and me, but he wouldn’t let us get close, and he wouldn’t shift back. He was so wild—I don’t think he wants to change, Liza.”

I walked slowly toward him. “Matthew?”

He whined and buried his nose in his scabbed and bleeding paws. It was Kate who looked up with a tired smile. “It’s good to see you awake, Liza.”

“I’ll bring him home,” I told her as I kept walking, ignoring the rain soaking through my clothes. “Just like I promised.”

The wolf growled low in his throat. I stopped and held out my hands, stone and flesh. The wolf bared his teeth. His gray eyes were dull, reminding me of a land without color or life. Yet even in that dead land there was green to be found if you were willing to fight for it.

“Call him?” Kyle asked.

“No.” I didn’t know what would happen if we forced magic on Matthew now. He’d been under glamour far longer than I had. I searched his wolf’s eyes for some sign of the boy I knew. It wasn’t just that he didn’t know me—I didn’t know him, though the dark markings around his muzzle and eyes were the same as always. He could have been any feral dog. Matthew wasn’t there.

“Hurt inside,” Kyle whispered. I thought of my vision: Matthew’s shadow dissolving behind him as he ran. All things that live and grow have shadows. I crouched in the mud, rested my stone hand on my knees, and softened my gaze.

Matthew’s shadow wasn’t gone. It was dark and clear, a wolf’s shadow that fit beneath his fur, tight as skin. “Matthew?” The wolf didn’t answer to the name.

I softened my gaze further, eyes aching as I let all focus go. I thought not of the wolf I saw, but of the boy I knew, the one who walked by my side through dark forests. A second shadow came clear, a fainter, human shadow, huddling within the wolf’s shadow the way Karin’s shadow had huddled within the oak tree.

“Matthew.” I looked at the human shadow as I spoke, but I put no command into the words. “Matthew, look at me. Please.”

Slowly the shadow looked up. The hunch of his shoulders reminded me not of the boy I knew now, but of the younger child who’d stood, bruised and bloodied, at the edge of our town after changing to a wolf and back again for the first time. “It’s all right to be frightened,” I said, and only afterward remembered that Karin had spoken the same words to me. I reached out my hand. Matthew’s shadow reached out his. Our fingers touched—

Too cold; I jerked back. Matthew’s shadow burned colder than the human shadows I’d laid to rest on our forest patrols, colder even than Johnny’s shadow. It burned with the cold of winter unending, of the Lady’s gaze as she said worlds were winding down.

I had to try again. I had to touch him to have a chance of drawing him out. I became aware of people watching me—not only Allie and Kyle and Kate, but Mom and Caleb with Karin, and others as well. Keeping my gaze on the human shadow within the wolf, I drew a deep breath, then reached out with my other hand, the one made of stone.

The shadow drew back. “I watched,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault.” The shadow shook his head, denying my words. Helping the Lady hurt others was probably the stuff of his nightmares. “It’s over,” I told him.

The wolf remained pressed to the ground, but the human shadow’s shoulders shook. “I watched him die.”

“I know, Matthew.” I didn’t deny that pain. I just kept holding out my hand.

Matthew’s shadow fingers wrapped around my stone ones. I stood, and the shadow stood with me. We faced each other, both of us trembling, both of us afraid. The wolf whined, and I saw Matthew looking out through those gray eyes. I reached down with my other hand, and he pressed his muddy nose into it. “Matthew. You’re Matthew.”

The wolf and his human shadow both bowed their heads, as if that truth were a heavy burden. There was a flash of silver light, and then a human boy stood before me, bare skin streaked with mud, pale hair wet and dripping, human fingers still wrapped around my stone ones. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees. I knelt and gathered him into my arms. His skin was so cold. I rubbed my good hand over his back, trying to warm him. He was here. He was Matthew. I hadn’t lost him. The world was not winding down after all.

Caleb whispered something I couldn’t quite hear. “Well done,” Karin said softly.

“The things I did,” Matthew said. “I could have killed Tara. I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” I’d nearly lost him instead—but that hadn’t happened, either.

“I brought Johnny back to her. He wouldn’t have died if not for me.”

“You didn’t kill him. She did.” In the end he’d been a weapon in the Lady’s hands, just like I had.

“He’s still dead.” So harsh, Matthew’s voice. “Nothing can make that right.”

I stroked Matthew’s hair, which was as wet and muddy as his fur had been. His hands and feet bled. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“Nothing’s safe.” Matthew shook in my arms. Someone—Hope—handed me a blanket; I wrapped it around him. Half the town seemed to be watching us.

“You saved me,” I told Matthew, “and Karin and Ethan, too.” That had to count for something. “You brought Caleb and Allie back in time.”

Matthew nodded as if that knowledge, too, were difficult to bear. His shaking eased. “Liza.” He took my strange stone hand and cradled it in both his human ones, as if it were terribly precious. I was suddenly aware of how close we were, of his bare skin under the thin blanket. I looked at him. He looked at me. I realized we were both trembling again, and I had an urge to laugh that made no sense at all.

I didn’t know which of us moved first, but all at once our lips were pressed together, and my hand was back in his hair, and we were holding each other close as we knelt in the mud. He tasted of earth and wolf and boy and Matthew, and I didn’t want to ever let him go.

The rain fell harder. Under her breath Hope muttered, “About time.”

“Help?” Kyle whispered.

“No,” Allie said. “I don’t think you can help with this.”

I ignored them all. Matthew and I held each other so closely, so fiercely, as if all this world depended on it, and Faerie as well.

We didn’t stop until the soil beneath us stirred. We scrambled to our feet then, remembering that we were in a forest, with all the dangers forests held. A bright purple flower unfurled in the brown mud. Matthew and I stepped back as the crocus hissed with the acid it held.

“It’s spring,” Matthew said, but not as if he believed it.

I looked at the bright trees, at the small spitting flower at our feet, at Matthew’s muddy hands holding both of mine. For now I would have to believe for us both.

“I know it is,” I said.