Conversation rose up like puffs of smoke as neighbors—the men and women who’d helped raise Emeline—sat around the table stretched across his dining room. The smell of rosemary potatoes and roasted lamb made Emeline’s stomach grumble. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling like she hadn’t slept in a week.
“Emmie!” Corny shouted from down the table. He was an enthusiastic man with an athletic build and a voice that boomed when he spoke. He and his wife owned the winery in Edgewood. “Ewan’s been telling us strange tales. Maybe you can fill us in?”
Emeline glanced around the table, remembering how—only a week ago—she hadn’t believed the stories these very neighbors had raised her on. Stories of a cruel king and his court of monsters. She’d thought them nothing more than delusions. Uneducated ways of coping with the unfairness of life.
She believed them now. And as Emeline told the neighbors about Pa tithing himself to escape Heath Manor, about how she only narrowly saved him from the Wood King—who wantedher for his minstrel—they believed her too. Without a second thought.
After she finished, Anya, Corny’s wife, leaned forward, peering around her husband. Her wispy, reddish hair fell into her eyes. “What’s it like, riding an ember mare?”
After Emeline told her, Abel, Grace’s father, said from across the table, “I saw an ember mare once. It was eating apples straight from the trees in my orchard. I thought one of Corny’s horses got loose from its pasture, but when I went out to catch it for him, it looked straight at me, and its eyes were red as fire.”
This prompted more questions. “How did you escape the shadow skin, Emmie?” “Did you meet any shiftlings?”
The questions were followed by more stories.
Eshe, Grace’s mother, told them about the first time she ever saw a shadow skin. The way it prowled around her house, trampling the flowers in her garden, peering in through all the windows while she hid upstairs.
Anya spoke of her last shiftling sighting. Coyotes had been terrorizing their horses and, after spotting one near the stables, she grabbed Corny’s rifle and tracked it into the woods. When she finally caught up to it, she found not a coyote, but a child with lupine eyes and wild black hair.
As more and more of them offered up stories, Tom leaned back in his chair, remaining quiet, staring into his wineglass. It struck Emeline as strange. Tom was the only one who’d ever been to the Wood King’s court. Or so he’d told them. Emeline supposed he had more stories than any of them.
Eventually, dinner resumed, and conversation turned to other things.
“Ewan!” Corny pointed his fork at Pa. “Where’s your button box? Are you going to play for us?”
Pa fiddled with his watch. “Bah. You don’t want to hear an old man play.”
“Yes we do!” Corny’s face was a little red, making Emeline wonder how much wine he’d already had. “Where is it? I’ll get it for you.”
“After dinner, Corny.” Anya, who didn’t look up as she spoke, continued sawing through her lamb.
“What are you doing?” Corny asked Pa quietly. “Why do you keep looking at your watch?”
A wall-sized painting of the farm hung above Pa’s head. In it, the vineyards were half hidden by the reddish-brown barn, and beyond the farm loomed the woods.
Pa shook his wrist, then turned the little brass knob. “I think it’s broken.”
“What does it say?” Corny peered down at Pa’s wrist.
“Eleven thirty.”
“Let me see … It says … seven fifteen.” Corny’s mouth turned down a little as he glanced from the watch to Pa’s face. But his bright smile returned. “Same as mine. No worries. It’s working fine!”
Pa frowned deeply, studying the glassy face of the timepiece. Emeline’s heart twinged as she watched, but Corny seemed unfazed and unembarrassed for his friend.
Just then, Emeline heard a knock at the door, half drowned by the conversation. Rising, she went to answer it.
She was not prepared for the person standing on the other side.
“Joel?”
The glow of the porch lights illuminated a tall, wiry young man. His dark jeans clung to his lean, toned legs and his blonde hair was cropped short on the sides, but long on the top. Hebrushed it out of his eyes. His bright red Volkswagen pinged in the driveway, the engine cooling from the drive.
“Thank god. I’ve been trying to call you for days!” Joel pulled her out of the doorframe and into his arms, crushing her in a hug. With him came the smell of strong coffee and Old Spice and everything familiar. Reminding her there was a whole other world out there.Herworld. A world she desperately wanted to get back to.
“Did you drive all the way here from Montreal?” she asked, stepping out of his arms. It was almost October, and their breaths puffed like clouds in the crisp air.
“Yeah. I was worried sick.” His sky-blue eyes examined her. “I knew something was wrong as soon as that weirdo showed up with your note.”
