“Come on, Em. I haven’t seen you in a week.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down the side of her neck. Her skin prickled beneath his touch, mildly irritated. “I just drove seven hours straight to see you.”
Despite my asking you not to,she thought.
“I’d like you to myself for a little while.” Reaching for the beer she’d grabbed him from the fridge—some brand Pa and Corny liked—he took a sip. His nose promptly wrinkled in distaste. Eyeing the can, he set it down. “You only have two days until you’re away on tour, and then who knows when I’ll see you next.”
Her tour! She’d been so consumed with learning the Song Mage’s songs, she’d almost forgotten.
In just a few days she’d be opening for The Perennials.She’dbe up onstage with them, traveling across three countries with them, for almost a month straight.
Except … no.
That would never happen. Not unless she miraculously found the Song Mage’s missing music.Either that, or I do as Hawthorne suggested and never return to the Wood King’s court … and let him die in my stead.
A chill swept through her, turning her heart to ice. She had to at least try to find the music.
But where was she supposed to start?
As Joel pulled her closer, the smell of Old Spice invaded her senses. Normally, she didn’t mind the smell. Tonight, she found it artificial and cloying. As his arm looped around her neck, keeping her close, she suddenly felt trapped.
Emeline shut her eyes and drew in a breath. When she exhaled, though, the feeling remained.
I don’t want him,she realized.
This always happened.
With every one of them.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, overwhelmed by the need to get away. Disentangling herself from Joel, she slid out of her chair and fled the crowded dining room.
She had no plan, just an impulse. It drove her to the garden door, where she slid her feet into someone’s insulated rubber boots. Maisie’s, maybe, by the size of them. She pulled on a worn wool hat—Tom’s, by the sweet tobacco smell—then threw on one of Pa’s cardigans.
Outside, the night breathed its chill across her skin. The sky was black as she started towards the trees, their branches rattling and scratching in the wind.
Emeline,they hushed.Come back to us.
Emeline wanted to blame the woods for her inability to livea normal life. To not bring the forest with her to every set and stage and gig. To stay attracted to nice, normal guys instead of breaking things off whenever they wanted to get more serious.
But staring into the darkening trees, she wondered:What if it’s not the woods?
What if it’s me?
She stopped walking when she reached the space in the hedge, breathing in the scent of bark and pine, listening to the forest’s creaks and calls—so different from the jarring noises and concrete smells of the city.
The forest swelled around her, vast and unpredictable. Here, something nameless and huge lay beneath the bracken, tangling with the roots of the old trees, pulsing beneath the soles of her feet. Here, the hungry song of the woods thrummed like a pulse. Calling to her.
The power of it terrified Emeline.
What if it terrifies me because I want it?
She stepped back, away from the tree line.
No.
Emeline had spent her whole childhood dreaming of big cities. Of the bright lights and the buzzing energy. The city had always cast a dizzying spell over her.
Sure, the sounds and smells were different. And it never got dark. Not true dark. Not dark enough to see the stars.
And yes, there was nothing wild there.
