Gretta plunged through the Astral toward the pond. This might be her only chance to find her mother. Watching Dorian walk its perimeter, she'd seen something off—an unnatural shimmer, like light bending around an invisible door. It had to be a pathway. A hidden road.

  That might sound absurd to someone who hadn’t walked into Purgatory or seen the heart of magic in another reality—but for Gretta, it was just another Thursday.

  She dropped into reality the moment she was above solid ground, landing lightly near the point where Dorian had begun his circuit. Shifting back to human, she squared her shoulders and started walking counterclockwise, following his path step for step.

  A shout rang out behind her.

  Then another.

  Footsteps pounded against the ground, gaining on her.

  She didn’t look back—couldn’t. The pull against her chest tightened like a rope yanking her backward. The invisible wall resisted her passage, an unseen force pressing into her bones.

  The pressure at her throat turned searing. The Wild Mother’s gift—her ever-present tether—burned against her skin, hotter than anything she’d ever felt. Not just pain. Not just heat. Something deeper, something pulling her back as if fate itself demanded she stay.

  Gretta was being forced to make a choice, push forward through the pain, or go back.

  She clenched her jaw and shoved forward. Fate resisted. Then—snap.

  The force holding her back shattered, and she stumbled forward, hitting the ground with a jarring impact. The heat vanished.

  She had been in the Arizona desert. Now, she lay on cool, damp earth beside a tree so massive its trunk could have swallowed a car whole.

  Her body ached, exhaustion pressing down like a weight. She forced herself upright, instinctively reaching for the necklace at her throat—

  Gone.

  Her breath hitched. Before she could process the loss, something else caught her eye. A neon green feather stuck out of her pocket.

  “Oh, come on.”

  She yanked it out, turning it over in her fingers. A raven feather—only too bright, too unnatural.

  Just like the one she’d finally gotten rid of.

  A rustling in the undergrowth snapped her attention sideways. Something—or someone—was moving. She turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees. Nothing.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t being watched.

  She swallowed hard, forcing her thoughts back to the tree. If this was the way back home, she couldn’t afford to lose it. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, each tree a twin of the next. A wrong turn, and she’d never find it again.

  She crouched, grabbing a rock from the damp forest floor, and carved a rough G into the bark. It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.

  Straightening, she took a step forward—then hesitated. She glanced up.

  The canopy hung thick above her, towering out of sight. It should have been pitch black. Instead, thousands of tiny, glowing shapes floated in the air above, like dandelion seeds caught in an unseen current. They pulsed gently, drifting aimlessly, never falling low enough to touch.

  Gretta exhaled, the sound barely audible over the hush of the alien forest. The world felt untouched. Unnatural. Like it had never known decay.

  Purgatory had demons. The heart of magic had gods. So what the hell lived here?

  The thought sent a chill down her spine. She reached for her magic, instinctively preparing to shift—

  And felt nothing.

  The Astral was gone. Her forms, gone. She grasped for even a flicker of power, but the emptiness pressed back, cold and absolute.

  She exhaled slowly. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She wasn’t just drained. She was cut off. Completely.

  The sense of being watched pressed heavier now. And for the first time, she realized—if something was out there, she had no way to fight it.

  She moved quickly, staying low, ears straining for any sound beyond her own footsteps. Every so often, she paused to stack a pile of rocks or arrange a few sticks—primitive markers, but better than nothing.

  It was a calculated risk. If she was being followed, she might be marking a trail for something else. But without magic, without a map, without any sense of direction, she had no better options.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  A smarter person would have planned for this.

  Gretta exhaled sharply and kept walking. Smarter or not, she was here now.

  She heard the occasional breaking stick or rustling brush, but she had not caught sight of anybody, and it wasn’t making her feel better.

  The land rolled in uneven waves—dipping into deep gulches, then rising onto rocky ridges—forcing Gretta into a grueling climb. The endless canopy loomed above, swallowing time itself. Minutes blurred into an hour. Maybe more.

  Her legs ached. Her throat burned. A steady, dull fatigue settled into her bones. She needed water. Rest. A plan.

  Then she saw it.

  Up ahead, the dense trees gave way to something wilder—thick grasses, twisted shrubs, and smaller trees tangled together in a chaotic sprawl. And beyond that, a break in the canopy. A patch of sky.

  Finally.

  She bent down, stacking another pile of sticks and rocks to mark her path, then grabbed a length of heavy deadwood. With a few swift motions, she stripped away the smaller branches, leaving it smooth enough to grip. A makeshift club. A walking stick. Whatever she needed it to be.

  With a deep breath, she pushed into the brush.

  Gretta fought her way through the underbrush, every step a battle against twisting branches and grasping vines. It took far too long. And she was making way too much noise.

  If something was waiting on the other side, she was basically announcing her arrival with a parade.

  She broke free at last, stumbling onto—

  A road. Empty. Silent.

  She blew out a breath. “Anti-climactic.”

  “What is?” a deep voice rumbled.

  Gretta twisted toward the sound.

  A massive woman stood in the shadows, arms crossed. Green skin. Actual tusks. Muscles that could make Earth’s strongest men rethink their life choices. She wasn’t flexing. She didn’t need to.

  Gretta had no idea if the expression on her face was a smirk, but the tusks made it seem possible.

  “Oh,” Gretta said, catching her breath. “I guess I expected more. Some grand revelation. A monster. Something.”

  “I heard,” the woman said dryly. “Sounded like a wild boar running from wolves. Was almost impressed you made that much noise alone.”

  Gretta groaned, rubbing her forehead. “It was not easy.”

  The woman nodded toward a path not five feet away. “Took me about thirty seconds. Didn’t make a sound.”

  Gretta stared at it. Then back at the underbrush she’d just fought her way through.

  She clapped a hand over her face. “I’m new here.”

  The green woman laughed—a deep, rich sound. Not mocking. Just amused. “I noticed. We don’t get many humans ‘round here.”

  “You get some, though?” Gretta asked.

  “Now and then. Never unaccompanied.”

  Gretta’s jaw tightened. “Dorian.”

  The woman shrugged. “Little elf man brings people through every few years. Always skittish. And his humans?” She gave Gretta a pointed look. “Usually glassy-eyed.”

  “I’ll bet,” Gretta said. “Do you mind if I ask your name?”

  The green woman chuckled. “Very new to Fairy, aren’t you?”

  Gretta frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Names have power,” the woman said easily. “Give someone your true name, and you make it easier for them to work magic on you.”

  Gretta tensed. “Like… enchantments?”

  “Like many things,” the woman said with a knowing smile. “Best to be careful.”

  Gretta studied her. “So, what do you go by?”

  “You can call me Meg.”

  “Right. And I should probably pick a fake name, too.” Gretta paused, thinking. Then sighed. “Nancy.”

  Meg blinked. “Nancy?”

  “Nancy Dew,” Gretta said, deadpan.

  “Well, Miss Dew,” Meg said, her tusked grin widening, “I was about to make some lunch. Feel like joining me?”

  Gretta glanced over her shoulder. “I might be getting chased.”

  Meg shrugged. “Then you’ve got plenty of time. Could be years before they show up.”

  Gretta turned back to her, frowning. “What?”

  “Time flows differently here,” Meg said, amused. “Hard to say how long they’ll take. Might be hours, might be decades. No point in starving while you wait.”

  “The last time I ate food from a fairy, I got drugged,” Gretta said flatly.

  Meg let out a sharp laugh. “That little elf tried to dose you? You kick his arse?”

  “Still running from him,” Gretta muttered. “So, yeah. You see why I’m hesitant.”

  Meg inclined her head. “Fair point. A few things you should know, then. First, folk from Fairy can’t lie. The story goes, Fairy made the first immortals, but they tricked her. In return, she cursed them to never lie. Even now, generations later, we’re still bound by it.”

  Gretta narrowed her eyes. “So you can’t lie?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you can twist the truth.”

  “Obviously.” Meg’s grin widened. “Second, you shouldn’t take food from just any fae. Fairy’s magic is in the very ground. That means our plants, our water, everything is laced with it. If someone knows how, they can turn a simple meal into a powerful charm.”

  Gretta exhaled. “Wow. Lunch is sounding worse.”

  “Third,” Meg continued, “hospitality is sacred. No curse enforces it, but most of the elder fae abide by the old rules.”

  Gretta folded her arms. “Dorian invited me to his home. Look where that got me.”

  Meg raised an eyebrow. “I won’t take offense, since I know you didn’t mean to insult my home. But you weren’t in Dorian’s home, and that little runt isn’t one of the elder fae.”

  She stepped away from the tree, rolling her shoulders. “Come or not. But I’m going to have some cool tea.”

  Gretta hesitated, glancing down the road. She had no map. No magic. No idea where to start. Meg did.

  If she wanted to find her mother, she needed information. And right now? That meant taking calculated risks.

  She exhaled, rolling out the tension in her shoulders. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll take you up on that drink. But if you try to drug me, I swear to the gods—”

  Meg let out a booming laugh, already turning toward the path. “Swear all you like.”

  Gretta followed, sighing. She didn’t trust Meg. But she didn’t have to—not yet.