Page 21 of The Mirror of Beasts

“Olwen?” I called.

She was on the other side of a bright red postbox, greeting an inflatable snowman. With all the gravity of a formal introduction, Olwen took one of its twig arms and gave it a courteous little shake.

She leapt back as the decoration lit with a flashing whirl of lights and began to scream-sing a cloying rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” While she marveled at it, stooping to poke it again with her finger, I saw the word extraordinary form on her lips.

I sighed, then went to retrieve her.

“Tamsin, what is that thing?” she asked. “What purpose does it serve? Is it a talisman to frighten away malevolent spirits or mischievous fae?”

I considered the singing snowman. “I think it’s just supposed to be … merry.”

“Cait, look!” Olwen called over my shoulder, gesturing to the warbling nightmare. “Isn’t he jolly? Air passes through him, yet he is unbreathing—”

The others had doubled back for us, but at the sight of the decorations and Olwen’s tentative smile, a hard mask slid over Cait’s features. Her words were harder still. “Enough of this. We haven’t the time to waste.”

Olwen, to my surprise, had quickly shed her shock at being in a new world and had taken to investigating it with both fascination and alarm, but mostly fascination. She pushed every single button she encountered no matter what it did, poked at car tires and intriguing machines, and stopped to inspect each new, peculiar plant. The holiday decorations with their colorful lights, the trees laden with glittering ornaments, the ribbon-kissed wreaths, had only deepened her wonder.

“You’re right, Cait, of course,” she said, quickly picking up the basket she’d set down. Griflet let out a soft meow from inside.

Caitriona inclined her head toward the hotel. “The liar has received instructions on how to find what we’re looking for.”

She marched on ahead of us, her long strides eating up the distance far faster than Olwen’s and my shorter legs could. I caught a glimpse of downcast Olwen’s face out of the corner of my eye.

“He was very jolly,” I told her.

Olwen let out a soft laugh. “I know I’m being silly, but I want to understand this world. Every now and then I’ll see something, and it’ll remind me of home—like the garlands? They’re so similar to the ones we would make for the Yule celebrations. The sap would stick to my fingers, and I could smell the sweetness of it and the pine needles for days, even after washing.”

My breath painted the air white, the cold stinging my eyes. I wished Neve were walking with us, because she would have known the right thing to say.

“But then I remember that all of that’s gone, that I have no home but this place now, and I’m not sure how I fit here,” Olwen said. “I’m not sure I ever can.”

My chest squeezed at how matter-of-factly she said it. “We celebrate the Yule here, too. When all of this is over, you can teach me how to make the garlands. I can’t promise mine won’t look like a child made it, but I’ll try.”

She smiled, glancing up as Neve rushed toward us.

“We’ve been looking in the wrong place,” she announced, exasperated. “The pub’s just outside the village’s limits.”

Rather than head back up the winding road, we walked down the main road as it curved around the buildings and continued past the edge of town, toward the cliffs. As we passed by the last house, the paved road turned to well-worn dirt, its grooves carved by centuries of wandering. The moon cast down silvery light, guiding our way. It made Emrys’s solitary figure at the front of the pack look almost ghostly, a figment of a lost dream.

The pub soon came into view, its thatched roof spotted with snow. Its white stone face had been whipped raw by the wind, and the whole structure slanted ever so slightly to the right. Below, the winter sea roared as it churned against the ragged coastline.

We hurried up the path. There were a few cottages scattered around, breaking up the stretches of dead grass and what was left of the last snow. A wooden sign hung from the low-slung line of the roof, depicting a skeleton sitting at a table, his hand resting against his chin and a full pint in front of him. THE DEAD MAN’S REST, it said.

“See?” Emrys said, gesturing toward it. “Told you it was here.”

“And to think, it only took you three hours to find it,” I said. “Hope you’re not expecting a ticker-tape parade.”

“No, but you’re welcome to lead the toast in my honor, Lark,” he said smugly. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy the first round.”

He had to be doing it on purpose—pulling and pulling on that thread. And for what? To entertain himself by watching me unravel?

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Olwen and Neve exchange a wary glance, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of taking the bait.

I turned back toward the door to the pub, relieved to see the lights were still on. Better yet, the sound of laughter and voices met us at the door. I reached for the quaint old handle, but the door swung open first, and with a faint tinkle of bells, a monster spilled out.

My pulse leapt and my ribs screamed in protest as someone grabbed me from behind, yanking me back. I gasped in pain and surprise.

A pale, ghoulish figure materialized in front of me, riding on a draft of heat and chatter. Towering in height, it seemed to float above the ground, the white fabric that covered its body streaming around it like a swirling draft of snow.

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