Page 18 of When the Woods Go Silent

“Sure would be nice to know someone on the inside who could sneak us in the side door.”

“Seriously?” Rose gripes, but she’s smiling at me. I snicker, and we join the line. It actually moves faster than I’d calculated, as quite a few of those waiting emerge with white to-go boxes instead of dining in.

Several of them pop open the lids for everyone waiting in line to see what’s available, and my mouth waters when I see a thick slice of dark chocolate cake, studded with sliced plums that look like amethysts and garnets buried in rich earth.

We’ve waited just under an hour when it’s our turn, and although it’s crazy for a small town, this would be nothing in the city. Or the height of tourist season, for that matter. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The sheer amount of delicious-looking food coming out of this place has my stomach grumbling.

“Oh.” Rose gives a little gasp as we finally set foot in the restaurant. The entryway is papered with black-and-white drawings of odd-looking animals in robes and hats, walking on two legs and carrying platters piled high with different fruits. I’m examining a particularly grotesque mole-cat combo when she tugs my sleeve.

“Ru, I didn’t see the decor last time. It’sGoblin Market.” She gestures around us.

“Yeah, that’s the name,” I say, frowning.

“No - it’s referencing an old poem. About these goblin creatures who sold addictive fruit to pretty young girls. Then when the girls couldn’t have any more, they shriveled up and died, like from withdrawal.”

“Sounds like opioids,” I joke, forcing a laugh because something about the poem, paired with the disturbing drawings, sends a creeping chill up my spine. Something in my bonesrecognizes it, even if my memory doesn’t. It sounds like dark magic, and maybe not the kind I’ve been telling myself I would chase.

“Sounds like a metaphor for the importance of young women’s sexual purity,” Rose says, glaring at the wallpaper. “But yeah. That must be what this place is named after.”

“That’s... actually kinda cool,” I admit. “I mean, not the sexual purity stuff. Ew.” Nobody needs that racket.

“The poem is actually more feminist than that, though, because the girl who tastes the fruit and becomes addicted is saved by her sister in the end. The sister faces down all the horrible goblins to get the antidote. And they grow old together,” Rose adds, looking satisfied with the poem’s ending.

I smile at my best friend and squeeze her arm as we’re ushered into the actual dining room. “I’d save you from goblins any day, Rose. Especially those little runts on the wallpaper - I could drop-kick any of them clear across the street.” I pop my lips, making a smacking sound.

She winks at me and plops into one of the low velvet chairs we’re directed to. The interior is gorgeous. It’s like a fancy hotel lobby, with clusters of chandeliers, plush couches in jewel-tone velvet, and small gleaming gold tables between. Everything is glam as hell, and I love it. There’s a sticker with a code on the table, and we scan it with our phones to see the menu.

“Oh, yum,” I moan, reading the descriptions. I want one of every dessert.

“The appetizers look really good, too,” Rose adds, her eyes intent on her phone. Footsteps sound next to us, and I look up to see a very appetizing dark-haired man before us, holding a pitcher of sparkling water and two crystal tumblers. Eek. If this is what a goblin really looks like, count me in.

“Welcome to theMarket, ladies. Have you had a chance to look at the menu?” He hands each of us a tumbler and pours thewater perfectly to the top without even glancing away from the paralyzing eye contact we’re making. Wow.

I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking a stupid question - like, if he’s on the menu.

“Two appetizers, chef’s choice?” Rose suggests to the server before I can tell him we need more time. I suck at decisions and would probably just order everything.

“And a piece of the chocolate plum cake,” I rush out, feeling my cheeks flush when he flashes me a devastating grin.

“Excellent choice,” he murmurs, ducking his head and pivoting to the next table. Rose kicks my shin lightly as I openly twist to admire his ass.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” she grumbles, but her mouth is quirked up in a smirk as I try to reel in my inappropriate staring. “I didn’t realize the whole menu would be vegetarian,” Rose adds, nodding down at her phone screen.

“It’s cool, right? I love that they’ve made this whole concept really work for them. And aren’t we lucky to live practically next door? Influencers were right for once - dinner with a hell of a view,” I murmur, settling back on my lounge and scanning the handful of other servers moving between the tables. They’re all as beautiful as promised on social media, like we’re in the middle of a model casting call.

“Have you seen that Arlo guy?” I whisper, and Rose shakes her head, putting away her phone.

“No, thank your Goddess. Maybe he stays in the kitchen.”

Our server comes back just then, setting three gleaming white plates of food between us, along with two shot glasses of iridescent golden liquid.

“Special gift for patrons tonight - our house-made pomegranate liqueur. Do both of you drink alcohol?” he asks, although he’s already placed the glasses on the table.

“Of course, we do,” I scoff, already eying the cake. “Thanks so much.”

“I’ll check back in later, then,” he says smoothly, and saunters away like he knows I’m watching.

“Aren’t pomegranates red?” Rose asks, examining the golden shot. She swirls the glass just a bit, and both of us gasp as the liquid slowly turns a bright, ruby red. I grab mine and peer up at it from the bottom.

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