Page 23 of When the Woods Go Silent

“But really, like maybe for a lot of you, stories are more than their happy endings for me. It’s the world I get to escapeintothat matters the most - not the one I’m escapingfrom. Don’t get me wrong. I live a dream life now, reading and selling great books with my best friend. But if I found out the magic I read about was real?” Another hesitant laugh, a faraway gleam in my black eyes that the shadowy golden light of the forest highlights, not hides.

I force myself to keep watching through my discomfort. I said these things for a reason. I told some of this to the authors at the conference, in different words. I want to tell them to my followers, but I know it could make me seem just a little too different.

I want to tell Rose, even though I’m guessing she already knows, even if she doesn’t quite believe.

“If I ever found real magic, I would grab Rose and leave this ‘real world’ behind in an instant. I’d embrace the magic and suck it in deep. I want us to dive into that rabbit hole and never lookback. Maybe it’s crazy, but... I’ve never felt at home. Never fit in. Anywhere at all, besides maybe these woods. And I know she hasn’t, either. It’s one reason we’re so close, both of us finding home in our favorite stories, together. In the magic that stories describe and hold. When everything else is taken away, I feel like denying the existence of magic is a game of pretend, not the other way around.”

My voice trails off, and I watch for a few seconds as the little me on the screen gets up and moves toward the camera, fumbling to stop the recording. My hand covers the camera for a second, and the beautiful gold forest seems to disappear into a dark cave.

Huffing out a sigh, I swipe away the recording app, staring at the blank phone screen for a few more seconds. In the end, I decide not to delete the video, but definitely not to post it, either. Rose wouldn’t like me sharing those things about her.

Besides, something about it sends the wrong message, I think. Ungrateful. Dissatisfied, even though I don’t mean it that way.

After all, I’m living the dream that so many in my audience have, working for myself and reading all the latest stories, straight from the authors themselves. And I’m talking about running away from it all?

It feels wrong of me to want more. Greedy.

I fold the tripod up and tuck it into my backpack, heading deeper into the woods instead of back to the shop like I probably should. I venture farther than I’ve gone before, drawn by the shifting shapes of sun and shade, and the sweet siren calls of birds I’m learning names for.

The forest speaks to me in a thousand languages, and I’m eager to learn them all. I want to soak it all in, so that if one day, the woods do go silent, I’ll be ready to speak for them.

I’ve just hopped across a swollen stream bed when I see it. Oh, hell yes.

“A fairy ring,” I breathe out loud, my eyes widening as excitement tingles through me. I hurry closer, taking in the delicate mushrooms growing in a near-perfect circle on the forest floor. There are brambles and berries around them, and a cluster of purple flowers that remind me of wild roses. The air seems to sparkle inside the ring, with dewdrops still hanging from the petals, reflecting a perfect shaft of sunlight.

I drop my bag and kneel at the edge, my eyes sweeping around and around the tiny clearing as the forest floor dampens my knees. Stories I pored over as a child always painted these circles of mushrooms as places where tiny fairies gathered and socialized under mushroom umbrellas, dancing through the petals and spreading their sparkling magic throughout the forest. Stories I’ve collected since then warn about fae traps, places where humans disappear for good, subjected to the whims of whatever fae was lucky enough to trick them.

Either way, it’s a magical place, and I’m not afraid, even if all those stories say I should be.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and take a ton of pictures and videos, working to get the best angles. These would be perfect for our socials. Even if it’s nothing more than folklore, it’s enchanting, and so on brand.

I’m so drawn into the experience that a shriek leaps from my mouth when my camera lens pans across a pair of hiking boots across the fairy ring. I stumble up with muddy knees, looking warily at the broad-shouldered man standing opposite me. He’s only a few feet away, and I didn’t even hear him walk up.

How long has he been here, silently watching me like a creep? And what can I do if he’s dangerous? The woods have never worried me, but people often do. People are unpredictable.

I step closer to my bag and tuck my hair behind my ears as I watch him like a skittish animal, memorizing his appearance in case I have to describe him to police later. A ball cap hides his hair and puts his eyes in shadow, and his thick coat makes him feel enormous to me.

And weirdly, he looks almost as surprised as I am.

TORRENCE

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” the pretty little human snaps, confirming that she can, in fact, somehow see me.

I’ve been watching her hike here for two weeks now, and she’s never once seen me behind my fae glamor. Why is today different?

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I try, gathering my thoughts and aiming to sound like a nonthreatening regular guy. The human just glares, and something in the way her dark eyes flash at me tugs at my memories. Today, she reminds me even more of my sister. That is, if Rinna had been allowed to grow up.

This human is cautious, but she’s no runner. This one would fight back, and that peaks my interest in her even more.

“Well, then don’t sneak up,” she repeats. “And don’t step on the mushrooms,” she adds as I take a step to the side, pushing my hands in my jeans pockets.

I glance down at the mushrooms growing in a rough circle. They mean nothing, arranged like this.

“Fairy rings are sacred.” The lie slips out before I can stop it, disproving another silly human belief about the fae. She narrows her eyes at me, and I can tell she knows I’m teasing her.

“All of nature should be sacred,” she says, her bitchy tone revealing the nerves that have begun to catch up with her bravado. Yes, I scent it now. The uptick in her pulse, the slight sheen of sweat along the nape of her neck.

She would taste fucking delicious right now, with the tang of adrenaline that’s swirling through the lace of her veins.

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