Page 4 of Fallen Star

I yank the blade free, bringing more of its black, sap-like blood out with it.

It smells like syrup. A scent I know well after serving drinks at the Maple Pig.

My heart hollows with longing as I think about my time as a bartender in Maine. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Now—inthislifetime—a tree monster flails wildly in front of me, its claws slashing through the air.

I barely twist away in time to avoid being impaled.

I can’t be impaled in projected form,I tell myself, remembering when Riven tried and failed to run his sword through me when I broke into his quarters.

It’s amajorbenefit for fighting in projected form instead of in my regular body.

My regular body—which is unconscious and vulnerable next to Zoey’s. And which, unlike my projected form, isn’t immune to injury.

I need to finish off this tree monster quickly. Because the longer I stay in my projected form, the longer I put my real self and Zoey in danger.

So, I grab the trunk to steady myself, using the wind to stay balanced.

The creature pulls itself higher into the tree, dragging itself out of reach of my dagger. Its glowing, hollow eyes narrow as it studies me, and its mouth gapes open, unhinging farther than before.

Its sharp teeth are dripping with sap.

I glance down at the ground.

As I already knew, Zoey’s unconscious body is lying next to my real one. If our clothes and skin weren’t stained with blood, I’d think we were peacefully sleeping. Two sisters, side by side, resting in a magical forest. Well, notactuallysisters—her thick black hair is so different from my white-blonde hair with blue streaks at the ends that we’re clearly not related—but we’re sisters at heart.

We have been ever since I saved her from drowning in that icy lake when we were kids.

Sap drips onto me, yanking me out of my thoughts. The creature’s a few branches overhead, and I grip my dagger tighter, repositioning myself.

I can’t project from a projection.

Which means it’s time to climb.

Using the branches like a distorted ladder, I hurry up the tree—faster than I thought possible—and level myself with the creature again. The wound on its chest is only halfway healed, which is much slower progress than any supernatural I’ve seen so far.

Maybe its healing magic moves slower because its blood is made of sap, and sap moves slower than blood?

I don’t have time to contemplate the technicalities. Instead, I slash again, catching it across what passes for its throat.

More blood. More shrieks.

Its skeletal form trembles, and it backs away from me, its hollow eyes dimming with fear.

Ofme.

Thrill rushes through me.

I have it cornered.

Now, it’s time to finish it off.

As I size up where to aim my dagger for the final blow, movement flashes below.

My heart stops at the sight of a shadowy form creeping toward Zoey and me—well, therealme. Long, sleek, and impossibly silent, it’s like a living shadow, its edges rippling as it moves. Its steps are measured, with a predator’s precision, ready to pounce.

It’s ten feet from our bodies, and it’s closing in fast.

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