Since I don’t have to pick up Alex until nine on Sunday morning, I wake up extra early just to revel in a day off. Making a pot of coffee, I drink a cup on the back deck while I watch the sunrise. I take my time reading the paper, as it’s always fun to see my handiwork show up as news. I even make some cinnamon rolls and leave them out for my mom and sisters. Okay, so the rolls are out of a can, but it’s the thought that counts.
Then, feeling like I should do something productive, I head downstairs and clean up my workspace. I prop the door to my workroom open to let out some dust while I sweep. I’m already breaking the promise I made to Mom by not keeping my workroom door closed, but it does get kind of grungy in here. I’m organizing some files when Chloe comes downstairs, still in her pajamas, clutching a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.
“Oh,” she says, catching sight of me. “Thanks for the rolls and coffee, but I figured you’d sleep in since you’ve got the day off.”
“Nope. I wanted to enjoy it, but I felt like I should do one productive thing, so I came down here.”
“I’ve got to get an early start today, too,” she says as she sits down at her spinning wheel and places the coffee cup on her desk. “I’ve fallen a little behind.”
“Behind?” I ask. “Aren’t you running about five years into the future right now?”
“Yeah, but Lacey took the lines I gave her the other day and assigned them their destinies. Almost every one of them is going to have multiple children. I’ve got to get busy.”
I just shake my head. “Please. You’re so far ahead, you make the rest of us look like total slackers.”
She giggles. “Well, it’s better to be ahead than behind. Besides, I might want a little time off, soon, too.”
“What for? Oh—” I start, seeing the familiar look on her face. “You’re in love again.”
“Well, heavy like, anyway. He’s on the baseball team.”
“I hope he’s not scheduled to die soon. I can’t deal with any more broken hearts right now. Lacey’s still mourning Charlie, you know.”
“He’s not. I checked. He’s going to live to an old eighty-four. Of course, I’ll be long gone by then, but it’ll be fun while it lasts.”
I stuff some files into an already-overstuffed drawer. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“How you deal with humans so philosophically. You love them and, when it’s over, it’s over. You don’t seem to suffer. I admire that about you.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I just go into it knowing it’s a limited-time deal. Keeping that in mind makes it easier. But I do hurt, Atropos. I’m not some tramp who just uses guys and then lets them go.”
I wince at the hurt in her voice, hurt caused by my casual assumption she can easily love ‘em and leave ‘em. “Gods, I’m an asshole,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. I just wanted you to know that it’s not all fun and games with me. I love them and I hurt when it’s over, whether it ends through death or a breakup. But my life has to go on, too.”
She picks up her thread and starts turning the wheel. I watch her for a minute, wondering how the softest, most fragile of the three of us can be the strongest. Moved, I walk to her end of the room and lightly kiss her blonde curls.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
“You’re too good for the rest of us,” I say.
I wander back to my area. The clock on my desk reads 8:45. Time to get going. Shutting down my computer, I close and lock the door to my workroom.
“I’m off to go get Alex,” I tell Chloe as I pass by her spinning wheel.
“Have fun. Seriously,” she adds when I roll my eyes. “Just enjoy the day for what it is.”
When I get upstairs, I grab my keys and jacket off the sofa and head out. I stop on the sidewalk, surprised by the weather. Not that it’s bad—it’s actually great. The sun is shining and the temperature, although still chilly from the night, holds the promise of warming up nicely. It’s strange because last night the forecasters were calling for cool rain all day. Zeus must have changed the weather for my benefit. I’m not sure whether to thank him later or resent yet more interference in my life.
I’m still puzzling over that when I pull into Alex’s driveway. He is already waiting on the porch steps.
“You said to be ready,” he says as he climbs in the car. “I didn’t want to make you wait. Or make you deal with my father and sister.” I see Emily peeking at us from behind the living room curtains, and I give her a little wave.
Glancing over at Alex, I try to see if he looks ill. I don’t want him to overdo it if he isn’t well. This trip isn’t that important.
“I’m fine,” he says.
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“I see you checking me out, looking to see if I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s a good day. And the weather! I was worried last night when I saw the forecast.”
I say nothing about the likely intervention of my father on that front.
“So, where are you taking me?” he asks.
“It’s a surprise.”
“How long till we get there?”
“Two hours, give or take.”
He settles back in the seat, idly caressing the leather with his fingertips. I smile. Boys and their cars.
“Tell me something,” he says as I drive. “What do you want to do after you graduate?”
“Why do you want to talk about that?” I ask.
“I’m fascinated by people who will live to see the end of high school. I’m curious about what dreams and plans they have.”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” I say, which is a lie. I’ve spent centuries thinking about what I’d like to do. But I’ll never get the chance to do any of it. I’m not dying like Alex is, but I don’t get to have any dreams, either. My life will remain the same for an infinite number of years.
“Don’t you have any dreams?” he asks when I don’t elaborate on my nonexistent plans. “Anything I can vicariously enjoy?”
“Sorry, no,” I say.
This isn’t totally the truth. I do have one dream, but I never speak of it because it’s pointless to wish for something I’ll never have. I want to be mortal. I want a life where I can have any job I want, where I can love freely, and not have to keep everyone at arm’s length all the time just to preserve my sanity. Freedom. That’s my dream.
I glance over and see that Alex is watching my face. No doubt he can see I’m hiding something from him, so I decide to share my minor dream with him. The one that is slightly more realistic, if still unlikely.
“Well, just one,” I amend.
“Tell.”
“I want to live by the ocean.”
“That’s it?” he asks, clearly disappointed.
“Well, I’ve lived around mountains all my life. I’ve never gotten to live at the beach. In fact, I’ve only been to the ocean once.”
“Not very ambitious,” he says. “Seems like someone as smart as you would have bigger dreams than that.”
I shrug. “Best I have. What do you want to do?” I ask him.
“What did I want to do, you mean,” he corrects me.
“Okay, what did you want to do before you got cancer?”
“I wanted to be a veterinarian. I love animals.”
“That would be fun.”
“Yeah. Our dog died last year. I wanted to get another one, but Dad said no. He doesn’t want to take care of it after I’m gone.”
“That sucks. Wouldn’t Emily take care of it?” I ask.
“She would, but she’ll be off to college in a few years. Dogs live longer than that.”
I think for a moment. Taking another step closer to the abyss of emotions created by caring for a human, I take a deep breath before saying, “What if I agreed to take it?”
“You’d do that?” he asks.
“Sure. My sisters and mom love anim
als, too.”
This is true. We’ve had a succession of pets over the centuries. My fondest memory is of the farmhouse in Wyoming, near the Big Horn Mountains, that we lived in during the late eighteen hundreds. We had dogs, rabbits, chickens, and horses. I miss that lifestyle. We haven’t had a dog in at least twenty years. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why. I guess we just got so busy, we sort of forgot to get one.
“We’re currently pet-less,” I say, but I know no one would object to a dog in the house. You could keep it until—” I wave a hand in the air, not wanting to say it.
“I’m dead,” he finishes for me.
“Yeah. Then I’ll take care of it. You can name it, and I promise not to change it.”
“Wow,” Alex says, and I see a little-boy glint in his eye. “I’ll ask my dad, but I bet he’ll go for it. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll get something out of it, too.”
We lapse into silence again. I’m sure he’s already picking out dog names. He leans his head against the window. Soon, his breathing evens out and I know he’s asleep. I turn the radio on low, find a classic rock station, and drive on toward Beech Mountain.
When we get there, I follow the Beech Mountain Parkway, turning back and forth along the switchbacks up the mountain, then veer off onto Oz Road, which is relatively new. When Oz was open, you either had to get up here by ski lift or take a shuttle bus up from the town below. Recently, someone got the bright idea to build houses up here and built the road, but then the development went bust, leaving just a road to an abandoned theme park.
At the end of the road, a rusting traffic gate hangs over the driveway that leads into the park. That’s okay. I don’t need to drive beyond it. We’ll walk from here.
I pull the car off the road and park it behind some large rocks and overgrown shrubs, hiding it from casual passersby. If anyone comes up here, they’ll have no trouble finding the car, but anyone simply driving by will likely miss it. I’m not expecting company because Lacey’s right. Very few people know this old park is even up here.
I turn off the engine, gently shaking Alex’s shoulder. “We’re here,” I say when he opens his eyes.
He looks around at the unmarked driveway and the nothingness surrounding us, and then looks at me like I’m nuts.
“Well, we have to walk a bit,” I amend.
We get out of the car, duck under the gate, and start walking up the driveway. I have to slow my usual pace a bit to allow Alex to keep up.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“It’s a surprise.”
“So you keep saying,” he mutters.
The driveway is cracked and weedy beyond the gate. The park’s been closed for more than thirty years. Much of it has been lost to vandalism and nature but what remains is special, in a creepy sort of way. Something about abandoned places always attracts my interest. Hanging out in them is like listening to voices from the past whispering their stories to me.
We walk until we come to a crumbling concrete platform next to a small house. It is falling in, and nature has reclaimed most of the area around it. The only way in would be via machete. Metal ski lift towers rise above us, their wires and gondolas long gone.
“What is this place?” Alex asks.
“Well, this specifically is the old museum and gondola house. The only way up here used to be by ski lift or bus. This was the drop-off point for both. The road we came in on is a recent addition.”
“Okay. But a museum for what?” Alex asks, waving his hand at the small cottage.
“Keep walking,” is all I say.
The paved road ends just past the gondola house, and now we walk on a dirt path that is slowly being overtaken by plant life. It used to be a brick path, but the bricks were stolen long ago.
The path ends at a stone wall with two wooden, emerald green doors set into it. The paint is peeling and faded but still bright enough to be pretty. The doors and wall are twice as tall as either of us. Painted on one door is a massive, yellow letter, “O,” and on the other is the letter, “Z.”
“Oz?” Alex asks, clearly confused.
The doors are equipped for a padlock, but there isn’t one. There used to be, but I guess over the years, the landowners gave up replacing it every time someone cut it off. We’re still technically trespassing, but an unlocked door makes it easier.
I push on the door with the, “O” on it, and it groans open on rusty hinges. It doesn’t give easily, and I only manage to open it wide enough for Alex and me to slip through. It’s very different from the days when it would be opened with a flourish by a costumed Emerald City guard who would announce all visitors. We step inside, and I push the door shut behind us.
“Welcome to the Land of Oz,” I say, waving Alex in with my own little flourish.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. This used to be the Land of Oz theme park.”
Alex looks at the ground beneath us. “The Yellow Brick Road?” he asks.
“What’s left of it,” I say, noting that only a few yellow bricks remain here and there, and most of those are broken. “Most were stolen by souvenir hunters, I think.”
We follow the Yellow Brick Road until we come to the ruin of Auntie Em and Uncle Henry’s farm. The remains of gardens and animal pens look sad among the detritus of ruined buildings. Here and there, a Mason jar from Auntie Em’s house or a tool from Henry’s barn lies scattered among the weeds.
We circle Dorothy’s house. I want to go inside, but there’s so much overgrowth that I can’t find a clear path in. The last time I was here, I was able to get inside, but nature has closed in on the house since then. An identical house can be seen around a curve in the path, except it is mangled and tilted.
“Why two houses?” Alex asks.
“That’s the house after the tornado,” I explain, pointing to the damaged house. “When visitors went through the first house, they’d hear sirens and wind effects to indicate that the tornado was coming. An employee would direct them to the storm cellar, which was really an underground corridor that linked the two houses. The tourists would see a film of stuff flying through the air and have to navigate a maze that simulated the confusion of a storm. When the ‘storm’ was over, they’d come back upstairs and exit into the second house, which was made to look wrecked. Keep in mind this was in the days before CGI and high-tech rides.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I found this place a few years ago, and I became interested in its history. The funny thing is that people who live around here often don’t know this is even here. It only lasted ten years before it went under, so I guess it never made a deep impression in the community psyche. You’ve got to find some serious old-timers if you want information.”
“You’re right about that. I never knew this was here, and I’ve lived here my whole life.”
We walk on, passing all the relevant landmarks. Scarecrow’s house, the Tin Man’s house, and Lion’s den. Alex looks at everything intently, peering into windows where the weeds allow it and circling all the ruins. Having seen it all before, I’m content to stand on the path and watch him have some fun.
“I wish I’d brought a camera,” he says.
“If you want pictures, I have some at home from the first time I was up here. I’ve even got some that were taken inside a few of the buildings.”
“I’d love to see them,” he says.
Farther on down the Yellow Brick Road, we come to a rock formation that, were it not for some idiot vandal who chipped off the tip of the nose long ago, looks like the Wicked Witch of the West in profile.
“This wasn’t carved for the park,” I say, happy to play tour guide. “It’s a natural formation. The developer of the park once said that this was what sold him on this as the place for his park.”
“I guess if you’ve got a rock that looks like a witch, you have to take that as a sign,” Alex says.
There’s an old
wooden bench here, and I dust it off before testing it with my weight. It sags but holds and I sit down, leaning my back against the rock. The witch’s nose is above me. Alex sits beside me.
“Do you like it so far?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Alex says, looking around. “I do.”
“I thought you might. I saw all the Oz books on your bookshelves the other day and figured you’d get a kick out of this place. I was just afraid you’d been here before, and it would wreck my surprise.”
He leans back against the rock and tips his face toward the sun. “Wonder why it closed?”
“Times changed. There were no real rides here, and it lost out to parks that had roller coasters and big thrills. This was really nothing more than a themed hike through the woods. Cute and fun, but not something kids would get excited about.”
“It’s a shame,” Alex says. “Everything dies eventually.” I don’t respond to that, knowing he’s thinking of more than amusement parks.
In front of us are the remains of an aviary. The screens are all torn down, but a few birdhouses still remain on the higher branches of the adjacent tree. Some are still even in use. As we watch, a mother bluebird flies in and out of one house, probably building a nest for the spring hatching.
“Life always goes on, even among the ruins,” I say.
He nods. “It just sucks that we can’t remain part of it forever.”
I say nothing. He won’t always be part of it, but I will. We sit in silence for a few moments, watching the birds. Alex reaches over and takes my hand, gently holding it. I’m startled, but I don’t pull my hand back. Instead, I curl my fingers over his.
“You know why it took me so long to call you?” he finally asks.
“I assumed you’d come to your senses and decided not to hang out with someone who is—what was it? Oh, yeah. Crazy, depressed, possibly schizophrenic or, at best, simply rude,” I parrot back to him from our first conversation, but I smile.
He laughs. “Well, the thought did occur to me, but I decided weeks ago to take my chances on that front.”
“What then?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure I should drag you into my illness. Getting involved at this late date probably isn’t good for either of us, but especially for you.”
I nod, getting it. I had the same thoughts, only in reverse.
“I’m only going to get sicker. Days like this, where we can do anything fun are going to be rare. If you spend time with me, you’re going to have to watch me go downhill. Hell, soon, I won’t even be able to go to the bathroom by myself. And then, I’m going to die. Which is fine for me, but you’ll be left behind. That’s a lot of crap to dump on a friend, much less a potential girlfriend.”
“I understand. Don’t think I didn’t think about all of that, too, because I did. But I’ve decided to deal with what comes when it comes. I can live on a day-to-day basis. I’m pretty strong,” I say.
“I can see that,” he says. “You’re not like the rest of the kids in school, are you? There’s something inside you that’s different. I just can’t figure out what it is.”
“Don’t look too hard,” I say. “You’re likely to end up disappointed.”
“Doubt it.”
I turn away from the busy birds to face him. He reaches up, gently cupping my face in his hand. I start to pull back, startled, but then I close my eyes and lean into his hand. I can barely remember the last time anyone touched me with such tenderness.
“There’s not much love in your life, is there?” he asks, resting his forehead against mine. “You don’t know gentleness.”
Shaking my head, I keep my eyes closed. I am not going to cry in front of Alex, but he’s breaking down my carefully erected defenses, simply by seeing through them.
I feel him tilt his head, and his lips touch mine. I resist the urge to run. His lips are soft and tentative, as though he’s afraid I’m going to run away. Or smack him. When I do neither, he intensifies the kiss.
I reach up and place my free hand on the back of his neck, twining my fingers in the thick, soft hair at the base of his skull and pulling him closer. He moans softly against my mouth before pulling away. I’m simultaneously disappointed and relieved that he ended it.
“That was—” he begins.
“Yeah,” I finish, letting out a whoosh of breath.
“I think there’s something here that we can work with,” he says, letting out a shaky laugh.
I just nod. Not since Ares have I welcomed the touch of any man. I was hoping that whatever is going on between Alex and I was just infatuation or flirtation, easily dismissed. There was something in that kiss that tells me what lies between us is more than simple infatuation. Damn it.
Alex stands up and pulls me up with him. “So, before I commit an act of public indecency in front of these poor birds, why don’t you show me the rest of this park?” he says.
We start walking, and he doesn’t let go of my hand. The path leads to the witch’s castle. It’s darker here, the vegetation denser. It was all planted to add to the scare factor, but years of neglect have made it worse. Or better, if you’re into horror films. Stone faces watch us from the trees. Usually, I just find them mildly creepy, but today, they seem to be taunting me, reminding me of the disaster that’s about to befall me. Occasionally, I glance down at our joined hands and wonder how this happened. How did I fall for this boy? This human. This dying human. I’ve set myself up to experience exactly the pain I swore I’d never feel, and I can’t quite figure out how or why it’s happened.
After some more wandering, we make it to the remains of the Emerald City. A stage show once performed here, and Alex surprises me by climbing up on the stage and singing. His strong, tenor voice singing “Somewhere over the Rainbow” impresses me so much that I’m moved to applaud.
“Join me,” he says, holding out his hand to help me on the stage.
I shake my head and back away. “No. If I sing, every bit of wildlife within sixty miles will either flee or drop dead from the horror,” I say.
He shrugs and slides off the stage. “Okay. So I’ll add ‘not a singer’ to the list of things I know about you.”
It’s still early, so we decide to walk back through the park rather than leaving from Emerald City as we would have done in the park’s heyday. When we return to the witch’s castle, Alex says he wants to explore it some more.
It looks less like the castle from the movie and more like a sandcastle carved out of rock. It’s tiny compared to the movie set, having only a few towers and none of the big turrets featured in the film.
There’s only one small room that visitors can enter, and the entrance is unblocked. While Alex climbs around on the towers, I cautiously poke my head into the small room, wary of any animals that might have moved in over the winter. It’s empty, so I venture inside.
The cave-like room is supposed to simulate the one in which Dorothy was held captive, but there’s really nothing here that looks like the film set. It’s just sandstone walls and a dirt floor. At one time, a table placed in the center of the room held a large hourglass just like the one used in the movie, but the hourglass is gone, the table is overturned, and only one leg remains unbroken. The only other feature of the room is a barred window, designed to give the place that dungeon feel.
“Hey, Sophie,” Alex calls from above me. “Come out here.”
I go outside and look up at Alex. He’s pointing toward the sky. “What’s that?” he asks. I look where he’s pointing, and I see a mass of something flying toward us. “Is there some kind of flying monkey effect that still works out here? Or are those some kind of birds?”
Squinting, I try to see the figures rushing toward us. I know there aren’t any flying monkeys here. There never were. And the creatures coming toward us definitely aren’t birds; they’re too big. The leader comes closer, and I can finally see exactly what it is. The Keres.
“Crap, crap, crap,” I mutter under my breath.
“Alex, listen to me,” I shout to be heard over the increasing sound of rushing wings. “Get in the room below and do not come out, no matter what happens or what you see. Do you understand? I’ll come for you when it’s safe.”
“Safe from what?” he asks. “They’re just birds, right?”
“No time to explain. Just do it. Do not come out of there.”
The Keres are descending rapidly now. Alex catches sight of the first one, and I see his face register the fact that these are no ordinary birds. Any argument he was going to make dries on his lips. He clambers down the castle’s exterior and dashes into the room. I climb down behind him, but stop outside the door to the room and turn to face the oncoming threat.
The Keres are awful-looking creatures. Their wings are black and leathery, spanning roughly ten feet across. They have talons instead of fingers and fangs instead of teeth. Despite those mutations, their bodies are human-like and female, but so stringy and wretched-looking that it’s hard to call them human. Their skin is yellowed from age and exposure, hanging limply over their bones because they have almost no body fat.
Their clothes, which are really just pieces of fabric draped over their bodies, are stained with the blood of millions of kills. The fabric might have originally been white, but it’s hard to tell, now. Pupil-less black eyes complete the picture of death.
“Are you crazy? Get in here!” Alex tugs my shirt, trying to pull me into the room as the Keres circle overhead, dropping lower and lower.
“I can’t. This is my fight,” I say, pulling away from his grasp. “Stay in there,” I repeat when it looks like he might come out to join me.
Thank the gods I didn’t come here unarmed. I reach up and unhook my necklace. The charm dangling from it is shaped like a tiny, gold sword, but it is more than a charm. I nick my palm with the point and run the blade through my blood. The charm grows, quickly becoming a Scottish claymore, the favored weapon of the Highland clans. Fully extended now, it weighs six pounds and is almost five-foot long.
Unlike the Scottish claymores, mine does not sport traditional decorations. The guards are tipped with stylized representations of Cerberus—Hades’ three-headed dog—rather than quatrefoils, and the pommel features a large ruby on one side and an emerald on the other, mimicking the design of my shears.
The sword was a gift from Hades. Zeus didn’t see a need for my sisters and me to have weapons, but after a few fights with the Keres over the centuries, Hades thought I should be able to defend myself. When I chose the claymore, he thought I was being ridiculous. Many grown men couldn’t decently wield a claymore due to its weight and size. It proved to be no trouble for me, however. Unlike the weak Highlanders who used two hands to hold the sword in a fight, I fight mostly one-handed and am damn proud of it.
I hold my sword in front of me now and advance on Ker, leader of the Keres. She’s hovering just a few feet above the ground, watching me with those soulless eyes.
“Give me the boy,” she says.
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