“Gwen’s in town for a few days and I thought I’d show her around the countryside a bit, can we borrow your rucksack and sleeping bag for a few days, are they in the shed still?” Aidan rushed his words out one after the other.
Deirdre looked flustered at this barrage of words.
“Ye—yes, they’re in the shed. Wait,” as Aidan started to move past her. “Just a minute. You’re leaving soon. You have to finish packing up your flat.”
“It’s only for a few days. I’m not leaving for another two weeks. There’s lots of time.”
“I had hoped to see you more before you left.” Deirdre’s lips tightened and Gwen felt a stab of pity.
Aidan must have sensed his mother’s distress, because he swooped down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Only a few days, I promise, Mum. Then I’ll come visit you loads before my flight.” He moved down the corridor, calling, “I’ll only be a minute, Gwen!”
Gwen felt an irrational panic at being left alone with Deirdre. She cast around for something to say, anything, but Deirdre beat her to it.
“So, Gwen, judging from your accent, I suppose you’re from North America. Judging from where Aidan is moving to at the end of the month, I suppose you’re from Vancouver.”
Gwen swallowed, noting the coolness in Deirdre's voice.
“Yes, that’s right.” She wondered what to say, and decided on the truth. “I was on an exchange program here with my university in the spring. That’s when I met Aidan.”
“I see.” Deirdre looked at Gwen, her lips tight and her gaze considering. “And now you’re back, for a visit?” She left Gwen a pause in which Gwen nodded mutely, feeling flustered. “It’s a long way from Vancouver.”
Deirdre suddenly looked out the door, as if realizing the import of her words. Gwen bit her lip, feeling wretched. Deirdre’s obvious distress at her son’s imminent departure was one more worry to add to her anxieties over Aidan’s move. Now, more than ever, Gwen fervently hoped that she and Aidan had made a good decision. Was there any way to make this right?
“Deirdre,” she said, feeling awkward at the use of her name. “I know meeting me is a bit of a shock for you. Honestly, I didn’t know that you didn’t know about me—but that’s beside the point.” She took a deep breath as Deirdre looked at her again. “I know you must be worried about Aidan, moving to another country, and now you’re meeting some girl you don’t know. I know that he and I haven’t known each other for very long, but…” Gwen gave a tiny sigh, frustrated that she couldn’t tell Deirdre about their trials in the Otherworld. “I know he’s going to be amazing in the music program—he’s so talented, and it really is his dream—anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry it’s so far away. I really don’t want to be the cause of separating you two.”
She found herself wringing her hands and shoved them in her pockets to keep them occupied. Deirdre was still, watching Gwen’s face as she continued.
“I never knew my mother, growing up. I used to long for her, until I physically ached. I just—I don’t want this move to come between you two, that’s all.” She bent over and rustled in the full backpack that Aidan had dropped by the door with the careless comfort of home. She extracted a pen and the corner store receipt and scribbled her name, phone number, address, and email.
“I know it’s not much, but here’s how you can get a hold of me. Please—if you need anything, ask. I don’t want you to feel out of touch.”
Gwen offered the receipt to Deirdre. Deirdre looked down at the little scrap of paper without moving for a moment. Gwen wondered if her overture had not been taken well. Finally, Deirdre reached forward to take the paper, and Gwen saw with shock that her eyes were full of tears.
“Thank you, Gwen.” Deirdre hesitated, then enveloped Gwen in a soft embrace. Gwen was stiff with surprise for a moment, but then returned the hug with gratitude.
Aidan clomped into the corridor, two sleeping bags under one arm and a backpack hanging off the other shoulder. His mouth dropped open.
“Uh—hello?”
Gwen and Deirdre parted. Deirdre briskly wiped her eyes and tucked the receipt into her pocket.
“You found them, then,” she said, her competent-mother voice back on.
“Yeah,” Aidan said, looking between Gwen and his mother, his expression wary.
“Look, why don’t you say bye to your mum and I’ll wait outside,” Gwen said to Aidan. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“All right,” he said, handing her his cell phone.
“Thanks for the loaners. It was really great to meet you,” Gwen said to Deirdre.
Deirdre nodded and smiled, sadly but with warmth. “You too, Gwen. Take care.”
Gwen closed the door behind her with a click and breathed in the evening air deeply. She felt relieved that Deirdre had taken her little speech well, but her anxieties about Aidan’s move were only heightened, and now the consequences had a face and a name.
Talking to Deirdre had reminded her of her father, puttering around in his artist’s studio and expecting a visit from her this afternoon. She dialed his number.
“Hi, Dad,” she responded when he answered the ring.
“Hi, sweets. How’s your day going?”
“I can’t talk long. Ellie knows the whole story, so you should give her a call after. But the short story is, I’ve been magically whisked away to England, and now I have to go to the Otherworld to take a very sick Bran back to his family.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Dad? Are you still there?”
A whoosh of released breath answered her.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” His voice was restrained and cautious. She smiled wryly.
“Not really, but Aidan and I are the only ones who can help. Bran’s really sick from his spell. He helped us out when we were stuck in his world, so now it’s our turn.”
“Is Aidan going with you? Good.” Her father sounded a little more confident. “Still, I don’t like the thought of you traipsing off to a parallel universe again. Are you sure it’s necessary? There’s no one else you could deliver Bran to on the other side, quickly?”
“No. It’s just us.”
“Be careful and take care of each other, all right? And call me as soon as you get back. How long will you be?”
“I don’t know. Not long, I hope, but I don’t know where Bran lives, exactly.” She heard her father sigh on the other end of the line. She tried for an estimate to make him happy. “If I don’t call in one week—”
“A week!”
“One week, then you can start worrying, okay? Not a moment before.”
A pause, then her father gave a strained chuckle.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Gwen felt her throat closing up. “Thanks for understanding.” She tried to control her voice, and felt herself failing. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Gwennie. You be careful, okay? I’ll see you soon, lovie.”
“Bye, Dad,” she whispered, and hung up before he could hear her cry.
***
“I don’t know what you said to my mum, but I didn’t expect her to start hugging you.” Aidan opened the cupboard to scout for more food. They were back at his half-packed flat, a sleeping Bran snoring gently on Aidan’s bed. Gwen peered inside a nearby box while Aidan’s back was turned, hoping to get a glimpse into his daily life. She felt like she knew him well, yet not at all. How he reacted under pressure, what he wanted in life, how he made her feel—she knew him perfectly. But what kind of music did he like? Was he into sci-fi or historical dramas or B-rated horrors? What was his favorite food? All the details that layer over the core of a person, all the quirks that round out a personality—Gwen had dived straight to Aidan’s center and now had to work backward and outward to learn who he was.
The box contained nothing but plates and cutlery. She jumped guiltily as Aidan came back with a few cans of beans and tuna and a large plastic
water bottle.
“What can I say? I’m very huggable.” Gwen grinned at him. She stuffed her borrowed backpack with the cans and sleeping bag. Aidan laughed.
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Looks like that’s everything.” Gwen fastened her backpack and moved to Aidan’s, but paused when Aidan leaped up.
“Wait.” He bounded to the bed and grabbed a battered black case lying on the sheets. Gwen lifted an eyebrow, mystified. Aidan tucked it into his backpack and carefully clipped the pack closed. He caught her eye and colored slightly.
“What?”
“You think you’re going to have time to play your flute?”
“You never know,” he said defensively. “I had to play last time. Oh, and here’s that infernal locket. Keep it away from Bran.”
Gwen slipped the golden locket into her pocket, the metal cool on her skin. Aidan patted his backpack.
“All right, I think we’re ready. Do you want to leave tonight, or wait until the morning?”
Gwen looked out the window at the early evening sun that streamed through the glass. She was wide awake and antsy. It was still mid-morning back in Vancouver. She was eager to open a portal to the Otherworld, to see the endless forest of her mother’s realm, to breathe the air of a land where she didn’t have to hide her magic and her past. Not that she was greatly oppressed, not anymore. Her father knew everything, of course, and now that Ellie knew her secrets the two of them had great fun inventing new tasks for her talents.
She looked more closely at Aidan and saw the same eagerness, half-heartedly masked behind his question. How much more must he want to visit the Otherworld, since he had no one else to share his experiences with? She felt a pang at his loneliness, and slipped a hand into his.
“Let’s get started tonight. The sooner we get Bran back to his family, the better.”
Aidan squeezed her hand tightly, and then leaned forward to press his lips to hers. She let herself sink into him, her fingers twining in his, her mind a boat adrift in a sea of bliss. A wave of unease flowed by, and she pulled back.
Aidan opened his eyes slowly, bliss smoothing his features.
“I didn’t say hello properly, earlier. So, there you are.”
Gwen couldn’t help laughing aloud at this.
“Hello, yourself.” She let go of his hand and shrugged into her backpack. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Aidan swung his own pack onto his back and strode over to Bran. He shook Bran’s shoulder gently.
“Wake up, Bran. It’s time to go.”
Bran blinked himself awake and struggled out of the blanket. He pushed his legs over the side of the bed and paused, head in his hands, as if it pained him or he were overcome with dizziness. Gwen and Aidan exchanged concerned glances. Bran gave a cough and let out a few errant sparks, then looked up with a half-grin.
“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
Aidan tucked his arm around Bran and hoisted him up. When Bran was steady, Aidan looked at Gwen expectantly.
‘Why don’t you do it this time?” Gwen said. “Have you tried before?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t work. I think it’s because I don’t know who my father is. Who am I supposed to concentrate on?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. Okay, give me a minute.”
She took a deep breath and pictured her mother. She wondered at her eagerness to return to the Otherworld when she thought of Isolde. They had separated on somewhat friendly terms before, but Gwen hadn’t forgotten Isolde’s enslavement of Ellie, or her role in luring talented humans to the Otherworld and to their eventual deaths. Isolde was a strange and dangerous woman, and Gwen had no desire to see her again.
And yet—her heart beat faster as she held out her arm and concentrated on Isolde to start the magic that would open a portal between human and Breenan worlds. She reached into herself, to her magical core that burned steady and warm within her chest. It was second nature now, instinctual, so different from when her core had been locked away, her magic suppressed through fear. Now she accessed it freely, drawing it through her arm and out before her.
The fabric of their world split apart, chiffon torn in two. A circular opening stood before her, its edges fluttering in a breeze that did not originate from the still apartment. Dim brown shapes touched by slanting sunlight shifting beyond the portal.
Gwen frowned in puzzlement. What was she looking at? Slowly, the truth dawned on her, and she started to laugh. Aidan poked his head through the portal and jerked back in shock.
“We’re two storeys off the ground,” she said.
The dim shapes resolved themselves into tree branches as Gwen’s eyes adjusted, and she saw an owl peering at them with alarm. It spread its wings and launched itself with silent wingbeats. The portal wove itself closed with a slippery whisper of cloth sliding over cloth. Aidan wrinkled his nose.
“Now what?” He shifted Bran more securely against his shoulder and Bran winced.
“Let’s go outside and find somewhere quiet,” Gwen said. “At least we’ll be on the right level there.”
Gwen led the way and Aidan and Bran shuffled along behind, squeezing down the narrow stairwell with difficulty. Once outside, the street was dim and quiet and they slipped into a nearby lane without detection.
“You ready?” Gwen looked at Aidan, whose face was pale in the shade of the tree-lined lane. He looked nervous but excited. Gwen wondered if her own feelings were as clearly written on her face.
“Go for it, portal-maker,” he said with determination.
Gwen brought her mother to mind, gathered her magic, and ripped open a portal.
Chapter 4
Autumn had come early to the Otherworld. Deirdre’s garden had been full of flowers, overblown and dry yet still with a blousy sense of sunny days and sticky nights. The forest of the Otherworld had forgotten summer almost entirely. The ground was carpeted with a thick mat of fallen leaves, vibrant crimsons and golds blanketed over layers of crunchy brown debris. Great oaks and birches soared above in disheveled splendor, their naked branches stripped of leaves. Ragged wisps of mist curled and twined between tree trunks and passed through drifting leaves that descended in the still air.
Gwen shivered. The mists cooled the evening air to an uncomfortable degree. More than that, though, she felt the forest was infused with melancholy, as if a sad song had just finished playing and the forest was in an arrested state of quiet emotion before the spell was broken by applause.
But the applause never came, and the quiet sadness stretched on.
“Are you seeing this? All the mists, I mean?” Aidan’s whisper barely pierced the thick blanket of quiet.
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to switch my vision, but it seems like this is all there is to see.” In their previous visit to the Otherworld, she and Aidan had been taught to see beyond the enchanted veil that Isolde had put on the forest to make it appear forbidding and unwelcoming to strangers. Using their magical vision, they could pierce through the enchantments and see the bright, beautiful, and welcoming forest glades of Isolde’s realm.
Now, however, Gwen could see only the mists of this forest, no matter how she strained and unfocused her eyes until they crossed. It was disconcerting to lose an ability.
“It’s as if there’s only one forest now.” Aidan looked up at the tree trunks that disappeared into the misty canopy. “It’s not frightening or lovely, it’s only a forest.”
“Do you think this is the true forest? Maybe both views before were enchantments. Isolde does seem to like things looking nice. She may have jazzed up the forest for her own amusement.”
“So why isn’t the enchantment on it now?” Aidan looked at Gwen in puzzlement. She frowned, disquieted by the implications of Aidan’s question. Isolde had told her that the enchantments were a vital part of the realm’s defenses. New human talent fueled the defensive spells in the past, but Gwen had assumed Isolde would find another way to protect her lands, with different ench
antments or perhaps an army. Now Gwen wondered what giving up the locket had truly meant to Isolde.
“Do you think something happened to her?” She hardly knew Isolde, and didn’t much like what she had seen, but Isolde was still her mother. What if she had died? Gwen didn’t know what she would feel.
“Well, she’s still alive.” Bran’s voice was weak, but his words were reassuring. “You made a portal, didn’t you? You couldn’t have done that without your mother as your living anchor. It’s probably something to do with the troubles at the borderlands.”
“What troubles?”
“Father’s been sending out a lot more border patrols lately. Something about refugees, an invasion—I don’t know, I don’t pay much attention to his politics.”
“Invasion? What’s going on?” Gwen glanced at Aidan, who shrugged. “When did this all start?”
“A few months ago. Perhaps in the spring sometime?” Bran yawned. “You worry too much, Gwen. I’m sure your mother is fine.”
“Come on, then. Let’s go.” She quashed the unease in her mind and walked forward a pace, then stopped. “Which way?”
“I can’t tell where we are, and these mists aren’t helping.” Bran peered around blearily. “We’ll have to walk until we find someone to ask.”
It was slow going through the forest despite a clearly visible path. The trees encroached on all sides, not nearly as welcoming as the pleasant glades of their last visit. Although Gwen didn’t feel that the forest was actively trying to thwart them, still the undergrowth was thick and twisted, and bushes scratched Gwen’s bare legs. She had expected a continuation of summer warmth, not this sudden immersion into the cool of autumn.
Gwen spotted an irregular shape lodged in the crack between two trees growing out of a single trunk. She bent down and grasped a long rod, feathers on the end stiff and unyielding.
“Look. An arrow.” She ran her fingers down the shaft to the arrowhead. Its copper point was sharp and barbed with two deadly prongs dipped in a viscous liquid, long since dried. Her fingers paused before they reached the tips.
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