Howl

p r e f a c e / d e e p i n e a r t h

"Deep in the earth my love is lying, And I must weep alone." (Edgar Allen Poe)

EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

"What about that one?"

Jutting from the coastline, a grass-tufted bluff shouldered itself between pockets of crumbling red dirt and the salty afternoon breeze rolling off Trinidad Bay. Two figures had fetched themselves against the craggy slope, chins pointing toward the horizon, toward the shifting clouds that mended and broke like waves tossing in the sea below.

The younger of the two, a girl, twisted stringy daisies in her fingers and looked expectantly at her companion.

His head was a maelstrom of dark hair that matched her own, his eyes were the same shining green as hers. Their skin, too, would have mirrored each other if it had not been for her brother's tanned cheekbones and hands, or his nose dusted by freckles. While her brother was accustomed to the glare of the sun from weekends at the country club, chasing after wealthy patrons in various shades of plaid with a golf catty and a relentless grin, she had always preferred hosting tea parties for her collection of stuffed animals, safely indoors. The sun had already begun to heat her cheeks, and she hoped wistfully that freckles would pepper her face, too.

"That one's a princess, obviously," her brother admitted, his eyes flashing like two bright green fish scales. One of his tanned hands came up, an index finger mapping the arch in the cloud his sister had pointed out. "Look closely—there's her hair, her nose, and right there—"

"I don't see it," she pouted.

"Look up, Eva. Follow my finger."

Eva's eyes widened in surprise and awe as she stared at the sky above her. What had once been a shapeless white mass, was beginning to bend and mold itself to her brother's words. She was transfixed by the supple curve of a forehead, what looked to be an upturned nose, and behind its fluffy head, a spill of long hair. "A princess," the little girl parroted in agreement, because ten-year-old's were easily convinced of things, and asked: "is she very pretty?"

"Oh, the prettiest." Her brother, eight years older and far more experienced in the art of princesses, grinned impishly. "The kind that loses their shoes at a ball for sillies."

"But Phin—" Eva had turned her head away from the fair princess, her spirited gaze once again finding the inclined profile of her brother. Shaking her head, she offered him one of the mangled daisies captured by her hand. "You can't take her to the ball without fighting off the dragon first."

"The dragon? What dragon?"

Both brother and sister watched earnestly as a large lump of clouds curled into a reptilian shape. The body was thick, sprouting legs with taloned hands, and a long, protruding neck. Phin rose to his feet, a playful gleam in his eyes, and smiled above his sister. Eva imagined his rumpled jeans being replaced by chainmail and gleaming armor, a silver sword taking the place of the sunglasses tucked into his back pocket. He seemed to think himself one as well, for his arm sliced through the empty air as if he were advancing on the dragon. "Fight, I must," Phin made a clash sound with his mouth as he held his mock-sword high. "I, the dutiful knight, will slay the dragon and win the adoration of my beloved princess." With this, he stomped to the edge of their bluff, his sandals unlodging a sprinkle of dirt. He looked prepared to gallop onto the beach on horseback and commence in a rigorous battle.

"Careful, Phin!" cried Eva, who had also jumped to her feet, unable to hide her excitement. "The dragon breathes lava! Everything around you is burning!"