Dust

LII

With Shi's bag bouncing against my back and a new pep in my step, I step foot into the Ancient Forest for the first time in days.

It's not like I had been suffering withdrawal from the place, but there is a new refreshment at being underneath the trees again, seeing the sun twinkling through the leaves overhead, listening to the various animals skittering to and fro. As I walk, my fingers curling around the straps on my shoulders, I try not to think too much about the fact that I'm alone, or about the reason, for that matter. I think about getting home, and the first thing I'm going to do when I reach that point. I think about Damien's smile, about his hugs, about how angry he and everyone else is going to be with me.

I even let myself think about Sloane, even if it brings a frown to my face. In regards to her, it's a guessing game right now. Is she going to be happy to see me, or is she never going to speak to me again? Does she see Gemma, or does she 'the girl that trusted the human?'

I kick a stone across the forest floor. Gael makes things complicated.

I spend the whole day trekking, and don't look back. It's a miracle I don't become bored, considering I have no one to talk to. Even the scenery gets plain after a few hours...how many trees can you see before you've seen enough?

When night falls, I don't sleep, just lay awake on a sturdy tree limb and watch for faeries that want to rob me and then throw me over a cliff.

To my surprise, my watchfulness isn't for nothing.

While I'm still struggling to keep my eyelids open, my gaze falls on a lone figure marching across the grass beneath me, a hood drawn up over his or her head, and a backpack on their back. I squint with my good eye; the fact that I'm visually impaired and that it's dark does not make for a good viewing experience...but if I try hard enough, I can see that the backpack looks oddly like my own.

My blood seems to heat up, and because I know what this means, I cautiously climb down from my tree limb and land in a squat behind the person—the faerie. "Got any more goods, lately?" I ask facetiously, and watch as she whirls with wide eyes, her violet-colored hair bright despite the hour. I hold out my hand, beckoning. "I want my stuff back."

For a second the faerie girl only stares at me with eyes as wide as saucers; owls hoot above our heads, the moon shining its lonely light down on the leaves of trees as the wind plays with them. "You have the wrong person—"

"I don't." I don't say anything else; my certainty comes across more than well enough in my tone.

"You went to the human world," says the faerie. "You weren't planning to stay there? What did the humans do, huh? Kick you out?"

Well, something like that, but that's not something she needs to know. "You're stalling," I say. I reach down to unsheathe my blade from my boot; the iron of it glints underneath the stars, razor sharp. "Am I going to have to do this the hard way?"

The faerie's lips curl into a sneer, and I feel vines snaking around my ankles, just like they did during our first encounter days ago. Just as she opens her mouth to say, "I'd like to see you try," I rear my arm back and chuck the knife.

It spins, flipping over and over in the air, until it pierces the faerie's hoodie, pinning her to the tree she once stood in front of. I grin, dusting off my hands as the plants around me uncoil.

I approach the writhing girl, pluck my backpack from her grip, and smile at her. "And no," I say, "I'm far from easy to fool." Then I throw a punch at her nose that knocks her out cold; she slumps downwards, the knife dragging on the fabric of her hoodie the only thing keeping her upright.

I free my blade from the tree bark and slide it back into place, then—because I can't sleep anyway—continue on my way.

The journey surges on, taking two days, then three, then four—finally on the dawn of the fifth day of ceaseless traveling, and worrying about the fact that Hersch is behind me, I come across a structure I'm all too happy to see: a cottage made of gray stone, sitting neatly in the center of a meadow.

Meredith's.

"Hmm," I say, standing back and examining it for the third time in my life; this house means so many different things—safety, or the lack thereof, mystery, familiarity. It means food, water, a place to rest and rummage through both my backpacks—Shi's and the one I got back from the faerie—to see how many snacks, how much water, I have left. I should be home in a few more hours, but it's not like I'll have much time to rest, anyway. As soon I step foot into Maris again, it's game time. "We meet again," I say to the house, as if it's an old friend of mine.

I climb the stoop and push open the door, stepping into the kitchen. At the sight of the miniature round table, my heart gives a little jolt; I inadvertently touch Shi's locket around my neck, remembering sitting here with him, sharing evidence about the vampire business, remembering confessing that I thought I'd kissed him, and all the craziness afterwards.

Oh, God.

The kissing shebang is something I haven't thought about for a while, and now that I do, not only does it make me blush, but it makes me want to cry. Shi. I'm so sorry. Shiloh...

No. I shake my head clear. I have other things to focus on. Shi would want me to focus on the matter at hand, which is gathering myself and making sure I have all the supplies I need.

I take a few minutes to ransack Meredith's pantry again, repacking my backpacks. All seems to be going fine—I'm being productive and getting things done, which is rare for a natural procrastinator such as myself—until my fingers brush something smooth and cold in my own backpack.

Confused, I grasp it and pull it up...my cellphone.

For a moment, I can only stare at it. I don't remember packing it the night I left; it didn't make sense to, considering I didn't want anyone contacting me anyway, but I suppose I did. I hit the power button, and to my surprise, it's not dead. A part of me is glad the faerie took such good care of it, you know, considering she stole it from me.

I gnaw at my lip. A working cellphone, for the first time in forever. Should I call someone? What would I say? I'm alive, just thought you should know, and I'm coming home? A world of communication, of hellos and thank God your back's, is at my fingertips, and I don't know what to do with it.

I call Damien before I can change my mind. I have been longing to hear his voice for what feels like a century. He must want to kill me.

He picks up on the third ring, and I exhale shakily, because I was half-praying it would just go to voicemail. But this is Damien we're talking about. He, like, doesn't even have a voicemail, I don't think, because he always picks up. "Listen, for the last time, I don't want to try your stupid vegan granola bars. I don't even eat, you dimwit—"

"Damien. It's me."

The longest pause in the history of pauses ensues. "GEMMA ROSE ARMISTEAD, I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU. Like, daylights, I swear I'm going to kill you. What is wrong with you? Where are you? Are you okay? What the hell were you thinking, just blindly running off like that? We have been trying to reach you for days!"

I run my tongue over my dry lips and wander to Meredith's couch, plopping myself down on it. It takes me a moment to reply; I'm just so happy to hear Damien's voice, even if he evidently pissed. "I was mad," I say with a frown. "But, look, basis is, I'm coming back home. I'm at Meredith's, so I'll be at the edge of the forest soon. I need you to meet me there. There's a ton we have to talk about—"

"Yeah, I'll say," Damien interjects. "You've worried us all sick."

I recalled my letter. "I told you not to."

"And when have I, has anyone, ever listened to you?"

"Oh whatever," I grumble. "God, Damien...I'm just so happy to talk to you. Promise me you'll meet me, okay?"

I hear the smile in his voice: "Fine. I'll be there, but be prepared for your burial. Because when I said I'm going to kill you, I was not joking."

I chuckle. "You're never joking, Dame."