leaves and moss, sunlight and wind. The fragrance filled the room, made time stand still.
Then, suddenly I could move again. I blinked and let the wet fragrance of the wood fill my lungs. The darkness and the wings that had blocked out the light were gone now. Samwise was no longer growling.
In an instant, nothing was the same as before.
Now the dog was sleeping on the floor beside me, curled up, tail tucked to his nose.
The window hung open, shimmering and silver, as if a great heat had just passed through the room. But all was still. I stood on shaky legs. Then I walked through the house to make sure no intruder was inside, made sure Tucker was safe and asleep. I tested and closed and locked every window and door.
And then finally, I stopped and knelt beside Samwise, so deeply asleep that I couldn’t rouse him, even when I called his name. That was when I saw it—the only proof that what had just happened hadn’t been my imagination.
A few flecks of blood colored the dog’s muzzle.
Chapter 20
Silver-Gray Skin
Ash:
My wings pummeled the air. I flew through mist and shadow, between white fir and lodgepole pine; I followed a mountain pass, deeper and deeper through evergreen vein toward the village, all the while wishing that I could go faster. The clouds of midnight shadowed the vale, threatened snow, spoke promises of brittle cold. The only warmth was my daughter, a crescent of flesh that nestled too still in my arms, eyes closed.
She was caught in her Darkling skin—eyes the color of the moon, skin like a stormy sky, hair like the blue-black raven.
Eyes that wouldn’t open, flesh growing colder.
Was she asleep? Why hadn’t Sage told me about this?
I soared low through moonlit skies toward the center of Ticonderoga Falls, toward the one human I trusted.
Wake, human! I cried through vellum wind, calling my friend to rise from slumber, to be ready. Get out your precious silver instruments and bandages. Have all the medicines ready.
The village came into view then, tiny houses tucked amidst the trees, streets that followed the curve of the mountain like ribs. Bits of fog shrouded buildings, erased alleys, wrapped me in wet frost as I descended, wings flapping, reality folding like a black cloak around me. As soon as I landed I took the shape of a human, a long cape draped over my shoulder that shielded my daughter, still trapped in her Darkling skin. A small whitewashed building emerged from the fog, placard creaking in the wind, sign hanging in the front window.
C LOSED, OPEN AT 9 A.M.
I beat a fist against the door. Once. Twice. Just about slammed it down again, when the door swung open. I almost hit my friend in the face.
“Hey.” Dr. Ross Madera stepped back, hair messed, glasses perched crooked on his nose. “Could you please try a cell phone next time? That dream telepathy thing of yours is awful—”
I pushed my way inside the door, past the doctor, toward one of the inner rooms. I wrinkled my nose at the horrid stench of antiseptic and detergent. Human medicine was primitive at best. I gently placed my daughter on a long stainless-steel table.
“You know I’m not really qualified for this,” Ross said as he followed a step behind. “I’m a veterinarian, not an M.D. I’m not supposed to treat people.”
I lifted the cloak to reveal my daughter’s Darkling features: silver-gray skin, dark hair, gray-black wings, slender pointed ears, webbed fingers. “She’s only half human,” I said. “And I can’t take her to a doctor. Not when she’s wearing this skin. It’s Elspeth.”
Ross nodded with understanding. There were few secrets between us. He stared at my daughter, looked at the shirt that bound her wound, the blood soaking through. “What happened?”
“A dog bit her.”
Within a few minutes, Ross had gathered everything he needed into a neat pile. He started cleaning and dressing her wound, sweat beading his forehead. Then he paused and glanced up at me. “She’s going
Then, suddenly I could move again. I blinked and let the wet fragrance of the wood fill my lungs. The darkness and the wings that had blocked out the light were gone now. Samwise was no longer growling.
In an instant, nothing was the same as before.
Now the dog was sleeping on the floor beside me, curled up, tail tucked to his nose.
The window hung open, shimmering and silver, as if a great heat had just passed through the room. But all was still. I stood on shaky legs. Then I walked through the house to make sure no intruder was inside, made sure Tucker was safe and asleep. I tested and closed and locked every window and door.
And then finally, I stopped and knelt beside Samwise, so deeply asleep that I couldn’t rouse him, even when I called his name. That was when I saw it—the only proof that what had just happened hadn’t been my imagination.
A few flecks of blood colored the dog’s muzzle.
Chapter 20
Silver-Gray Skin
Ash:
My wings pummeled the air. I flew through mist and shadow, between white fir and lodgepole pine; I followed a mountain pass, deeper and deeper through evergreen vein toward the village, all the while wishing that I could go faster. The clouds of midnight shadowed the vale, threatened snow, spoke promises of brittle cold. The only warmth was my daughter, a crescent of flesh that nestled too still in my arms, eyes closed.
She was caught in her Darkling skin—eyes the color of the moon, skin like a stormy sky, hair like the blue-black raven.
Eyes that wouldn’t open, flesh growing colder.
Was she asleep? Why hadn’t Sage told me about this?
I soared low through moonlit skies toward the center of Ticonderoga Falls, toward the one human I trusted.
Wake, human! I cried through vellum wind, calling my friend to rise from slumber, to be ready. Get out your precious silver instruments and bandages. Have all the medicines ready.
The village came into view then, tiny houses tucked amidst the trees, streets that followed the curve of the mountain like ribs. Bits of fog shrouded buildings, erased alleys, wrapped me in wet frost as I descended, wings flapping, reality folding like a black cloak around me. As soon as I landed I took the shape of a human, a long cape draped over my shoulder that shielded my daughter, still trapped in her Darkling skin. A small whitewashed building emerged from the fog, placard creaking in the wind, sign hanging in the front window.
C LOSED, OPEN AT 9 A.M.
I beat a fist against the door. Once. Twice. Just about slammed it down again, when the door swung open. I almost hit my friend in the face.
“Hey.” Dr. Ross Madera stepped back, hair messed, glasses perched crooked on his nose. “Could you please try a cell phone next time? That dream telepathy thing of yours is awful—”
I pushed my way inside the door, past the doctor, toward one of the inner rooms. I wrinkled my nose at the horrid stench of antiseptic and detergent. Human medicine was primitive at best. I gently placed my daughter on a long stainless-steel table.
“You know I’m not really qualified for this,” Ross said as he followed a step behind. “I’m a veterinarian, not an M.D. I’m not supposed to treat people.”
I lifted the cloak to reveal my daughter’s Darkling features: silver-gray skin, dark hair, gray-black wings, slender pointed ears, webbed fingers. “She’s only half human,” I said. “And I can’t take her to a doctor. Not when she’s wearing this skin. It’s Elspeth.”
Ross nodded with understanding. There were few secrets between us. He stared at my daughter, looked at the shirt that bound her wound, the blood soaking through. “What happened?”
“A dog bit her.”
Within a few minutes, Ross had gathered everything he needed into a neat pile. He started cleaning and dressing her wound, sweat beading his forehead. Then he paused and glanced up at me. “She’s going
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