It’s as smooth as a slide as I slip off the hood and wave down Levon.

He barely slows down, hand on the doorknob. “Sis, Siegrist needs something from The Host for your training. Tessa sent me to grab it. Like a pouch? You know where you put a pouch?” He takes a breath, sweat beading on his temple. “Eh, I’ll figure it out.” He waves his hand. “Go see Tessa and wait for me over there.”

And the words, Your Protector is a Hellion, or whatever, is brushed away as quick as Levon pushes me.

Levon waves to Talis and the enigma of the man who has somehow convinced me I need to go find a Sewing Tree later today, only nods. When he looks to me, I swear I can feel the urgency he feels to leave, the rush of adrenaline as I walk away from him. His shoulders move with another deep breath and again, I can feel it, can feel the breath he uses to calm his nerves. I don’t remember his face but maybe this is the equivalent? Recognition of gestures.

There aren’t any Shadow creatures reaching into the yard and the Siren doesn’t sing. Tessa, chews her gum so loudly, I can hear it before I step into the woods.

“For them, not I. Hey, girlie,” she says.

She wipes her hand against a tree trunk. The Latin phrase half carved into it. Talis is gone, no where near the car or the porch. Just gone.

“Hi,” I say. “When’s Levon coming back?”

“Oh, like, I don’t know,” she says. “Siegrist has him looking for a small box or something for your friggin’ training.”

Silence grows between us. My heart pounds while I wait for Levon. I close my eyes for a brief moment and try to see if I can feel Talis near me.

“Hey,” she says, interrupting my concentration. “So did Talis give you anything yet? Like something to contact him with? Like the necklace I gave Levon.” A bubble pops between her lips and the smell of mint mixed with hot breath makes my stomach queasy. “Oh,” she mumbles. She pulls a pouch out from under her shirt. She pulls a small piece of paper out and reads it to herself. “This is a silk pouch spun by a Messenger Spider. All the friggin’ Protectors get one.” She wiggles it in front of my face. “We can get messages from any Leaver and any Protector and pretty much anything through this thing. It’s like a ton of messages inside but when it’s for you, boop, you just know and pull a paper out. So cool.” She pops another bubble. “It’s cool. Also,” she plucks a strand of my gray hair and tucks it in the pouch, “Siegrist needs to log time for your training, so he needs a strand of hair.” She tucks the pouch back into her shirt.

“Log time?” I say, eyes now glued to the front door. Where the hell is Levon? “Can’t he just write it down?”

“Oh, not since Father Time incarnated,” she says. “When he’s incarnated, someone is tasked as Time Tracker and the boss is that and the boss is who Siegrist reports to.”

Still no Levon. “So does anyone know who Father Time is when he reincarnates?”

“Nope,” she says. “It’s a secret every time.”

“Neat. Why in the world would he need to incarnate on earth?”

“Want to know more about the hair thing?” she asks.

No, I really don’t but since I’m waiting on Levon to get his annoying self over here, why not? “Tell me all about it.”

“Okay,” she says, wrapping a strand of her own hair around her finger. “Time is kept on the hair strand and all given to Father Time when he gets back which is great because it’s a lot less annoying to keep time when he’s here because he just knows everything about time and no one has to track it.”

My fingers tingle and so do my toes. The chill of muscles begging me to run away from her steal my breath. “Where’s Levon…” my voice is quiet even though I try louder. “Where’s…”

You know when the mother of the main character finds out her daughter is missing? I thought horror movies portrayed dialogue unrealistic. The quiver of the voice, the stutter, the voice trail into nothingness. It’s absolutely real. The moment where the mind fights the body. The will to stay in front of Tessa while the iris changes colors for the first time since I met her. Her teeth, when I blink, are chiseled to points but with another blink, they’re normal. The brilliance of shine, the bright, the white glaring with pride. And the words of Talis, reassuring me I’ll be safe, why the hell do I need assurance unless what I saw for the millisecond was real?

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

She tosses her hair behind her shoulders. “I forgot to friggin’ tell you but Siegrist can call his students at will once he has the hair.”

“What does-”

The ground beneath my feet, I can’t feel it and I can’t feel the gentle breeze on my face. I wish I had my charm to grasp on to but the best I can do is tell Talis in my mind that Siegrist is making me go to him.

“Tessa…” my voice, finally gone.

She giggles again. “This is for you, not me.” Her voice switches back and forth between her normal cadence and a screech. “For them, not I. For them, not I. Flectere si nequeo…”

A crack of bubble gum popping. Black in front of my eyes, in my ears, on my skin. I’m surrounded by absolutely nothing.

A pinhole of light turns on and Siegrist comes into view. I’m somewhere deep in the forest. Sassafras fills the air and the breeze only sways the tree tops. My arm is wrapped around one of the spindly trunks, catching my balance. Siegrist and I are in a ravine where the seam cuts through and Siegrist is opposite of me, back towards me while he stands face to face with an old tree. He has a huge black sewing needle threaded with what can only be described as a piece of my gray hair but from this angle, with the way the sun scatters through the canopy, it looks translucent. He pierces a ridge of bark with the needle and as soon as the hair touches the bark, the tree pulses with a translucent light, like the glitter the bottom of a pool has when the sun hits the rippling surface just right.

“Hm,” he says. “Stand on seam, Lyla.” His voice echoes off the tree. He takes a few steps back and watches the leaves change with the same light running through the bark. “Lyla,” Siegrist says, “stand on seam.” He turns and motions. “Seam.”

I’m frozen, I think. I mean, not literally but in the whole flight, fight, or freeze, I’ve always frozen and now I can’t even make my foot move. An owl, just a tree behind Siegrist, sounds. Her voice vibrates my frozen legs. Talis, find me please. I smell Sassafras, I’m at the seam with Siegrist.

Talis doesn’t appear. He didn’t give me anything to communicate with him. How the hell is this going to work if I can’t tell him where I’m at?

Siegrist scratches his chin. He comes closer to me. He has liver spots on his cheeks, which is odd since he can’t be older than thirty-five. His hair is matted with grease and he parts it down the middle. I should’ve listened to my intuition the first time I met him because this guy is strange. Not a strange bird like my mom but a strange, weird little man whose dark, beady eyes feel like knife blades against my skin.

“Listen, Lyla,” he says, cupping his ear with his hand. “Siren, she knows you’re here. Can’t you hear her melody?”

I wish I couldn’t, I really do but I can. I turn from her slightly, just enough to quiet the sweet sound.

He smirks. “Listen to your skin. Can you feel it crawling on you? All over you?” He whispers, “The Shadow creatures are here, ready to devour you.”

I wish I couldn’t, I really do but I can. Talis didn’t tell me what to do if the Shadow creatures touched me but I can feel them. They feel like the time I touched dry ice because Levon dared me too. So cold, it burns and like then, I’m certain they’re leaving burn marks on every inch of skin they can reach.

“To seam, Lyla,” he says. “I make Siren shut up and tell Shadows piss off if you step right up, right here.” He gestures to the seam he steps over. He puts his hands on by shoulders and nudges me towards the seam. “Come on now. We train now.”

My feet move but not in the direction I want. I’d like to run somewhere. Up the sharp hills or maybe down the seam somewhere. Anywhere Siegrist isn’t is where I want to be. But I don’t move those directions. I can’t. My hands tremble and my lips do too.

“Tula Lyla, Leaver of Miller name,” he says. “You must face death for training.” He pulls green fabric from his pocket and brings it to his lips. He whispers into it and then blows it. The fabric snakes away from him in the air and wraps around my ankles and snakes up around my waist. It’s loose and silky, but a black bead blinks back at me.

“Go, to seam,” he commands.

The fabric wraps tight around my waist and yanks me until I stumble to the seam.

“Hear that Lyla,” he says. He kneels to the tree roots and presses his ear against them. “Sounds of pure suffer. Can you hear familiar voices?”

I can’t. I’m glad I can’t but I can hear so many other things. Screams. Yells. Panic. Discord. Torture. I press my eyes shut and try to drown the noise out. But all it does is force my tears to trickle from between my lids faster. I don’t like this, not at all.

College, four years of pure college. Eating chips late at night, studying with Priya. Watching the latest horror films in the dorms. Maybe trying a party or just sticking to my routine of classes, naps, and more classes. That’s what I like. I don’t like being told death is a part of my routine. For what? To discover, hello, I have no magic? That my Protector is some fringe secret? No, not at all.

Siegrist stands and walks in front of me. He twists his hand around and the fabric tightens. He motions his hand around and around and the fabric follows, until it covers both of my legs and my chest. He makes a fist and the fabric tightens.

I force a breath in, barely.

“Try magic,” he says.

“I don’t have any.” Isn’t that the truth? If I had magic, I could run far away from here or blast him with something or call Talis to me but I can’t even do that.

The owl calls again. It’s yellow eyes and white moon face. The fabric ends dance and move. The bird leaps from it’s branch and swoops silently overtop Siegrist and latches onto the end of the fabric.

“No, no,” Siegrist shouts at the bird. “Leave me, leave us. Be gone, be gone, be gone.” He snaps his fingers and the bird’s head snaps too, falling to the ground. But the fabric is at my feet too.

And the sun calls to me, straight down the seam.

Sorry Talis, but I can’t stay here. I can’t do this. You will have to go to the Sewing Tree by yourself.

That’s my mantra, of sorts. My feet slam against the roots of the seam, the cool air whips my hair behind me. Breaths shallow, lungs burn, thighs ache, feet pound.

Siegrist yells behind me. “Run, Lyla Tula Miller, Run! I will find you! You train, today.”