Asher woke again to an empty room, and he found himself alone with his thoughts for the first time. The more he tried to separate nightmare from real, the more solid each memory became. It was all real. It wouldn’t fade, it only got stronger each time he focused on it. Monsters were real. Magic was real. And it almost killed him.

What else about those old folktales were real. Perhaps the First King of Tarinye was a great Warlock. They called him that all through history, did they know he was magic and accept it, or was it just part of the myth? There was so much to dissect and figure out, but the more he tried to understand it, the more he instinctively pulled away. His life was a lie. No, not a lie, but a world wrapped in a comforting blanket that had been brutally ripped free. Everything had been a fantasy, a safe little bubble where stories were just that.

Asher was going to be sick.

He didn’t believe in monsters. He didn’t believe stories of the Underlands were real. If these opinions were so wrong, someone would have corrected him by now, told him to open his eyes or stop being an idiot. When he showed disdain towards hanging, they would have pushed the real damage those people could do, choosing the side of those demons. If they didn’t know that to be true, then why in the world would they be hung at all?

Then there was what Gershwin said. Nothing will hurt you here. As though she knew there were monsters, and that he had come here because of magic. Perhaps he was the naïve, stupid little boy who refused to see things how they were. A glass of water had been left on the side table, and Asher swallowed large mouthfuls, but it did nothing to ease the bad taste in his mouth.

If he really had refused to see that it was all real, if he had refused to believe it was possible, then how would he hope to find out what happened to the Palace? Could he have recognised the signs and stopped himself from becoming the next victim? Maybe he would have been prepared enough to stop them from taking Navarre...

No. The market had been chaos. No-one knew what was happening. Would the distressed mother have considered monsters? The woman talking over the boy had dismissed his claims, but so had Asher. Navarre had made light-hearted jabs, but had that been to loosen Asher up after their fight, or had he considered monsters as much as Asher did?

His throat was dry. It was hard to breathe. He needed more water, but the glass was empty. He watched the droplets swish back and forth at the bottom of the glass, as though staring at it would make it refill all on its own.

Something caught the edge of his vision, and he noticed that grains of dirt had built up on his hand, scratching against the bottom of the glass. Asher pinched the pieces between his fingers. There wasn’t any sign of where it might have come from - the room was spotless and pristine - and a worrying amount had collected under his fingernails. It didn’t look like dirt either, there was a grey quality to it, like ash, but not flaky enough. He slowly reached over to place the glass back on the table.

There was smoke rising from the table.

Asher recoiled, the glass dropping from his hand too early and bouncing onto the floor. There was no heat, no flame, but the smoke was thick and white. It didn’t rise up either, but instead curved in a sharp turn and snaked over to the mortar and pestle Gershwin had left behind. He reached over to tap at the little iron bowl, but nothing about it seemed off. The herbs sat half-crushed, abandoned. Small white flecks broke through the green, a herb that hadn’t mixed well at all.

No, not a herb. Asher reached over and caught a piece between his fingers. His skin brushed against the strange smoke, and a cool rush of air touched his hand, as though a breeze had broken through a crack in a solid wall. The sensation sent a rush of goosebumps up his arm, and he snatched his hand back quick.

The white substance was bone. No matter how much he turned it over and tapped his nails against it, he couldn’t find a way to second guess the conclusion. There was bone in the concoction Gershwin had been mixing, the stuff she had been putting on his leg and chest.

The door to the room opened, and a strange woman rushed in, only to recoil in alarm when she met his gaze. She was smaller than Gershwin, plump and broad in the shoulders, with lines marking the mouth and eyes of her dark face. Large, wide eyes stared at him, dark almost towards black. Long black hair fell in ringlets over her shoulders, and as she stared frozen, she shifted, as though to run in the other direction.

‘I heard a noise.’ Her voice was soft, carried only by the air around them. ‘Are you alright?’

‘What is this?’ Asher demanded. ‘What have you been doing to me?’

The woman’s face turned grey, and she bounced on her heels before easing forward and picking the glass up from the floor. ‘My name is Aria,’ she said.

‘Asher,’ Asher returned. He held the bone up, making sure she looked directly at it, that she saw it. ‘What is this?’

Aria shifted next to him. ‘Rat bones,’ she mumbled.

‘Should I be worried?’ Asher asked.

Aria shook her head frantically. ‘We use it to scrape the dead skin off an injury,’ she said. ‘We find that it doesn’t break the skin underneath as we let the herbs sink in.’

‘Oh.’ Asher slowly dropped his hand down, feeling stupid. He’d never heard of a technique like that, but he also didn’t know enough about medicine to confirm it.

‘Is something the matter?’ Aria asked. ‘You’re shaking.’

He was. His hands were shaking, the piece of bone still sitting in his palm. Another strange smear of dirt had marked the back of his hand, the exact point where he had touched the strange smoke. He rubbed at it with his thumb, and it disappeared.

Nothing made sense anymore.

‘Do you know what happened to me?’ Asher asked. ‘I... I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what’s happening.’

Aria’s face fell, sympathy painting her features. ‘You’ve been in this room for nearly a week,’ she said. ‘Maybe we should get you some fresh air.’

‘I...’ He tried to move his leg, and it only ached deeply in return. ‘I’m supposed to rest, aren’t I?’

‘We’re only going into the next room,’ Aria said. ‘Come on, I’ll help you. You’re not going to feel better if you stay in bed all the time.’

She hooked his arm over her shoulder, then lifted him with a surprising amount of strength. The skin of his chest stretched and burned, and his leg screamed, a dull pain thrumming through the joints as she dragged him out of the bed. He stumbled as his good leg hit the ground, but Aria held him up, half guiding and half carrying him towards the door.

The house opened up into an airy, sunlit kitchen. The smell of herbs and dirt hit him hard, made noticeable by the potted plants on the crooked little table and on counter corners, and the bowls and crates spread about full of vegetables. Gershwin stood at a sink full of soapy water, looking out the window that sat above the tap, showing a bright sky outside.

‘How are you feeling?’ she didn’t turn as she said it.

‘I think he’s a bit boxed in that room,’ Aria said. She pulled out a chair at the table, and Asher dropped into it, lifting his leg as Aria directed it to another across from him. As she pottered around him, he became very aware of the fact he had no shirt on, only the bandages wrapped around his injury. Aria ducked into the next room, and as Asher turned back to Gershwin, he saw it again. The strange smoke drifting out from a potted plant in the corner. The plant itself was stranger. The petals of what looked like a tulip had veins of blue and gold streaking through otherwise red petals. with the centre part glowing with a soft gold light, a light that pulsed out over the leaves, parts of it leaking down into the pot like water.

‘How are the nightmares?’ Gershwin asked.

‘Better,’ Asher mumbled. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the plant. The pulses of the light in its middle had a hypnotic edge to it, luring him in as though he were a moth being pulled in by a flickering torch. His mind flashed to the strange fire in the Underlands, how he hadn’t even realised what he was doing until Penn pulled him back, and he shut his eyes tight, trying to block it out.

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‘You alright, sweetie?’

When Asher opened his eyes again, he saw that Gershwin had turned, and was staring at him, brows knotted in concern. Asher realised he had dug his fingers into the wood of the table, hard enough to leave little half-moon cracks in the surface. The plant still pulsed in the corner. The liquified parts hurt to look directly at.

Gershwin caught his gaze and turned towards the plant in the corner. Her eyes passed over it, searching for what stood out against the daub walls. She frowned. ‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.

Asher flexed his fingers loose and ran them through his hair. ‘I think I’m going mad,’ he mumbled.

Gershwin wiped her hands on her apron, then dropped into the remaining seat across from him. Her gaze locked onto him, unblinking. ‘Asher, do you see something in that corner that isn’t normal?’

‘I… guess? But if no-one else can, then it’s just more of the—’

‘Aria!’

Gershwin’s shout sent the other woman crashing back into the room. A ratty old coat was gripped tight in her hands. She slowly passed it to Asher, her eyes wide. Asher took the clothing with a mumbled thanks, slowly pulling it on. It smelled of dirt and must and animal, but it was warm and covered his otherwise bare chest.

‘What’s going on?’ Asher glanced back and forth between the two of them, and they exchanged a nervous glance. ‘If you know what happened to me, please tell me. I don’t understand any…’ Wait. If this was a world where magic was real and monsters were real, then so was everything else. The weird pneumonia, the nervous expression on both their faces… ‘Are you two witches?’

Both women noticably flinched, and Gershwin leapt over the table, taking hold of his hand.

‘Listen to me, sweetie, and listen close, okay?’

Asher pulled his hand free, but he couldn’t do anything else to pull away. With his leg completely useless, he wouldn’t get far anyway.

‘It’s not what you think!’ Aria rushed around the table. Her face had stripped of colour, and her eyes were wide, almost on the verge of tears.

‘That word means something very different to us,’ Gershwin pressed. ‘We’re not going to hurt you. We don’t want to hurt anyone.’

‘Please, don’t freak out.’ Aria’s voice was small. She was shaking. Terrified. Of him.

‘I… I’m not going to tell anyone,’ Asher said. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I never thought it was okay to…’ he pinched the bridge of his nose. What was he doing? ‘Witches aren’t real. I know they’re not real. None of it was real!’

‘I know this is a lot to take in,’ Gershwin said. She spoke slow, as though he was going to snap at any moment. ‘I know they’re just stories to a lot of people, that millions of people over generations have lived their lives not knowing this stuff really exists. Those stories, they’re not entirely true. Witches are real, yes, but they don’t work with the Fienta. They never have.’

‘We’re just people,’ Aria mumbled. ‘People who know things we shouldn’t.’

‘The bones in the medicine…’

‘Your leg was beyond saving, Asher,’ Gershwin pressed. ‘Bone is part of the concoction so magic knows what to regenerate. We would have needed to amputate otherwise. I was just trying to help.’

So magic knows. As though it was a living thing. As though it was a dog let off its leash and told to hunt under his skin. The bones in his leg ached at the thought. He suddenly felt exposed, stripped bare for the universe itself to inspect him.

‘It was all real.’ His voice was a whisper. Somewhere in his mind he’d already accepted that, but saying it out loud only made him feel small. He was admitting that he was in a new place where he knew nothing, and his usual methods of understanding it weren’t an option anymore.

‘I’m sorry, Asher,’ Gershwin said. ‘I know it’s a lot to take in.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Asher mumbled. ‘Any of it.’

‘We can answer your questions,’ Gershwin said. ‘Any of them. We can help you.’

Asher felt a wave of guilt over everything else. ‘You guys have already done so much. I don’t have any way to repay you.’

‘Keep our secret,’ Aria said. ‘That’s all we ask, please.’

‘Of course.’

Aria sighed in relief, though Asher could hear the words he didn’t say rattling in his head. If he were to speak up, if he were to point fingers and ready a noose, he would hang next to them. He was involved now, and mobs hung people for less.

‘There’s something you need to know first,’ Aria said. ‘This stuff is very dangerous. The more you know, the more you ask questions, the worse it’s going to get. I don’t need to tell you, you know what these creatures are capable of. There are consequences to knowing how the balance is kept.’

‘Aria…’ Gershwin caught the other woman’s eye and shook her head.

Aria’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘He needs to know. He can’t look into it without—’

‘He’s seir, love.’

Aria’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes growing wide. Asher felt as though he had heard that word before, but he couldn’t quite place where. It had the same curl to it as a Telkite word, though he wasn’t fluent in anything except the swearing his mother would throw out when she thought he wasn’t around.

The air in the room grew heavy, the word hanging between them all like a curse.

‘You’re sure?’ Aria asked.

Gershwin glanced back at the corner of the bench, where the strange plant was still pulsing silently. Asher ducked his head away before he could be pulled into the same lull as before. One moment of insanity at a time.

‘You can see it, can’t you, Asher?’ Gershwin asked. ‘You said you could.’

Both women were staring at him now. Asher wanted to deny it, just so he could claim some of his usual normalcy. Yet, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to figure out why it was happening at all. Slowly, he nodded.

‘What is it?’ his voice was a whisper.

‘It’s a tulip,’ Gershwin said. ‘I picked it fromt the garden outside because it was blooming.’

‘Tulips don’t look like that,’ Asher said.

Aria watched the plant in the corner, staring intently at it and its strange colours. When she caught him looking, she hung her head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

‘You’re seeing spirits, Asher,’ Gershwin said.

Asher blinked. ‘What?’

‘You spent time in another world,’ Gershwin said. ‘The curtains were opened, so to speak. What you’re seeing is the energy that runs between them.’

‘Other worlds,’ Asher echoed. It oddly brought him comfort. If it was another place entirely, it was one where all these impossible things could happen, and that wasn’t here. This world still had the same rules.

‘Le Torkani… I mean, the Underlands, they’re still the same as the stories,’ Aria said. ‘Oh, that doesn’t mean you broke the natural order or anything, it just… sometimes things slip through the cracks.’

‘And they come out again,’ Asher said.

The women exchanged a look.

‘No, not usually,’ Gershwin said. ‘The creatures inside are always trying to break free. It’s not designed to be escaped.’

The teeth monster had called Penn “gatekeeper.” Was he a witch too? Deciding who was supposed to be there and who could go free? That explained a few things. ‘My friend,’ Asher said. ‘They took him deeper in.’

‘I know,’ Gershwin said. ‘I’m sorry, Asher. I know it can’t be easy.’

‘But if I got out, then he could too, right?’

‘We don’t really know how you got out,’ Gershwin said. ‘Though, you said there were birds.’

Aria snapped to attention, jolting violently enough to rattle the table. Asher stared at her.

‘You saw her?’ Aria asked.

‘The woman?’ Asher asked. ‘Red hair, scars along her collar?’

Both women shifted, and Gershwin sucked in a deep breath. ‘You did see her.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Her name is Hadley,’ Aria said. ‘She was… she is a friend of ours. When she was taken into that place, we thought she was dead. Or worse, corrupted into one of those monsters.’

‘She was… I mean, she looked human,’ Asher mumbled.

Gershwin got to her feet then, pacing across the tiny kitchen. ‘When we saw the birds, we thought it was her,’ she said. ‘We thought she had found a way back.’

‘But you found me instead,’ Asher mumbled.

‘This is huge though, the fact that she’s managed to survive all this time,’ Gershwin said. ‘Did she say anything to you?’

‘I tried to follow Navarre – my friend – and she stopped me,’ Asher said. ‘She just told me that I couldn’t be there. I don’t think there was anything else.’

‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence,’ Gershwin said. ‘She sent you to us. She trusts us.’

‘Gershwin.’ Aria reached out and caught her hand, squeezing it. Silent words passed through their glances, and Gershwin squared her shoulders.

‘She’s alive, and she sent him too us,’ she said. ‘That has to mean something.’

‘We’re not going down this road again.’

‘She’s alive.’

‘And she’s still in that place,’ Aria pressed. She lowered her voice so low, Asher almost didn’t hear it. ‘Don’t do this now, please. He’s scared. He still needs help.’

Asher didn’t say anything. He could see the desperation in Gershwin, the hurt, and he remembered the way she reacted when he first mentioned the birds. The same emotions threatened to storm to the surface in his own mind at the thought of Navarre. His oldest friend was trapped in that place, and he didn’t have a single idea how to fix that. He didn’t know if it could be fixed. Perhaps he would end up like Gershwin, desperate for even a mention that he was still alive, or still had a chance to break out.

If he was still alive…

No. He would not go down this road. If this Hadley woman had survived for however long she’d been there, there was still a chance for Navarre.

‘I want to find a way,’ he said. ‘To rescue him. If they’re not supposed to be there, there has to be a way, right?’

Aria shook her head frantically. ‘I know it must be hard, to miss your friend, but you can’t,’ she said. ‘The more you know about the balance of all things, the deeper you have to dig into it. It’s the quickest way to damn yourself to that place.’

‘But—’

‘Please, Asher.’ Aria sounded on the edge of tears. ‘Please, you can’t. If you mess around with this stuff, it’ll only get worse.’

Asher bit down on his tongue. He would not leave Navarre in a place like that. He wouldn’t wish anyone into a place like that.

‘What she means is…’ Gershwin eased forward. ‘Asher the moment you try and go back there, they will grab you and they will not let go. You will not get another option. This whole situation is… very complicated. We will help you. We can help you, but if you decide to know about this stuff, you can’t un-know it. There’s no turning back. Please tell me you understand that.’

‘What about the spirits?’ Asher asked.

‘They won’t hurt you,’ Aria mumbled. ‘Sometimes they go away. You just stop noticing them.’

Asher glanced over at the plant in the corner. The only thing he could be sure of was that he didn’t want it to disappear. Now that he knew about it, he couldn’t think of anything worse than knowing it was there but never being able to see it exactly. He had been let in on a secret that acted like a knife against his eye, and better there than somewhere he couldn’t defend against it.

There was no going back from this.