Inked

them.
    Feeling like I actually might have a chance to come out of this alive, I huddled, waiting. The only thing I had with me were the iron handcuffs, and those I held gingerly, even with the gloves on. No use taking chances.
    After a few moments, Roche turned and forced his way back through the undergrowth. I waited, barely breathing, until the branches around me relaxed. As they opened up, I crawled out, stood up, and cautiously adjusted my clothing.
    Turning back to the tree, I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” I whispered, “but thank you. You saved my life.”
    There was a soft murmur, as if the air currents were gliding through the knothole that formed the tree’s mouth. I got the distinct impression it said, “You’re welcome.”
    After what seemed like an eternity, I pushed through the undergrowth back to the trail, pleased that Roche was nowhere in sight.
    “Fuck,” I whispered. “Now what do I do? I have no idea how to get back home.”
    The mist stretched out for as far as I could see. I could barely remember which way I’d come, or how far. I’d been running so fast that I’d lost track of the distance I’d covered.
    After a moment’s debate, I straightened my shoulders and decided to continue on through the copse. As I picked up the pace, the trees were no longer silent. They whispered and shook in the astral currents. I closed my eyes and tuned in on what they were saying. I had the gift of talking to plants, even though I wasn’t all that skilled at growing them, and so I listened.
    At first the murmurs surrounded topics I’d expect most trees—even astral ones—to discuss. Sun and growth and the mist, which apparently provided the water they needed to blossom and thrive. Scattered references to the lycons and other creatures of the astral realm dotted the conversation. But then, a sinister tone crept into the leaf-whispers, and I paused, dropping into a trance in order to pick up what they were saying.
    “He’s forming an army…”
    “Do you think he’ll come into our world…”
    “We should pay no heed—it is not our affair…”
    “But flame and fire are, and even here they can wound us…”
    Eventually, the talk about the mysterious stranger died away, but the fear that had accompanied their words remained behind. Something was on the move and I didn’t want to know what. After a few minutes, the whispers took up again, this time about the passing of time.
    How long I walked, I couldn’t say. Time didn’t run the same on the astral as it did over on the physical realm. But eventually I came to the end of the wood and found myself standing on the edge of a long chasm filled with mist and sparkling fog. A narrow rope bridge crossed the abyss, looking about as supportive as a leisure bra.
    Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped onto the suspension bridge, pausing as it swung back and forth with my weight. Cautiously resting my hands on the railings, I slowly began to cross, taking care not to get my heels caught in the knot-holes of the wooden planks that made up the passage.
    I was about halfway across when I saw a figure on the other side, dressed in a long gray cloak with hood. Roche? My heart pumped wildly until it clicked that it didn’t match his body type. When I reached out to touch the energy, I discovered a woman’s signature, with no sense of evil surrounding her. Curiosity, yes. Caution—definitely. But no deranged chaos like Roche.
    Maybe she could tell me how to get back home. She waited silently as I steeled myself and hurried across the wildly swinging bridge, taking care not to look down. I didn’t like heights. I didn’t like them at all and this was about as freak-assed high as I’d ever been. Running with the Hunt didn’t count.
    I came to the end of the bridge and glanced back as I stepped off it. The bridge vanished into the mists. One moment it was there; the next, it disappeared.
    “Holy hell!” I jumped away from the edge toward the woman. “Where did the damned thing go?”
    She towered over me, even more than Delilah. And when she spoke, her voice was muffled, as if swathed in cotton.
    “The bridge is mine and appears only when one who has need comes searching for me.”
    She brushed back her hood and I gazed into her eyes. She might be any age…young, mature…ancient. Hair streamed down her back, silver touched with violet highlights. I couldn’t place her race. Neither mortal nor Fae, that much was