Chapter 21

  The First Time

  I flipped the pendant in my hand as I paced the fairy circle I had wandered into. The silver trinket caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the forest canopy, sending small flashes of light dancing across the moss-covered ground. Mum had warned me countless times about the dangers of venturing into the forest behind our house. She'd fill my head with tales of missing children and mysterious lights, of time running differently among the ancient trees.

  But no one was home today. Dad had been called into the shop over some mechanical emergency—a tractor with a busted engine or Mrs. Henderson's ancient Volvo finally giving up the ghost. Mum had left this morning to head to the neighbors' house for some silly little book club, her tote bag stuffed with wine and whatever literary masterpiece they were dissecting this month. And I was extremely bored.

  None of my friends had stayed behind this summer. Saxon, I believe, had scored some fancy internship in the city—something about computer programming that would "look good on university applications." Kira suddenly hated me and wanted nothing to do with me, though I still had no idea what I'd done to deserve the cold shoulder and blocked number. Poppy was too small to play with, so she was with Mum, probably being cooed over by all the middle-aged women who'd forgotten what it was like to have a screaming toddler of their own.

  So here I am, twiddling with the stupid pendant that I have had since birth, pacing inside a fairy circle in the middle of the woods. The pendant was warm against my palm—warmer than it should be—its intricate markings seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them. The perfect ring of mushrooms encircling me stood unnaturally white against the dark earth, and something about the stillness of the air made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  I hadn't meant to step into the circle. It was as if my feet had carried me here of their own accord while my mind wandered. Now that I was inside, something felt different. The forest sounds—the chirping birds, rustling leaves, and distant stream—seemed muffled, as though coming from much farther away than they actually were.

  I checked my phone. No signal, of course. And was it getting darker already? I could have sworn it was only early afternoon when I left the house. The pendant pulsed once in my hand, so subtly I almost thought I'd imagined it. Almost.

  Sighing, I pushed the pendant back underneath my shirt, the metal cool against my skin despite having been warm in my palm just moments before. I sat down in the middle of the circle, then slowly leaned back until I was lying on the soft mossy grass. The earth beneath me felt unusually comfortable, almost as if it had molded itself to cradle my body perfectly.

  I watched the trees above me as they swayed in the afternoon breeze, their leaves creating a kaleidoscope of green and gold. There was something different about them now—a soft, magical feel to the way they twinkled under the sun, as if each leaf had been dusted with microscopic diamonds.

  Time seemed to stretch and bend as I lay there, my mind drifting between thoughts of home and the strange sensation that I was being watched. I considered the quiet life in Bluehaven that had always felt somehow incomplete, like a puzzle with missing pieces. Maybe that's just how everyone felt at seventeen—stuck between childhood and whatever came next, never quite fitting in anywhere.

  Martha and Gregory Paul had been good parents—overprotective perhaps, but loving. Dad's mechanical shop kept him busy, but he always made time for our Sunday hikes, teaching me to identify different plants and animals. Mum worked from home as a freelance editor, her keen eyes catching every misplaced comma and dangling modifier. They were utterly normal, utterly human... weren't they?

  The thought struck me as odd. Why wouldn't they be human? What a strange question to even consider.

  I fingered the pendant through my shirt, tracing its familiar contours. I'd had it for as long as I could remember. When I was little, I thought it was just a pretty family heirloom. As I grew older, I noticed how my parents exchanged worried glances whenever I wore it outside my clothing, and how they insisted I keep it hidden beneath my shirt. "It's valuable," they'd say. "Best not to attract attention."

  But valuable in what way? I'd asked once, and the answer had been vague—something about family history and sentimental worth.

  The trees swayed above me, their movements becoming more pronounced as the breeze picked up. Clouds scudded across the sky, casting shifting shadows across the forest floor. I felt strangely heavy, as if the earth beneath me was exerting a gentle but insistent pull. My eyelids grew weighted, and I found myself fighting to keep them open.

  Just a short rest, I thought. I'll head back home before it gets too late.

  The forest sounds seemed to dim further, replaced by a strange humming that vibrated through the ground and into my bones. The pendant against my chest grew warm again, then hot—not burning, but definitely calling attention to itself. I should have been alarmed, but instead, I felt oddly calm, as if something long-postponed was finally beginning.

  I must have dozed off, because suddenly the quality of the light changed. The forest grew darker, yet somehow more vivid, colors deepening into impossible shades. The trees seemed taller, their trunks twisted into shapes that defied natural growth patterns. The air itself felt thicker, charged with an energy I could almost taste—sweet and wild and ancient.

  My head swam with strange thoughts and half-formed memories that couldn't possibly be mine: a castle carved from living wood and stone, halls lit by glowing flowers rather than electric lights, music that flowed like water and tasted like honey. I saw faces with features too perfect to be human, and heard laughter that sounded like silver bells.

  The pendant pulsed steadily now, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. I tried to sit up, but my limbs felt disconnected from my body, responding sluggishly if at all. Panic fluttered in my chest. This wasn't right. I needed to get home before dark. Mum and Dad would worry. They always worried when I went near the forest alone.

  Now I remembered—their warnings had been specific. "Never cross the old stone wall," Dad had said. "Never enter a perfect circle of mushrooms or flowers," Mum had added. "And if you ever feel like you're being watched in the woods, turn around and come straight home."

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  I'd broken all three rules today.

  A shadow fell across my face. Something—someone—was standing over me, blocking what little sunlight filtered through the canopy. I strained to focus my eyes, fighting against the strange lethargy that held me.

  A face peered down at me. Not human. The features were too angular, the eyes too large and an impossible shade of violet that seemed to glow from within. The skin had a pearlescent quality that shifted colors like oil on water.

  "Hello there," the creature said, its voice like wind chimes and falling water.

  I wanted to scream, to run, but my body refused to respond. The creature knelt beside me, its movements fluid and graceful in a way that human joints and muscles couldn't manage. It reached out one long-fingered hand, hesitating just above my pendant.

  "At last," it whispered, and something in its tone sent ice through my veins despite the summer heat. "The lost heir returns to the Earthen Court."

  The pendant flared with golden light so bright I had to close my eyes. The creature—the Fae, I somehow knew—hissed and drew back its hand. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw a flash of symbols and runes that seemed familiar though I'd never seen them before. Knowledge poured into my mind: the Earthen Court, one of the four great Fae realms; the ancient pact between worlds; the royal bloodline of which I was apparently part.

  No, this wasn't real. I was Lisa Paul from Bluehaven. My parents were Martha and Gregory Paul. I was human. Completely human.

  Wasn't I?

  The Fae recovered quickly, its beautiful face twisting into something colder, more calculating. "You don't know what you are, do you?" it asked, leaning closer. I could smell something wild and strange—like night-blooming flowers and ozone before a storm. "Your human parents have kept many secrets from you, little princess."

  Princess? The word echoed strangely in my mind, familiar and foreign at once.

  "My name is Vakkan," the creature continued, its voice mellowing into something honeyed and inviting. "I serve the Earthen Court—your father's court. You've been lost to us for seventeen years, Princess Thalia."

  Thalia. The name sent a jolt through me, like an electric current. Images flashed behind my eyes: a crown of twisted gold and living vines; a throne carved from a single massive tree; a tall, imposing figure with my eyes looking down at me with something like love.

  "No," I managed to say, my voice faint even to my own ears. "My name is Lisa."

  Vakkan smiled, revealing teeth too white and too sharp. "A human name for a human life. But you were never meant to stay in that world, Princess. The time has come for you to return to your rightful place."

  He reached for my pendant again, and this time the golden light didn't repel him. His long fingers closed around the silver disk, and I felt a strange tugging sensation in my chest, as if something essential was being pulled from me.

  "The royal crest of the Earthen Court," Vakkan murmured, examining the pendant without removing it from my neck. "Your father gave this to you the day you were born. It was meant to protect you, to hide your true nature from those who might wish you harm." He looked directly into my eyes, his violet gaze hypnotic. "But it also served another purpose—to suppress your memories and your power until the time was right."

  Power? I had no power. I was just an ordinary girl from Bluehaven. Wasn't I?

  "Your human parents stole you from us," Vakkan continued, his voice hardening. "They thought they were protecting you, perhaps. Humans often mistake their fear for wisdom. But they've only delayed the inevitable. Your blood knows where it belongs."

  The pendant grew hotter still, almost burning against my skin. The golden light spread, enveloping both me and Vakkan in its glow. The trees around us seemed to lean in, branches reaching toward us like curious onlookers.

  "The Court has waited long enough," Vakkan whispered, his face now inches from mine. "Your father grows weaker without his heir. The balance between our worlds tilts dangerously. It's time for you to remember who you truly are."

  His fingers closed more tightly around the pendant, and pain lanced through my chest. I gasped, finally able to move as I arched up from the ground. The golden light intensified, becoming blinding. Wind whipped around us, carrying whispers in a language I almost understood.

  "Remember, Thalia," Vakkan commanded, his voice somehow cutting through the howling wind. "Remember your true home. Remember your power. Remember me."

  Dark energy curled around his fingers, seeping into the pendant and then into me. I felt it spreading through my veins like ice water, searching for something, trying to unlock something within me. My mind flooded with fragmented images: a grand hall with living trees as pillars; creatures of impossible beauty dancing beneath a sky filled with stars too bright and too numerous to be Earth's; a young boy with silver hair and violet eyes bowing to me as I laughed—Vakkan, centuries ago, when we were both children.

  No, that couldn't be right. These weren't my memories. They couldn't be.

  "Fight it all you want," Vakkan said, his smile now twisted with something like triumph. "Your human parents might have bound your power and memories, but they couldn't change what you are. Blood will tell, Princess. And yours calls you home."

  The golden light pulsed once more, blindingly bright, and then began to fade. As it dimmed, so did the world around me. Vakkan's face blurred, the trees receded, and the ground beneath me seemed to melt away. I was falling, falling through darkness shot through with golden light, falling between worlds.

  The last thing I heard was Vakkan's voice, suddenly urgent: "No! This isn't supposed to happen! The binding is broken—you should be awakening, not—"

  Then silence.

  I jolted awake with a gasp, my heart pounding. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. I was lying in the middle of a perfect circle of white mushrooms, their caps gleaming in the golden light.

  For a moment, I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there or why. Then it came back to me—I'd been bored at home, everyone was out, so I'd decided to explore the woods behind our house. I must have wandered farther than I'd intended and then... what? Fallen asleep? That wasn't like me at all.

  I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. My dreams had been strange, filled with impossible colors and creatures that couldn't exist. Already, the details were fading, slipping away like water through cupped hands. Something about a court? A name that wasn't mine?

  My hand went to my chest, finding the familiar shape of my pendant beneath my shirt. It was cool to the touch, as always. I'd had it since birth—a family heirloom, my parents said. I hardly ever took it off.

  Standing up, I brushed leaves and dirt from my clothes. The sun was getting low; I should head back before Mum and Dad started to worry. They'd always been protective, especially about me wandering in the forest alone.

  As I stepped out of the mushroom circle, a sudden chill ran down my spine. I turned back to look at the perfect ring of white caps, feeling as if I was forgetting something important. The pendant seemed to grow momentarily heavier against my chest.

  But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come. Just my imagination, I decided. I've probably been reading too many fantasy novels lately.

  With one last glance at the fairy circle, I started making my way home, already composing excuses for my extended absence in case my parents had returned early. By the time I reached the edge of the woods, the strange dreams had faded completely from my mind, leaving only a vague sense of unease that I couldn't quite place—and the faint memory of violet eyes watching me from the shadows.