bats, and two trashed cars.
When they pushed through a curtain of ivy and saw the glisten of metal in the trees, Finn halted. Beside her, Moth also regarded the small airplane molded into the branches of an enormous oak. He said softly, “Betwixt and between. They must have flown through one of the spots where the Ghostlands and the true world cross.”
Finn thought of Ellen and Roland, aviators, explorers who had found an uncharted place that had killed them. She thought of girls and boys like Moth and Nathan, stolen out of their lives. “How do you bear it?”
“I think of the place I came from. There were good things, familiar things. Then I think, if I’d lived out my life, back then, I would have died of plague or starvation. Or, more likely, murder. I realize that now is not so bad. And I’m one of the lucky ones.”
“But you’re still broken.”
“But your sister put me back together.”
The road soon narrowed to a lane winding through a wood of gnarled trees draped with cobwebs and creepers. The toadstools underfoot were luminous, producing small puffs of spores when stepped on. Finn kept a hand over her mouth and nose until they’d cleared the fungi. As they passed beneath a vast, glittering spiderweb, she wondered what Ghostlands spiders looked like, shuddered, and attempted another conversation, “Who turned you into a moth? Was it Absalom?”
“I don’t know.”
They halted, staring across a field of red flowers at a sprawling building surrounded by dead trees, its windows boarded up, its bricks splotched with lichen and strange graffiti. A giant crack ran up the middle of its stairway, where a figure lay. Beyond the building, surrounded by a forest of firs and pines, was a town that looked as though it had expired from urban blight.
“I don’t like the look of that school.” Finn, thumbs crooked in the straps of her backpack, wondered if the elixir was making her insanely brave. The field, she realized, the red flowers, were poppies.
“And that must be Maraville. Harvest Station should be straight down that road. Past those houses. You did notice the figure on the stairs?”
Finn had seen it. “Let’s go.”
The school’s shadow seemed to slime their skin as they approached. The sudden gloom cut into Finn’s courage a little. The boarded windows and the huge doors made her uneasy. She could smell mold and dead things.
When she recognized the body on the stairs, she began to run, her boots tearing at poppies as a name ripped from her throat. “Sylvie? Sylvie!”
She reached the figure on the stairs and knelt beside her friend, pushing the black braids away from Sylvie’s pale face. Moth, crouching near, said, “She’s breathing. How did she get here?”
Finn couldn’t answer. “Sylvie. Please wake up.”
Sylvie opened her eyes and croaked, “Finn?”
Finn heaved a sigh and sat back on her heels. A world without impetuous, optimistic Sylvie was unthinkable.
“I found you.” Sylvie let her head fall back. “I can’t believe I found you.”
“What are you doing here?” Finn helped her sit up. The other girl was dressed for winter in tartan trousers and a coat lined with fake fur. Her eyes and nose were red, as if she’d been crying. She hugged Finn. “We sort of got a key.”
“We? There’s no ‘we,’ Sylvie. You’re the only one here.”
“Christie.” Sylvie scrambled up.
“Christie?” Finn stood with her friend as Sylvie looked frantically around and said, “Christie! He came with me—I let go of his hand . . . oh, Finn.” Sylvie began stomping in a circle, pushing her fingers through her braids. “I let go of his hand when we came through—it was like we were pulled apart. I walked so far to find him . . .”
“Sylvie, how did you get here?” Finn wanted to grab her and shake her as terror for Christie made her almost crazy.
“The Black Scissors. He sent us. He wanted me to tell you about Seth Lot . . . how he can die—poisoning, pinning, and decapitation. Those three, together, are the only way to kill an ancient Fata.” She unslung the walking stick and handed it to Finn, who carefully accepted it. Sylvie said, “It’s a sword, inside. Don’t draw it until you’re ready to kill Seth Lot.”
“I’m not here to kill Seth Lot.” Finn stood very still—the idea was nightmarish. She was selfishly glad to see Sylvie but, at the same time, furious at her friend’s recklessness.
Sylvie glanced around. “Finn—where’s Jack?”
“We’ve lost him. It’s a long story. We’re on