Chapter 14
14
Miya
Between news articles and the steady stream of neighborhood footage, digging up Caelan Carver’s address was easier than it should’ve been. Her adoptive guardians, Lisbeth and Gabe Carver, resided in a two-story house with slate blue paneling, freshly painted window frames, and storm gray shingles on the roof. Their driveway was empty.
“What if one of the neighbors see us?” asked Miya.
Beside her, Ama remained confident as ever, shoulders back and chin held high. “It’s the middle of the workday, and we’re just a pair of harmless women. No one will think twice.”
Ama was anything but harmless . Taking in the white wolf’s outfit, Miya marveled at how flawlessly she dressed herself. No one would suspect she was about to commit a crime. Her dark blue jeans clung to her curves like a second skin, yet Miya was sure she could axe-kick a man in the face if needed. Her sleeveless one-shoulder top tucked seamlessly into her high waist jeans, and Miya made a mental note to ask where she found strapless bras that didn’t feel like defective suction cups. A thick filigreed silver band that whorled knuckle to knuckle accented Ama’s forefinger, her manicured nail tapping absently against her belt.
“We’ll be out before you know it.” Ama smiled reassuringly. “Gavran will keep watch.”
The raven cawed from a nearby maple. Miya glanced up to see him on his perch, his beak tipped skyward in a proud display. He usually oscillated between his roost outside Miya and Kai’s bedroom window and a small nook in the attic of the King of Spades, but he was always near—a feathered sentinel keeping vigil. Gavran belonged to the dreamscape, and he took a piece of it wherever he went—a living spirit given corporeal form.
“Let’s make this quick.” Miya had dabbled in her fair share of law-breaking after escaping Black Hollow with Kai five years ago. By then, he’d had a decade of practice in delinquency. Since the tender age of sixteen, Kai had survived off sheer wits and petty crime while Miya wilted in the comfort of a sterile middle-class home. Her absentee parents provided for her every material need; she never hungered or worried if her toes would freeze off in the middle of the night, though she was starved of affection and approval. Only when she gave up her privileges did she learn how difficult it was to put food in your belly and a roof over your head. Without Kai, she wouldn’t have made it, but she had no desire to go back to pickpocketing and pilfering beans from bottom shelves.
Ama gave a brusque nod. Without batting an eyelash, she tried the front door, but the knob only jiggled uselessly. As if feeling Miya’s judgmental stare, she shrugged. “What? You’d be surprised how often people leave their homes unlocked.”
Miya rolled her eyes. “I hope you brought something you can pick locks with.”
“Please.” Ama waved her off. “There are half a dozen windows we can try before resorting to pedestrian tactics.”
Pedestrian tactics , Miya mouthed to herself, blinking rapidly. A subtle dig at Kai, no doubt, though he would’ve just elbowed the sidelight, consequences be damned. She decided not to mention that part.
Ama circled the house, scrutinizing every window as Miya dangled several feet behind. “This one.” She pointed about seven feet up the side wall. They could fit, but it wouldn’t be comfortable.
“Why that one?” Miya moaned in protest.
“No mesh, and it doesn’t have a lock.” Ama turned to her taller companion. “I need you to open it.”
Gulping as her stomach flipped into her throat, Miya glanced up at the window. At five-foot-nine, she could easily reach it. “You should’ve worn higher heels.” It would’ve made up for the three-inch height difference between them, but Ama had chosen a modest pair of tan boots. Practical and stylish.
Ama’s laugh chimed like a bell. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can find a makeshift stool to step on.”
“And the stool would thank you for it.” Miya wrestled the window open; it was rusty, obviously not in much use. She gave the white wolf a dramatic bow. “You first. If you need a boost, I can?—”
Before Miya could finish, Ama jumped and grabbed the windowsill, hauled herself up with the power of an Olympic gymnast, and dove nimbly through the tight space. She landed on the floor without a sound, then called to Miya, “All clear. No dogs or alarms.”
Miya huffed, her shoulders bobbing. She tried mimicking Ama’s technique, though her ascent was anything but elegant. Her sneakers scraped the paneling as she pried her way up, her forearms hooking awkwardly over the windowsill like gangly mantis legs. Ama caught her wrists as she began to slip and lugged her inside. Miya hit the floor, her arrival announced by a graceless thud.
“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I was going to walk around front and unlock the door for you,” said Ama, hand perched on her hip.
Miya groaned as humiliation soaked in. “Let’s just pretend that was my workout.”
The white wolf’s pink lips quirked up. “I saw absolutely nothing .”
It wasn’t hard to find Caelan’s room. The door was labeled with a custom name plate and outfitted with a silver bell. Like many parents who lacked closure over their child’s disappearance, Lisbeth and Gabe kept the teen’s belongings untouched—everything in its rightful place. The bed was made but undisturbed, not a wrinkle in sight, the nightstand cluttered with paper, a jewelry box, and a lava lamp that remained plugged in. The mirror atop the oak dresser had collected a thin layer of dust, and a pair of Caelan’s jeans were left splayed over the backrest of her chair. An uneven stack of books lined one side of the desk, the rest overflowing from a small shelf tucked against the adjacent wall. Miya perused the titles, searching for patterns. Caelan seemed fond of folktales. Her little library wasn’t merely stacked with anthologies of old fables; she also collected research on the topic.
“What sort of object do you need?” asked Ama.
“The stronger the emotional attachment to it, the better,” Miya replied. “Since we have an array to choose from, I want to make sure I pick right.”
“Take your time,” said Ama, posting up by the door.
Miya did just that, sifting through the closet, the wardrobe, and the nightstand. Caelan had no shortage of belongings, but none of them struck her as particularly personal. She sat at Caelan’s desk, drumming her fingers along the top. It was plain but functional, a single drawer on either side. She tried to focus, but the entire space was submerged in Caelan’s fey energy. There was, without question, something otherworldly about the girl.
“Any luck?” Ama asked from the door.
“Still looking. It needs to be something with sentimental value—something she’d keep tucked away and out of sight,” Miya replied.
“What makes you so sure she has anything like that?”
Miya glanced over her shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. She sometimes wondered if Ama had been born a full-grown adult, sprung from some deity’s head like Athena. “She’s a teenager. Keeping secrets is a big part of claiming your autonomy when you’re young.”
“If you say so.”
Sighing, Miya opened the desk drawers. The one on the left slid smoothly against the runner, then stopped short. It was…shallow. Too shallow. Miya stood and took stock of the desk; it was at least two and a half feet deep, but the drawer didn’t pull out that far. The inside was disorganized, filled with random knickknacks: pens, sticky notes, paperclips, and a few stray keychains. Nothing of note. She slid her hand inside and scrabbled around, her knuckles scraping against a solid backing. Crouching, Miya wiggled the drawer loose and yanked it out, then placed it on the floor. She twisted to investigate the desk’s interior and found at least a foot of empty space in the back. Reaching into the hollow, her fingers brushed against the edges of a notebook, and she grinned, pulling it free. A red moleskin with bent corners. Many teens kept digital journals, but if Caelan’s parents had access to her phone, she might’ve opted for something more old school. As Miya thumbed through the pages, she saw that it was filled with handwritten entries. She slowed halfway through.
I keep telling Mom and Dad I need to find the door. If I do, maybe I can fix things. But she knows I’m trying to find it, so I can’t go back to the one I came through. She’s waiting for me there.
Caelan’s parents had mentioned the search for a door. A way back to where she came from, perhaps? The Great Elm was a door—likely the one Caelan had come through—and something was preventing her from returning to it. She was trying to find a different one, but what needed fixing? Who was she ?
“I’ve got what we need,” Miya said, stopping at the final sentences of the last entry.
She’s calling me. I can feel her pulling me closer, but I don’t want to go. I don’t want to answer. I don’t even want to think about her. But I don’t know how much longer I can resist. What happens when I give in? Will I become a monster?
Miya felt the cold hand of anxiety wrap around her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed, breathing through her diaphragm to calm her fluttering heart. Caelan’s words were more than just familiar; they were a sharpened spade, poised to excavate demons Miya thought long buried.
“What’s wrong?” Ama stepped into the room, sensing Miya’s distress.
She handed the journal to the white wolf. Eyes scanning the text, she frowned before shutting the moleskin and returning it to Miya. They exchanged a foreboding look.
“I don’t know what to think,” said Miya. “It’s…a little too close to home.”
Ama wove her arm around Miya’s and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Don’t fret. You’ll help this girl before anything goes awry.”
Would she? Miya knew all too well how frightening Caelan’s experience was. Before Miya knew she was the Dreamwalker, she’d felt the spirit’s presence—heard her calling much in the same way. She invaded Miya’s dreams, reeling her toward the forest until she’d wake up outside in the dead of night. Sleepwalking robbed her of rest. She was plagued by visions of the Dreamwalker, weeks of her life stained by the persistent drip of fear. She was to be kidnapped—spirited away by Black Hollow’s folkloric menace.
Yet it was Miya’s own soul from a former life, coaxing her to awaken. There’d been a part of her that wanted to be taken, and the Dreamwalker’s spirit had only been trying to return to its reincarnated body. But even if Caelan’s circumstances were similar, the entity calling to her wasn’t necessarily benevolent.
“I’ll want to take a closer look at this diary,” Miya said when the air in her lungs turned stale.
“Will it do for your dreamwalking plan?” asked Ama.
Miya nodded. “It’s perfect.”
A chill wound up Miya’s spine then—sudden and intrusive—like she was being watched. She locked eyes with Ama, whose lip curled into a sneer. Her snow-colored hair went static, her hackles raised.
On cue, Gavran’s warning cry shattered the stillness.
“Window,” Ama growled, and Miya pivoted to step out of view, darting to the nearest wall.
She peered out into the street. The neighborhood was empty save for a single figure loitering in the middle of the road. A tattered coat and muddy boots obscured his gangly body. His shoulders hunched forward, a droopy hat shielding his face.
It was the stranger who’d tasked her with finding Caelan Carver.
His head slowly twitched up, the rim of his hat lifting just enough to reveal dark deep-set eyes. They latched on to Miya like fishhooks, ensnaring her where she stood.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Miya hissed.
Ama gathered from context who they were dealing with. “Gavran missed him completely.” She sounded flabbergasted—a rarity for the white wolf. “He snuck up on us.”
She was right. Gavran had a clear view of the neighborhood, so unless the stranger had appeared out of thin air, there was a pig’s chance at flight their sentinel could’ve been so easily eluded.
“He’s definitely not human,” Miya muttered, fearful he could somehow hear them. She recalled the slip of paper he’d given her—the way it sprouted by her bedside, beckoning her to respond to his plea. Whatever he was, he had magic in him.
Why, then, did he need the Dreamwalker’s help to find a missing girl?
Unless that missing girl had wandered somewhere he couldn’t follow.
His head tilted to a harsh angle, and a car came into view, barreling toward him. Miya shifted her attention to the vehicle, though the stranger’s stare still seared her. Didn’t the driver see someone standing in the middle of the road? She snapped back to the stranger, who seemed oblivious to the incoming death-trap. Then, just as the car reached him, he glided back, seamlessly evading the danger. The car slowed, turning into the driveway.
The Carvers’ driveaway.
“Shit.” Ama grabbed Miya’s hand. “We need to go.”
Miya was limp as a ragdoll as she peered at the stranger, now safely on the other side of the road. He tipped his hat to her, a wooden smile cracking his thin lips.
From the nearby maple, Gavran pumped his wings and flew from the branch with a malcontented cry.