Otherworldly, p.1
Otherworldly, page 1
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FOR THOSE READY TO HEAL AND THOSE STILL IN PAIN, MAY YOU FIND COMFORT & LOVE
Prologue ARABELLE
IN THE MIDDLE OF A collection of cornfields, in the middle of the country, in the middle of nowhere, a weathered wooden post marked the intersection of two roads.
The main road was a stretch of brown pea gravel rolled into a layer of asphalt that connected two nearby small towns. The other linked a row of family-owned farms. Few people besides the locals traveled them, as there was nothing for tourists to see except cornstalks in the summer and flat fields in the winter.
Atop the post sat two crooked, battered planks. The lettering that denoted the route numbers had faded with age, the paint blanched with time and rain and sun. Below them, a piece of plyboard nailed to the post held a single cautionary phrase, scrawled in dripping red:
BEWARE OF BARGAINS MADE HERE.
Arabelle scoffed at the warning as she eased her car over to the shoulder, threw it into park, and slid from the heated interior into the chill. She pulled the beanie she wore down to cover her ears, strands of her graying hair poking out beneath. She blew into her hands to warm her fingers as she stared at the sign. A towering oak with thick branches stood a few feet away, blocking the weak warmth of the afternoon sun. As she approached, her skin prickled at the potent, shimmering power that emanated from this crossroads. The average person who visited would be unable to feel it, but she was far from average, and she shivered in anticipation.
Arabelle had traveled from the city to this sacred place and spent the morning lost along snaking back roads until she’d finally found the correct location. Residents of the neighboring towns were reticent to share information, but she’d managed to piece together the clues all the same. The bloodied warning merely confirmed that she’d found the spot she’d been searching for, and she wouldn’t be deterred from her purpose by an old strip of wood. Not after she’d made a promise to herself to seek knowledge and ability. Not after she’d been laughed at by members of her local circle, who were more interested in burning incense and selling essential oils than seeking real power. Arabelle would show them, when all was said and done. They’d bow in awe and respect when she returned with her boon.
Despite the sign, the intersection was well kept, and it appeared, by the recent offerings strewn across the base of the sign—a bouquet of witch hazel, a pyramid of figs, a wooden figurine in the shape of a dog, and votives with fire-blackened wicks—that some residents of the region still respected the chthonic goddess. She was connected to the harvest, after all, and it would be unwise to anger her lest it affect next year’s crops.
Arabelle smiled to herself. Ah, the dichotomy of humans. Be wary but entreat anyway. Maintain a holy place but keep it secret. She understood why there wasn’t an altar or a shelter there. A crossroads was not meant to be a final destination but a place between one point and the next. A liminal space where the barrier between worlds was thinnest. A perfect location from which to beseech the gods. A dangerous place, if the sign was to be believed.
No matter. She’d found it despite the vague hints on the internet and the unhelpful and wary attendant at the gas station a few miles back, who’d tried to caution her away. Flipping open a compact, she slid her sunglasses off, dropping them into the large canvas bag at her shoulder, and refreshed her makeup. She straightened her blouse beneath her wool coat, smoothing out the wrinkles and brushing off the snack crumbs from the long drive. She was glad she had worn leggings beneath her skirt, as the hem whipped around her ankles from a sudden bitter breeze that marked the impending winter.
She’d never quite done anything like this before. Of course she’d known of gods and goddesses all her life, of the three central deities—the god of the sky, the goddess of the seas, and the goddess of the dead. Per the myths, the realm of the earth was neutral ground between them—the space of humans—but the gods’ children and their creations flitted in and out of the human world as they pleased. She’d prayed and made offerings before.
But this was her first time approaching a goddess with a request.
She cleared her throat and stepped to the center of the path, her boots leaving indentations in the stiff mud.
“Revered goddess,” she called in a loud, clear voice. “I wish to make a bargain.” From her bag she removed a jar of wine infused with honey, sprigs of fresh mint, and a pomegranate from the local supermarket that was overripe, the best she could do at the cusp of winter. She placed them at the other side of the intersection under the sign, then stepped back and waited.
Minutes ticked past. Another gust of wind ruffled her hair and clothes. Clouds laden with snow gathered overhead, obscuring the landscape in shadow for a moment before the sun peeked through again. She waited. And waited. Anxiety roiled in her gut. Another cloud rolled through, pitching the area in a darkness so deep that the shadows cast by the tree melted into it. Instead of drifting onward, the cloud miraculously stalled in place. Thunder sounded overhead, an anomaly for the time of year, and a frisson of fear and excitement ran through Arabelle. A slight drizzle began to fall, and the patter of sleet against the corn stover filled the air with a soft hum.
The color of the sky deepened further, as if it were suddenly dusk, and shadows grew and lengthened all around her. They slithered and writhed, distorted and feverish, then glided toward her offering. A swell of darkness rose and broke over the items like a wave washing over a sandcastle on the shore. When the clump of shade retreated, the gifts were gone.
Arabelle bit back a gasp as three wavering shapes broke away from the swirling mass, moved to the post opposite her, and slowly rose into vertical amorphous silhouettes. The churning shadows shuddered and coalesced into a semisolid form and, with a ripping noise, broke apart into three hooded bodies, faceless save for bright red eyes that glowed like embers. The wind didn’t rustle their robes, and the sleet passed through them. They stared at her, unblinking and unmoving. The road lay between her and the frightening trio. If she wanted, she could’ve jumped back into her car and driven off, run away from the terrifying sight in front of her. She didn’t want to.
“What are you?” Arabelle asked, taking a step forward so that she stood on the asphalt, breaking away from the safety of her vehicle. The fraction of timidity she possessed had fled, and she felt bold, empowered in the face of the true supernatural. “You’re not the goddess.”
“We are her servants,” the middle one answered, their voice a rusty creak.
The one on the left continued. “We are shades from her realm.”
“We represent the goddess,” the one on the right finished.
Their voices slid from one syllable to the next as if they were one entity instead of three.
She swallowed, then clenched her jaw. “I want to speak with her and her alone.”
“It is the day. She does not have dominion over the light.”
“She is busy nonetheless.”
“Preparing for the sleep of winter.”
Arabelle crossed her arms. “Then I’ll wait for moonrise.”
“We will not. You will have to call again.”
“With another offering.”
“And we might not deign to appear.”
They turned as if to sink back into the shadows and the earth.
No! She’d come all this way. She didn’t have another offering. And now that she’d seen them, felt the presence of the otherworldly, she couldn’t lose that. She wouldn’t throw away her chance.
“Wait! No, wait, please.”
They turned eerily as one. “You will speak with us now, human?”
“We have dealt with your kind before.”
“We will strike a bargain on the goddess’s behalf.”
She stuck out her chin. “I’m not certain you are able. I’m not here for political prowess or fame and riches. I’m here for something greater.”
They fluttered, shaking and hissing among themselves. “Speak what you want.”
She released a long, slow breath. “I want power over death. I want immortality.”
Their shaking increased as if they laughed, the ruffling of their robes sounding like the crunch of dead leaves underfoot.
“That is our queen’s domain.”
“We cannot grant that.”
“She would not allow it.”
“Why not?” Arabelle demanded.
“Immortality is for the gods alone.”
“You are not a goddess.”
“You are a human. You cannot escape death.”
Arabelle chewed her bottom lip. She straightened her shoulders. “Fine. I want knowledge. I want magical knowledge regarding the power of life. Life is not your queen’s domain. And it wouldn’t be escaping death, just putting it off for as long as I want. Until it’s time for me to choose.”
The shades stilled. The tallest one slowly tilted their head as if thinking. They exchanged a glance among themselves, bent their heads together, and whispered fiercely.
After a moment, they turned back to Arabelle. “We do not have the ability to grant you this power .”
“We are shades. We have no knowledge of life.”
The tallest raised a slender finger of wispy fog. “But we will give you someone who can assist.”
“He is our queen’s creation and is liminal in nature.”
“Both of our world and of yours.”
“He is powerful. Use his magic to create what you want.”
Arabelle raised her eyebrow. “You’re giving me a familiar?”
They nodded. The one on the end pinched their fingers and pulled out a rolled scroll and a quill from midair. With a flick of their wrist, the parchment unfurled. A contract. Words in a language she didn’t know spilled down the page in black ink.
Arabelle paused and narrowed her eyes. This was too easy. She’d expected her gifts to open the gateway and allow her to make her request. She’d expected the goddess to respond with a task, something that would appear impossible, but that Arabelle would attempt anyway. She was not expecting dodgy shades. They had a plan, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a conspirator. “A familiar in exchange for honey wine and mint and a deflated pomegranate?”
The shades laughed. The sound slipped down her spine, an eerie caress.
“A familiar and the knowledge of life,” the tallest one said.
“In exchange for your soul.”
“When the time comes.”
She gulped. “Don’t all souls come to your queen anyway?”
The shades shook in amusement. “All souls pass through our realm.”
“Not all stay.”
“But yours would stay with us forever.”
Arabelle licked her lips. She took the hovering quill in her hand. The cold of it burned her skin. “What happens to the souls that pass through? Where do they go?”
“That is knowledge of death,” the shades admonished in unison.
Arabelle squinted at the parchment. The words remained indiscernible, though she understood the basics. Her soul for a familiar who had the power to assist her in her quest for the knowledge of life. It wasn’t quite what she’d expected or wanted. But a familiar would be a useful aid, especially one with magic. It was more than anyone else in the circle possessed. And an eternity in the realm of the goddess was a small price to pay, even if she’d never know what lay beyond. That was a problem for future Arabelle. Far in the future, if she accomplished what she wanted. She pushed the tip of the quill against the parchment and signed her name.
The scroll and quill disappeared in a puff a smoke.
The shades quivered. They moved as one, whispering to themselves as they slid across the landscape to the tree. The tallest reached out with a hazy hand and tapped against the wide, solid trunk. A light glowed from within, illuminating the edges of a door in the bark.
Arabelle’s heart raced. Her familiar. Would it be a sarcastic cat? A wise owl? Hopefully not a goat, which would be hard to explain to her landlord. A raven, perhaps? That would be badass. She’d love to see the faces of the circle when she arrived at the next meeting with a large talking bird perched on her shoulder.
The door swung outward.
The shades laughed, a grating sound like corroded hinges that raised the hair on her arms.
A figure stumbled out. A figure in the shape of a boy. A teenage boy wearing jeans, thick-heeled boots, and flannel thrown over a T-shirt with an outdated saying. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine from the ’90s, and Arabelle gaped as he brushed off the bark and bracken that clung to him. The door in the tree trunk slammed shut behind him, merging back into the wood.
He ran a hand through his shaggy raven-black hair and looked up at her, his eyes a flash of gold, the color of the sun beaming through autumn leaves. He raised his hand and waved, his smile wide and bright in his pale, narrow face.
“Hi,” he called. “I’m Knox.”
“What?” she said on a breath.
“I’m your familiar.”
Arabelle’s stomach dropped. “Well, shit.”
“He is yours to command,” the tallest shade said.
“He must listen to you.”
“And cannot disobey.”
She placed her hands on her hips and frowned at the shades, who slunk back to the signpost, blurring at the edges, as if moments away from retreating into the earth. “A teenage boy? Really?”
Knox held up a finger. “First, I’m thousands of years old,” he said. “Kind of. It’s complicated. But in human-realm time, I’m ancient. Second, I’m a familiar.” He shrugged and rocked back on his heels. “And as you can see, a much more palatable creation to humans than those creepy creatures.” He winked.
The shades made a growling noise in protest, a low, disconcerting rumble. Knox smiled sweetly at them, then wiggled his fingers in a mocking wave.
Anxiety knotted in Arabelle’s chest along with the slightest hint of regret, though she couldn’t do anything about it now. She’d struck the bargain. While future Arabelle would have to deal with the shades again later, current Arabelle had a familiar in the shape of a teenager on her hands.
“We’ll take our leave.” The shades had congealed back into one large formless mass. “Good luck, witch. We look forward to seeing you again when the terms are met.”
Arabelle shuddered as the shades melted into the shadows. Once they disappeared, a shock of magic rippled over the crossroads; the clouds parted overhead, and the sinking afternoon sun bathed the area in watery light once more.
“What was that blast of magic?” She hugged herself to quell the goosebumps blooming beneath her clothes.
Knox stared at the crossroads. “I don’t know. That was weird.” He frowned, then shrugged, shaking off whatever concern had made him pause. He kicked a pebble as he sauntered toward Arabelle’s car, all confidence and preternatural grace.
“So,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Last time I was up here was decades ago. What’s happened since? I have so many questions. Because it’s been a while, but also, I don’t remember much. A few basic things seem to stick, but memories tend to fade in the Other World. Like, I don’t remember my last boss at all. Wiped as soon as I crossed the threshold back over. So, like, if you ever feel embarrassed by something you do around me, don’t be. I’ll forget it the moment I go back.”
“Other World?” Arabelle asked.
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his deep pockets. “The realm of my queen.”
Arabelle took a steadying breath. “Get in the car, Knox. We have a lot of work to do.”
“No problem, Boss.”
She slid into the driver’s seat and massaged her temples. “And be quiet. I need to think.”
Knox mimed zipping his lips.
“Shit,” Arabelle said again as she started the car. “Okay. It’s okay. This shouldn’t take long. He’ll be with me for a few months, tops. And then poof, back to the… Other World. It’ll be okay.” She cast a glance at Knox, who smiled as he clicked his seat belt on. She grimaced and gripped the steering wheel. “It’ll be fine. I’ll accomplish my goal and he’ll go back. Everything will be okay.”
1 ELLERY
ELLERY EVANS CURSED AS THEY hauled another plastic tub of dirty dishes across the metal counter toward the deep kitchen sink.
Sweat gathered at their temples as they sank their hands in the steaming hot water, transferring the dishes into the basin to soak. The kitchen of the small diner was stifling. From the heat and sizzle of the stove, and the steam rising from the seams of Ellery’s closest coworker, Hobart the industrial dishwasher, the room felt more like a tropical island than a restaurant. It was funny, in a way, that Ellery could grumble about the heat despite living in Solis City, a city renowned for the endless winter that had plagued them for the past five years, a weird weather phenomenon that no one could explain.
According to the calendar, it was supposed to be the middle of summer, but when Ellery biked to the diner that morning, wrapped up in their heaviest coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, it had been snowing. But that had been life for all of Ellery’s teenage years. It was as if the seasons had just decided not to change one winter, and the warm wet of spring had never come. And without spring, there was no blazing heat of summer, and certainly no harvest in autumn. That was the way it had been for the last half-decade. And while there were scientists who had researched and tried to explain the situation—everything from climate change to the movements of the poles to changes in the ocean currents—no one quite understood what had happened, or why it had happened to this one particular region. Which also meant no one had any viable solutions.
