A Clover and a Bee

Prior to this mishap, Lark only had one experience with teleportation—only one, as if it’s a common occurrence for more privileged folks. Still, that experience must have been formative: the spell she casts, while unintentional, is powerful enough that it transports her clear out of the village of Dewhurst and into the neighboring forest. In an instant, she finds herself in the center of a ring of mushrooms, her two unwitting passengers in tow.

The full moon is close enough that Nikolas’ transformation is quick. The haste is hardly warranted, though: the wight is slow moving, unbalanced, and possibly disoriented. Fenrir’s hand quivers as he points at it. “What is that?”  “I don’t know,” Sadie replies, “I think it’s a zombie or something.” “Fight?” Nikolas growls. He glances at Sadie for approval. “I’m not sure how,” she says, “like, is this a ‘must destroy the brain situation’ or what?” “Bite,” he snarls. “Let’s not? Just give me a minute to gather my senses, okay?” “Eat?” “No! Maker, what is wrong with you?”

It’s almost like highway hypnosis: Lark blinks, and becomes aware that she’s somewhere new. But instead of, say, finding herself inexplicably at home seemingly seconds after hanging up her apron at work, she finds herself in a dim tent, perched before a glowing orb. “What does it say to you?” Lark’s eyes widen. Across from her sits a woman, young and thin with a drawn face. Her clothes are brightly colored, but that doesn’t hide the rips and tears at the cuffs of her sleeves. “Umm…” Lark clears her throat. “Please, Demonina—is it an ill omen? I must know!” She shakes her head, an attempt to free herself from what must be a particularly strange dream. The woman inhales. “It is good, then? Perhaps about Milo?” Her eyes flutter, and she holds her hands up to her chest. Lark clears her throat and stares down at the orb in front of her. A crystal ball, she realizes. “Um, yes. It is. I see Milo—it’s hard to tell, but he seems to be…he’s kneeling. And he’s holding out...