I don’t have time to react or to try and figure out what the hell she’s talking about. I’m just flying forward toward the middle of the clearing, a shouted objection barely leaving my lips, and then the next thing I know, a crack of power slams into me. Heat and hurt shove all thoughts of anything else away, and I go flying back from the pulse of energy that just exploded all around and through me. I’m thrown against something hard, and I lose time for a moment as my body falls to the frozen ground in a battered heap.
I groan as pain bounces around my body and try to lift my head from the snow-covered ground.
Snow?
I start to shiver like the word itself reminded my body of how it’s supposed to react to the cold. I push up and notice I’m in the same clearing, but it’s covered in a white blanket of fresh powder. My thoughts feel foggy, like I can’t make sense of why there’s suddenly snow here.
“Cree?” I call out, confused. “What the fuck was that?” I ask as I push to my feet slowly.
Ow.
I rub the back of my neck and turn to look for the bitch leader of the Ouphe-mixed gryphons, but instead of finding Cree, I spot part of my motorcycle half hidden in a pile of snow and still parked in the same place I left it.
And then it hits me.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” I scream as I scramble to my feet. I charge through the clearing, waiting for the telltale staticky feeling and the blast of power, but nothing happens.
Panic floods me, and I look around, trying to figure out what the fuck to do.
“Cree!” I call out, my voice breaking and my heart slowly shattering as understanding dawns on me. “Cree, you fucking bitch, bring me back right now!” I order.
But the only thing that answers is the wind as it picks up some snow and forces it to dance around the clearing.
This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming, and this is just a nightmare.
“Pigeon, wake us up,” I beg, and I feel her stir inside of me, waking up and trying to figure out what’s going on. “She sent us back, Pidge. I don’t know how to get back,” I admit, and Pigeon wakes the fuck up and fills me with fury.
“Wekun!” I scream. “Wekun, help!” I try to picture him and slip to wherever he is, but it doesn’t work. Then I try Zeph, Treno, and Ryn, but when I open my eyes, I’m still sitting in the freezing snow in the middle of the wrong world.
Tears start to drip down my face. And I scream, my lament ripping out of my heart and soul. How could this happen? After everything I’ve been through, after everything I did to find my place, for it to all just end up like this? I shake my head, refusing to accept my circumstances.
“NO! I am not going to be fucked over by fate like this!” I shout at the wind, my enraged and tormented voice bouncing off the bare tree trunks and hopping around the clearing like destiny itself is taunting me.
“I’m going to rip your fucking head off when I get back, Cree. And I will get back!” I bellow, purple magic streaking over my arms and punctuating my fury. Pigeon wails and rages inside of me, and I let her out in hopes that maybe she can trigger the gate somehow. We storm around the clearing as though if we just look hard enough, we can find the way back in. But we can’t.
Pigeon rips apart the stone house, chucking the roof into the trees and pulverizing the walls until the last of her energy is spent. We keen together and cling to one another as loss and desolation make us their bitch. I wanted so badly for so long to find the gate and make it back here. But I had let it go, I was finding my place, and my mates…
Agony rips me open, and I crumble in on myself. They’ll think I abandoned them or that something happened to me. How long will they look? Will they know what happened? Where I am? Pigeon flashes me Wekun’s face, and I nod and take a deep breath.
“You’re right. Wekun can see us. He watches my Sept, he said so himself. He’ll realize what happened and bring us back. It’ll be okay,” I reassure the both of us.
So we sit down in the snow, and we wait. He’ll come. We just have to wait.
25
“No, it’s called Tierit. T-i-e-r-i-t,” I spell out, as I flip the sign on the front of the door from Open to Closed.
“Ma’am, we’ve looked, but we aren’t finding a city or a town anywhere in Canada by that name,” the secretary for the new private investigator I’m thinking of hiring tells me on the other end of the phone.
“I know you don’t see it on Google Maps or any other GPS, that’s why I want to hire your company so you can look for it,” I explain for the seven millionth time since I started hiring PIs to help me.
I walk back over to my front desk and cross the name of this firm off of my list. If they can’t figure out what I even want to hire them for, they aren’t the right fit in the first place.
It’s been three months.
Three months since I unfolded my snow-dusted, frozen limbs from the middle of a clearing in nowhere Alberta, Canada, and slipped back to the small town I thought I’d never see again in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.
Three long, agonizing, heart-wrenching months. Months filled with days sitting in a freezing clearing. Waiting. And then having to accept that Wekun wasn’t coming. Months filled with hours where I ripped my gran’s house to shreds, looking for clues.
