Page 63 of The Other Side

“I don’t know.” Drum frowned. “As if something’s pulling.”

“It’s a tear in the Veil. I feel it too.”

It wasn’t a tug on Drum’s body. It was deeper than that. Like a thread tied somewhere inside him had suddenly gone taut.

“Look around. See if anything is familiar,” Osian said.

“From twenty years ago?”

“You are still Fae. The memory is there.”

Drum wasn’t so sure, but he carried on along the path and Osian went with him.

“Hawthorn and oak,” Osian murmured.

Drum followed his gaze and saw two trees entwined. The sun went behind a cloud, the shadows changed and the path they were on divided, one route winding around the embracing trees, the other following the river. The air shimmered in front of the trees.

Drum turned to look at Osian. “This way.”

As he headed for the trees, the pull inside him intensified. They were somewhere different now, walking on an ancient, sunken path where the branches of the trees either side were woven together overhead to form a green tunnel. Osian’s grip on his hand tightened.

They emerged to find themselves facing another meadow, this one overgrown with waist-high grass and long-stalked flowers. In the distance stood a pale stone house with a slate roof. Ivy climbed the walls. Moss dotted the roof. Several windows stared back, dark and unblinking. They walked towards it.

Drum stopped. “I know this place.”

Osian looked at him. “You’ve been here?”

Drum shook his head slowly. “I remember it.”

The front door stood half open. Something moved inside and a man stepped onto the porch, a dog at his side.

Chapter Eleven

Osian knew they were back in Faeryland, but he hadn’t expected the crossing to be so effortless. He’d assumed all gates fought a little like the one he used. He couldn’t identify this place.

“Oh God, look who it is,” Drum said.

Osian’s eyes widened as he recognised Matthew Green, the missing PCSO. He was still wearing his uniform, though he looked a little dishevelled. As they drew closer, the man smiled and walked forward to meet them, the dog at his side.

“Hello,” he said and held out his hand.

“Hello, Matthew,” Drum said.

“My name’s Matthew?” He pressed a hand to his forehead.

Recognition flickered across his face, chased by confusion, then grief, each expression dissolving before it could fully settle. He looked at them helplessly. “I can’t quite remember.”

“You’re Matthew Green,” Drum told him.

“Yes! Matthew. You’re wearing the same clothes as me.”

“I’m a PCSO, like you.”

“PCSO! Of course. I thought you were the ones bringing me food. I’ve never seen anyone.”

“Is this your dog?” Drum bent to scratch the little dog’s head.

“His collar says his name is Indie. There’s a phone number but my phone’s out of power.”