Page 8 of Red

“Every so often.” Jack snorted. “Suppose I should’ve killed him. Couldn’t bring myself to, though.”

I shivered.

Jack started toward the kitchen. “I made stew. It’ll heat you right up, Red.”

I started. “How did you know that name?”

He paused and looked back at me, head cocked. “What name?”

“Red.”

“Your name is Red?” He turned around to face me.

I shook my head. “It’s—it’s Devan Reddy. But everyone called me Red in school.”

“I had to call you something. And you had that scarf.” He nodded to the drying rack, where my red pashmina scarf hung, a bright streak of color in the dark cabin.

“Oh.” I took a deep breath. Clearly, I couldn’t handle one more uncanny thing today. Tonight. Whatever. “Right. My grandmother gave it to me.”

“It’s nice. Very soft. Never seen wool like it.”

“Pashmina,” I whispered, staring into the fire. “Kashmiri goats.”

“Huh.” And then Jack clomped off into the kitchen.

My shivers got farther apart as I sat baking before the fire; the couch helped the blanket insulate me, and though I still felt frozen in the middle, I began to really feel things beyond hot and cold again. The sensation of the soft wool and fur against my skin; the stickiness of sweat and fear; the softness of the cushion beneath my backside.

Jack returned with two polished wooden bowls and spoons. I let the fur fall into my lap and accepted one, and he sat carefully on the other end of the couch as I dug in. It was warm, yes, but also delicious—deep, savory flavors of mushrooms, bright pops of vegetables, green flecks of herbs. My appreciation for it almost made me wonder if I was high, the way each flavor fascinated me.

But no, reality was crashing in as sensation came back, and so I needed to know, “Where are we? What forest is this? When I passed out—got knocked out, whatever—I was outside Ferry Vale. When I woke, I was near a lake.”

Jack nodded and chewed thoughtfully, then dragged the back of his sleeve over his mouth before replying. “We’re not in a place, not like you’d think of it, exactly. Ferry Vale itself is, but these lands, all the lands around it, exist… somewhere else. Ferry Vale just has the portals. And the magic.”

“You keep talking about portals. And magic.” And it was making me dizzy.

“You must’ve noticed.” He shot me a sideways look.

I flushed. “I’m not stupid.”

“No. But you’re used to…” He planted his spoon in his bowl and used the free hand to wave. “Out there. Not here. Things are different, here.”

This was getting me nowhere. I huffed out a sigh, then tried to shake it off. “Fine. What do you know about out there?”

He stared into his bowl for a long moment, jaw twitching. Then shook his head. “I don’t like to remember.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to say something awful. He was obviously trying his best to help me, or I’d be dead already. Eaten—or whatever. But he was unhinged too, just in a less violent way than Wulfric, clearly.

“Jack,” I said.

He glanced at me again.

“This is important. Where is Ferry Vale?”

“There’s a portal in the forest. I can take you, once you feel up to it.”

Right, yeah. Portal. Obviously. “So it’s near?”

He nodded.