Page 61 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Minutes later, my feet stepped once more upon red clay, Angel Oak rising before me in the periwinkle dusk. Briar guided me toward the tree.
“Don’t be scared.” He clasped my arm as we stopped by the branch nearest the largest hollow. “It’s just like walking through a door.”
I frowned at the door in question.
“It’s a small climb. You walk along this branch until you reach it.” He touched said branch, shook it. “It’s pretty solid.”
“Am I even going to fit?” The hollow was an oblong hole in the tree, half my size. How had those monstrous bogeybats slipped through it?
“It’s a magic portal. It’ll expand for you. Don’t worry.”
Yeah, okay.I wanted to roll my eyes.
“What do I do? Just touch the tree and head for the door?”
“Since the portal closes when you go through, the guards will pass first. But they’ll move quick—”
At first, I thought I imagined the distant clicking. Then I heard it again, closer, and the shouting started.
“Go, go, go, go, go!” one of the guards bellowed, drawing his sword from his hip.
Briar grabbed my hand and pressed it to the branch. I spasmed as Angel Oak’s life force surged through me—an electric shock to my core—then gasped when Briar vaulted himself onto the branch and yanked me up with him by my backpack straps. “Come on, Amy! Stay on your feet.”
My heart pounded as Briar dragged me along the ivied branch. My snow boots skidded along, slowing our progress as the clicking soared closer.
“Faster, Amy!” Briar yelled, shoving me in front of him.
Somehow, I came face to face with the hollow, nearly stumbling back as the large oak’s bark warped, becoming Amy-sized instantly. I didn’t even have time to marvel at it. A body shoved me through it, and I sucked in a long breath like I was swimming headlong into a tsunami.
Part Two
“Doubt thou the stars are fire.”
—Hamlet
William Shakespeare
Twelve
Sunlightcrackedthroughdewytree limbs when I awoke with a shake early the next morning, a damp hand clamping my screaming mouth. Panting with the adrenaline of a nightmare, I bleared up at Briar, who gritted his teeth. The forest of blooming dogwoods and mammoth oaks, which had serenaded us with phosphorescent nightingales and the pleasance of peepers over the night, was dead silent.
Seeing I’d awakened, Briar swore and rolled onto a cushion of spring-green moss, ruffling his hair. “Mother save us,” he muttered as I sat up, still trembling. “We’ve got to find a way to stop these nocturnal premonitions, or we’ll wind up dead.”
I stared at his profile, blinking. “Nocturnal premonitions? My night terrors, you mean?”
“They’re premonitions. Night terrors was the best medical explanation your father could find to mask the truth. He didn’t want you believing in magical powers. You’d have been tempted to use your gifts.”
If my night terrors are a gift, then I want to return them. “But—the therapists—”
“He thought they’d still be able to help you cope with your ability.” He shrugged. “Must’ve worked.”
Clutching Andy’s cloth body to my heart, I frowned. Ireallydidn’t want to think of the dark-cloaked figure from my dream as some inevitability in my future. “But—”
“They’re premonitions, Amy,” Briar cut me off, cranky from too little sleep. He’d stayed up all night, keeping watch for danger—and for any squadron survivors who might use his blood key to cross through Angel Oak. “Your mother had them. Her screams would wake me when we were faelets.”
I chewed on this remark, curious about how long he’d known my mother. And in what capacity. He’d said he was her closest friend, but—
After a silent stretch, Briar met my gaze. “What?”
