The trees are quieter than I remember, and my scuffed boots thunder as they hit the forest floor. The shadows are deep as wells. It’s a relief to reach the edge of the valley and see Boomer down below, lapping water from the stream.

I make my way into the glade, under the shelter of the sycamore tree, and then settle myself on Throne Rock.

It feels so strange to be here without Gram. Without anyone.

When I was here the other day, I was so sure that if I had looked up, I would see the charmed folk like I used to. But now the glade is empty, and I can’t remember the last time I saw them. Like really saw them. When did they slip away? How did it happen without me even noticing?

“Hello?” I call softly. “Is anyone there?”

But no matter how long I sit there, no matter how quiet I am (Gram always told me that the charmed folk are terrified of loud noises), no one comes. Not a single fairy flitting over my head or a gnome out collecting acorns. Not even a plain old robin. They are nowhere to be found.

On that very first day Gram took me here, she told me that the charmed folk used to be everywhere.

She sat down in a patch of jade grass by the edge of the stream, and the sun coming through the sycamore branches made it look like she was sitting in a tiny field of golden flowers. I sat opposite her, clasping the book I had just found inside the sycamore hollow.

“But that was a long time ago,” Gram explained, “back in Ireland and England and Germany, before the time when people decided they were afraid of magic.”

“Why were they afraid?” I asked.

“People are always afraid of things they don’t understand, darlin’,” said Gram. “Being afraid is easy. It’s understanding that takes work.”

“So what happened?” I asked, from my place beside her. “What did the people do?”

“They hunted the charmed folk,” Gram said, eyes narrowing to a knife’s edge. “They hunted them almost into extinction. They chopped down the trees of the old-growth forests so the charmed folk would have nowhere to hide. So the poor creatures came here as stowaways on passenger ships. They hid in steamer trunks and hat boxes. They came hoping for forests deep enough to hide them. Old forests, like this one, with enough tree magic to protect them.”

I considered this. It did seem to make sense that if there were such a thing as the charmed folk, they would live here in Lanternwood, a place that seems forgotten by time.

“If they’re all in hiding, how do you know they’re here?” I asked.