“Oh, they’re not so bad.” She gazed out toward the awful trees, her eyes softening with something like affection, like she had a soft spot for them. “More misunderstood than anything.”

At my quizzical look, she stood, in a clean flourish of a movement like a single stroke of calligraphy dashed confidently onto canvas.

“Let me show you,” she said, holding out a hand. “It’ll be easier to understand if you’re with me.”

“I’m not sure how much more I need to understand about the Witch Woods, really,” I said, balking at the notion. “I feel like I got a plenty good sense of them on the way over here.”

“Just trust me, Harlow,” she insisted, in a satiny timbre I’d have been hard-pressed not to follow into one of the more moderately blistering circles of hell, much less just an eerie forest. “It’s worth it, I promise. And have I led you astray thus far?”

“Let’s be real, you haven’t had that many opportunities.”

She just watched me steadily, dark eyebrows raised. I hesitated for a moment longer, before deciding that, hey, at least I’d be plunging back into the woods more or less with one of the creatures that went bump in the night. Shit, that had to count for something.

When I laid my hand over hers, Talia tugged me up easily, leaving her fingers threaded through mine as we started toward the tree line. She paused by one of the tables to snag a hurricane lantern, with a freestanding flame that had been bespelled to glow an unearthly celadon green. Her skin was smooth and improbably warm against my own chilled palm, and the heat of it seemed to seep into my bloodstream. It made me think of what the rest of her might feel like, pressed hot against the rest of me, with nothing between us except the gossamer brush of peeled-back sheets.

When we stepped from the clearing’s light and back into the woods, any further sexy thoughts died a swift death. There was a new tension to the predatory hush; an attention larger and more ponderous, as if the forest’s own regard had fallen over us like an all-seeing shadow, or some yellowed Eye of Sauron strobing in our direction like a searchlight. As if to confirm my instincts, the rolling mist seemed to inch our way, and Talia’s garnet began to shed a warning glow.

“What’s happening?” I half squeaked, in higher-pitched tones than was probably cool, my skin bunching into goose bumps. “Dude, I do not like or appreciate this, I really, truly do not—”

“Try to stay calm, Harlow.” Her hand tightened reassuringly on mine. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . . the forest saying hello to me, let’s say. It can feel a little scary, but it’s just a greeting, that’s all.”

While I tried not to breathe like a hyperventilating rabbit—apparently I aligned much more closely with the Thorns than I’d thought, when it came to a strong preference for warm and sparkly breeds of magic—Talia led me over to a massive oak, its trunk knotted into such mournful burls that it looked like it was sprouting eyes just so it could weep.