Once we were in, I had to stop and stare. The park looked…magnificent. Nightmare and dream colliding in the most wondrous way. Hulking rides, rusted and broken, creeping vines engulfing them. Snow had hidden most of the decay, every surface a pristine white that glittered in the sun.

Then the sun disappeared, as if in a blink, and two young women raced from behind a building. Long hair streamed behind them as they ran, holding hands and giggling. They were barefoot, and light dresses swirled about their legs, their skin glowing in the moonlight.

The girls raced across unbroken concrete toward a moonlit carousel and swung onto freshly painted horses. Then music sounded, sweet and pure and haunting, and the girls clapped and laughed as a young man appeared, clutching a bottle in one hand.

One of the girls swung off the horse, and he called something, teasing, as he waved the bottle. From this distance, I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it sounded like Gaelic.

A memory of fae past, reveling in the park at night, not unlike my own dream of riding the carousel and sneaking through the fun house and, yes, bringing a bottle of something that would make the adventure even more fun and, perhaps, sharing it with a handsome boy who’d make my night even more fun.

The scene flickered, and it was daytime again, Gabriel’s hand still gripping mine, face taut.

“Just a garden-variety vision of fae,” I said.

They’d have come late at night to take advantage of the empty amusement park. And then, after it closed permanently, and nature began her reclamation, they’d have come whenever they wanted. That was the allure of abandoned places. They are a reflection of fae themselves, pushed from their land by civilization, and then creeping back after the humans have left, retaking what was theirs. I feel the energy in these places and the wonder, too, the park a hundred times more beautiful in its decay than when I’d seen it as a child, gleaming and whole.

As Gabriel’s gaze crossed the ruins, he didn’t share my grin of excitement, but he watched—keenly watched—surveying the landscape, wary and intrigued.

“Where to?” I asked.

“I’m not the one with the psychic powers,” he said.

“Sure you are. You have a sixth sense for trouble.”

“Then I should hardly be the one who decides where we go.”

I grinned. “But looking for trouble is always more fun than avoiding it.”

“I believe trouble finds us quite easily enough.”

I looked down at Lloergan. “Your vote?”

She was gazing about with a look not unlike Gabriel’s. Wary yet intrigued. Like him, she gave no sign that she thought we should go—or not go—in any particular direction.

“All right, then,” I said.