Tread lightly now, don't wander too near,
Can't you feel that shimmer of fear?
The toadstools dance when no one's around,
Step once inside, and you won't be found.
I flung the battered notebook onto my desk like it had personally offended me. Which, honestly, it kind of had. The poor thing hit the edge and flopped over in dramatic defeat.
"Why do I always think ending the school year with poetry is a good idea?"
The walls didn't answer. Probably because they'd heard the same rhetorical whining every May for the last eight years.
But seriously, these kids were not Poe. They weren't even Poe's awkward emo cousin who once read a BuzzFeed article about similes. Barrett-Browning? Please. Most of them thought that was a brand of granola bar. I'd have settled for a single coherent metaphor or one brave attempt at slant rhyme that didn't include the word yeet.
My students, bless them, had vanished into the summer haze. Gone. Free. Probably halfway through a TikTok challenge about setting grapes on fire.
And here I was, knee-deep in papers, staring down the barrel of a Friday night filled with an echoing house and pity soup. You know the kind. The fresh-frozen stuff that labels itself as hearty.
I slumped forward and let my head thunk onto the desk. Paper fluttered. My hair caught on a rogue binder clip. I ignored both.
If this was adulthood, I wanted a refund.
"Nora Maren, I knew you'd still be here."
The voice floated in, all sunshine and sass, before the woman herself appeared in the doorway. "Kelsey's having a baby shower in the teacher's lounge. Let's blow this popsicle stand before someone makes us guess the flavor of diaper pudding."
I flinched.
My head rose slowly. There she was, June-Lee Timms. My best friend, my partner-in-educational-crime, and hands-down the coolest science teacher this side of Bill Nye.
She leaned against the frame with one eyebrow arched and a familiar gleam in her eye. The one that meant I know you, and I'm not above dragging you out of here by your ponytail if it keeps you from spiraling into a pit of despair.
I knew exactly what she was doing.
Kelsey's baby shower was a trap. There'd be balloon garlands and tiny socks and ultrasound pictures passed around like trading cards. Someone would eventually ask when it would be my turn, and someone else would make the mistake of looking at me with pity.
And I couldn't. Not today.
Not when my body still remembered the ache of hope. Not when I'd just tossed another negative test into the trash six months ago with hands that shook and a mouth that didn't know whether to cry or scream.
Not when the dust hadn't even settled on my divorce papers.
My heart should've been wrapped in its emotional Kevlar. But I left that bitch at home, hanging next to my good bra and all my coping mechanisms.
June just waited, like always, with the infinite patience of someone who knew the terrain of my pain and had memorized the detour routes.
So I stood up, wiped invisible dust off my skirt, and tried to smile.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I cleared my throat. "But only if you promise to force-feed me nachos."
She grinned. "Deal. Half-price margs at Enrique's then."
---***---
"I'm just saying we should do it!" Marion stabbed her fork into a grilled zucchini. "I'm not getting any younger, babes. The Appalachian Trail is calling my name like a shirtless Hemsworth."
The rest of us blinked. Lyra snorted into her margarita. And I, well... I blinked again, because the imagery was alarmingly effective.
We were four deep in a corner booth at Enrique's, squished hip-to-hip like sardines. The table was a chaos of half-eaten enchiladas, free chip baskets, and enough salsa spills to justify crime scene tape.
Marion and Lyra had materialized beside us as we tried to sneak out the back of the school, avoiding the baby shower. They knew. Of course they knew. My girls weren't the kind to let me slink off into solitude. That's not what the Broad Squad did.
Our friendship had been forged in the hellfire of fluorescent-lit classrooms. Hardened by cafeteria duty and after-hours IEP meetings that always ran long. You didn't survive that kind of battlefield without choosing your army carefully.
Lyra, our sweet-smiled potty-mouthed art teacher, flicked a lime wedge off her plate and raised an eyebrow. "You realize the trail is, like, two thousand miles of dirt and bugs, right? It's not a spa weekend."
Marion rolled her eyes. "I don't want a spa weekend. I want transformation. I want an awakening."
"You want a twisted ankle and to be eaten by a black bear named Jimmy. Just admit it." I shook my head.
That earned a full cackle from Lyra, while June-Lee leaned forward. "There's a retreat near a southern trailhead that does forest therapy and guided hikes."
We all stared at her.
"Don't look at me like that. I googled it during my third period meltdown last week."
Marion clapped. "See?! It's a sign."
It probably wasn't. It was probably a desperate grab at control. But looking around that booth at the women who'd walked me through every painful inch of the last year, I felt the smallest spark of maybe.
Maybe dirt and trees was exactly what we needed.
Or maybe it'd be the disaster of the century.
"I mean, why the hell not?"
---***---
"Why the hell is it so hot?!" I gasped, dropping my pack. My spine snapped into a forward fold as I braced my hands on my knees and contemplated just lying down and letting the forest consume me. At least then I wouldn't have to keep pretending this was fun.
"Because someone," Lyra shot a death glare back down the path from the dirt, her entire body starfished beside my bag, "thought it would be a grand idea to pick up the trail in Georgia. In July. I'm not built for this. Get me back to Ohio, stat."
Marion clomped up the trail behind us, zero percent phased by all the sweat. "Quit your bellyaching. It's not that hot. I'm menopausal. If I'm not dying, y'all can suck it up."
"You're also built like a goddamn popsicle stick," I wheezed. "Pardon my PCOS, but some of us are trekking through Mordor with thighs that could start forest fires from the chafing alone."
Right on cue, June-Lee bounded up the trail behind us with the pure, sparkling joy of a Disney princess high on vitamin D and kombucha. She was skipping. SKIPPING.
"It's so pretty here!" She beamed, sunlight bouncing off her cheekbones. "So green and warm and alive!"
Lyra didn't even lift her head. "Great. Someone let Rapunzel out of her tower. We'll never get her back in. I'm sweaty. I'm sore. I'm pretty sure I'm dying." She slapped a hand over her heart and flopped back down like the dramatic woodland corpse she was trying to become.
June's smile only widened. The girl was a menace. "We're only five miles away! The retreat's just ahead!"
Lyra peeled herself off the dirt like a pancake stuck to a nonstick pan that was definitely not nonstick. "You failed to mention," her words were soaked in betrayal, "that we had to hike eight miles through tick-infested, snake-prone, poison ivy laced countryside to even reach the damn retreat."
"It's just a little walk," June chirped.
"Pretty sure it's over my step limit for the year."
Marion held up a hand. "Girls."
We all shut up instantly. Teacher Voice: activated.
Her tone dropped, sharp and cold. "Lyra. Get up. Now."
Lyra froze mid-eye roll. "Oh shit, is it a copperhead? Don't tell me it's a copperhead. I knew this place had murder noodles."
"No," Marion replied, low and serious. "You're standing in a Fey ring."
I blinked. "A what-now?"
Sure enough, a near-perfect circle of mushrooms ringed the ground where Lyra and I were. They were squat and pale, caps dappled like something out of a haunted botanical guidebook. How had I not noticed?
"You've gotta be kidding me," I muttered.
"Oh, come on," June strolled over. "I used to dance in these all the time when I was a kid. Never got snatched. Not even once. Although…" She cast me a sideways grin. "If I were a handsome Faerie Prince looking to abduct a mortal? I'd definitely grab Nora. Girl's got an ass the gods would put on altars."
I snorted and shoved her with my foot. "Appreciate the worship, but can we focus on the potential magical abduction?"
"It's not a joke," Marion snapped. Her silver-streaked hair blew across her face, eyes narrowed. "You do not screw around with these things."
"Okay, but it's also not the Middle Ages," Lyra was completely unfazed as she stretched her legs out in the mushroom ring like a sacrificial offering. "We've got vaccines now. And feminism. Pretty sure we're safe from sparkly kidnappers."
We all burst out laughing. Tension broken. Sass restored. It was exactly the kind of unhinged moment we needed after nearly dying of heatstroke.
Until the light changed.
It was subtle at first. The sun dimmed. Not set, just dimmed. The air stilled. No breeze. No rustling. The buzzing of insects that had been a constant backdrop… just vanished.
A chill dragged icy fingers down my spine.
I turned around and froze.
Everything was off. Too green. Too still. Too bright, but not in a normal sunny way. More like everything had been dipped in glitter.
"What the—"
The ring of mushrooms beneath us pulsed.
I felt it. Through my boots. In my ribs. Something ancient and wrong, humming up from the ground.
Lyra opened her mouth to say something—probably another smartass comment—but then the world broke.
There's no real way to describe it. One second we were standing in the woods, sweating and complaining. The next, gravity turned traitor and dragged me under.
I didn't fall so much as get sucked. Like Charybdis decided the ocean wasn't good enough and made the forest floor her home.
Light exploded around me—gold, violet, emerald—and my stomach did a flip that would've impressed Olympic judges. June shrieked. Marion yelled something. Lyra reached for me…
And then they were gone.
Gone.
Like smoke in wind.
I slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle my bones. My breath vanished. My brain scrambled to catch up. All I could do was lay there, staring up at a sky that didn't belong anywhere on Earth.
It shimmered.
Not blue. Not even close.
It was opal. Layers of pearl, lilac, and rose gold shifting with every blink.
I sat up, gasping, and immediately regretted it. My everything hurt. My thighs were killing me. My palms were scraped raw. And I was very much alone.
Panic hit me like a freight train.
My friends were gone. My pack was gone. I didn't know where I was, and the forest around me was strange. It was wild. Alive in a way I couldn't understand.
This place hummed.
I pushed to my feet, groaning and unsteady. My hands shook as I peered around the clearing. "Lyra?" My voice cracked. "June? Marion?"
Silence.
The wind shifted, pushing against me, and I swear to God it answered.
Not words, not sound, but a feeling at the base of my spine and in my temples.
Welcome.
Nope. Nope-nope-nope.
I backed up fast, tripping over a gnarled root and catching myself on the trunk of a glowing tree. Glowing. Because of course the trees glowed. Why wouldn't they?
Somewhere in the distance, a soft bell rang.
A steady, low chime that sent a frisson of ice right through the base of my skull.
I needed to make better life choices.
"Well, hello."
I whirled around, throwing my arm out and planting my feet. Master Qan would be proud. All two months of karate was going to pay off.
Then I saw him.
Lean and sharp like a blade, with hair the color of starlight and eyes that made my knees weak. His face was symmetrical in that unfair way. Flawless but vaguely unsettling.
He gave me a lingering glance too full of something that felt like laughter. Okay, rude. My stance might not be perfect, but I was a deadly weapon here.
"So, I've caught myself a redbud." Real original dude, Redbud because I'm a redhead. Jeez. His green eyes flicked across me. "What wind did you catch to end up here, little petal?"
"Your mom's." The words escaped me before I could reel it in. Damn.
He stepped closer. Still far enough away I wouldn't be able to give him a good kick to his dangly bits. Pity. "I doubt that, petal. She was dust long before you were a seed in your mother's womb."
"I'm sorry for your loss, I guess?"
"I'm not."
Creepy much? Okay, time to regroup. "Where am I?"
"Currently? You're trespassing. Pretty little petals shouldn't float their way into the Spring Court." There was an edge of menace to his voice, but I just caught on one word.
"You think I'm pretty?"
"I think you're in trouble, petal." He appeared in front of me. I took a faltering step back. Master Qan would not, indeed, be proud. I probably should've coughed up the money for the rest of my self-defense classes. I was surprisingly easy to kidnap. Which he proved by snatching me by the waist and jerking me toward him. "We'll let the Court decide your fate."