The lake lay at the edge of town like a dark coin.
In summer, it was full of kids yelling, dogs splashing, teenagers sneaking beer. In October, with the air gone sharp and the leaves mostly down, it was quieter. A few die-hards jogged along the path. Someone fished from the little pier, hood up, smoke curling from the cigarette between their fingers.
Rowan stood at the trailhead, gloved hands jammed in her pockets, the chill cutting through her jeans. Harper and Zia flanked her.
“You sure about this?” Harper asked for the fiftieth time.
“No,” Rowan said. “Let’s go.”
Zia hefted a canvas duffel. “Salt, check,” she said. “Non-iron baseball bats, check. Foxglove, mugwort, onions…”
“Onions?” Harper said.
“They confuse some spirits,” Zia said. “And also vampires, but that’s less relevant.”
“Onions confuse *everyone,*” Rowan muttered.
They walked down the trail, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. The sky was a flat gray, clouds low. It smelled like wet dirt and cold water.
As they neared the shore, the air…shifted.
Rowan felt it first as a pressure in her ears, like an airplane descent. Then as a low humming under her skin. Her fingers tingled.
“Whoa,” Harper said. “Do you feel that?”
Zia nodded. “Like a bass note,” she said. “Low and wrong.”
The lake spread out before them, its surface barely rippling. The trees around it were mostly bare, black branches scribbled against the sky.
Rowan’s stomach flipped.
She remembered the first time. Seventeen. Hot July day. Laughing with friends. The water cool and soft around her. The sudden, *sudden* yank on her ankle. The panic. The way the sun had turned into a smudge above her.
“Hey,” Harper said softly, reading her face. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do,” Rowan said. “I am not letting a glorified puddle bully me.”
Zia snorted. “That’s the spirit.”
They stopped at the edge of the sand. Old bonfire scars marked black patches in the dirt. Someone had left a broken beer bottle near the driftwood.
“He’s not here yet,” Harper said.
“Yes, he is,” Rowan said.
He stepped out of the trees a moment later, because of course he did. Dark clothes again, a long coat that moved like liquid around his legs. The glamour was thinner here, either by his choice or because the seam tugged at it. His hair stirred in a wind Rowan couldn’t quite feel.
“Punctual,” Zia murmured. “I’ll give him that.”
Caelan’s gaze swept over them. He took in the duffel, the bats, the line of salt Zia had already begun to sprinkle in a subtle crescent along the treeline.
“You brought reinforcements,” he said.
“Obviously,” Harper said. “We’re not letting you take our girl into a murder-lake unchaperoned.”
He inclined his head. “Fair,” he said. “You’ll stay on this side.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Obviously,” Zia echoed. “We’re not stupid.”
Caelan’s eyes met Rowan’s.
“You’re pale,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just…remembering last time.”
His jaw tightened. “It will not happen again,” he said.
“Because you cut off its hands,” she said.
He grimaced. “You keep saying that like it’s a thing,” he said.
“It *is* a thing,” she said. “A gross, weird thing.”
He’ huffed. Then he stepped closer, boots sinking slightly in the damp sand.
“Before we go any farther,” he said, voice low, “I want you to know…if at any point you say ‘stop,’ we stop. If you panic, we pull back. If you feel anything…wrong…you tell me.”
“Define ‘wrong,’” she said.
“You’ll know,” he said.
“Reassuring,” she muttered.
He extended his hand, palm up. “May I?” he asked.
Harper made a small noise, half protest, half warning.
Rowan looked at his hand. Long fingers, faint scars. Calluses. No rings.
She peeled off one glove and put her hand in his.
Warmth flooded up her arm.
He closed his fingers gently around hers. The hum under her skin intensified, like something inside her had leaned toward him.
“You two look like a perfume ad,” Harper muttered.
“Shh,” Zia said.
“Nice wards,” Caelan said to Zia, nodding at the crescent of salt. “They’ll…sting anything that tries to slip past while we’re busy.”
Zia’s brows shot up. “Thanks,” she said. “Again.”
He smiled faintly. “Try not to take my compliments as insults,” he said. “I am actually impressed.”
She huffed. “Hard to tell with you people.”
He squeezed Rowan’s hand. “Ready?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Yes. Go.”
They walked toward the water.
With every step, the sensation in her body intensified. Her ears buzzed. Her vision sharpened at the edges, colors gaining strange depth—the gray of the sky almost violet, the brown of the sand rich and warm.
The lake’s surface…wasn’t smooth.
Up close, she saw…layers. Like sheets of glass stacked on top of each other, each reflecting a slightly different scene. The topmost showed the lake as it was—cold, dark, familiar. Beneath, in flickers and flashes, she saw something else.
Trees that weren’t quite the same shape. A sky that was never fully day. A faint glow under the water, like something huge and old moving in the depths.
“Whoa,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Caelan said softly. “That is…us.”
She squeezed his hand harder. “That’s your world,” she said. “It looks…wrong.”
“It is,” he said. “To you.”
“What about to you?” she asked.
He smiled slightly. “It’s home,” he said. “And very, very right.”
She licked her lips, throat dry.
“How close do we have to get?” Harper called from the tree line.
“Not far,” Caelan said without looking back. “I won’t pull her through fully. Just…a toe, as she so delightfully put it.”
“You have a weird definition of delightful,” Harper muttered.
Zia murmured something under her breath, fingers moving in a quick pattern. The salt line glowed faintly, then settled.
Rowan stopped when the water lapped at the toes of her boots. The cold seeped through the rubber. She shivered.
Caelan stepped slightly in front of her, still holding her hand, placing himself between her and the deeper water.
“You’re okay,” he said quietly. “Nothing will touch you without going through me.”
“Big words from a man who promised not to touch me without consent,” she said.
His lip quirked. “This is…different,” he said. “This is…shielding. Not…exploring.”
Heat fluttered in her chest at his choice of words.
She stared at the water.
“Okay,” she said. “What now?”
“Now,” he said, “we…knock.”
He lifted their joined hands.
The air around their fingers crackled.
“Rowan,” he said. “I need you to…reach.”
“Reach for what?” she asked.
“For…yourself,” he said. “The part that…responds to this.” He nodded at the shimmering layers. “The part that sees too much. The part that…doesn’t like iron.”
She swallowed. “That part is…just pain,” she said. “And weirdness.”
“It’s more,” he said. “You just…haven’t used it for anything but noticing.”
“How poetic,” she muttered.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Trust me.”
She hesitated.
Then she did.
Darkness pressed behind her lids.
She felt his hand—warm, steady. The cold of the water at her boots. The hum under her skin, rising.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
She did.
“In,” he said. “Out. Good. Now…imagine…a thread. Running from here—” His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, making her jump. “—into the water. Into that other…layer. Just…brush it. Don’t yank.”
“Your metaphors are terrible,” she said through gritted teeth.
“They work,” he said. “Trust me.”
She pictured it.
A thread. Fine, silver, like spider silk. Spooling out from somewhere in her chest, down her arm, through their joined hands, into the shimmering surface.
Something…grabbed.
Not a yank. Not like before. More like…a catching. A connection.
She gasped.
Her eyes flew open.
The world had…doubled.
She saw the lake as it had always been. She also saw…through it.
On the other side, the water was deeper. Darker. It glowed faintly from within, as if lit by something far below. The trees around the shore were taller, their branches arching overhead in a canopy that turned the sky into bruised twilight.
And on that other shore, faint but there, she saw the outline of a…building.
Towers. Spires. Lights glowing warm and cold all at once.
Her knees wobbled.
Caelan’s arm came around her waist, steadying her. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t…fall in.”
She clutched his coat. “That’s…your Palace,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “From this angle. The reflection is…warped.”
“It looks like something out of a painting,” she said. “One of the weird ones. With melting clocks.”
He huffed. “We don’t have clocks,” he said.
“Of course you don’t,” she said. “Why would you have anything as useful as time?”
The hum in her veins grew louder.
It wasn’t…unpleasant. Exactly.
It was like…stretching a muscle she hadn’t known she had. Uncomfortable at first. Then…exhilarating.
“I feel…taller,” she said, without meaning to.
He laughed softly. “That’s just me,” he said. “I’m cheating.”
She elbowed him weakly.
On the other shore, a ripple disturbed the water.
A shape moved under the surface, huge and sinuous. It brushed against the thin place where her thread touched, like a cat rubbing against a leg.
Her chest seized.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “That’s what grabbed me. Before.”
“Yes,” Caelan said. His hand tightened on her waist. “She remembers you.”
“She?” Rowan croaked.
“Old lake spirit,” he said. “Thinks in…curves. Doesn’t always differentiate between drowning and hugging.”
“That’s not comforting,” she said.
“It shouldn’t be,” he said.
The shape rose higher. For a second, through the double vision, Rowan saw a face—a woman’s, pale and beautiful, hair floating around her like weeds, eyes black and deep.
“I brought you something,” Caelan said quietly, speaking not to Rowan now but to the water. “Remember our trade.”
The water shimmered.
A faint something tugged at Rowan’s thread. Like a curious child poking a finger.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
“No,” Caelan said, voice hard. “You may look. You may not. *Touch.*”
The pressure eased.
Rowan exhaled shakily. “That was…weird,” she said.
“She likes…new things,” Caelan said. “You are very…new.”
“Flattering,” she muttered.
“How do you feel?” he asked. “Aside from…accurately disdainful.”
She did a quick inventory.
Her fingers tingled. Her skin felt too tight. Her teeth…itched.
“I feel like I drank three espressos,” she said. “And stood up too fast. And maybe…like I could…see through walls if I squinted hard enough.”
He smiled. “That’s your magic,” he said. “Waking up.”
She frowned. “This is…magic,” she said. “Not just…seeing things.”
“Yes,” he said. “Magic is…perception. And…pressure. This seam has both. It is…calling to you. And you are…answering.”
“Calling me what?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Hinge,” he said. “Between. Door.”
“Now you’re just listing nouns,” she said.
“You are…a place where things can…turn,” he said. “That is…power. And…danger.”
She watched the other shore. Faint lights moved along the towers. Figures, maybe. Or tricks of the reflection.
“Can they see me?” she asked.
“Some,” he said. “The ones with…eyes in the right places.”
“Stop saying creepy things,” she said.
“I am incapable of anything else,” he said.
The water near their boots lapped higher. A small wave, from no discernible wind.
The hair on Rowan’s arms lifted.
Something in the seam…noticed her.
The hum spiked.
Her breath hitched.
“Caelan,” she said, voice tight.
“I feel it,” he said. His grip on her waist firmed. “Focus on me.”
“That’s a little self-centered,” she said through gritted teeth.
“In this moment, I am comfortable with that,” he said. “Look at me.”
She dragged her gaze from the not-Palace to his face.
Glamour or not, he was…solid. Anchoring. His silver eyes were steady, even as the air around them wavered.
“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re here. My world is…there. We are…at the edge. You decide how far you go.”
Her chest heaved.
Part of her—young, reckless, hungry—wanted to step forward. To plunge in. To finally answer the pull that had been tugging at her bones since she was old enough to name it.
Another part—older, more cautious—wanted to run back to the salt line and never look at the water again.
She stood trembling between them.
“Rowan?” Harper’s voice. Small and far away. “You okay?”
Rowan didn’t look back. She couldn’t.
“I’m…fine,” she said. “I can…do this.”
“Do what?” Caelan asked gently.
“Look,” she said. “Just…look. Then…step back.”
He nodded. “Good,” he said. “You’re in control. Remember that.”
She took a breath.
Then another.
Then she did the most terrifying thing she’d ever done.
She leaned.
Not physically.
Inside.
She pushed her perception—her thread—a little deeper into the seam.
The world…split.
For a heartbeat, she was in two places at once.
On the human shore, boots damp, hand in Caelan’s, heart pounding.
On the other shore, bare feet on spongy moss, cool air on her face, the smell of smoke and apples thick in her lungs.
She saw the Palace more clearly now. The towers. The balconies. The glow of windows. Figures moving like shadows along the walls.
She heard something—faint music, strange and wild, like flutes and drums and something else woven through.
She felt…eyes.
Not just on her.
*In* her.
Like someone had put their hands on the sides of her head and was turning her, examining her teeth.
She gasped.
“Enough,” Caelan said sharply. “Back.”
“I—” she tried.
The seam…tightened.
Something in the water—behind the woman’s pale face, deeper, older—stirred.
“Oh,” a voice said, echoing in her skull. “There you are.”
It wasn’t the lake spirit.
It was something…bigger.
Colder.
Hungrier.
Panic flared.
“Rowan,” Caelan snapped. “*Back.* Now.”
She yanked.
The thread screamed.
Her body convulsed.
A flash—
Not the Palace.
A different place.
A hall of ice. A man with eyes like frozen rivers. A crown of antlers white as bone.
*Interesting,* a voice murmured. *The hinge has teeth.*
Then—
She was on the sand.
On her knees.
Gasping.
Her vision spun. The hum roared. Her skin itched like ants under it.
Arms wrapped around her.
Warm.
Solid.
Caelan.
“Breathe,” he said, voice in her ear. “Breathe, Rowan. You’re here. Stay here.”
She clung to him, fingers digging into his coat.
Harper’s voice, frantic. “What the *fuck* just happened?”
Zia’s incantation, low and rapid.
The salt line flared.
The world gradually…solidified.
The double vision receded.
The hum dimmed.
She sagged against Caelan, shaking.
“What was that?” she croaked. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” he said tightly. “But I intend to find out.”
His heart hammered against her cheek.
“You…felt it?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Like…teeth on my bones.”
“Charming,” she whispered.
He huffed a laugh that sounded strained.
She forced herself to pull back enough to see his face.
He looked…angry.
Not at her.
At the lake.
At the seam.
At…whoever had spoken.
“You said we were…alone,” she said weakly.
“I was wrong,” he said. “The border is…weaker than I thought. Others are listening.”
“Others like…?” she asked.
“Winter,” he said. The word was a curse. “And possibly…worse.”
“Great,” she said. “I’ve been live-streamed to your rival Courts.”
Harper knelt beside her, eyes wide with fear and fury. “You okay?” she demanded. “Don’t just sit there having a magical seizure and not comment.”
“I’m…fine,” Rowan lied. “Mostly. Just…never doing that again.”
Zia’s hand, cool and calloused, landed on her shoulder. “You went…farther than I can see,” she said softly. “Too far.”
“I felt her…step,” Caelan said, jaw tight. “She was…across. For a moment.”
Harper made a strangled noise. “You let her go through?”
“I *pulled* her back,” he snapped. “The seam…pulled harder.”
Rowan swallowed. “Someone…talked to me,” she said. “In there. Not the lake. Someone…else. Cold. Old. Said I had…teeth.”
Caelan’s eyes darkened. “Winter,” he said again. “Of course that frost-bitten bastard would be listening.”
“Winter…Court?” Zia asked.
“Yes,” Caelan said. “Our…neighbors. Our rivals. Our occasional allies. They love…meddling.”
“And they know about me now,” Rowan said. “Great.”
“They knew *of* you,” he said. “Now they’ve had a…taste.”
“That’s worse,” she muttered.
He didn’t argue.
“Can you stand?” he asked instead.
She nodded, though her legs felt like water.
He helped her up, one hand under her elbow. He kept a fraction too close, as if ready to catch her again.
Harper hovered like she wanted to wedge herself between them and didn’t know who to protect from whom.
Zia’s wards still glowed faintly along the tree line.
“We’re done,” Caelan said. “No more…tests. Not like this.”
Rowan almost laughed. “You’re giving up on your scientific method?” she asked.
“I have enough data,” he said. “You are…very loud at the seam.”
“Loud?” she echoed.
“In magic terms,” he said. “You shine. Strongly. They will…notice, if you approach again.”
“So no more lake trips,” Harper said. “Tragic.”
“We’ll go a different way on Samhain,” Caelan said. “A…tighter seam. Less room for others to…peek.”
“That sounds worse,” Harper muttered.
“It will be…faster,” he said. “And I will have wards ready. This was…” His mouth tightened. “This was a miscalculation.”
“You admit you were wrong,” Rowan said faintly. “Historic moment.”
He shot her a look. “Mark it in your calendar.”
She smiled weakly.
Then her knees buckled again.
He caught her.
“Okay,” Harper said. “I’ve had enough fae nonsense for one night. We’re taking her home. You can…glower from a distance or whatever you do, but you are not coming inside.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Caelan said. “I am…not built for small kitchens.”
“True,” Harper said. “All that brooding takes up space.”
He ignored her.
He looked down at Rowan, his face—unusually—unguarded.
“You did well,” he said quietly. “For a first time.”
“I have performance anxiety,” she muttered.
He smiled. “You have…courage,” he said. “And very poor impulse control.”
“You like that about me,” she said, surprising herself.
His eyes softened. “I do,” he said.
Heat flared under her skin.
“Go,” he said. “Rest. I will…shore up the seam. And…listen. For whoever…listened to you.”
She nodded.
He let Harper and Zia take her weight.
As they walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder.
He stood at the water’s edge, coat whipping in a wind she couldn’t feel, eyes on the place where the reflection shimmered.
He looked…furious.
And afraid.
“Hey,” Harper said softly, squeezing her hand. “Still with us, dragon girl?”
Rowan huffed a laugh. “Barely,” she said.
“You are *never* allowed to scare me like that again,” Harper said. “I’m instituting a no-astral-projection policy.”
“I’ll…add it to the list,” Rowan said.
Zia muttered under her breath, fingers tracing a sealing sigil in the air.
As they reached the parking lot, Rowan felt something tug at the edge of her awareness.
She turned.
Across the lake, on the other shore—in the reflection, not the real water—she saw a figure.
A woman.
Gold hair.
Green eyes.
Watching.
Their gazes met.
The other woman smiled.
Rowan’s breath caught.
Then the reflection rippled, and she was gone.
“Rowan?” Zia asked. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Rowan lied. “Just…myself.”
She let her friends bundle her into the car.
As they drove away, the lake lay still.
On the other side, in the Autumn Court, Aisling lowered her hand from the surface of the water. Her fingers were wet, but not with the lake.
With blood.
She licked it off thoughtfully.
“Teeth,” she murmured. “Yes. She has them.”
Behind her, in the shadows of the trees, the Mire Queen smiled.
Between the worlds, the story’s threads tangled.
And Samhain crept closer.