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Faint footstep approached the cabin door.
She caught the scent of perfume, the musk of thick fur and…
Azalea. Accompanied by a group of Yetis.
Grabbing her boots off the floor, Truly tiptoed across the cabin. She skirted the end table sitting by a low-backed couch. Moved around the kitchen table (and Montrose), avoiding the mismatched wooden chairs scattered around it. Footfalls cushioned by a smattering of area rugs, she reached the front door. Cool metal brushed over her palm. The latch clicked as she turned the door handle.
The snick sounded loud in the quiet.
With a silent curse, she glanced over her shoulder.
Undisturbed by the noise, neither of her bunkmates moved.
Releasing a measured breath, Truly pulled the door open. Slowly. An inch at a time. Her gaze riveted to Westvane. Montrose wouldn’t care if she snuck out for a minute. Westvane wouldn’t be as understanding. The Slayer would lose his mind. Again. Like he had trailing her down the path after Montrose hit the ground inside the clearing.
The crash had echoed through the forest. Westvane hadn’t missed a beat — or bothered helping the gargoyle off the ground. Top of mind for him had been lecturing her. He’d gone on and on about safety and the importance of having him at her back on the way back to town.
Truly frowned at him over her shoulder. Difficult to argue with him. He might have a point. Rushing into the forest to save her ex-boss landed squarely in the column of “hasty decisions.” Even so, in the end, she’d made the right play. And honestly? Westvane could’ve cut her some slack. Maybe even given her a pat on the back for a job well done. Or at least one for not getting killed.
Didn’t happen.
Which made escape from the cabin without him noticing all the more necessary.
He’d have more to say if she left without him, but… whatever. She wouldn’t go far. Would stand right outside the door and greet Azalea, if only to keep an eye on her friends.
Neither was one-hundred percent on the physical front. Montrose worried her less than Westvane. Though his injuries were healing, he wasn’t close to one-hundred percent yet. The skin on his back looked almost normal, nothing but a tinge of pink where blisters and raw skin had been. The loss of his wings, though, concerned her.
The bloody stumps had disappeared, leaving the smooth expanse of his bare back. No regrowth of skeletal structures, no sprouting of dark feathers, making her wonder if the Hollow had succeeded in eating them. Were his wings really gone? Was their absence a permanent thing for him now?
Truly shook her head. A worry for another day. Right now, she needed to hear what Azalea came to say and figure out next steps.
With one last glance at her friends, Truly slipped outside. Closing the door gently behind her, she stood on the stoop and tugged on her boots. “Azalea.”
“Evening,” she said, latching the garden gate behind her.
The greeting tuned Truly into the time. She glanced at the sky. Dusk was falling, encouraging stars to bloom. She tipped her chin at Azalea. “You need something?”
She shook her head. “I came to tell you a meal is being prepared for you and the others.”
The news made Truly’s stomach rumble. “Kind of you. Thanks.”
“Once you eat, I’m assuming you’ll leave.”
“Probably a good idea. We’ve been here too long as it is,” she said, attention drifting to the Yetis milling around beyond the low garden wall. “We were chased into Weeping Hollow by the queen’s guard. We need to move on before Priestly tracks us.”
“No need to worry about that.”
“Why?”
“Time stands still inside Weeping Hollow,” Azalea said. “The clock stopped the second you stepped foot inside the forest. The moment you entered the Hollow will be the same one you exit it.”
“Exactly the same time?”
“The Electi will be precisely where you left them. In the same state, as well.”
So, pinned to the ground, fighting to break free of her net. “Nifty trick.”
“The advantage of living here. No one ages. No one gets sick. Disease doesn’t exist in the Hollow.”
