Clove Bakshi's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Clove cut across the back fields with the trees in sight. The wind shifted. A dark, coiling fog spilled out of nowhere and curled around his ankles, slowing his steps. From inside it, his fay mother rose — tall, sharp, blue as cold water, claws like wet branches. His fay father stood behind her, smiling without warmth. "Little Clove," she said. She held out a key woven from twisted wood and bright flowers. It glowed in her palm. "Take this. Open the door we show you. Do as we ask, and your sister stays whole. She comes home by morning. No bruises. No missing pieces." Clove looked at the key. It was beautiful. It was the kind of beautiful that costs you something later. He thought of soup on a tray. He thought of his mother's hands flat on the counter. He thought of Rosemary in a cage of thorns. "No," he said. His voice cracked, but he said it again. "No. I'm not your errand boy." He stepped through the fog before he could change his mind. The fay mother's smile fell away. The fog snapped shut behind him like a slammed door, sealing the field off from the road home. The key was gone. So was the offer. Ahead, the trees leaned closer, and somewhere inside them, his sister was waiting — and now there was no easy way back.