A Court of Moss and Moonlight

Chapter 3

The quill scratched against the parchment, a rhythmic, abrasive sound that seemed loud in the quiet room. Maeve sat at her vanity, her tongue pressed into her cheek, focused entirely on the art of forgery.

"There," she declared, sprinkling fine sand over the wet ink to dry it. "Cousin Elspeth from the Northern Isles writes to inform Mother that her dearest daughter, Brynn, is traveling through the region and simply must pay her respects to the Donoghue family."

Brynn, sitting on the edge of the bed in the borrowed sage-green linen dress, raised an eyebrow. "And your mother will believe this?"

"Mother believes what she wishes to be true," Maeve said, standing up and dusting off her hands. "She wishes to be connected to the Northern nobility. Therefore, the letter is genuine."

Maeve raised a hand over the paper. The air above the desk rippled, twisting like heat rising from a radiator. She muttered a low, guttural syllable, and the parchment yellowed slightly, the edges curling as if they had spent weeks in a saddlebag rather than minutes on a vanity. It smelled faintly of sea salt and travel.

"Perception is just a suggestion," Maeve grinned, handing the letter to Brynn. "Now, we must retrieve your things. If you are to stay for the Ball, you will need your mysterious potions and brushes."

"My toothbrush," Brynn corrected, tucking the letter into the bodice of the dress. "And I need to tell my dad. If I disappear for three days without a word, he’ll send the entire pack to track my scent."

They moved quickly, retracing their steps through the stone corridors. Now that Brynn wasn't panicking, she noticed the energy of the house. It felt alive, pulsing with a low-level frequency that seemed to emanate from the very stones. The Vedic texts she had studied in a elective philosophy class spoke of Prana—the breath of life that filled all matter. Here, the Prana was thick, tangible, swirling around the corners of the ceiling like wisps of smoke.

They slipped out the side door, the heavy scent of summer hitting Brynn again. The contrast was jarring. Her mind knew it was winter, but her skin was bathed in a golden, late-afternoon warmth.

They ran across the lawn, Maeve casting her illusion spell—the Maya—to blur their silhouettes against the hedges. To anyone watching from the windows, they would appear as nothing more than a trick of the light, a shadow cast by a passing cloud.

When they reached the tree line, the temperature began to drop. The ancient oak and cedar loomed ahead, the air between them swirling with that familiar, electric blue haze.

"It is beautiful," Maeve whispered, stopping just short of the archway. She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the energy field. "Before, I saw only empty air. But with you... I see the bridge."

"You can see it now?"

"We are tethered," Maeve said, looking at Brynn with those luminous green eyes. "Energy recognizes like energy. You crossed the threshold, and now the threshold knows you. And since I am holding your hand..." She squeezed Brynn's fingers. "It knows me, too."

"Ready?" Brynn asked.

"To see the land of eternal winter and metal teeth?" Maeve took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "Lead on, Beetle-Queen."

They stepped through together.

The sensation was the same—the rushing lack of gravity, the roar of silence, the kaleidoscope of violet and gold behind the eyelids. It felt like being unmade and then knitted back together in a new pattern.

They stumbled out onto the slushy, frozen ground of the Oregon ridge.

The cold was instantaneous and brutal. Maeve gasped, her breath pluming in a white cloud before her face. She wrapped her thin arms around herself, shivering violently in her muslin shift.

"By the Goddess," Maeve’s teeth chattered. "It bites! The air has teeth!"

"Here," Brynn said, grabbing her heavy parka from where she had dropped it earlier—wait, she hadn't dropped it. She had been wearing it. She looked around. The woods were exactly as she had left them. The silence was absolute.

"Come on," Brynn said, grabbing Maeve’s hand and pulling her toward the path. "My house is just over the ridge. We have heat. And blankets."

They scrambled down the muddy embankment. Maeve, despite the cold, looked around with wide, saucer-like eyes. She reached out to touch a fern encased in ice, fascinated by the crystalline structure. She stared at the grey sky as if it were a moody painting she wanted to buy.

When the house came into view—a modern sprawl of timber and glass designed by her father’s favorite architect—Maeve stopped dead.

"It is... entirely made of windows," she marveled. "Do you not fear stones?"

"We try not to throw any," Brynn said, unlocking the back door.

She ushered Maeve inside. The warmth of the central heating system wrapped around them. Brynn quickly went to the coat closet and pulled out a heavy wool peacoat she rarely wore. She draped it over Maeve’s shoulders.

"Better?"

Maeve pulled the coat tight, burying her nose in the collar. "It smells of you. And rain. Yes."

She wandered into the living room, her fingers trailing over the sleek, modern furniture. She stopped in front of the massive flat-screen television mounted above the fireplace.

"A scrying mirror?" Maeve asked, peering into the black reflection.

"Sort of," Brynn said. "It tells stories. But right now, I need to deal with this."

She grabbed her phone from the coffee table. It was still dead. "Fried," she muttered. She went to the kitchen drawer where they kept the "emergency spares"—old burner phones for pack business. She powered one on.

"I'm going to text my dad," Brynn said, typing rapidly. Hey Dad. Going to be out of range for a few days. Taking a trip up to the cabin with some friends for a girls' getaway. Don't worry about me. Love you.

"A lie?" Maeve asked, examining the refrigerator door.

"A necessary fiction," Brynn said. "If he thinks I'm safe, he won't look. If he looks, he finds the portal. If he finds the portal, he invades your world with a paramilitary wolf pack. Trust me, this is better."

The lock on the front door clicked.

Brynn froze. Maeve spun around, her eyes widening.

The door swung open, and a blast of cold air swirled in, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered figure shaking snow off a beanie.

"So," a male voice boomed, cheerful and loud. "I know I said I was stuck with the sisters of doom, but Sarah got sick, the dinner was cancelled, and I have acquired a terrifying amount of leftover lasagna. I thought you might want to help me destroy it."

Charles Miller walked into the hallway, holding a foil-wrapped casserole dish like a trophy. He stopped.

He looked at Brynn, standing in a medieval linen dress with safety pins holding the bodice tight.

He looked at Maeve, a wild-haired redhead standing in the middle of the kitchen, barefoot, wearing a designer wool coat over a nightgown, looking at him as if he were a mythical creature.

"Okay," Charlie said slowly. "I have questions. But first... who is the woodland sprite?"

"Charlie," Brynn exhaled, rushing forward. "This is... this is Maeve. She's... a cousin. Distant. Very distant."

"Ireland," Maeve supplied helpfully, thickening her accent. "The very North."

Charlie looked at Maeve, then at Brynn. A slow grin spread across his face. He set the lasagna down on the entryway table. "Right. Ireland. And do they not have shoes in Ireland? Or zippers?"

He gestured to Brynn’s dress. "Because you look like you're about to churn butter, Brynn. And not in a cool, hipster way."

"We are going camping," Brynn blurted out.

Charlie stared at her. He looked at the sliding glass door where the snow was falling steadily. He looked back at Brynn’s linen dress.

"Camping," Charlie deadpanned. "In a blizzard. Dressed like extras from The Crucible."

"Glamping," Brynn corrected. "It's a... retreat. A spiritual retreat. No technology. Old clothes. Connecting with the earth."

"Connecting with the earth," Charlie repeated. He looked at Maeve. "And you? You're the spiritual guide?"

Maeve stepped forward. She looked Charlie up and down, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She sensed, perhaps, the easy, grounding energy he radiated. "I am the guide," she said solemnly. "And I tell you, the lasagna smells like burnt cheese and love. A powerful combination."

Charlie laughed, a warm, barking sound. "Okay, I like her. She's weird, but I like her." He looked at Brynn, his expression softening. "You sure you're okay? You were pretty down earlier."

"I'm okay," Brynn said, and she meant it. "I just... I need a few days, Charlie. Off the grid."

"Alright," Charlie said, holding up his hands. "I won't pry. But if you aren't back in three days, I'm coming to find you. And I'm bringing the lasagna."

"Three days," Brynn promised.

Charlie gave them a wave, looked once more at Maeve’s bare feet, shook his head, and backed out the door. "Wear boots!" he shouted before the door clicked shut.

Brynn sagged against the counter. "That was close."

"He has a kind aura," Maeve observed. "Like a golden retriever dog. Loyal. Loud."

"That's Charlie," Brynn agreed. She looked at the microwave clock.

She froze.

"Maeve," she said, her voice tight. "Look at the time."

"Numbers," Maeve said, dismissing them. "Time is a circle."

"No," Brynn pointed. "Look."

The digital green numbers read 2:47 PM.

Brynn pulled her phone back out—the burner one. The text she had sent to her dad was stamped 2:45 PM.

"I don't understand," Brynn whispered. "I left the house at 1:30. I walked for an hour. I was in your room for... at least thirty minutes. We walked back. It should be 4:00. Maybe 4:30."

Maeve drifted over, peering at the clock. She tapped her chin. "Grandmother Oona speaks of the Kalas—the units of time. She says that near the Veil, time does not flow like a river. It pools."

Brynn did the math in her head. She had been gone for hours in her experience. But here?

"Seven minutes," Brynn whispered. "From the moment I fell through the portal to the moment I walked back into this kitchen... minus the walk... only seven minutes have passed here."

She looked at Maeve, a thrill shooting through her.

"Do you know what this means?" Brynn asked, grabbing Maeve’s shoulders.

"That we have missed tea time?"

"No," Brynn grinned. "It means I can stay. I can stay for the Ball. I can stay for a week. And when I come back, my dad will think I just went to the bathroom."

Maeve’s eyes widened. "We have stolen time?"

"We have all the time in the world," Brynn said. "Now, come on. I need to pack my jeans. And my toothbrush. And I am going to show you what a hair dryer does."