I managed to avoid thinking about the wing incident for the rest of the day, though it was hard to get the lumberjacks completely out of my head, partly because of just how damn good looking they’d been, but also because the noises they were making back in their enclosure echoed over to our land throughout the rest of the day. It sounded like they’d finished putting up the fence—the banging and chopping of wood had stopped—and they’d started shoveling something, perhaps rocks or cement, or upturning the ground itself.

We didn’t talk much more about them, though, after our visit, and generally tried to distract ourselves with other things—which Mrs. Churnley made fairly easy, once she’d doled out our tasks for the day.

We set to work digging out weeds from the vegetable patch and then we took the dogs out for a stroll, walking them in the opposite direction of the woods, until we spotted Mr. Doherty’s farmhouse. The old man was sitting out on his porch and noticed us before we could turn back, so what had started out as a short stroll ended up as a rather long outing, by the time we’d had tea with him and his wife. They were both exceptionally friendly, and due to the day’s high temperature, much to Lauren’s dismay, we were given ample opportunity to verify Mrs. Churnley’s statement about the curly white chest hairs.

Once we managed to extricate ourselves, we headed back, and by the time we’d helped with some vegetable peeling and laundry hanging, the sun was already setting.

We had a small dinner with the Churnleys out in the front yard, and when darkness set in, we snuffed out the dining candles and went indoors. Angie, Lauren, and I made for the stairs, and since it was dark, there wasn’t much else to do other than get an early night. The heat of the day still hung heavy in the air, and I was looking forward to splashing some cool water on my face in the bathroom. But Mrs. Churnley called out to us as we were mid-way up the stairs, bringing us to a halt.

“Hey, girls. I just realized we never showed you the treehouse, did we?”

We turned around to face her, and shook our heads.

“No, you didn’t,” Angie replied.

“Well, why don’t you let me show you? It’s just near the house.”

“Now?” I couldn’t help but ask. Nighttime didn’t seem like the best time to admire a treehouse.

“I was actually thinking you might like to sleep up there tonight, given how hot it is indoors. There’s mosquito netting and—” She paused abruptly, her voice faltering for a moment. “We used to sleep up there with our Ethan, around this time of the year. I-It really is lovely.”

My voice caught in my throat as I realized who Ethan must be, and Angie immediately softened. “Oh, of course. We’d love to check it out!”

Mrs. Churnley’s round face lit up as Angie grabbed our hands and pulled us back down the stairs toward her. She waddled into the kitchen, pulled open a drawer beneath the counter, and retrieved four flashlights. She handed one to each of us, keeping one for herself, before leading us outside.

Cricket song filled the night and the gentlest of breezes touched our skin as we crossed the porch and rounded the house. She took us to a tree-lined enclosure around the back that none of us had paid much attention to since our arrival.

She stopped at a tree with a ladder running down it, and as I tilted my head upward, beneath the light of our collective flashlights, I laid eyes on a quaint little treehouse, square in shape and lined with flower vines. It had four glassless windows covered with meshing, and the construction showed its age. It was also at least twenty feet up, though the promise of the view that it would afford was enticing, and I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Churnley suggesting we go up there if it wasn’t safe.

“Why don’t you all head on up and I’ll send Mr. Churnley out with some suitable bedding,” she said. “You’ll find mattresses there already— three of them.” She sighed wistfully, then chortled, running a hand over her ample stomach. “These days Mr. Churnley and I wouldn’t make it halfway up the ladder.”

With that, she turned and left, leaving the three of us to decide which one of us would head on up there first. Predictably, it was Angie who volunteered for the challenge, and mounted the creaky ladder, while Lauren and I shone our flashlights to light her way.

“First thing you gotta do is clear the area for snakes and spiders,” Lauren ordered. She was already getting antsy about being outside in the dark, shifting from one foot to the other, and scratching at invisible itches on her arms.

“And for cockroaches, rats, termites, moths, earwigs, weevils—” Angie extended Lauren’s list of horrors as she climbed, until Lauren told her to shut up.

Once Angie had actually reached the top, however, and pushed through the door to look around inside, she reported back in the affirmative. “Wow, looks amazingly pest-proof!”

“You’d better be sure about that,” Lauren replied suspiciously.

“Pinky promise. The wood is well sealed, with no gaping holes, and I think this mesh stuff really works. Seems to have kept everything out over the years… except for dust… and maybe the odd patch of mold. But hey, we’ve got mold on our ceiling inside too.” Angie’s head suddenly disappeared from sight, and the floorboards creaked. “Woah!” she called a minute later. “The view up here, it’s… ah-mazing! Get up here, girls!”

I didn’t need asking twice. I gripped the ladder and scaled it, and when I reached the top, I realized exactly why Angie was gushing. The view was absolutely breathtaking. We could see for miles across the fields from up here, thanks to the moonlight. It bathed the landscape in a stunning pale hue, making it look surreal in its beauty, almost fairy-tale like.

I heard a grunt behind me and turned to find Lauren clambering up the last of the steps and staggering inside—careful to immediately shut the treehouse’s door behind her. I thought the first thing she’d do was make sure Angie wasn’t lying about there being no pests, but her attention was stolen by the view too.

“Okay,” she said, standing next to us as we gazed out of the windows, “this is pretty awesome.”

We admired the view for another minute or two, before directing our flashlights to our more immediate surroundings. There were three mattresses, propped up by wooden blocks on the floor, and one little bedside table with a cupboard, whose interior was empty. If there had once been a more elaborate set up here, I guessed they’d stripped it down after Ethan had passed away.

“Special delivery!” Mr. Churnley’s cheery voice drifted up from the ground.

Angie hurried out and down the ladder to collect a large shoulder bag stuffed with bedding from the old man, before thanking him and climbing back up.

He’d brought thick sheets for us to cover the old mattresses with, as well as three pillows, a water bottle, and a black waist bag containing keys in case we needed to return to the house. The water was an especially thoughtful touch, considering we probably would get thirsty during the night. We made our beds, gawked at the view one last time, and settled down for the night, enjoying the fragrant breeze wafting through the mesh and over our skin.

All in all, I was grateful for Mrs. Churnley’s suggestion. It was so much more pleasant out here than in that stuffy wooden house.

“Maybe we should sleep out here every night,” Angie said.

“Well, let’s not be getting too hasty there, Miss Angelica,” Lauren replied. “The night is still young.” I snorted. “But, I’ll concede,” she went on, holding up a hand in the air, “I am more optimistic for a good night’s sleep tonight than I have been since we arrived. This netting is quite comforting.”

“I would’ve sold my brother for a treehouse like this, growing up,” Angie said wistfully.

“You would’ve sold him for much less,” I chuckled, recalling how mad her little brother used to make her. Up until the age of twelve, his favorite pastime had been setting booby traps for her around their house, which more often than not resulted in her showing up to school late, with globules of glue in her hair, or in some other similarly unfortunate state.

“Okay, probably,” she conceded, “but my point stands.”

“We actually had an old treehouse in our backyard,” Lauren said, “at least, in the first house we lived in. My parents are the literal opposite of handy, though, so we never got it fixed up.”

“You wouldn’t have had much of a view anyway in that place,” Angie added.

Lauren laughed. “Heh, yeah that’s true. Just the train tracks.”

My two friends continued their small talk for a bit, before falling quiet, allowing me to relish our surroundings. I listened intently, and discovered that the chirping of crickets was only the surface of the myriad of sounds that ruled the night. A soft, gentle cooing drifted over from the direction of the woods, along with the creaking of tree trunks and the whispering of leaves. I could even make out the tinkling of chimes in the distance—coming from Mr. Doherty’s home.

I let my eyes fall closed as I dug deeper into the layers of serenity, trying to identify each unique sound, each instrument in the night’s chorus. Mr. and Mrs. Churnleys’ snoring soon became a part of it.

And then a loud shout pierced the air.

At least, I thought it was a shout. It was a booming, yet short sound, which had just been too humanlike to be a bark.

I was turning over to look at my friends when I heard it again, but louder and longer this time, drifting over to us from the woodland area.

“You heard that, right?” I asked, staring at Lauren and Angie.

Their eyes were wide, concern etched across their faces. “Yeah,” Angie said. “Someone shout—”

It came again, longer and more urgent than before.

We all stood up and moved over to the window. “It’s coming from that direction, isn’t it,” Lauren murmured, pointing toward the mass of trees.

“Yes,” I replied. “I wonder who—”

When it happened a fourth time, it was closer to a scream than a shout, and there was no doubt in my mind that whoever was making the noise was definitely in pain. The near silence of the night amplified the noise, carrying it to us with unnerving clarity.

“Who else would it be but one of those guys?” Angie said after an anxious pause. “I think we should go and check it out. Make sure they’re okay.”

Lauren and I looked at her, and I swallowed, gauging the distance between our treehouse and the beginning of the fence bordering off their patch of forest. It was really no more than a ten-minute walk, and we had our flashlights out here already.

“Okay,” I said. “I think we should too.”

Lauren bit her lip. “Shouldn’t we let the Churnleys know first?”

We paused again, looking toward the farmhouse.

“Honestly,” Angie replied, “I feel bad about waking them up. If it’s serious, we’ll obviously rush back and figure out how to get help to him, but—let’s just find out what’s wrong with the guy. I mean, for all we know, it could just be a really bad stubbed toe…” She gave us a sheepish smile, and I grinned in spite of myself.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” I raised a brow at Lauren, who was still looking dubious. “What do you think, Lauree?”

“I guess I’m just a little nervous about wandering around out there in the dark.”

“Well, you don’t have to come,” Angie said, already rummaging around for our flashlights. “You can leave the initial recon mission to Riley and me.”

“No way,” she replied, frowning. “If you guys are going, I’m not gonna be left behind.”

“Okay, well—let’s get going then,” Angie said, handing Lauren and me our flashlights. Lauren readjusted her dark hair in a tight bun, as if she was preparing to go to war or something, and then grabbed the waist bag Mr. Churnley had brought us and fastened it around her waist. “In case we need water.” She flashed us a knowing look before we piled out of the treehouse and clambered down the ladder.

There was definitely no harm in bringing water, given how sticky the night was, but I didn’t anticipate our being gone for much more than twenty minutes. Especially if we jogged, which I suspected we would, given how intense the shouts were becoming.

As we touched down on the ground and hurried toward the gate, I had to wonder if the noise would end up waking up the Churnleys after all. Then again, they were deep sleepers, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they slept through it.

We pounded down the track leading to the woods, aiming our flashlights ten feet ahead of us, though the moon on its own was almost bright enough we didn’t need the flashlights.

We didn’t say much as we ran, since we were preserving our breath to get there as quickly as possible, but once we reached the beginning of the fence, we paused and looked at each other. The shouting was definitely louder now, meaning that it was, without a doubt, coming from within the fenced enclosure. But, now that we were here, we were faced with the predicament of —

“So, what do we do exactly?” Lauren asked in a hushed tone. “Climb over the fence?”

“No,” Angie replied, eyeing the fence with a slight wariness. “I think we should just yell and hope they hear us.”

And so we began to call out. “HELLO?”

“ARE YOU OKAY?”

“DO YOU NEED HELP?”

But the shouting continued undeterred, as if he couldn’t hear us at all. Even when we yelled at the top of our lungs, it was as if it fell on deaf ears.

Angie huffed, her gaze passing along the top of the fence again, pausing at a few low-hanging branches.

“So maybe we should climb over after all,” she muttered.

Lauren looked nervous, her lips twitching, but she nodded. I didn’t actually think it would be a big deal. Several of the trees looked easy enough to climb, with many low branches. It wouldn’t be any harder than climbing a ladder.

Angie went first, with Lauren and me giving her a boost, and I went second, climbing just high enough so that we could drop our legs over the other side, and leap down. There were other trees on this side that looked easy to climb, too, so I didn’t worry about us getting back out—in case we didn’t end up finding whoever we were here for, or he couldn’t unlock the fence’s opening for some reason.

Once all three of us were safely on the ground, we headed through the trees, guided by the ever-present shouting…which had finally grown a little softer, and now sounded more like groaning.

We hurried, careful to dodge brambles and fallen trunks—as well as a large pit that had been dug in the ground. I wasn’t sure why they’d been digging a hole here, but the sight of it confirmed the shoveling noise we’d heard earlier.

After five minutes of walking, an old wooden house came into view, and my eyes widened. It was much bigger than I’d expected it to be — bigger than the Churnleys’ home, with four stories rather than two, and about twice as wide. As we drew closer, I also realized that all the windows had been boarded up — and it was with new wood, which meant that it had been done only recently, probably in the last day or so. Which confused me somewhat, given what the guys had told us earlier. If they were here to renovate this old house, why had they boarded up the windows?

I shrugged the thought aside as we reached the porch. Five low steps led up to it, and twin wooden columns rose up on either side of the door, which certainly looked like it had seen better days. Like the rest of the house’s exterior, the wood was roughened with age, and discolored by moss and mold.

“Am I the only one getting a creepy vibe from this place?” Lauren said quietly.

I shrugged. Yeah, I guessed the fact that it was built in the woods, and we were approaching it at nighttime, did give it a Hansel and Gretel vibe. Though I imagined that in the daytime it looked quite picturesque.

Angie reached the door first and was about to knock, when it gave way slightly under her touch. It glided open, creaking softly, and Angie looked back at us with a questioning expression.

Lauren and I said nothing, so she continued pushing it, until there was a large enough gap for the three of us to slip inside.

Once we were through, we found ourselves standing at the beginning of a long, dusty hallway. Everything was wooden, from the walls to the floors, and completely bare, except for a few dusty gas lamps fixed at odd intervals against the walls.

More than anything, I was taken aback by how high the temperature was. It felt like a wave of hot air had washed over us as we stepped in, and I found myself stilling for a moment, trying to adjust to the temperature as my mouth went dry. It definitely was a good thing that Lauren had brought water.

“Okay, yeah, this is pretty creepy,” Angie whispered, eyeing the general decor—or rather, the stark lack of it. She pulled back a bit, so that she was level with Lauren and me, rather than ahead of us.

I refocused on the groaning, which sounded like it was coming from the other end of the hallway.

“Hello?” I called softly.

Still no response.

I wondered where the other men were, and from the confused expressions on my friends’ faces, they were wondering the same thing. Were they all sleeping in this place? It seemed so… bare. But where else would they be? We hadn’t noticed any kind of camp on our way here, unless it was set up around the back of the house.

I poked my head through the open doorways on either side of the hallway as we passed them, and each of the rooms beyond, also bathed in dim gaslight, looked equally derelict. Most were scattered with furniture, covered with thick layers of dust, and none of it looked like it had been used in years. Perhaps upstairs was nicer?

It was the strangest thing, but as we crept deeper into the house, I realized it was becoming hotter. By the time we were two-thirds down the corridor—having passed a set of stairs leading up to the higher floors—we had to stop and take a sip of water.

“Seriously, it’s like an oven in here,” Lauren gasped, stowing the bottle away once we were done with it.

I brushed away the sweat that was quickly forming on my brow with the back of my hand, and set my focus on the only door in this corridor that was closed — right at the end, and now only about five feet in front of us. This house was far deeper than I had anticipated; the hallway had seemed to stretch forever. I guessed the heat also had something to do with that impression.

As we closed the final feet between us and the last door, my ears picked up on something other than the persistent protests of pain. There was murmuring coming from the room—which meant other people were in there—but there was also the sound of… crackling?

It sounded like the crackling of flames.

“It’s all right,” a deep voice spoke from within. “It’s almost over.”

“Just think,” a second voice added, “one more day, and it will be done. You’ll never have to go through this again.”

“You’re doing better than we could have hoped, Ronad,” a third voice spoke. “Hang in there.”

Ronad?

More groans interspersed the comforting statements, and my curiosity reached the breaking point. I strode forward, gripped the handle, and pushed the door, springing it open wide and granting the three of us full view of the room.

Nothing could have prepared me for what we saw.

I had to be hallucinating.

I frowned, then closed my eyes and blinked several times, trying to shake myself to my senses, but when I opened my eyes, the scene was unchanged.

I glanced at Angie and Lauren, and from the look of utter shock on their faces, I realized they saw it too.

A fire roared in a hearth in the center of the room, beside which stood a small stand holding a round glass container, filled with reddish orange liquid. Huddled near the stand and in front of the fire were four men, bare from the waist up. At least, “men” was the first term my brain spat out for what they were. Unlike any man I had ever seen—or unlike any human for that matter—these men had skin the shade of ash, literally gray in color, and… wings. Two broad, black wings that protruded from beneath their shoulder blades, except for one man who was lying on his back closest to the fire, supported by some sort of stretcher—he appeared to have only one wing.

Lauren let out a string of curse words and stepped back, while Angie and I remained rooted to the spot. All we could do was gape.

The men whipped around at Lauren’s movement, and I recognized three of them instantly—the three men we’d met earlier, outside the fence. Only, earlier they’d looked like bronzed gods, rather than some kind of ash demons from hell.

My gaze locked on the taller man, whose eyes had darkened to thunderous storm clouds. His jaw went slack as he stared at us, apparently as shocked to see us here as we were to see them, and a hard look came over his face, one so stony and unreadable it frightened me.

The next thing I knew, an arm as rigid and strong as iron had locked around my waist, pushing me backward, and then the floor disappeared from underneath me. I felt the sensation of intense heat around my midriff, where the arm was holding me, as well as against my back, which was suddenly pressed against something smooth yet rock hard. It was all I could do to not cry out at the surge of heat flooding through my veins, before my stomach dropped, and the last breath was knocked from my lungs.

I soared off the ground and flashed through the corridor and into one of the open doorways at what felt like lightning-speed, then landed with a thud that caused whatever strength I had left in my knees to leave me. The iron arm released me, the heat relinquishing along with it. I sank to the floor, gasping for air, and felt my two friends collapse on either side of me.

When I looked up barely a second later, the door to the room slammed shut, followed by the sound of a bolt being drawn.

We’d been thrown into one of the dusty rooms cluttered with old furniture. I scrambled to my feet and darted to the door, slamming against it, yanking the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“Help me!” I wheezed, panic setting my brain alight.

This couldn’t be happening. We couldn’t be stuck in here. With these… I didn’t even know what they were.

My friends rushed to help me, but no matter how hard we slammed our fists or kicked against it, the door wouldn’t move.

I paused, holding up a hand to indicate to Angie and Lauren to do the same. I took a deep breath and pressed my ear against the door, listening, half fearing what I would hear.

Someone was murmuring. Were it not for the heated tone of the conversation, I doubted I would be able to make out the words. As it was, I could, just about…

My friends followed my lead, pressing their ears against the wood, and I gazed at them with wide eyes, one finger over my lips as I strained to hear.

“It doesn’t matter,” one of them spoke. “They’ve seen us, Navan!”

“I am aware,” came the growled response.

“So what do we do? We can’t keep them locked in there forever.”

“We have no choice for the time being,” a distinct third voice replied, similar in tone to Navan’s. They all had similar, hard-to-place accents.

“I wonder how much of a problem it would be if we just… smothered them,” a fourth voice added, and our breath caught in our throats.

“Forget it, Ianthan,” Navan’s deep growl returned. “You know that’s against my code… We’ll have to give them Elysium.”

“Elysium? Do we know if that will even work on humans?”

“It will. It just requires the right concentration.”

Elysium? Work on humans? What are these men?

It seemed that Lauren couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, let us out!” she cried, and began banging against the door with her fists. “I swear, whoever you are, we won’t breathe a word! Just let us go!”

The voices had fallen quiet. There was the sound of a door opening, and then swift footsteps just outside, moving toward the far end of the corridor. Another door creaked, and then all was completely silent, save for the soft crackling of flames.

It seemed they hadn’t been aware that we could hear them. Which left me with the terrifying question of why they wanted privacy.

What are they talking about now?

What are they going to do to us?

I sensed those questions trembling in my friends’ eyes, too, as we inched away from the door and gaped at each other.