“Wait.” Bryce’s nervous voice marks him only a few feet away. “Please don’t go any farther, I’m warning you.”

My fingertips indent the slippery surface. The idea that if I push real hard I could break through comes over me in a wave of impossibility.

This wall is supposed to be impenetrable.

The only time something goes into the world of the Fae is when they want it to. Usually a foolish mortal who bartered with a Fae and then couldn’t pay the price, or let a Fae give them something without understanding the consequences.

An Evermore never gives anything for free.

“Come to me before—before I’m forced to shoot you.” Bryce is terrified, his voice pleading. He refuses to draw any nearer. “Please, Summer. If Cal knows I let you get away . . .”

Chatty Cat brushes against my leg. Then he disappears through the Shimmer like it’s mist. Holy shit.

If Chatty Cat can do it . . .

Clutching my bow tight, I say a prayer and lunge through the Shimmer, straight into the Everwilde.

That was easy. Probably too easy.

Bryce yells at me on the other side, but it’s warbled and hard to make out. Then the mofo shoots at the wall a few times. The gunfire sounds like those little fireworks you throw onto the ground.

The bullets don’t pierce the Shimmer. They don’t even indent it.

After that, everything goes quiet.

3

The moment I pass through the Shimmer, a blast of icy air envelops me, and it takes a second to make my lungs work again. When they finally do, I watch in wonder as my breath spews on in a milky cloud and spreads through the forest.

Huge winter trees with winding trunks and silver leaves rise from the icy ground. The branches all grow in one direction, making the trees appear to reach toward the heavens at an angle.

Bright red bark clings to the trees, peeling away to reveal grayish skin beneath, and strange fruit peeks between the leaves. Each perfect golden teardrop shimmers with ice.

And the frost—it’s everywhere. Dusting the foliage, the soil, the leaves. Near the Shimmer the snowfall is thin, exposing thick green grass. Each blade is frozen solid, and when I walk, my boots crunch the delicate strands, the sound like shards of glass ground together.

A screech pierces the crisp air, and I duck just as the snowy owl from earlier swoops onto a crooked red branch. His snow colored feathers fluff out as he watches me with amber, unblinking eyes too sentient for my liking.

This world is alive with animals. Two white rabbits hop between the trees, and a squirrel with black tufts above his ears scampers over a branch. Chatty Cat flicks a glance at the squirrel and then slides his lazy gaze to me and yawns.

No wonder you’re starving.

A red cardinal drops from above and lands near us, pecking at the snow.

My jaw clenches. Perhaps the Fae are purposefully keeping us out because they want us to starve. First they took half our land, then they poisoned the earth along the tainted borderlands so those of us trapped here have nothing. They decimated our population, made orphans of the children, and expect us to obey their laws.

And now they get to sit behind some faulty, pretend wall in their stolen lands and watch us die?

Anger rushes through me, hot and pungent as a newly tarred highway in the middle of summer.

Stop sightseeing like this is the Dollar General, Summer.

Lungs aching, I reach for my bow with numb fingers. By now my hands have lost all sensation. Plus I’m having trouble getting used to the way my breath clouds my vision every time I exhale.

This is not the place to let my guard down.

Drawing an arrow along the bow, I sight down the squirrel first. I hate killing animals, but I have to bring something home to eat. My fingers are red and achy.

What are the stages of frostbite? Is red first or is that a later, fingers-fall-off stage?

“Who needs fingers anyway?” I say conversationally to the squirrel. “You do just fine without them—at least, you did until I came along.”

Only I can’t shoot him. Pretend he’s a cheeseburger, Summer. I try, but he’s so cute with his fluffy black ears and spastic tail. I want to take him home and cuddle, not eat him.

Sighing, I sling my bow over my shoulder, slip the arrow into my back jean’s pocket, and then pull out another lollipop, this one cherry-flavored.

For a moment, as the sugary goodness rushes over me, all seems right with the world.

Then I remember it’s freezing, and I’m still a good twenty minutes from home. I can’t re-enter our world in the same spot, in case Bryce is still waiting for me. And the guards are probably all looking for me now.

If I follow the Shimmer for about a mile to the north, I’ll be out of the Millers’ territory and near the woods close to our property.

“Time to jog, Summer. You can do it.” My little pep-talk falls flat. My arms shake, and I’m so tired that even taking three steps seems impossible, let alone a freaking mile.

Yet I don’t have a choice. Story of my life.

Promising myself the rest of the candy in my pocket when I’m done, I break into a half-run half-lurch. Bribery is an underrated act, especially when bribing oneself. Chatty Cat follows, swerving in and out of my legs as he bounds across the snow and makes weird mewling noises.

My breath plumes around me as I parallel the Shimmer, pushing my body hard, my boots slogging through the snow. My arms are frozen, and my sweat has formed a thin layer of ice that encrusts my body.

When I’m done, I can hardly stand. My body completely numb. But I’m incredibly proud of myself, and I demolish another lollipop, crunching straight to the gum this time.

As the sour juice from the gum trickles down my throat, I let out a cloudy sigh and then sweep my gaze over this forbidden world one last time. The beauty of it is haunting. The way nothing is dead, as if a winter storm blew in one fine summer day and froze everything just so. Even the moon seems covered in a layer of hoarfrost, the air honeyed with whatever fruit hangs from the trees.

Fruit. My tongue prickles with moisture. I haven’t tasted any real produce beyond a few expired cans of mandarin oranges in months, and the artificial cherry flavor on my tongue suddenly pales in comparison to the real thing.

The golden spheres taunt me from where they hang, swollen and ripe, begging to be picked and eaten.

I can almost feel my teeth breaking their skin. Almost taste what I imagine is a semi-soft inside, like a firm pear. The promise of fresh fruit sends a surge of energy into my body. The promise of not going home empty-handed?

Even more alluring.

Everyone knows not to steal from the Fae. But this is wild fruit, growing from trees that were once our trees, in a land that was once our land. Which, technically, makes it our fruit.

The logic seems pretty legit to me.

My hands are no good for climbing, but I find a tree on the very edge of the forest with branches bent low enough to pick its fruit. Using my shirt like a basket, I fill the bottom of my tank top with nine of the golden fruits.

Up close, their skin is a greenish-gold, the curved stems dark eggplant-purple.

I lug them to the Shimmer, say a prayer the magical fence goes both ways, then prepare to leap back to my world. From this side, the wall is completely transparent, and I take in the rolling prairie and sparse forest.

Even covered in a layer of ice, the world on this side feels so much more alive.

Resituating my bow on my shoulder, I hold the shirt with the fruit in one hand, splay my other hand on the Shimmer, and go to push—

Something clamps down on my left arm and spins me around. I cry out on instinct as fear floods me. The fruit goes tumbling into the frozen grass. I try to plant my feet to keep from flying, but whatever has me in its grip is too strong and I’m knocked sideways to my hands and knees.

Chatty Cat snarls before letting out a low, terrifying growl. He’s crouched beside me, glaring up at my assaulter.

“Thief,” a male voice hisses. A man stands over me, blocking my path to the Shimmer. . .

No, not a man. A Fae. He’s surprisingly tall, or maybe that’s because I’m on my knees, thanks to this dickwad.

Gritting my teeth, I lift my gaze to assess him, my eyes trailing up the finely-tailored black leather boots that rise to his knees, the thick sword belt and ornate long sword. The silver guard is fashioned into a dragon that wraps around the hilt. One gloved hand rests casually around the handle. White fur from some creature I can’t place lines a silver cloak embroidered with indigo and dotted with crystals.

The ostentatious ensemble is finished off with two silver owl cloak pins on either side of his collar.

Next to him, my thrift store jeans and three-day-old tank top feel rather lacking.

Curious to what an actual Fae looks like, I move my focus to his face, only to be disappointed. The hood of his cloak casts a deep shadow over his features. But I can feel predatory eyes staring down at me, searching for . . . something. The sharp apex of his ears rise on either side of his hood, the exotic tips sticking up like swords.

Hells bells. I’m standing next to an actual Fae.

That genius realization is followed by two more epiphanies. I made a terrible, stupid mistake, and now I’m in danger.

All these years avoiding the Shimmer and playing it safe, and one promise of fruit is all it took to ruin everything. I’m not prepared to meet a Fae. I’m not wearing any of the safeguards that protect humans from them.

My rowan-berry charm is somewhere inside my nightstand, and the little packets of salt I usually carry in my pockets are somewhere on the kitchen table. My clothes aren’t even inside out.

“Rise,” he orders, “and face the consequences of your crime.”

Who talks like that? I would laugh, but the hatred in his voice makes me shiver instead.

It’s not over yet, Summer. Now move!

“Happily,” I snarl.

Shoving my hands deep into the snow for support, I dart to my feet and lunge for my bow . . . only to watch the sleek steel weapon turn to ice that shatters at my touch. No.

Shards of the only thing that’s kept me fed and alive for years pelt my cheeks and then splatter the snow next to my lollipops.