I nod. That about sums it up.

“You’d rather dothat than deal with Sabine?”

I nod again and this time I lift my shoulders too.

“Can I ask why?”

“Sure.” I smile. “But I probably won’t answer ’til we get there, so just trust me, okay? There’s something I need to see first.”

He looks at me, obviously reluctant to go through with it but even more reluctant to deny me, he quickly manifests a horse for us to ride as I close my eyes and urge him to take us to the darkest, dreariest part of this place.

And the next thing I know, we’re there. Our mount coming to a crashing halt as Damen and I fight to stay on his back. Rearing and bucking and pawing the earth, forcing Damen to coo softly into his ear, assuring him he need go no farther, and calming him down enough for us to slide off his back and have a good look around.

“So, just like we remembered it,” Damen says, eager to ditch this place for somewhere warmer, brighter, better.

“But is it?” I venture toward the spot where the mud begins, tapping my foot softly against it. Testing its softness, its deepness, trying to determine if it’s changed in some way.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” He peers at me. “But as far as I can see, it’s just as wet, barren, muddy, and depressing as the last time we were here.”

I nod. “That’s all true, but does it somehow seem…biggerto you? Like, I don’t know, like it’s…growing orexpanding in some way?”

He squints, not quite following where I’m going with this, and knowing I’ll risk sounding crazy or, at the very worst, completely paranoid, I still choose to go ahead with it anyway, since I could really use a second opinion.

“I’ve got this theory—”

He looks at me.

“Well—” I take a deep breath and gaze all around. “I can’t help but think that I might somehow be the cause of all this.”

“You?” Damen squints, brows merged with concern.

But I look right past it and quickly continue. Desperate to finish, to get the words out before I have enough time to really stop and listen to myself, before I lose all my nerve. “Look,” I say, voice tense and hurried. “I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but please hear me out first.”

He nods and flashes his palms, showing he has no plans to stop me.

“I’m thinking that maybe…well, maybe this place started growing when all the bad things started happening.”

“Bad things?”

“Yeah, you know, like when I killed Drina.”

“Ever—” he starts, eager to dispel it, to erase all the blame.

But before he can finish, I’m talking again. “I mean, you’ve been coming here for a really long time now, right?”

“Since the sixties.” He shrugs.

“Okay, right, and so, I’m sure that during all this time you’ve looked around a good bit, did your fair share of exploring, especially back in the beginning.”

He nods.

“And during those times, you said you’d never seen anything like this, right?”

He nods and sighs, though he’s also quick to add, “But then again, Summerland is avery big place. It’s quite possibly infinite for all I know. It’s not like I’ve ever come across any kinds of walls or borders, so it’s quite possible it’s been here all along and I missed it.”

I look away, trying to act as though I’m more than willing to drop it if he is, but I’m not the least bit convinced.

I can’t help feeling there’s something here that’s eithercaused by me or that I’mmeant to see, orboth . I mean, that’s what got me here in the first place. I simply asked the Summerland what it wanted me to know about it and it landed me here. But what I don’t know iswhy .

Is it somehow connected to all of those souls that, because of me, have ended up in the Shadowland?

Are they somehow making it grow?

Like adding fertilizer to a batch of weeds?

And if so, does that mean it will continue to encroach and maybe even take over the rest of Summerland?

“Ever,” Damen says. “We can explore if you want, but there’s really not much to see, is there? It seems like it’s just more and more of the same, doesn’t it?”

I gaze all around, reluctant to give up so easily, and yet not really knowing what I’m looking for, or even how to go about proving my theory. So I start to turn away. Start to move toward him again when I hear it.

The song.

Drifting from behind me, as though carried by a long and distant breeze, but still there’s no mistaking it.

No mistaking the voice—the words—the eerily haunting tune.

And I know without looking it’sher .

Turning to find her pointing finger, her crooked, gnarled hand, raised high as she sings:

From the mud it shall rise Lifting upward toward vast dreamy skies Just as you-you-you shall rise too…

Only this time, she continues, adding more lines she definitely didn’t sing the last time we were here:

From the deep and dark depths It struggles toward the light Desiring only one thing The truth!

The truth of its being But will you let it?

Will you let it rise and blossom and grow?

Or will you damn it to the depths?

Will you banish its worn and weary soul?

And just when I’m thinking it’s over, she does the weirdest thing.