Just as I''m imagining what my obituary might say, sensation returns. My lungs expand, greedily sucking in oxygen. I can feel my body again!


    The air is crisp and cool, heavy with the smell of rain. My eyes flicker open. I''m lying on the ground, staring up into a thick canopy of dark, thorny trees, gray-white fog wafting around me in clouds of thick smoke.


    In my periphery, I become aware of a ghostly green glow. Turning my head, I blink in surprise: it''s a giant mushroom, as tall and towering as the trees around it, fanning out like an enormous umbrella. Strangest of all, it''s moving, its thick cap rising and falling like a human chest, each breath expelling thick bursts of green vapor into the air. Long, thick tendrils hang beneath the cap, sparking and glinting like lightning strikes as they extend down to touch the forest floor, where they writhe like massive snakes in search of unsuspecting prey.


    A shudder surges through my body, rolling along my bones, warning me to stay far, far away from those tendrils.


    Slowly, I push myself to my feet. Though it''s dark, the glow from the mushroom casts a faint light on my surroundings. Above me, sweeping white cobwebs stretched between heavy sagging branches are crawling with spiders of a size you would normally expect to find only in places like Australia. I may like spiders, but not quite at this size... certainly not in a forest where everything seems to be of a deadly variation. On the ground, thick tufts of lengthy tree roots tangle around each other, coating the earth with what look an awful lot like giant snake pits. A cool wind rattles the leaves and pushes the relentless fog along the forest floor in all directions.


    I can''t shake the disturbing feeling that I''m being watched. As if the forest itself is alive, a quiet but vigilant sentinel on the lookout for trespassers.


    And that''s exactly what I am, aren''t I?


    A trespasser.


    My gaze drifts to the black book that brought me here. It lies innocently in a cluster of leaves, bound once more by ghostlike thread. I bend down and stuff it quickly back into my rucksack, darting glances all around.


    A low, guttural growl sounds nearby. Far too close for comfort. Like a startled mouse, I snap up and turn tail, running as fast as my feet can carry me in search of the forest path, leaping my way through the pitted web of tree roots twisting along the ground. Bevies of large purple-blue flowers poke out of the earth up ahead, swaying in the wind. Their bright green beaded cores glow softly in the night, illuminating the forest floor. For a moment, I''m entranced by their beauty. But as I close in, the flowers still, as though sensing my presence. Then they turn as one, their glowing cores aimed at me like a hundred glaring eyes.


    I skid to a halt. What is this place? A small noise escapes my throat as I turn and race off in a different direction.


    At long last, I reach a dirt path partially hidden by leaves. I bend forward, panting heavily, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. A part of me doubts it ever will.


    What just happened?


    The logical part of my mind reminds me none of this is possible—that it''s all some bizarre dream, or an extra-trippy hallucination. But another part of me knows it isn''t. Somehow... somehow a small book indeed swallowed me up and spit me out into the middle of some strange-scary forest in an equally strange-scary country that I had no idea existed.


    A country of magic.


    A sudden thought strikes me: Does that mean I can do magic? It would certainly be a useful thing to have right about now, particularly if the growling thing in the forest acquires an appetite.


    I decide to test it out. I scan the path, my gaze settling on another patch of glowing flowers nearby. Maybe I could try floating a flower? That seems easy enough.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    As I approach, the flowers still, as they did earlier. Then they turn in unison, facing me. I freeze, resisting the urge to back away. Other than this peculiar behavior, they seem harmless. They are just flowers, after all. And really quite beautiful ones at that. Mesmerized, I reach forward to pick one—


    The flower springs to action, stinging my hand before my fingers can close around it.


    "Ouch!" I shriek, jerking my hand back to see a large purple welt already blooming. I glare at the flower. Then my anger turns to fear. The flower''s green beaded core is sucking itself in, and I realize what''s about to happen a second before it does; I leap backward just as the flower shoots something slimy and green and glowing through the air that misses me by an inch. It lands on the ground near my foot and sizzles into the dirt like molten lava.


    Someone chuckles behind me. "You ought to use your familiar for that."


    I whip around. A boy is standing nearby, leaning against a tree, lips pressed together in an amused smirk. He looks around my age and is tall and slender, with russet-brown skin, broad shoulders, and wide, deep-set eyes. A strange bird perches on his shoulder. With a waxy coat of bright green feathers, a long neck, and even longer tail, it looks almost reptilian. Nearly dragon-like, only a thousand times smaller. Its round, sea blue eyes peer at me curiously.


    I give the boy a blank look.


    "Watch," he says, before nodding to the bird. It flies toward the collective of flowers, swoops down, and retrieves the one that attacked me. Its neighbors shoot jets of green lava at the bird, two even hitting it, but the bird pays them no mind. It returns to the boy''s shoulder and holds out the flower, puffing out its chest proudly.


    "Thanks, Dooner," says the boy, stroking its scales affectionately. He takes the flower and hands it to me. "Here. I already got some earlier."


    "Is he okay?" I ask.


    "Of course," he says slowly, in a voice that informs me that this was a very stupid question. "Firedrakes are immune to burns." He looks around. "Where''s yours?" Then he tilts his head. "Or are you a werewolf?"


    It takes me several seconds to realize this is a real question. "Oh. Um. No." Surely my parents would have thought to drop a fun fact like that into their letter.


    "What''s your name anyway?"


    "Riley Ja—" I bite my tongue, the reality of the past several hours crashing back. I scold myself; my parents warned me to keep a low profile. And after the attack at the community home, it would be careless to do otherwise. I pretend to clear my throat. "Riley Jacobs."


    "I''m Patrick—Patrick Goodwin."


    Our surroundings are growing lighter. I glance up to see the black sky morphing slowly into a deep gray. Almost dawn.


    Thank god.


    "So, you must have a potionmaker for a parent, too, eh?" says Patrick.


    I blink. "I—what?"


    He nods to the flower he gave me. "The twilight? That''s why you''re out here, right?"


    "Oh. No, I was just—um... hiking."


    He stares. "In the middle of the night?"


    I force a smile. "Couldn''t sleep."


    He''s silent for a moment. "So... you go hiking through monster-infested forests when you can''t sleep?"


    "Yep. That''s me—avid hiker. Great way to... um... catch the sunrise..." I glance up at the burgeoning purple-gray veil that is the sky.


    When he continues to gawk at me, I cross my arms. "Well, why are you out here, then?"


    "Because I needed twilights." He points again to the purple flower in my hand. "As in, the ones that come out only at night?" He gestures beside us.


    I turn—my eyes flare. The blanket of twilight flowers is slowly sinking into the earth.


    Patrick laughs. "They disappear with the sunrise. I''m surprised you''ve never seen them before."


    "What do you need them for?"


    The grin slips from Patrick''s face. "My mother sent me after them." He scowls. "Again. She owns the apothecary in Skeleton Grove—"


    My heart jumps. Skeleton Grove? That''s where I need to go.


    "—and twilights are one of the main ingredients for all sorts of tonics and potions. She needs them for an elixir she''s brewing this morning for a client. I swear, she treats me like I''m her assistant. Unpaid assistant. Why hire help when you''ve got a kid to order around? She''s always sending me after ingredients when school lets out, never mind that Grimlock isn''t even in session right now—just wakes me up at four o''clock in the morning." He huffs.


    "Ah," I say, attempting to hide the fact that nothing he just said made the least bit of sense to me.


    "Speaking of which, I ought to be getting back." He glances at his wristwatch. "Are you going to continue your hike? Or does daytime take the fun out of it?"


    "Hike?" I say, before catching myself. "I mean, nope, all hiked out." That much is true, at least. "So... you said your mom''s shop is in Skeleton Grove?" Patrick nods. "Mind if I tag along?" I ask casually. "I''m... uh, visiting a friend there today, and... well, I''m not familiar with the village."


    "''Course!" says Patrick, starting down the mossy path. "It''s a bit of a walk. We can get to know each other better!"


    I inhale, my mouth going very dry. "Great. Yeah. That''s... just great."


    I''d only been talking with Patrick for a couple minutes, and almost blew my cover more times than I could count. What will he do if he discovers my secret?