SKYE AWOKE. THE ROOM LOOKED LIGHTER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE FOR THE MIDDLE OF A WINTER NIGHT. SHE PEELED away from Grady’s sleeping warmth, and tiptoed to the front window of the cabin, shivering in her bare feet and T-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts borrowed from Grady. She caught her breath at the beauty outside. Everything glowed a magical subdued white. Three or four inches of snow muffled every surface except the dark expanse of water and the undersides of tree branches. The clouds lay thick overhead, reflecting the town’s lights.
The soft breaths of her three companions rustled through the cabin, from Kit and Livy up in the loft and Grady on the sofa-bed. She registered their company, but couldn’t pull her eyes from the transformed landscape outside. She longed to be out in it, the way she always would feel when waking up to a beautiful snowfall, but stronger now. More feral.
Something gave way inside her. The scrap of humanity she’d been clinging to now seemed about as inconsequential as a dead leaf. She relaxed her grip and let it fall.
Though not dressed for winter, she eased back Kit’s deadbolt and turned the doorknob. It squeaked as the door scraped against its frame, and she paused, her heart beating fast. The slumbering breaths of the other three didn’t alter.
Skye stepped out and shut the door gently. She gasped at the shock of the snow against her bare soles. Shuddering, arms around herself, she walked forward. Tiny snowflakes brushed her cheeks and lashes, like kisses. From the deck she stepped down onto the snow-topped gravel, and padded across it until she stood in the shadows under one of the largest trees, an alder between Kit’s property and the neighbor’s.
“I’m ready,” she whispered upward.
She said it so quietly. They must have been waiting, for they responded at once.
“Skyyyye. Daaaarling.”
As if the snow was made of white clay, it curled up into spiral shapes on either side of a path leading between the trees. Teeth chattering, she walked down it. When she looked over her shoulder a few seconds later, Kit’s cabin and all the others on the island were gone.
Redring and a dozen more goblins crawled headfirst down the tree trunks. They didn’t bother morphing into human form this time. Instead Redring reached out her twiggy fingers, a tiny round berry held between finger and thumb. “Warm up, my dear.”
Skye opened her mouth and accepted the berry. It tasted like a black huckleberry, on the moldy side, but nowhere near as revolting as the fruit tarts from that first night. As soon as she swallowed it, warmth spread through her body, reviving the blood flow in her bare toes and fingers. In relief, she looked down at her feet, flush with warmth and wiggling unconcernedly in the snow. She felt like she was submerged in a pool of perfect temperature.
“Welcome,” Redring said. “We are so glad. Shall we, new friend?”
Skye looked around at the goblins. Their faces now seemed more diverse from one another, livelier, friendlier. Her tribe.
She tried to remember her old tribe: her sister, mother, friends… sadness tugged at the back of her mind. Those memories were fuzzy, and she shoved away the sadness. She’d had enough of it.
She smiled at Redring. Smiled. God, how good it felt. “Yes. How do we get off the island?”
They cackled.
“Oh, that is easy.” Redring stretched out her arms, which lengthened and became wide, dark wings. A heron’s beak grew on her face, and her legs became skinnier, her toes elongating into bird talons. Five of the other goblins changed too, until a group of extra-large blue herons hopped about in the snow. “When we are done with you two tonight,” Redring added, her voice now croaking like a heron’s, “you will be able to do this, as well.”
You two. “My mate will come?” Already his human name seemed insignificant, nothing worth remembering. He’d have a new one soon. They both would.
“How could he resist, sweet one?”
Skye lifted her chin and repeated the vow: “I’m ready.”
The six herons wrapped their talons around her arms, three on each side. They beat their wide wings and lifted her into the air. Snowflakes ghosted past. Twigs and heron feathers swiped her nose and legs. They broke through the canopy and Skye gasped in wonder. How gorgeous the wild island and the inlet looked from up here, all frosted with snow. Across the water sprawled the vast forest: home.
As they soared across the inlet toward the woods, Skye began to laugh. In fact, she cackled.
Grady awoke with the impression he had heard something. The bed lay empty beside him, and he looked around the shadowy room for Skye. It had been so sweet to fall asleep next to her, and too easy to sleep deeply. He threw back the covers and crept across the room until he could see that the bathroom door stood open and no one was inside. He turned to the front window, caught sight of the snow-blanketed deck and beach, and drifted across to look. He settled his hand on the doorknob, feeling a strong pull to go out. That might have been what he heard—Skye slipping out ahead of him, following the same urge.
Grady hesitated, unmoving, hand on the cold metal, listening to the barely-discernible sounds of Kit and Livy breathing upstairs. Goodbye, he thought, with only the slightest twinge of regret, nothing at all like the torture he’d gone through when trying to compose a will the other evening.
Everything was all right now. Or would be soon. He felt light as a snowflake.
He slipped outside and silently shut the door behind him. Shivering in his socks, pajama pants, and T-shirt, he followed Skye’s footprints until they stopped under a tree. He looked up into the branches. Falling snow scattered across his face, making him blink. “I want to follow her,” he whispered. “Let me come too.”
A handful of voices giggled above, and a glow caught his eye from below. A path appeared in front of him, lined on both sides by curled snow sculptures that reminded him of seashells. Skye’s footprints led down it, filling up with falling snow. He followed the prints until they stopped again.
“Thank you, clever boy,” a voice said.
Grady saw a tarnished brass key, dangling low, followed by the goblin who wore it as a necklace. Somehow he knew it was a she. She crawled headfirst down a tree trunk, barely a foot from his face.
“Hi,” he said, unconcerned.
“We could not summon you. Rules are rules. But if you summon us, then all is well!” She and the rest of the goblins laughed.
Grady nodded, still shivering, arms wrapped around himself. The snow was soaking through his socks.
“Here.” The goblin thrust a huckleberry toward him.
Some faint part of his mind screamed, Don’t eat anything!, but he’d left that portion of himself too far behind now to heed it. He had come to be with his mate. His tribe.
He ate the berry. The chef in him cringed at the dismal quality of the fruit, the moldiness of the flavor, but he dismissed that thought too. And soon forgot it in the delightful rush of warmth that flooded him. Even his sodden feet burst back to full comfort levels.
“Better?” the goblin asked.
“Oh yes.”
“Ready?” She changed into a giant bird—as did all the others.
He watched, pleased, and felt himself smiling. “I am.” He unfolded his arms and reached up to his new tribemates.