It was already that time of year again.

  The nights were drawing in, the rain relentless, the trees shedding what little colour they had left. Autumn in this part of the country never eased you in gently, it arrived soaked and uninvited.

  “Well, no point putting it off any longer.”

  I reached for my raincoat, draped over the back of a kitchen chair. Before I’d managed to get an arm through the sleeve, I heard the familiar sound of padded feet and claws ticking across the floor.

  Ruth appeared at my side and sat neatly by the door, tail thumping against the tiles.

  “So, you do want to go out in weather like this?”

  His ears twitched. The tail wagged harder.

  “Come on then.”

  The moment the door opened, he was up, head lowered expectantly as I clipped on the lead. A second later, we were outside, swallowed by the damp, cold dark.

  The fields were quiet, save for the distant rumble of thunder. Lightning flickered on the horizon, brief flashes illuminating the rain as it swept sideways across the land.

  “This won’t be a long walk if this keeps up,” I muttered.

  Ruth, naturally, disagreed. He tore off into the darkness the moment I let him loose, vanishing somewhere ahead of me.

  “Where’ve you got to now, you silly dog?”

  I whistled as I reached the stile at the far edge of the field. A rush of wind flattened the grass nearby, and seconds later Ruth burst out of the darkness, bounding toward me as if summoned by the sound itself.

  I climbed the stile and headed toward the churchyard, pulling Ruth back onto the lead. I never liked cutting through there at night, the creaking trees, the shadows, the way sound seemed to linger just a second too long.

  Once clear of it, I let him off again and picked up my pace. Rain had already found its way through my coat.

  I really need a new one of these.

  The storm was closer now. Lightning flared again as I reached the small spinney ahead.

  “Getting closer, mate.”

  Ruth disappeared into the undergrowth, chasing some unseen scent. I stepped beneath the trees and paused, letting the rain patter harmlessly against the leaves above. It was almost peaceful.

  Then I stepped back into the open field.

  The rain swirled strangely there not blown by the wind, but drawn inward. At first I thought the lightning was reflecting off it.

  Then I realised the light wasn’t coming from the sky.

  Tiny orbs were rising from the ground in every direction, lifting like embers and drifting toward the centre of the field. They gathered slowly, deliberately, forming a column of shimmering light.

  I should have turned back.

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  Instead, I walked closer.

  The orbs passed through me as if I wasn’t there, brushing past my arms, my legs, my face. I reached out instinctively, trying to touch one. My hand passed straight through it.

  Something was forming at the centre of the column.

  At first it was just a shape, pale, incomplete like a limb being printed from light itself. Another followed. Then another.

  My breath caught as a skeleton assembled before my eyes, suspended within the glow.

  “This isn’t happening,” I whispered.

  Flesh followed. Muscle. Veins. Skin.

  The fear crept in then, sharp and electric, tangled with a strange sense of anticipation I couldn’t explain. Like standing at the top of a ride you can’t get off.

  “Crap,” I muttered. “I’m going to get abducted by aliens.”

  I whistled for Ruth. Nothing.

  I tried to move.

  I couldn’t.

  She was beautiful.

  That was the first clear thought I managed as the light dimmed. A woman stood where the column had been moments earlier, naked for only a heartbeat before clothing grew across her skin like living leaves. Greens and browns wrapped around her, forming something between robes and armour.

  An elf, I thought stupidly.

  Then she touched the ground.

  Her eyes were closed.

  This is bad, I realised. She’s not going to like that I’ve been standing here watching.

  I turned to leave.

  “Wait.”

  I froze.

  “Please,” the voice said softly. “Turn around.”

  I didn’t.

  “Please… help me.”

  Against every sensible instinct I had left, I turned back.

  The field was dark again now. Only she remained.

  “Come closer.”

  I hesitated. Then reason gave way to inevitability. If she meant me harm, running wouldn’t help.

  I took a step forward.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Uh… no problem.”

  “We need to leave this place. Something will be drawn here.”

  “What?”

  “Now would be a good time to call your dog.”

  Ruth reappeared from the darkness moments later, tail wagging as he trotted straight to her side. He didn’t bark. Didn’t hesitate.

  “He likes you,” I said.

  “He knows I mean you no harm.”

  That didn’t reassure me as much as she probably intended.

  We headed back toward the village. She walked with purpose. I followed, questions piling up behind my teeth.

  By the time we reached my house, Ruth and I were soaked through.

  “Do you want a towel?” I asked. “You must be freezing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I looked up. She was completely dry.

  “…Right,” I said slowly. “That’s new.”

  “Is that truly the first thing you wish to ask?” she said.

  “Well… no. I just figured it might be the easiest thing to explain.”

  “I can control how my body interacts with the matter of this world.”

  I blinked. “Handy trick.”

  She studied me carefully.

  “You are taking this remarkably well.”

  “I think watching you appear out of thin air used up most of my shock for the night.”

  Her lips twitched, almost a smile.

  We moved into the kitchen. I grabbed a towel and dried Ruth down before he had the chance to shake water everywhere.

  “There is something I must tell you,” she said. “You may begin to notice changes.”

  “Changes how?” I asked. “I’m not going to start growing leaves, am I?”

  “No. Your perception will change.”

  “My perception?”

  “You were able to see me crossing into this world. That is not something most humans can do.”

  “But if seeing you caused the change, how could I see it at all?”

  “Because the ability was already yours. You simply were not aware of it.”

  “So, you came here for me?”

  “Yes.”

  That sat heavily between us.

  “If you had not stayed when I called to you,” she continued, “I would not be standing here now.”

  I swallowed. “That seems… risky.”

  “For my kind, it is.”

  The kettle clicked off as it finished boiling. I poured two mugs of tea.

  “Do you drink tea?”

  “Yes. Black. With a little honey, if you have it.”

  I found a jar at the back of a cupboard and handed her the mug.

  “My name is Eithna Ensthorpe,” she said. “Of the people of Tir Na Nog.”

  “Dwight,” I replied. “Nice to meet you properly.”

  “You already know who you are,” she said gently.

  “Apparently I don’t.”

  She smiled at that.

  By the time she finished explaining who and what she was, the world felt both larger and unbearably fragile.

  “You are descended from one of my people,” she said. “Your mother, Aelwen Umathirst.”

  The name lingered in the air.

  “She died long ago,” Eithna continued. “But she made a promise. One I have come to fulfil.”

  I stared into my cooling tea, the reflection staring back unfamiliar.

  “And now?” I asked.

  “Now,” she said, standing, “you must decide if you are willing to follow me.”

  Before I could respond, she dissolved into countless points of light and vanished into the night.

  I barely slept.

  Fog clung to the countryside until dawn, and somewhere beyond it, a song drifted through the mists beautiful, mournful, and not meant for human ears.

  By morning, I knew one thing for certain.

  I was going to follow her.