Something weird happened yesterday. A couple of weird things, actually.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: I literally help my griffin uncle run a bar at the edge of reality and interact with unicorns and leprechauns every day, so isn’t my entire life weird?

…Well, yes. You got me there. But yesterday was weird even for me. And not weird in a good way.

See, it was nearing a month since Henri had confined me to Griffin’s Edge following my last…incident. Full disclosure: I’ve been getting increasingly stir crazy. Not to mention that I still hadn’t convinced anyone to bring me Thai food (thanks a lot for the help, you guys. Not).

So when a very plastered pair of college boys begged me to go find their dwarf friend and bring him to the bar to celebrate—I slowly pieced their haphazard words to together to determine that one of them had just gotten engaged—I pleaded with Henri to let me go.

Look at how excited they are to celebrate with their friend! I’d insisted, stepping to the side to block Henri’s view of one of the boys actively puking into a cauldron. And his house is already in Neverland, so you don’t have to worry about me jumping there!

Henri was hesitant, but once I threw in the puppy-dog eyes, he caved. (Listen, I may be eighteen and not nearly as cute as I once was, but big brown eyes can still come in handy. I’m like a sad golden retriever). He made me promise to bring Milo along, which was fine with me.

As we headed down the path to the right, I could sense Henri’s piercing lilac eyes on us from the doorway even without turning to look. “Be careful!” he called.

Milo winked at me, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Who, us?” he shouted back over his shoulder. “We’re always careful!”

I could have sworn I heard Henri snort. Then, holding hands, Milo and I stepped through the widening tear ahead of us.

We emerged onto a bridge made of crisscrossing pink beams, stretched across a dark river below. Looking down at it made me feel a little squeamish; I couldn’t help remembering the snakelike monster that had attempted to kill me last time I’d been near a Neverland river. And with the black, swirling surface of this river, it wouldn’t surprise me if similar creatures were lurking within.

Good thing I was on the bridge several stories above the water this time. As wind whistled around us, Milo followed my gaze to the water below. “Not nearly as nice as Henri’s pool,” he said with a half-smile.

“You can say that again,” I agreed. Surely my mind was imagining how the water seemed to be swirling more intensely, shaping itself into a dark whirlpool of danger?

Milo must have seen the concern on my face, because he rested a hand on my shoulder. “There’s a kraken and a few serpents in there, but they’re not paying us any attention.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me that he could tell. I didn’t even care how; I trusted him. And his reassurance did work—enough that the tightness in my chest loosened a bit. I nodded and squared my shoulders. “That’s a nice change of pace. I don’t suppose our dwarf is going for a swim in there with them?”

Milo laughed, his blue eyes twinkling despite the gray sky stretching above us. I think they just do that on their own. “Nah. Not that easy. But would you really want to go get him if he was?”

I chuckled too. “Absolutely not. Come on.”

Like he always did, Milo matched my strides as I began to head across the bridge, towards the neighborhood on the other side. We walked in amicable silence until we crossed over onto dry land, continuing down the violet-bricked road and leaving the pink bridge behind us.

I won’t lie, I breathed a little easier once we weren’t over the water anymore. Look, I like to think I’m a decently brave guy, but I couldn’t stop picturing that horrible water-serpent-with-a-creepy-human-face that had tried to eat me last time I’d been near a river. That was only a month ago. Cut me a break.

Milo nudged my shoulder with his. “Where to, O Great and Valiant Errand Boy?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get there when we get there.”

He snorted. “You sound like my mom.”

“Someone has to.”

“And that someone is my sister. You’re supposed to be a bad influence. You know, give me some fun in life, make me look like a very well-behaved individual with shockingly good control over his own atoms.”

I held a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “Me? A bad influence? How dare you.”

He laughed again. “I don’t make the rules.”

“No, you just break them,” I said, smirking. Milo gasped in fake shock, opening his mouth to no doubt give me a very sarcastic reply, but suddenly I stopped in my tracks, holding up a hand to stop him too, my blood turning to ice.

We had reached the dwarf’s house. That wasn’t what had frozen me in place, though. No, it was the fact that his front door was hanging wide open, half-ripped off its hinges. I’m no expert in home security—growing up in a bar and all—but even I knew that an open, damaged door like that couldn’t possibly be a good sign. Especially in Neverland.

Milo had followed my stare, and his expression immediately turned serious. Almost simultaneously, I drew my knife and he pulled something from his jeans pocket, slipping it onto his hand. I glanced at it: it looked like a set of brass knuckles, only instead of brass, the top was coated in…barnacles. He shrugged. “Barnacles are sharp. Trust me, they’ll hurt.”

“Works for me,” I said, tightening my grip on Sgrios. “Let’s…go in, I guess.”

“Having a better police force around here would be really helpful right about now,” Milo whispered as we carefully started up the path.

I nodded but didn’t respond. We were almost at the front door now, and I had no idea what to expect. It could be nothing. But I’d never seen something like this before, and I was worried. Plus, when is anything I run into ever ‘nothing’?

With a deep breath, I led the way across the threshold, Milo a step behind. And, like every stereotypical horror movie character ever, I called out, “Hello?”

No answer. In fact, it was surprisingly, eerily quiet. Nothing looked out of place as we moved into the living room; torches on the wall illuminated intricately-carved stone furniture, a fireplace in the corner was still smoldering from a recently-extinguished fire, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table. Whatever had happened here must have been very recent.

Unease prickled down my spine. Milo’s shoulder brushed mine as we stood side-by-side, staring at the room by the dancing light of the torches. “This is creepy,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “I don’t like it.”

I made my way around the couch and into the kitchen, where the unease only grew. The old-fashioned woodburning stove was still smoldering, too, as if it had just been snuffed out. A platter of turkey sat on the counter, half-eaten.

“It’s like he just…vanished,” I murmured.

When I rounded the corner from the kitchen to the dining room, though, it got worse. So much worse. I froze in place, sucking in my breath at the sight. Milo, still in the kitchen, whispered “What is it?” and came to my side in the doorway.

Immediately, he squeaked and grabbed my arm. The dwarf was lying on the floor of the dining room—dead. Blood pooled outwards beneath him, spreading across the stone floor and seeping into its cracks. Natural death by a heart attack or something similar would still be extremely unfortunate—and not on my bucket list to discover like this—but this was no natural death, which I think made it even worse. The blood was seeping from two visible wounds: one that looked like a jagged stab wound in his side, made by some kind of large, serrated blade, and a second straight through his forehead—a bullet hole.

Say what you will about the monsters of Neverland’s darkest places, but at least they kill for food. You’d never find a body like this if one of them attacked—they eat their prey. This? This was the work of a murderer, someone who had killed the dwarf for motive and left his body here to rot. Probably only hours ago, by the looks of it.

And believe it or not, murderers aren’t common in Neverland. Most of its inhabitants are too busy trying not to get eaten by the real monsters to turn on each other. In my eighteen years, I’d heard of maybe a handful of inhuman murders. And most of those, like human crimes, were personally motivated; you know, a jealous lover, a spiteful ex, family rivalries. Not an apparent home invasion like this.

Milo’s voice trembled when he spoke, his nails still digging into my arm. “I’ve never seen someone killed in his own home,” he said. “What does it mean?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I think we should go back, tell Henri, and—”

I never finished the thought, because something flashed past the window. Something fast-moving and vaguely human-shaped. I swear my heart stopped. What if the murderer was still here? Milo apparently had the same idea, because he squeaked again and dug his nails in still deeper, enough that I flinched in pain—

And jumped.

You’d think the concern would now be that I had Milo with me in the human dimension, right? Since I was jumping from Neverland? Yeah, that would make sense.

But my life isn’t really in the business of making sense, because suddenly I found myself standing in a dark forest, with whispers and snarls coming from shadows all around me. With Milo along for the ride.

Now, if you’re thinking, Ian, how did you end up in the dark forests of Neverland if you were already in Neverland? Like you told Henri at the beginning, I thought that didn’t happen. I thought you only jumped between dimensions, not within dimensions!

Well, so did I. Join the club.

Milo looked at me with wide blue eyes, making no move to release his grip. “Are we where we think we are? Since when did you start jumping between places in one dimension?”

“Since today,” I said, feeling like my heart might beat out of my chest. Between the body we’d just found and the fact that my jumping had evolved still further and the fact that we were back in my favorite place, I was very, very on edge.

The growls and whispers from the trees seemed to be growing louder. Unlike the dwarf’s house, these forests were never quiet. “You end up here a lot, right?” whispered Milo. “You’re like, the resident expert, aren’t you? You’ll keep me safe.” I glanced at him; he was attempting a smile.

“Right,” I said, hoping my words relayed more comfort to him than they did to me. “That’s me, your knight in shining armor.” Never mind how close I came to being eaten last time I was here.

Luckily, we weren’t near the river. Not so luckily, there are still plenty of things in the rest of the forest that are just as deadly. And moments later, one of them stalked out of the trees.

It was very similar to a saber-tooth tiger, complete with fangs as long as my forearm, except that instead of fur, its body was covered in black-tipped quills. Kind of like a porcupine. Its eyes glowed gold, bright against the darkness of the dense trees. And with my luck, its quills were probably venom-tipped.

My fingers tightened around Sgrios. I was pretty sure I’d read about these monsters, and I was pretty sure this tiger wouldn’t be a fan of the ash in my knife. Not that I really wanted to get close enough to find out, but it didn’t look like I’d have much of a choice.

I met its eyes and waved the knife. “You want the nice, tasty merman, you’re gonna have to get past me first. Come on, try your luck, why don’t you?”

“Don’t tell it I’m tasty!” hissed Milo.

“It already wants to eat us; I hardly think what I tell it makes a difference!” I shouted back as it lunged forward and I charged to meet it.

Look, sometimes it’s best to face these things head on. And I’ll be honest, it was easier to be brave with Milo there—to know that not only my life, but his life depended on my actions.

The tiger, obviously, was a lot stronger than me. In hindsight, I really should have seen that coming. Despite my slashing attempts, it hit my shoulders with the force of a freight train and knocked me onto my back, pinning me to the muddy ground.

Hot drool dripped onto my cheek—and by the smell, I doubted this tiger had ever even heard of mouthwash—as it began to claw at my chest. I gasped in pain as my shirt and skin sliced open like butter, continuing to wave Sgrios wildly to try and make contact. “MILO, RUN!” I shouted.

I connected at least once; the tiger paused and roared in pain as the ash-imbued knife cut its side. But it wasn’t enough. A second later, I felt pinpricks on my thigh—the quills. I groaned. If they were venom-tipped, I was in trouble.

But then, just as my swipes were weakening and I was praying that Milo had already fled so that the tiger would only get one meal, it stopped attacking. In fact, it stepped off my body and sunk to its belly in the mud, staring dazedly at something behind me.

I barely had time to think, What the— before my mind, too, seemed to go blank. I don’t remember much except a sudden overwhelming desire to stop fighting and remain calm, an urge so strong that I couldn’t help but give in and simply lie there.

A melody! It was a melody! The most beautiful, relaxing melody I had ever heard, and I wanted nothing more than to listen to anything it instructed me to do. No, not just wanted to; I had to. The voice, deep and rich and echoing, filled my consciousness as it sang of peace and life. Sgrios slipped from my fingers, falling to the dirt beside me, but I didn’t care. I was glad to have dropped the knife, actually, and to have given in to the song’s demands.

And sleep! Now it sang of sleep, of falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, of waking up well-rested with a full belly. Automatically, my eyes fluttered shut, and the world began to fade away…

Until I was jerked awake by hands roughly pulling me to my feet, propping me up as I blinked sleepily, shoving my knife back into its sheath on my belt. The melody had stopped, I was pretty sure, though I could still hear it echoing in my ears, still felt its call to sleep. I blinked slowly, registering flashes of blue, as I swayed, nearly falling over except for the shoulder holding me up.

A familiar voice broke through my half-asleep mind. “I’m sorry, Ian! I only wanted to affect the monster, but it affects everyone who hears it!”

“Whaaryoutalkinbout,” I said sleepily, nearly falling over again. I couldn’t focus; I heard the words, but they weren’t registering.

The person groaned, dragging me forward, away from the sleeping tiger. Its snores faded behind us as I stumbled across dirt and wet leaves, blinking blurrily with each step, trying to clear the exhaustion from my eyes. “The song! Doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here before it fades.”

“Mmhmm,” I agreed, still listening to the haunting echo. It was getting quieter. I didn’t want it to! I wanted it to stay. How did I get it to stay?

Something was following us in the trees; I saw flashes of movement between blinks. Apparently, my companion—I thought his name started with M? Mike? Melvin? — noticed this too, because he cursed and started dragging me faster.

“Donwana,” I groaned. “Wanasleep.”

“I know, and it’s my fault! I’m sorry,” he said desperately. “But you gotta shut up.”

The melody had faded fully now, and my mind was beginning to clear, my eyes feeling less sleepy. And so I was sure that I saw movement in the shadows, and that I heard a roar behind us—the tiger must have woken up too. My companion—Milo, goddammit! He was Milo, my best friend! — cursed. “I was really hoping to have found a gap by now.”

Still letting him support me (because my legs apparently had not gotten the let’s be awake memo yet), I reached out with a hand and felt for a tear in reality. Not to brag, but I am the resident expert in interdimensional travel. There, right there! Not far ahead of us. I pointed.

Milo, helping me along with him, beelined for the gap. Another roar and crashes sounded from the trees behind us—the tiger was in hot pursuit once more, and probably angry about its failed attack; twigs snapped and someone or something breathed in the undergrowth beside us. But we were almost there—my fingers could nearly brush the edges—

Right as the tiger exploded through the trees, Milo and I passed through the tear, tumbling out onto the path in front of Griffin's Edge. We laid there, side-by-side, breathing hard, for several minutes, as humans and werewolves alike emerged from the fog and passed us on their way into the bar. Most didn’t even give us a second glance. Honestly, a lot of our patrons have seen me lying out on the path at one point or another through the years. As long as I’m not actively dead, they figure I’ll be alright.

I could finally think clearly again, and everything was piecing itself together in my brain. “So, your singing,” I said after we had caught our breath. “I’ve never heard you do that before.”

Milo turned his head to look at me, tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. “I really am sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I didn’t want to affect you too, but you were in its range.”

I propped myself up on my elbow, immediately wincing as I felt the pain in my chest from the slashes. In my siren-induced stupor, I’d nearly forgotten about the injuries. “Don’t be sorry!” I insisted. “You saved my life. And honestly, it was cool as hell. All I can do is send us to places where we nearly get killed.”

He glanced at my chest and made a face. “Yeah, speaking of, I should probably go get Henri.”

I groaned and fell back to the ground. “He’s never gonna let me leave the bar again.”

“I think we have bigger problems,” said Milo quietly.

I said nothing, because he was right. I could handle the disappointed stare from Uncle Henri as he healed my wounds—lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last—but there was also the matter of me jumping to the dark forest when I was already in Neverland, which had never happened before. And the matter of the murdered dwarf.

I continued to lie there, staring up at the gray fog that swirled around me, while Milo went to get Henri. One very grave look and healing touch later, we both followed him up to his office.

I’d spent a lot of time in Henri’s office over the years. It was down the hall from my bedroom, and though it was simple, it conveyed a sense of quiet power, like Henri himself did. A large wooden desk with griffins carved into its legs, made by Em as a birthday gift, dominated the room; Henri’s plush lilac chair sat behind it. Tall bookshelves, crammed full of books ranging from human novels to ancient dragon tomes, covered most of the wall space. Remaining areas were covered in art, all made by friends of Henri’s: paintings by unicorns, moving images crafted by witches, garlands woven by fairies. And, hanging behind his desk, terrible childhood drawings made by me. Like, really terrible. I don’t know why he’s kept so many of them.

Henri led us in and sat behind his desk; Milo and I took two of the matching lilac chairs on the other side of the desk, by the fireplace. And then we told him everything: the dwarf, the jump, our near-death experience. Through it all, he simply listened, his fingers knit together in his lap, his expression calm.

And when I’d finished, he sighed and stared into the fire, which continually twisted and formed into the shapes of various magical beings before collapsing into sparks and beginning the cycle again (the fireplace was a gift from a good dragon friend of Henri’s).

“You don’t seem…surprised,” I said.

His lilac eyes met mine. “I can’t say that I am,” he said slowly. He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a glossy piece of paper, laying it on the wood in front of him and pushing it towards us. “Here.”

Milo and I leaned over to look. It was a photo, seemingly taken in a Neverland yard, based on the dark dirt and sky, split by a bright green fence. But that wasn’t the interesting part: the interesting—and horrifying—part was that a fairy was nailed to that fence, iron stakes driven through her hands, feet, and neck. Like she’d been crudely crucified.

I felt nauseous as I looked up at Henri. “What is this?”

“A murdered fairy,” said Henri solemnly, his voice mournful. “A friend of Em’s. She found her yesterday. I had hoped it was an isolated incident. But now…” He let the thought trail off.

Milo’s eyes were wide. “Is there a serial killer on the loose, killing people like me? Like my family?” He sounded scared. I didn’t blame him. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t go anywhere.”

“I know,” said Henri. “I’ll pass the word to my contacts, have them keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. It may be nothing. Just two personal vendettas within days of each other. But it doesn’t hurt to investigate. You’ll be safe, Milo. If you feel more comfortable here, you and your family are welcome at Griffin’s Edge as often as you’d like.”

Milo nodded, looking slightly less nervous. But I knew Henri better, and I knew he was more concerned than he was letting on. I could see it in the creases around his eyes, in the tightness around his smile as he hugged Milo goodbye.

And as soon as Milo had gone home, I sat across from Uncle Henri once again. “You’re scared,” I said.

He glanced at me sharply. “Of course, I’m scared,” he answered. “And so should you be. There are far fewer inhuman beings than there are humans, and we turn on each other far more rarely. The monsters of our world are enough of an evil to fight against; we don’t need to fight each other as well.” He closed his eyes, pinching his nose. I knew that look. He had a headache, but not the kind any Tylenol would cure. “If someone is murdering others, it’s probably a very unstable individual. And I imagine that individual is far from done.”

“If you put all your friends on it, surely we can find him,” I said. “You know everyone.”

Henri ignored this and instead stared at me, his lilac eyes seeming to burn all the way to my soul. I squirmed uncomfortably. I hated when he looked at me like that, like he could read my mind. “And you are not going anywhere until we figure this—and your jumping—out.”

I wanted to argue and say that confining me to Griffin’s Edge again wasn’t fair, that surely I could go to the human dimension to get some Thai food, because if I jumped between, say, Canada and Mexico, who cares? and also because an inhuman killer couldn’t be in the human realm. But I knew better than to argue with Henri. So I just said, “Okay,” and told him good night.

But lying in bed last night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the dwarf’s body, saw the fairy crucified to her own fence; I heard the rustling in the bushes as something followed me and Milo, heard Milo’s haunting song. My thoughts whirled at a million miles per hour, trying to piece together a puzzle that had no picture on the box. And somehow, despite no evidence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it all tied to something much bigger, and that it all had something to do with me.