The darkness that gripped me along with the hands at my throat gave way to a shifting, black fog. I found myself standing in its midst, even the ground veiled by its shadows; I couldn’t see my feet. It was like I was in a void, somewhere beyond the edge of space and time.

You know, for someone who’s been in the fog between dimensions countless times, it really shouldn’t have freaked me out. But somehow, this was way, way worse.

I cursed. It echoed.

Second try. “Anyone out there?” I shouted into the rolling fog.

I didn’t really expect a response, but I got one. A shape was taking form ahead of me, still shrouded in shadow, though its outline seemed vaguely humanoid. I squinted and stepped closer, trying to make out its details.

“Hello?” I called. “Can you hear me?” Unease prickled down my spine as my words turned into echoing whispers, vanishing into the darkness.

But suddenly eyes blinked into being, shockingly human in everything but the color: as silver as the blade of a knife. As they stared into my brown ones, I found myself drawn to them like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t tell you why; they just…called to me. I stepped forward, barely aware that I was doing it. “What are you?” The words were hardly a whisper, but even they echoed.

Another step. I reached my hand out on instinct, and I swear I saw a shadow move below its eyes, as if it, too, were reaching out for me.

But the illusion of connection, of calm, was shattered as quickly as it had appeared, because with a flash of color, something else moved in the fog to my right, and the silver eyes vanished immediately. I wanted to tell them to come back, but something told me to be stay silent. Whatever was out there gave me a sick feeling in my gut, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want it to know I was here.

I reached down slowly, hoping my movements were blocked by the fog, and grabbed the pistol at my belt, keeping it pointed at the ground but carefully switching the safety off. The whole time, I kept my eyes trained on the barely-perceptible movements to my right, sure that if I looked away, I wouldn’t be able to pick them out again.

I crept forward towards the motion, raising the pistol as I did. The thing in the shadows was moving closer, too, I thought, though it was so hard to tell for sure. I wondered if it had seen me move. I stopped.

Squinting, pistol pointed at the shifting shadows, I could have sworn I saw it lunge toward me.

No time to think. Instinctively, I fired. The thing shouted wordlessly in pain—it sounded relatively human—but it also kept coming, and before I could move, it threw itself at me, and I fell backwards.

The only reason I’d believed there was a ground at all in this void was because I’d been standing on a solid surface earlier; the fog hid any details. Now, though, I could confirm that there was indeed a solid ground, if only because it knocked the breath out of me as I collided with it.

The thing followed, pinning me to the dark, hidden ground. I only caught glimpses of it in the shadows. We rolled over each other—I felt skin, and hair—and something about the brief flashes I saw in the black fog seemed oddly familiar, but my brain couldn’t seem to piece it together, as it were a puzzle made entirely of corner pieces—

And as I wrestled with my attacker, scrabbling to tug at its hair or punch any part of it I could reach, I felt a wet liquid drip onto my jacket—maybe I’d managed to shoot it—and then there was pressure at my throat, maybe hands, I couldn’t tell, and I found myself thinking, Really, twice in a row?!

For the second time in like ten minutes, I felt lightheaded, and my vision might have blackening too, but it was impossible to notice any difference when we were already in a dark void of nothingness. But even as I lost consciousness again, I could have sworn I felt something slip into my pocket.

Aaaand then I woke up on the ground with one hell of a headache. It took a second for everything to come back to me: Asher’s town, hands at my neck, dark fog, more strangling. Maybe I should have been more concerned, but my head felt like it was full of cotton, and it was all I could do to lie there and groan. Instinctively I reached for my throat, wincing as I touched the tender skin there. Come on, brain, why’d you have to dream about getting choked immediately after we already got choked? I didn’t need to experience that twice! Not cool.

“You’re alive!” Asher was leaning over me, looking immensely relieved and also…amazed? Something like admiration glinted in his dark eyes, which didn’t seem entirely earned, since all I’d done was manage to pass out rather than stop breathing permanently. Oh, and pass out again while in whatever dreamworld I’d visited during my little nap. Maybe he was just amazed I’d survived, considering my less-than-stellar track record of nearly dying.

The dream was already fading; it had seemed so real in the moment, like dreams often do, but now it was slipping away fast. The real world was coming back to me. As I slowly sat up, I realized there was another guy nearby; I caught sight of him sitting against a tree trunk five feet away, tied to it with thick, thorny ropes. Even with a headache, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. “No thanks to him,” I muttered as Asher helped me up.

Asher shot a glare in the guy’s direction. “Yeah. I’m so, so sorry about that. We don’t get a lot of visitors, and he kind of freaked out. He’ll be dealt with.”

I eyed the ropes, which were drawing beads of black blood where they cut into the guy’s skin. “I can see that,” I said warily. “Look, it’s really not a big deal. I’ve almost died so many times over the years. Hell, this isn’t even the first time I’ve nearly been strangled, believe it or not.”

“No, you don’t understand how serious it was,” Asher insisted in frustration. “He should’ve—”

“Asher, I think we should get your…friend inside,” cut in a new, unfamiliar voice. “After that display, it’s probably best not to parade him around out here.”

Apparently all of Asher’s people—whatever they were—moved as quickly and quietly as he did, because suddenly there was the owner of the voice, leaning against a tree directly ahead of us. She looked a lot like Asher, and I don’t just mean her ghostly skin and dark, braided hair. They shared a lot of features, too: similar noses, heart-shaped faces. She looked a bit older than us, maybe mid-twenties. I wondered if they were related.

Asher nodded and gestured for me to follow. “Do you need help walking?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I said indignantly, trying to hide how my knees wobbled with my first steps. “I’m fine.”

Asher rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re fine, I should have known,” he said. “Come on.”

Luckily, after a few steps, I really was fine. Would’ve been super embarrassing to face plant immediately. I hurried after Asher and the woman, following them down a winding, barely-discernable path between thick trees, their branches crisscrossed overhead. We passed several houses built into the trunks before the woman turned off and headed for the front door of one.

This house was small, constructed around one of the trees, as if it were a donut and the tree was filling in its center hole. It was made entirely of black wood, like the others, with a symbol I didn’t recognize carved into the door and a set of what looked like homemade windchimes hanging from one of the branches over its roof. They jingled quietly in the breeze.

The woman opened the door and ushered us inside. I felt her eyes on me even as she closed it behind us, though I tried to ignore it and focus on the house instead.

It was surprisingly nice. Simple, for sure, but they’d made it cozy with what they had. A little living room area to my right, kitchen to my left, and a winding wooden staircase wrapped around the tree trunk that presumably led to bedrooms upstairs. Across from the couch, where I’d normally expect a television or a fireplace, was some kind of altar: glossy and black, covered in candles and ash and books with runes on their covers. I didn’t want to look too closely. Everything in the house was black, of course, though I presumed they didn’t have much choice based on the available environmental materials.

Asher gestured for me to sit. Hesitantly, I took one side of the couch. He perched on its other arm, feet on the cushion beside me, and the woman settled into the chair across from us.

“So, who is your friend, Asher?” she asked pointedly, eyebrows raised as she looked at me. “Not the usual type around these parts.”

That was a polite way of saying I was weird and she wanted to know what the hell I was doing here. I’d tiptoed around enough inhuman beings, careful to say the nicer version of things, to recognize it being done to me. “I’m Ian,” I said before he could answer. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“You didn’t make a scene,” said Asher heatedly. “Orion did.”

“Well, regardless of the blame, it was quite the scene,” said the woman. “For several reasons.” Several reasons? More reasons than ‘the guy tried to kill me’? I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but she continued smoothly. “I’m Acacia, by the way. Asher’s sister.”

They were related! I didn’t respond right away, mostly due to my slow processing of her words—my head was still working on clearing out the cotton—and she must have taken this as surprise, because she gave me a small smile and continued, “It’s okay, I’m sure Asher didn’t tell you about me. If it makes you feel better, he didn’t mention you either.” She was glaring at him now, though it was more teasing than venomous. Asher held his hands up in surrender, smirking.

“He didn’t,” I finally said. “Mention you, I mean. But it’s nice to meet you.” I didn’t really know what else to say. Now that my head was clearing and I was thinking more about the town—what had Asher called it? Oasis? — it was seeming weirder and weirder. All my life I’d thought only monsters lived in the dark parts of Neverland, the most inhuman, murderous beasts in existence. But here was an entire civilization of human-like beings, who, dare I say it, seemed mostly peaceful. Well, except Orion.

I just hope that isn’t written on my headstone after this proves out to be an elaborate method of toying with their prey. Ian Griffin, it would read, Most gullible, attack-prone being to ever grace either dimension.

What an honor.

But something in me was insisting I could trust them, Asher and his sister. Sure, that guy had tried to kill me, but they’d been more horrified by it than I was. And say what you will about my common sense, but my instincts aren’t half bad.

So I said, “I told Asher already, I have a few problems, and I’m hoping you can help.”

Acacia raised her eyebrows. “Really? You don’t have someone else to turn to?” She leaned forward as if letting me in on a secret. “Do you even know what we are?”

“I don’t think he’d wander into the forest looking for me if he had a better option,” said Asher pointedly. Though I met Acacia’s eyes and longed to press her last point—because I was desperately curious—I swallowed my eager questions. Not the time. There were more important things.

Acacia sighed and got to her feet. “Alright, go for it. We don’t have anything to lose. You want tea?”

She’d caught me off-guard. “What?”

“Tea. You have heard of tea before, haven’t you?” She was already setting a kettle on the stove, but she twisted her head to smirk at me, and that smirk made her look more like Asher than ever. “Or did you think we just drank blood or something?”

Yet again, I found myself afraid of offending them. At the same time, though, both she and Asher were watching me with mischievous glints in their dark eyes. Surely it was okay if I didn’t tiptoe around during the entire conversation? “I mean, you look a little friendlier than most things I’ve encountered in the forest, but I still kind of assumed you were carnivorous. Totally on board if I don’t look tasty, though.”

Asher and his sister looked at each other for a long moment and then burst out laughing. “You don’t look at all appetizing,” Acacia assured me.

“I’d rather eat the table,” Asher added helpfully.

The table? Okay, maybe I should be offended. Surely I was more appealing than a table.

Not the point. As the kettle began to whistle, I took a deep breath and said, “Someone’s murdering inhuman beings.”

The kettle crashed to the floor as Acacia dropped it in shock; I winced as hot droplets of water splashed onto my skin. “What?”

“I know it’s not something that happens,” I said. “But it’s happening now. I wouldn’t make this up, and I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t scared.”

Acacia left the kettle on the floor and slowly came to sit with us. Asher had tilted his head, any surprise replaced with thoughtfulness as he looked at me. “I don’t doubt that you’re telling the truth,” he said. “But why would you think that we could help?”

I sighed. Now for the awkward part. “Well…you reappeared to me after ten years right around the time they started. I don’t know, I guess I just hoped those two things were connected somehow.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s the biggest jump to a conclusion I’ve ever heard. Not even just a jump. You leapt off the cliff of conclusions.”

I stared at the dark floor of their house. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know. I think I wanted it to be that easy. And, if I’m honest…I think I just wanted to talk to you more too. I was really curious about you.”

This time, there was a long moment of silence, broken only by our shallow breathing. I didn’t want to look up, afraid of the reactions I might see.

But then Asher broke out laughing. Surprised, I raised my eyes to find that he was laughing enough that he’d slipped off the arm of the couch and slid onto the cushion beside me. As he calmed down, his grin remained. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” he said, still chuckling. “Honestly, I’m flattered.”

Acacia had a small smile, too. “Like we said earlier, we don’t get a lot of visitors,” she explained. “Or friends, for that matter.” A pause. “But unfortunately, we can’t help you. We didn’t even know about the murders until you mentioned them. One question, though…these murders…how are they killed?”

Something prickled at the back of my brain, like my mind knew her words should have triggered some connection there but hadn’t succeeded in putting it together. I shrugged. “It varies. Knives, gunshots, crucifixion. Surprisingly human methods, really. Oh! Speaking of, I think the same killer murdered a human priest, in their dimension.”

Acacia had looked relieved when I’d explained the methods of killing—I wondered what that was about, and really felt I should be putting two and two together right about now—but both her and Asher returned to shock at my last addition. I couldn’t blame them; they’d probably never heard of someone crossing dimensions. Tread carefully. It’d be all too easy to accidentally reveal that I did the same.

Asher recovered quicker. He leaned back and whistled. “Both dimensions, huh? Maybe we can help, or at least try to.”

Acacia shot him a warning look. “Asher. That’s a lost cause.”

My heart was suddenly racing in anticipation. “What is?”

Asher leaned forward, eyes glinting. “The Ancient One.”

“The Ancient One,” I repeated, letting my gaze drift to the altar a few feet away. Surely that had to be who it was set up for. “No offense, but who—or what—is that?”

Acacia sighed. “A myth created to inspire and guide our people. But that’s all it is: a myth.”

“Supposedly,” corrected Asher. “Of course, it’s assumed a myth because no one alive has ever met it. No one alive has met God, either, but people believe in Him.”

I was intrigued. Look, I know better than anyone that myths can be real. Most of my life seems like a dark version of a fairy tale. Even if Acacia seemed doubtful, I wasn’t ready to brush Asher’s words aside. Not yet, anyway.

Asher produced a gray piece of paper and charcoal pencil from somewhere, placing it on his knee. In two quick strokes, he drew a plus sign. Then he kept going, adding words at the end of each of the four lines. As he flipped it around for me to see, I realized that it wasn’t a plus sign; it was a set of axes.

Left to right, the two ends were labeled Inhuman and Human. Top to bottom, the ends were labeled Alive and Dead. Asher traced the pencil’s tip over the horizontal line, from Inhuman to Human. “Think of the planes of existence like this,” he said. “One axis encompasses the two dimensions that exist side by side: the inhuman and the human. No one can cross over and exist on both sides of the dividing axis in the middle.” He pointed to the vertical line. Except me, I wanted to say, biting my tongue to stay quiet.

Now he dragged his pencil along that vertical line, from Alive to Dead. “The other axis is the plane of life and death. Most beings only exist on one side. But some cross over. Like vampires; they exist right here.” He placed his pencil tip in the lower left quadrant, close to the horizontal axis. “Inhuman, now dead, but undead. Still near the boundary to Alive.” He paused, then took the pencil and dragged it along the vertical line again. “And my kind. We exist on this whole line. We have a certain…connection to the dead.”

My mind was spinning wildly, trying to process everything I was learning. Did Henri know this? Should I have heard about this concept before? I had to admit, it made sense. Of course, it also lent itself to countless more questions about Asher—and about me. If his kind existed on the vertical line, able to cross over between Alive and Dead—whatever that actually meant—I think I would exist on the entirety of the horizontal one: Inhuman and Human. Present in both dimensions. Even if Asher had said no one did.

I did.

I was torn between burning curiosity over my own identity and whether this was some form of an answer, and between letting Asher continue to reach his point. With a great deal of effort, I chose the latter, literally biting my cheek to keep myself from interrupting. Coppery blood welled in my mouth.

Asher didn’t notice. Now, he placed the tip of his pencil on the center: the tiny point where all four axes met in the middle. “The Ancient One,” he said in a low voice, “is said to exist here. All planes, all dimensions, able to cast its consciousness anywhere but physically trapped in one singular location. Mentally strong, physically weak. A balance, like everything.”

“Our people used to pray to the Ancient One,” added Acacia. “But its existence has never been proven, and after some…tumultuous events in our history, many of us turned away from our faith.”

“But some of us haven’t,” insisted Asher. “And if it does exist, it probably has all the answers you need! It must. It would have to know if someone was crossing dimensions.”

Again, I was torn, though now it was between excitement at a possible lead and panic at the thought of some ancient being knowing I was breaking dimensional laws. Would it smite me on the spot? I cursed mentally.

I didn’t realize I’d been sitting there in silence, lost in my whirlwind of fear and hope, until Asher cleared his throat. “So? What do you think?”

I tried to talk, and all that came out was a strangled noise. I coughed and tried again. “It’s worth a shot,” I said. “But first we need to go to Griffin's Edge. My uncle might know something that could help us find the Ancient One.”

Acacia and Asher were both looking at me with furrowed brows. “What’s Griffin’s Edge?” they asked, nearly simultaneously.

“It’s a bar that my uncle owns—he’s a griffin, hence the name—it’s on the edge of dimensions—” I was searching for any spark of recognition, but their faces remained blank. I guess I should have known, if they never left the forest. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll see when we get there.”

I reached out and grabbed Asher by the sleeve. He looked at me in panic. “I can’t.”

I dropped my arm. “Oh…are you bound to the forest somehow? Maybe I can convince Henri to come here…” I didn’t think he would, but you never know.

“No,” said Asher. “I just…don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be there.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, they’re friendly! We welcome anyone who obeys the rules. And if anyone has answers, it’ll be Henri and his buddies. They just needed a lead, and now maybe we have one! Come on!”

I grabbed his sleeve again. And maybe because I was too focused on convincing him to come, maybe because the fear and excitement crowded into my head were overwhelming—whatever the reason, I didn’t notice the sneeze coming quick enough to stop it.

So that’s right: still holding his arm, I sneezed violently, and suddenly we were no longer in Asher’s house in the dark forest with Acacia. We were on a ledge on the side of a skyscraper in an unfamiliar city. Oh, yeah, and did I mention it was in the human dimension? While I held onto a very-much-not-human companion?

Classic me. Thanks, atoms. So much for not mentioning my dimension-hopping to Asher.

Asher, who, by the way, was turning a gray color that matched his name and hyperventilating. “I—assume—this isn’t—your uncle’s—bar,” he huffed out between gasping breaths. “I feel—sick. Also—I don’t think I—mentioned this—but—I’m terrified—of heights.”

I looked at the narrow ledge beneath our feet and the busy city street below. We were at least ten floors up. “You sit in trees!” I shouted, already desperately feeling for a gap.

“Trees—aren’t—this high,” he argued, still breathing like he was having a panic attack.

No gaps, and I couldn’t move off this ledge to find one. One step, and we’d be freefalling to the pavement. Which would really suck when I had finally been getting some potential leads about the murders and myself.

Deep breaths, Ian. I knew how to do this. I just had to focus. I closed my eyes and felt the fabric around me, trying to block out Asher’s increasingly-desperate breaths.

Please, I sent out as a silent prayer. And I guess reality was feeling generous, because there was a gap! Right ahead of us, one step off the ledge. We’d have to step into air, but the door would catch us. I pulled on Asher’s arm, pointing to the shimmering tear. “Come on, we have to step.”

“ARE—YOU—SERIOUS,” he spit out, as much a shout as he could muster between his ashen cheeks and hyperventilating. “You—want me—to step off—a building?!”

He was trembling now. Even his hands were gray. Getting closer to combustion. I didn’t have time for this. I’d put him here, and now I had to make sure he didn’t die here.

“I don’t want you to, you are!” I corrected, stepping off before I could think twice, pulling him as hard as I could behind me.

There was a tiny moment where the world seemed to drop out from under us, where my heart plummeted as I thought I’d felt wrong—but then we were passing through the usual fog, and half a second later we were standing on the path outside Griffin’s Edge.

I breathed an enormous sigh of relief, dropping my hand from Asher’s arm. He looked instantly better, his skin returning to its ghostly paleness, his breathing slowing. He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose that’s why you were biting a hole in your cheek during my description of the planes?”

He had noticed. Yikes.

I opened my mouth to reply and try to explain, but I didn’t get a chance, because out of nowhere came Henri’s booming voice. I’ve said before that he never yells; when he’s angry, it’s obvious in his dangerously quiet words and disappointed stares. Now, though—now he was yelling. He sounded more furious than I’d ever heard him…and he was marching towards us.

“IAN!” he bellowed. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE BROUGHT TO MY BAR?” He gestured at Asher, who was somehow looking defiant, bewildered, and ashamed all at once. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT HE’S CAPABLE OF?”

I’d never seen Henri like this: with a wild fury burning in his lilac eyes, his face twisted into hard lines. He’d never turned away anyone from the bar without a reason; he’d never discriminated against any patrons, even the unsavory types that other inhumans tended to steer clear of. He’d never raised his voice at me, either. I had no idea what to do.

I sputtered for words, but it didn’t matter. Henri gripped both me and Asher by the jackets, pulling us behind him like we weighed nothing. Moving so fast we barely saw the bar, he dragged us inside, past the crowds of nervous visitors, up the narrow stairs, and didn’t stop until we were in his office, the lock clicking shut behind us.

Without a word, he stepped behind his desk, pulling a key out of his pocket for his bottom left drawer—the only drawer I’d never seen him open. He’d kept it locked my entire life. I still had no idea where this was going, and my heart felt like it might pound out of my ribcage, though whether in fear or something else entirely, I don’t know. Asher was just staring at Henri with wide eyes.

Henri yanked open the now-unlocked drawer, slamming a photograph onto the desk. The wild fury had faded from his eyes, leaving an even worse look of quiet smoldering ferocity. He gestured for me to move forward to look at the photo.

Asher stepped forward tentatively with me. My breath caught as I looked at the photo. I’d recognize the woman sprawled in the road anywhere; I’d grown up seeing her photos around Henri’s office, in his bedroom, over the bar. Henri’s late wife. But I’d never seen this photo before: in this one, she was dead. And there were no visible marks except ashen black handprints on her neck.

“His kind is the reason Lucille is dead,” Henri said, voice hollow. He held up a small mirror, letting me see my own neck—where ashen black handprints stood out starkly, just like the ones in the photo. “And by the looks of it, you should be too.”