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Abby marveled at the world around her. The Evernight stretched as far as the eye could see, a swath of endless night sky. There was no moon, just a billion stars puncturing the black, bathing the landscape in color - stark whites, buttery yellows, blazing oranges, dying reds.

They moved too, skimming the treetops, dipping behind mountains, skirting around each other to avoid collisions. A handful arched overhead, vibrant and ablaze, a perfect rainbow without light.

Hundreds of trees with black bark and leaves emanated a blue glow. The flowers were phosphorescent. Swooping vines pulsed red. Even mushroom caps radiated soft halos of light.

The air smelled of spice. Of cracked anise seed and clove. It reminded Abby of the holiday season when Laos's streets were packed with meat vendors, their spits working overtime to keep up with the demand for roasted meat.

Jam pies with winter scenes baked into their crusts and accented with sugared fruits had sat in every bakery window while smaller tarts were sold from carts as snacks. Icy breaths of passersby and permanent residents had intermingled with the smoke and steam and snow.

A long time ago, Abby had walked such streets with her dad, and now she'd moved so far beyond that time, she'd ended up making new memories in other realms. Sometimes she wondered if she'd walk too far, and she'd turn back too late and not remember her father: how disheveled was his preferred style, how he always smelled of the sea, but tinged with bitterness from his cigarettes now and then; how he was so particular about how Abby stored her cosmetic potions — smallest to largest always; how he'd sneak into her room to clean it if he found a lone sock stuffed under a cushion, a corner of the bedsheets untucked, or a strand of hair out of place on her brush.

She feared the memories of him, that all coalesced in her mind as that cigarette burning far, far away might someday burn out and she'd be left with ashes.

Just as Abby's sadness threatened to replace her awe, and she felt her heart constrict, she heard singing. Beneath the whooping of birds, the chirping of insects, the melancholic hum filled her up. It rose from the soil, rode on the backs of breezes. It came from inside every tree, echoed off every stone. She felt it resonating in her guts, rattling around her head. Every drawn-out note burrowed into her bones until it was all she could hear.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, afraid giving voice to her words would signal the end of the song. It merely quieted, a heartbeat that refused to stop.

"Is that what you think?"

Abby hadn't realized Axion stood next to her, his back to the stars, a comet slicing across his throat.

She blinked. "How could it not be? The entire world sings."

For a second, Axion's composure wavered. A part of him, probably one he didn't want Abby seeing, peeked through. Eyes as shiny as sea glass dulled. His mouth, once plump and smiling, turned into a thin, hard line. The stars on his skin hid in his creases, his overall shine diminished. "I haven't thought this place beautiful in a long time." A hiss of breath passed between his teeth as a gentle breeze rocked nearby tree branches. "The melody's changed."

Abby's brow furrowed. "What do you mean--"

He took a step toward her with all the brilliance of the cosmos at his disposal. Even his fingernails twinkled as stars lodged themselves under the nail. "You look pale." Icy breath washed over Abby, prickling her skin as Axion leaned in, his nose inches from hers again. "And you have markings," he added, pointing at her neck.

Abby rubbed at the spot, suddenly aware of every little thing. Her dirty robes, her tangled hair, the scrape on her left knee that dully throbbed, the fact she was still barefoot. Working the Aelurian silk through her hands, she said, "It's probably just a scratch. Things get messy when you fall."

Stars came to life over Axion's eye, one after another. They formed a makeshift, shimmering eyebrow, one he had no trouble summoning at will. "The markings are black. Don't humans bleed when they're hurt?"

What a non-human thing to say. Sometimes the worst wounds never bled, sometimes they just took.

Abby shrugged, her hands tightening around her robe. "Maybe they're dirty."

"Then they'll get infected, and you'll die." He pressed a finger to her neck. Though the stars gave him an appearance of warmth, his touch was icy. Abby shivered. "Does it hurt?" She shook her head. "I don't think those are injuries."

"Maybe veins then?"

Axion stepped back and straightened. He looked like a tree fully extended with thin limbs that looked susceptible to snapping. But Abby had seen him weather Margo's storm, so maybe Axion was a book best not judged by his cover.

A black hole formed beneath his earlobe, trapping a trio of red stars within its pull before devouring them whole. "Veins." He smirked, his stars creating a set of heavenly dimples. "Sure." He turned away from her, gaze lingering on the forest awash with mist.

Come to think of it, the trees in there didn't glow. Abby took a step forward. The song wasn't as strong from that direction either. And when a star shot across the sky in that direction, it jerked away, as if thinking better than to fall there. Like it was afraid. She took another step forward.

While the wind bent the other trees, breaking twigs, shaking leaves free of canopies, not a single tree inside the mist was disturbed. Abby's feet sank into the ground as she continued toward the forest. Frost coiled around her wrist and pulled her back.

Axion's fingers were on her skin, and he was looking down at her, stars glowing red-hot next to his eyes. "Don't go in there." His voice held all the authority and faked vibrato of an adult.

Was Axion an adult? He only wrinkled when it seemed convenient, and with him wearing universes as someone else might wear blush, it was hard to tell. He could be ancient for all she knew.

Abby dug her heels into the ground and wriggled free of his grasp. "Why not?"

"Because that's a place for the dead." He ran his eyes over her. Abby stiffened, the space between her ears catching fire. "Far as I can tell, you're still alive."

She glanced at the forest, a thumb working the skin on her wrist, as she tried to coax warmth back into the numb spots Axion had caused to surface. "The dead?"

"The last stop on everyone's journey is that wood." He pointed. "The Hollows.  The dead walk it for all eternity. They'll obey orders from the Shadow King when they're feeling nostalgic for rules and order, but," one after another, stars exploded out of existence, "for us regular folk, it's dangerous. Just because something's dead, doesn't mean it stops being a threat."

"And sometimes it doesn't have to be living to be dangerous."

Abby's words were out of her mouth before she'd realized she'd said them. Without meaning to, her mind had gone back to her thirteenth birthday. To the stone. To Margo's revelation, bad magick had stolen everything Abby'd loved.

"You must have an interesting past." Axion studied her, his eyes acting like voids, swallowing his intentions before Abby could understand them. "There's something sad about you."

She shook her head no as she buried her hands in the folds of fabric at her waist. She hoped Axion didn't see the way she trembled, though he seemed pretty astute despite how he presented himself.

Axion's fingers dipped into his coat pocket, the fabric bulging before he pulled out a satchel of patchwork silks. "Let's forgo all this grim talk. Such drivel tends to stress all my exquisite features in all the wrong ways."

Suddenly, Abby forgot about her anxiety and worry as wave after wave of flashbacks lashed against her memory. They were dreadful flashbacks. Of her waiting while Lucy preened himself in front of a mirror. Or while he fished meat out of his teeth in a shop window. How he used any reflective surface at the detriment of her being on time to ensure his 'perfection' remained perfect.

Abby chuckled. The Lord of the Shadow Realm no longer seemed like such a foreign entity. Stars might have swum in his skin, universes popping up on his palms like blisters, but he had his human hang-ups. Vanity being the one he shared with Lucy.

A lilac cloud rose in front of Abby's face. Coarse powder flew up her nostrils, down her throat. It coated her eyeballs, causing her tear ducts to become full-blown waterfall factories. She coughed. Through the cloud, Axion had his palm out, purple staining his fingers. "Wh—what was that for?"

"You were laughing. I thought you might be hysterical."

"You reminded me of—"

He pocketed the satchel and clapped his hands together. "It's also for your veinings. A bit of a miracle powder. Cures whatever ails you."

Abby wanted to remind him nothing was ailing her; not until he blew dust in her face, most of which were lodged in between her teeth, coating her tongue and burning her throat.

His eyes glinted, a sun part-way through its revolution disappearing into his hairline. "It'll also help you cope with the magick. It's more concentrated here than in Aelurus so it may affect you more. That powder will make it so you don't die."

"How—" Abby bent over, wheezing, drool and snot dangling off her face. "How considerate."

Axion puffed out, filling the lines of his coat with his full size. Since sarcasm wasn't something his dark Lordship could have decorating his skin, it was unsurprising that her use of it hadn't registered.

"I suppose," she wiped at her mouth, "you want a thank you?"

Cracking into a grin, Axion said, "Suppose away."

When faced with a decision to do as she's told, which inevitably worsened how she felt while boosting an idiot's ego, Abby always chose herself. So instead of issuing a trite, by-the-books thank you, she rolled her eyes, introducing Axion to the same treatment she gave Lucy.

His reaction paralleled Lucy's, the smile withering from his face. A pair of crescent moons skimming the mounds of his knuckles, turned upside down, morphing into moon frowns.

Axion tried not to look bothered, much the way Lucy always tried to hide his hurt, but it was hard for Axion to be successful what with how he shouldered a sad, sulky aura while jutting his chin.

"You're laughing again."

Abby blinked. Sure enough, she was. "Sorry," she said. "It's just you remind me a lot of someone."

He tilted his head. "And this is someone you love?"

She nodded. "Yes. A lot."

That seemed to drag Axion from his former funk. He brightened, literally, and stood, shoulders straight. "We should see if they're alright." He pointed toward the edge of the Hollows, where underneath a tree, Margo sat atop Sebbi in a pool of reds and oranges. They looked like a cast-iron kettle put over the fire for evening tea. Abby nodded. "Then we'll make for the castle."

Her head did an about face to shake the other way. "The castle?" Axion shrugged casually. "You mean your father's castle? The enemy's stronghold?"

"Yes," Axion stamped a foot into the ground, "and if we are to make good time, we ought to leave soon."

"You want us," Abby continued, paying no mind to how Axion's stars clustered together, the angles of his face harsher in the newfound light. She pointed at herself. Sebbi and Margo. "Us, the enemies of your father, you want us, to stroll into his current place of residence? The shadow king, our enemy, who is meddling in Aelurian affairs to excavate dragon bones for his undead army, you want to take us to him?"

"His castle, and yes."

"And you don't see how that's the dumbest thing ever spoken?"

Axion grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. "Quit your human worrying." Her skin tingled underneath his fingers. "My father's rarely home. As you so succinctly put it," he flashed her a sideways grin, a patch of red stars giving his cheek a faint flush, "he's too singularly focused on his ambitions to worry about mine."

"But what's at the castle?"

"Besides food, water, clothes and," he glanced at her feet, "shoes?" Abby gulped. Heat gathered under her skin. "Geoff's at the castle."

Geoff. Shadespore Geoff. The face-stealing, Hestor-impersonating Geoff.

"Right." Abby nodded. Of course. Talk to a shadow for shadow secrets. Made sense.

How had Axion not heard the sarcasm in her voice again? Abby was clearly a master.

Finally, Axion had dragged her over to the others. Sebbi sat panting, his ears flat against his scalp. Sweat drenched him from ear-tip to tail-end, though he'd been dry in Aelurus. Perhaps the Evernight exacerbated the effects of the poison.

She leaned down, cupped his face. "You okay?"

He blinked a few times, long, white eyelashes batting away the fog. A tight smile formed on his lips. "I would be." He placed a hand over hers, before the warmth fled from his eyes, and then he scowled. "If Miss Lumps got off me."

Margo huffed. "Well excuse me, for needing to get my bearings." She slid off him, then brushed the fur from her hands. "You're shedding." She glanced at herself and frowned. "It's everywhere."

"Your fault, Treestump," Sebbi snapped. He lurched forward, digging his claws into the ground for balance.

"Sebbi—"

"I'm okay, Abs," he said.

Abby blushed at hearing him call her that. The last time he'd said that had been at the Memorial. He'd been unsure of himself then, muttering it as little more than a whisper. But the familiarity and the intimacy of the word had filled her with happiness. With one word he'd stomped out her worry that they'd grown apart. He'd shown they were as close as ever, closer even.

But the nickname did nothing to soothe her worry now.

"We should be going. You don't want to be outside unprotected when night falls." Axion offered Sebbi his hand, which the cat-man eagerly took. Together, they got Sebbi standing, though he tottered as though the ground underneath him squirmed.

Margo's whiskers twitched as she plucked the last of Sebbi's fur off her trousers. "You mean this," she raised her arms into the air, "isn't night?"

"Why no," Axion fingered a silver button at his jacket cuff, "it's barely evening." He waved them forward. "Come along. This way, this way." He pointed at a tree. "Mind the roots, they're carnivorous."

Abby jumped. "The trees are carnivorous?"

He shook his head. "Just the roots. Move along now."

Abby fell in line behind Axion, her eyes fixated on a nearby knot of tree roots. They looked normal, all bark, but apparently, in this realm, they had bite.

"Abby—" Margo called from behind. Abby paused and turned around.

The mouse-woman knelt beside Sebbi, a hand on his shoulder. He was doubled over, back arched. Blood erupted from his mouth.

"Axion," Abby's voice came in strained whispers. "Axion. Stop. We have to stop. Sebbi's—"

Crimson stained the ground. More blood poured out of him with each heave. Then the red turned black, thick and viscous. Blood and bile.

"Axion—" Abby's arm struck out to her side, her hand trembling.

Something cold slipped over her hand. "I'm here," Axion said.

She raised a finger, pointed at Sebbi. "What—what do—" Her eyes filled with tears. "What do we do?"

Sebbi continued to cough. Red and black pooled around his hands and knees. Pinkish spittle foamed around his mouth. The gold of his eyes was dull and lackluster.

"He's not going to stop," Abby said. "Not until he's emptied of everything. That's how it works." She clenched her hands. "That's how death works. It takes."

Margo stared up at them with wet, pleading eyes, her face tense. Abby felt her heart seize. "I don't think he's going to make it."