Heather Fawcett

Emily Wildes Map of the Otherlands

Alexa Writes

He picked up the pot and filled my cup. I froze, staring. "What?" he said, setting the pot down. Wordlessly, I ges- Sk me to name them. bgi ness. "Pass the tea." reatures as possible tured. The tea in my mug was blue-black, and floating across rom my pocket-natural flower. Shadows Alitted across the surface of the water, as if above it was a canopy of dark trees admitting only the thin- nest of sunbeams. the surface were tiny lily pads, each cradling a perfect white e knapsack, in case the foxt cliped the lap l ogeain cradling it. “Are they blooming?" I said. Indeed, as I watched, another flower opened, perals waving in a wind that did not belong to the calm Cambridge weather. I couldn't look away. Wendell swore. He reached for the cup, but I was already o him. "Does he lok imi tly, looking at the dasy The bizarre concoction smelled divine-both like and un- like tea, bitter and floral. I tilted the cup to take a sip, but sud- denly Wendell's hand was covering the rim-that unnerving trick ofhis of moving more quickly than my mortal eyes could follow. “Don't," he said, pressing the cup towards the table.

Emily Wildes Map of the Otherlands

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