The Watching Wood by Erika McGann Page A

past. She wanted to take in as much of this new world as she could, but she was still adjusting to the green hue that saturated everything, as if the whole of Hy-Breasal was radioactive.
    She was sailing on land, on a ship with big, graceful sails, which gouged a deep groove in the ground as it moved. It was piloted by Aruj in all his swash-buckling glory. She held fast to the side; it was a bit much that just the two of them were travelling on this huge ship that could hold a hundred people – Grace would undoubtedly have something to say about their carbon footprint. But Rachel had no idea if witchcraft added to the greenhouse effect, or even if it
could
be wasted. Besides, the thrill was worth it.
    Aruj had barely spoken since their introduction. He was a man of few words, which meant that he was probably really deep and mysterious. She made a bet with herself that he had a very tragic past too. He might have lost the love of his life at sea, or fallen for a mermaid, but they could never be together because they came from two different worlds. Or something. She sighed and forced her eyelids apart again, straining against the perpetual green.
    The Hunters’ Mansion lived up to the promise of Aruj’soutfit. It was palatial, with the main part of the building flanked by two taller wings. Rachel didn’t know exactly what
gothic
was, but she was sure this house must be it, with its dark grey stone, tall narrow windows, and pointy mouldings at the top, like someone had painted the mansion then held it upside down so the paint ran. The grounds were large enough to house the ship inside its high walls, and the gardens were full of grey and silver flowering bushes. Yes, this place was definitely
gothic
.
    Aruj led her through the wrought-iron doors into the entrance hall, dark and grand with polished wood and a wide staircase that split in two at the landing, leading left and right further into the house. There were oil paintings in ornate brass frames, portraits of elegant women and handsome men, all dressed as if prepared for battle.
    â€˜Rachel of Dunbridge,’ Aruj’s depths-of-the-ocean voice said, ‘meet Alinda of Morgane.’
    Confused, Rachel turned to face an extraordinarily beautiful woman who seemed to have materialised out of nowhere. Her eyes were pale, like Aruj’s, but her skin was also pale. She wore breeches and boots like those of Rachel’s privateer guide, but on top she wore a loose blouse, enclosed by a leather corset that pinched her waist to an impossibly small size. Though she looked to be in her twenties, her hair was fully silver, and swept back in an up-style of relaxed braids and twists; the kind of boho chic look that Rachel had yetto master. She wondered how long those tresses of silver hair would be if let down. Rachel had once had a mild cardiac event when she found a grey hair hidden in her sleek, dark locks but if premature ageing made you look anything like Alinda, she’d be quite happy.
    â€˜Welcome, Rachel of Dunbridge.’ Alinda’s smile was epic.
    â€˜Just … Rachel is fine. It’s so nice to meet you. This place is gorgeous, really, it’s so fancy. I love all the old pictures and stuff. They must be really ancient.’
    Alinda and Aruj smiled in reply, the way deep, mysterious people do. Rachel wished she could shut her own babbling mouth. It was so uncool.
    â€˜Let me show you what you’re here to see.’ Alinda moved like she was on a travelator; her head didn’t bob up and down when she walked and, try as she might, Rachel couldn’t imitate it without losing her balance. So she resorted to her own stupid, clunky walk and followed the silver-haired woman up the stairs, with Aruj close behind.
    * * *
    The decor remained dark and stately throughout the main part of the house, but when they moved into the west wing, the rooms took Rachel’s breath away. They entered via a pillared gallery, with a curved