They trooped into the faint light from Oak Woods’ shade-shrouded south side; God forbid they use the same gate as everyone else, right? For a few minutes, they were nothin’ but darker against dark, motion without source, silent except for the occasional harsh, rasping breath or low, malevolent chuckle. If I ever forget myself enough to make fun of you lot for being scared of the Unseelie, remind me of this moment, savvy? Should shut me right the hell up. Ramona seemed to be having some trouble keeping her breathing anywhere near to calm or even, and I ain’t entirely certain Pete was breathing at all. Bumpy’s pet witch paled enough to hide behind moonlight, and the whole crew began to back up. Sure, they had their gats up’n ready to shoot, but their peepers were mostly wider than the barrels, and I think the sound of their own guns mighta sent ’em packing. The bagienniks also retreated, not near as far, but back into the deeper waters of Symphony Lake. Wasn’t much of a sanctuary—not all that wide or deep—but I guess they felt safer.
