There is a beauty to Inworld forests, unmatched even by the Great Trees of the Sacred Grove. My people believe I am ridiculous for thinking so—how can one who has walked among the Great Trees her entire life find beauty in the scrawny oaks and scraggly pines of Earth? Are the Little Brothers and Sisters not destroying these forests, chopping them down, burning their stumps, and splattering reeking asphalt and lifeless concrete on their graves? they ask. They shake their heads at my foolishness, assuring I will grow out of these absurd fancies. Hoping to convince themselves, perhaps, that I will do so before my father’s chieftainship passes to me.

They are wrong.

My people no longer set foot in Inworld. They fail to see the fierceness of the trees here. Struggle is a thing unknown to the Great Trees—they live unchallenged in a world of peace and comfort—but on Earth, the trees fight to survive.

The wiry pines grow tall in spite of insurmountable opposition, the delicate aspens spread their beauty in the face of encroaching ugliness, and the tenacious oaks reach for the sky though they may be cut down at any moment. They are a thing beautiful beyond words, and even if I did not need to patrol this world, I would come just to walk among them. To feel the loamy soil underfoot and the breeze of Inworld brushing against my cheek.

The wind kicked up around me as though responding to my thoughts, whistling through the broad leaves and pine boughs and trickling into my nose. I breathed deeply but recoiled, lips drawing back in a disgusted grimace. Something was wrong. The wind carried sickness. Hurt. The sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood not far from here. I squinted, searching the undergrowth, and stole forward, maneuvering through a tangle of vegetation on padded feet, slipping past towering trees without so much as a rustle of noise.

There, adorning the upturned side of a half-buried rock, was the blood. Just a spatter of vivid crimson, which started at the stone and trailed off deeper into the wood. I inched closer, crouching down to inspect the unnatural stain, hoping it belonged to a wounded deer. Or a bear, even. I would never wish them harm—especially since there are so few bears left in this area—but at that moment, the death of a small forest creature was infinitely preferable to the alternative.

I swiped one broad finger into the streak of red and raised it to my nose. The blood did not smell of deer or bear or any other creature of the forest. It smelled human.

Overhead, the moon broke through the haze of clouds, shining a dull yellow like ancient bones. Its light hit the blood, turning it a malicious red. The color of murder. Of anger, hate, and violence.

When I first sensed the presence of an Outworld being in our territory this night, I had set out hoping to find a creature benign. Not all those who deal in shadow are evil. Many are unfamiliar with this world but wish to do no harm. Others, though, are hunters. Predators. Their instincts control them, but still they do not seek to murder and destroy, only to subsist.

And then, there are monsters.

Finding the spilled blood of a human shattered any hope I held, no matter how slight. This area, deep in what the humans name the Bitterroot Forest, was far removed from the nearest city, and filled with wild game that a hunting predator could easily have taken. Humans were not among them. I wiped my finger through the dirt, scrubbing away the blood, then warily followed the trail a handful of strides in either direction. I realized the blood led away from Missoula, the closest human city, and into the heart of the forest.

The creature had intentionally gone into the city to find a victim, before retreating here to hide. There could be no question, then. A monster.

I set off after it. Not all beings of shadow are evil, but some are. And they must be stopped.

A grub of guilt gnawed my stomach as I slipped through the trees like an unseen spirit, tracking the sporadic blood trail. Some small part of me wished I could take this matter to my father, to seek his wisdom and guidance. But my father did not know I was out patrolling on this night. In fact, he had … in a way … forbidden the People to patrol our Inworld territory at all.

After what Achak Kinslayer and his human pet had almost done to my kind, my father had decided we must withdraw from the world of man. He and the Elders were prepared to give Earth up as a problem belonging to the Little Brothers and Sisters. There were too few of the People left, they said. We must protect ourselves, or we would surely be destroyed.

And there was a certain wisdom in that. Perhaps, such a choice was best for the People of the Forest. But it was not the best choice for me. My conscience would not let me sit idly by while the humans were left to die. It has always been the responsibility of the Chiye-tanka to protect the Little Brothers from the dark things of the Spirit World. Always. And with the Guild of the Staff—the magi who once protected humanity—broken and at war with itself, creatures like this new evil preyed on the humans unchecked.

If the rest of my people would not protect the Little Brothers and Sisters, then I would.

I crossed a rocky stream, the water black as the clouds in the night sky, then found the creature’s trail once more. The sharp scent of blood gave way here, overpowered by the reek of the creature. Its stink was as loud as a shout in my nostrils—old and strange, a combination of that which should be dead but is not and that which has been long dead.

The gap between us was closing.

I sprinted on, encouraged by the gain. The wind clawed at my hair and howled in my ears like a wild beast. Boulders and pines stepped aside at my mind-whispered request, leaving me a straight path to my quarry. I slowed my pace as a herd of white-tailed deer exploded through the tree line ahead, nearly colliding with me as I ran. They came so close that the many-pronged antler of the buck brushed my arm hair as he bounded past, scrambling and desperate to get away from some unseen thing.

Something ahead had startled them.

Though the undergrowth in this part of the forest had long since been smothered by a thick carpet of pine needles, I slowed even more to silence my passage completely. If the herd was fleeing from the creature I tracked, I wished to creep up on the being both unseen and unheard.

I skirted around a large rock ahead, then easily straddled a downed tree trunk, overgrown with moss. A moment later, I broke through the trees and discovered the source of the deer’s fright: a truck sitting on one of the small dirt roads that allowed human rangers access to the forest. Its headlights shined and its engine rumbled, clouds of exhaust rolling from the back end and disappearing into the cold night air.

The door hung open, as if the driver had leapt out in a great rush.

Dark clouds passed over the yellow moon, leaving only the artificial glare of the headlights. Still, my eyes were far sharper than any human’s and it was easy to pick out the star symbol plastered across the open door, surrounded by letters reading Missoula County Sheriff’s Department. It belonged, then, to one of the local lawmen, like my friend Ferraro.

I searched the fine upper layer of dust on the road. The tracks there indicated that the lawman had jumped from the driver’s seat, run around the front of the vehicle, and followed the creature into the forest ahead. Though humans were small creatures in comparison to my kin, I had seen enough human prints to know instinctively this one belonged to a man sporting cowboy boots. In several places, the lawman’s prints fell directly on top of the bloody trail the creature had left behind.

There could be no doubt that the lawman was pursuing it. But did he know what this creature was? There were few humans who knew of such things. Or, more likely, had he simply stumbled upon the creature by accident, completely ignorant of the dangers of the Spirit World?

I faltered for a moment, unsure how to proceed.

Yes, my veil would prevent the human from seeing me, even if I stood at his side. But this creature’s bloody trail proved that it cared naught for human life. If it attacked, it would do so to kill. Should that happen, I could not stand by and do nothing. I would have to intervene. But a scuffle like that would almost certainly ensure the lawman would see me, and that was the greatest taboo. The People do not reveal themselves to uninitiated humans. Not anymore. Not for a very long time.

“Freeze!” shouted a voice dead ahead.

This shout—weak, helpless, small—made the decision for me. They are such fragile things, the Little Brothers.

I scurried from the road, giant legs pumping, the lesser trees shifting to accommodate my passing as I beelined toward the creature and the lawman.

Several long strides brought me to the edge of a clearing that reeked of the creature’s rancid and unnatural scent: dead, yet undead. This close the smell was overwhelming, serving only to reinforce that this was a thing that should not be, that did not belong in this world.

Not far off, the lawman stood in the open grass, his feet planted wide, a matte black pistol in one hand, raised and leveled. In his other hand, he held a flashlight. But the flashlight was not working. The man jabbed at the button with his thumb, his frustration and fear evident in the lines of his body. He beat the flashlight uselessly against his tiny thigh. The light inside flickered sporadically before going dark again. Often, dark magics could do such things.

I slipped up behind a gnarled oak and glanced out around it, brow furrowed as I watched the scene unfold.

“Get your hands up!” the man shouted, sticking the useless flashlight in his belt and bringing his free hand up to steady the gun.

The hazy cloud cover pulled away from the moon, shedding pale light on the creature at the center of the clearing. The monster was covered in a veil, though a poor veil it was, and I could see the creature’s shadowy blur hidden beneath.

It was almost the shape of a human, but wrong. Too long in the arms and legs, bent in places humans are not, too thin in places humans are full. The creature turned to face the man. It did not move like a human. It swayed and lurched on overlong legs. The misshapen arms it could have used for balance were instead folded inward as if to grasp its distended belly.

“I want to see hands!” the lawman shouted.

A strange request. Hands would not reveal this creature to us. I wanted to see its entire body. Then, maybe, I could identify it.

The creature showed us neither hands nor body. Instead, it fell forward and broke into a skittering run, loping toward the lawman on all four limbs, like a strangely proportioned wolf or a four-legged spider.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” the lawman yelled, his eyes wide and wild. He was afraid, I could tell—terrified even—yet he stood his ground, refusing to back down despite the creature charging him like a rabid bobcat.

The creature ignored his warning, scrambling onward, closing the distance with unnatural speed.

He shot, once, twice, the bark of his gun echoing in the air. The bullets smacked into its blurry body with a pair of wet thuds, but the creature only ran faster. The man stepped backward toward me, emptying his weapon’s remaining bullets in a flurry, as if he believed the first shots were ineffective because they had been applied too few and too slow. Each hit jerked the creature’s body, momentarily slowing its rush, but doing nothing to stop it.

At five feet out, the creature leapt, its hands leaving the ground and reaching for the lawman’s head. It would kill the man just as it had killed the owner of the blood decorating its body.

I watched from behind my tree, knowing he would die if I did nothing, and yet unable to move. My father’s face appeared in my mind, furious that I would endanger the People by revealing myself to a human. I could almost see the deep creases in his leathery black forehead, his green eyes—like old-growth moss—crinkling not just in fury, but in disappointment. Perhaps I could be forgiven for patrolling Inworld against his wishes if I explained that I had sensed a new Outworlder there. But showing myself, even in defense of a human life? Disobedience of that level was unconscionable. Unthinkable.

Before me, the lawman rooted his feet in a defensive stance, as if proper balance would help him defeat this unnatural creature of magic and death. He was no mage and clearly knew nothing of the creature’s nature if he thought mundane bullets would kill such a thing.

I strangled the hysteria in my throat, though whether the sound was a laugh or a cry of dismay, I cannot say.

The lawman was going to die. And I would have to watch. To live with my inaction forever.

The creature swept its overlong arm at his head. The man backpedaled, deflecting the blow with his forearm. Cloth ripped and droplets of blood flew, but the man ignored the wound. Instead of retreating, he shot forward, slamming a shoulder into the monster’s face with a grunt. His body weight did not move the beast even a fraction of an inch, but he seemed undeterred.

He bolted right, dodging a clumsy swipe, and lashed out, driving his empty gun into the creature’s head like a club. The creature lazily batted the strike away as though it were nothing more than a troublesome gnat. The gun sailed into the high grass. The lawman was panicked now, backed into a corner and unarmed, but still he fought. With a roar, he lunged, throwing every ounce of his insignificant weight into a feeble punch, but his movement was too slow. Far too slow. The creature’s head jerked forward, thudding into the man’s skull with a thwack like a thick hickory branch swung full force at a cedar’s trunk.

The lawman dropped backward from the blow, a nasty gash running across his forehead, leaking blood down his face. He wobbled uncertainly on his feet, but still he did not give up. He shook his head, droplets of blood sailing away, and raised his fists up as he slowly circled left. The creature just grinned and shot in again, driving a closed fist into the side of his temple with devastating force. The lawman fell, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head as his legs refused to support his weight.

And this time, he did not get up.

The creature laughed—a rasping, hissing, feminine sound that was nearly human. Nearly, but not quite. It raised a long, misshapen arm to the lawman’s helpless form, and even through the veil, I could see the creature’s wicked talons painted with drying human blood.

It had killed once this night, and it was about to kill again.