Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(16)

As he’s saying that, everything I’m looking at—the naked metal beams of the skeletal construction, the stacks of pipes and brick—begins to melt, dripping down around me like weird industrial rain on the window, leaving in its wake a curved cobblestone driveway and a three-story mansion that looks like something out of Gone with the Wind.

That’s a cottage?

Large pillars coated in ivy and morning glory vines frame the front porch. There are countless arched windows and French doors on the face, as well as two levels of wraparound porches speckled with potted greenery. Surrounding the house is a whimsical sort of rolling lawn, like an ocean of grass. That’s a crazy amount of watering, but even in the low light I can see how green it all is. There are trees and mossy rocks, flowers sprouting everywhere. There’s even a babbling brook off to the side, ending in a small pond near the edge of the circular driveway.

Holy shit, it looks like freaking Disneyland.

We park in a carport at the end of the long drive, and I open the door slowly. I get out in a sort of trance, surveying it all in the rising sunlight. I step onto the illuminated stone pathway, expecting a rabbit to hop up to me while birds start chirping happily in the distance, singing about the new day or something equally ridiculous.

“Yes, I know, it’s excessive,” Faelan says in a tired voice. “This way.” He leads me down a side pathway along the small brook, through some thin trees, to an iron gate. He opens it and motions for me to walk in front of him. Dim white-blue lights mark the path we follow, through more trees and over flat mossy stepping-stones. It’s like a miniforest on the side yard. I’m stunned by the fresh smells and the feel of the dewy morning air. Then I step past the last few trees and take in the sight of what has to be a dream.

It’s just a swimming pool—I know that as I’m looking at it—but it looks like a lagoon. The six-foot waterfall from the raised spa on the third tier of the yard is surreal, frogs croaking over the sound of the rushing water.

Wow.

The rest of the yard is expansive, tall trees surrounding the pool, like a cove in the middle of a forest. Stone and clover and soft curling ferns create the perfect natural look around the pool. And as we step farther into the space, I notice several wooden lounge chairs and dark wood cabanas that are covered with drooping vines and grapes. Torches illuminate the pathway and create deep shadows, while pale green and blue lights among the trees give it a resort vibe. A forest resort.

“The main house is there,” Faelan says, breaking through my awe. He points behind us, and I turn back to see the large white house looming. It’s just as stunning from this angle—maybe more so. “And the bungalows are this way”—he motions ahead—“up those steps, at the top of the waterfall.” He moves in front of me and walks along the water’s edge. I follow him up a stone staircase to the level of the steaming spa. There are a ton of trees up here too, and another stone pathway that leads into the shadows.

“I’m in the east and you’re in the west,” he says, then adds, “for now.”

He points toward the right to a small structure that’s more like a cottage than the massive thing behind us. It’s something out of a faerie tale, vines growing up the face, and tiny shuttered windows on the facade. A glass-walled patio is attached to the side. It looks like a greenhouse; plants are pressing at the windows and growing out of the top, as if the foliage is bursting through the roof and spilling down the sides.

“How am I supposed to sleep in there?” I ask. “It looks like it’s full of plants.”

“No, that’ll be my bungalow. It’s facing east, see?” He motions to the door, then to the direction it’s facing.

“Oh. How can you even tell?”

“The sunrise?”

And I feel like an idiot. “Right.” I glance at the glow rising over the hills, my eyelids getting heavy. “So which one’s mine?” I’m about to fall over after being awake all night.

“Here.” He starts walking, and I follow him past the greenhouse, around the side. “Your bungalow will face the sunset and the ocean.”

We pause at an archway made of pink climbing roses, and I realize the thick tendrils are framing a blue door. This bungalow is in the Spanish style, with a red-tiled roof and peach stucco walls. There’s a bay window, and just underneath a box planter is overflowing with pansies and morning glories that haven’t opened to the rising sun yet.

“I’ll be sleeping in there?” I ask, suddenly doubting my luck. “It’s so pretty.”

“It’s unlocked,” he says when I don’t move. “You can just go on in.”

I reach out to the doorknob. But before I open the door, I turn back to him. “I need you to make sure Ziggy is okay.”

“The human?”

I nod, thinking of my friend, of her sitting beside me in the orange laundromat chairs the other night and putting Cheetos up her nose to make me laugh. She was a lie. A total lie. But I can’t stop caring that she’s all right.

“Sure,” Faelan says, studying me. “I can check on her.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, exhaustion finally taking over.

“Just get some sleep,” he says quietly. He reaches over and wraps his hand around mine as it grips the doorknob, then he turns it for me. The door swings open with a soft creak. “Things will seem less overwhelming after some rest.”