Down below me, there’s lush greenery as far as the eye can see, from mossy trails to tangled undergrowth to towering pines and redwoods that have been here for centuries. We’re not so far inland yet that I can’t see the Pacific Ocean to my right, but that only makes the whole experience feel more surreal.

Redwoods and the ocean and the big, beautiful sun shining so brightly over it all—after the freezing temperatures of the last several months of my life, this feels like paradise. It’s still cold, of course, but not Alaskan winter cold. And that makes me feel at home for the first time in a very long time.

I totally understand why the giants picked this area in which to settle. If I had a choice, I think I’d settle here, too.

But I can’t stay up here forever, no matter how tempting the view. We have a lot to accomplish and only a couple of days to do it in.

I land next to Hudson, who grins at me. “Took you long enough.”

“Did you see the view up there?” I ask. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” he tells me softly. “It is.”

There’s something in his voice that tells me he’s not talking about the view, and that makes me feel all kinds of things again. Instead of leaning into them the way I want to—this isn’t the time or the place—I run faster. And revel in the way Hudson stays beside me the whole time.

I’m beginning to think we’re going to run forever, which really isn’t okay with me, no matter how good the view, when Jaxon shouts something from in front of us.

I can’t hear what it is, but it sounds urgent, so we all lay on the speed. And break through the tree line just in time to see the athame embed itself into the trunk of what has to be the largest tree in the world.

52

AncesTREE

Directly in front of us is the most beautiful grouping of sequoia redwoods that I have ever seen—and that’s saying something, considering when I was ten, my parents took me to Muir Woods as part of our Northern California vacation, and I became obsessed with the redwood trees there. We ended up spending half of our ten-day vacation wandering through forests of giant sequoias and coastal redwoods, just because I couldn’t get enough of them.

Because these trees we are standing in front of now are beautiful, perfect, amazing. All those years ago, I felt the magic in the Muir Woods redwoods. I remember standing among these majestic trees and spinning around and around, giggling with sheer joy, wildflowers of every imaginable color stretching up to tickle my outstretched arms.

I remember I never wanted to leave and begged my parents for us to stay forever.

They refused, of course—my parents’ jobs and our life was in San Diego—but I still remember how bitterly disappointed I was. How I couldn’t understand why they would choose not to feel this kind of magic every second of every day if they could.

But what I felt then is nothing compared to what I feel standing here now. The trees are all but glittering with the magic sparking off them, and I feel honored, overwhelmed, insignificant to be before them.

I walk up to the giant tree and pull the athame from its trunk, and I swear I hear it groan. I hand the knife to Macy and then lean forward and place both my hands on the tree’s massive trunk. I rest my cheek against its rough bark, close my eyes, and feel the soft earth beneath my feet. I draw its magic up my body and then channel it out of my hands and straight into the tree.

Instantly, I feel an answering magic from the tree skim through my body and back out my feet and into the earth around me. An infinite loop of energy, of nature, and I’m a part of it, breathing with it and humbled by it.

After a moment, I step away from the tree and turn to face my friends. We still have to find the entrance to the city.

But they’re all staring at me, jaws slack and wonderment in their eyes. Even Jaxon looks stunned.

“What—” I ask, looking around, then freeze as I realize—I’m surrounded by wildflowers where there were none a minute before, huge and tall and every imaginable color.

And the giant sequoia no longer has a gash where the athame lodged itself.

Hudson steps forward and snaps one of the flowers about three inches down its stalk, then pushes the brilliant blue flower’s stem behind my ear. “You are amazing.”

I duck my head as heat blooms in my cheeks, but Flint’s shout of surprise snaps my head back up.

And now I’m the one standing, openmouthed in wonderment, as Giant City is finally revealed.

53

Bright Lights,

Biggest City

I blink several times, just to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.

Because the wall of thick sequoias is gone now—as if they were just a magical wall hiding what lay beyond. And what has taken their place is…beyond description. I don’t know where to look first, my gaze darting from structure to structure, some high in the trees, others almost hidden between massive tree trunks, and all of it bustling with giants.

Standing right in front of us, tucked up against the base of the first redwood, is what looks to be a guardhouse, just big enough for a giant or two.

Even more astonishing is what’s going on behind the guardhouse—a busy, bustling town filled with giants, all of whom are going about their lives with absolutely no idea we exist, let alone that we are watching them.

“This is incredible,” Luca whispers, walking closer to get a better view.

“Totally incredible,” Macy echoes as she, too, moves closer. “And oh my gosh! There’s another building!” she squeals. “It’s huge, but you can barely see it because of the way it’s designed. This is…”

“Magical,” I tell her, stepping around Flint and Jaxon so I can see what she’s seeing. “Oh, wow. It is huge.”

The building she’s talking about is hidden between three of the larger trees, so they give it incredible cover. The base of each tree has to be close to thirty feet wide, and I can’t even begin to guess how tall each of them is, considering all I see when I look up is more tree.

The building, which is made from gorgeously polished wood, is probably close to fifty feet tall on its own, but it’s dwarfed by the trees surrounding it on all sides.

“The design of the wood alone is incredible,” Macy comments as we get closer. “How does anyone design a building to look like that?”

“I think it’s kind of plain,” Flint says.

“Plain? Are you kidding me?” I gasp. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Okay.” He shrugs in an everyone’sallowed-their-own-opinion kind of way, but then I realize he’s not looking at the same trees Macy and I are looking at. He’s staring several feet to the left of us—which I don’t understand, because there’s nothing there.

“I don’t think it’s that big,” Eden agrees with him. “It’s cool the way they’ve done it, but—”

“Wait a minute. That’s an entirely different building!” I exclaim, finally able to see what they’re talking about now that I’ve walked closer to them.

And they’re right. It is plain…and small. A little dollhouse of a building completely encapsulated by the ring of giant trees that surrounds it. They’re a lot thinner—and obviously younger—than the ones I was looking at earlier, but the tiny building fits beautifully within them.

I move even closer to get a better look, then turn back to say something to Macy, only to realize that the building she and I were staring at just a few moments ago is gone. It’s completely vanished.

“Oh my God.” I know what’s going on here. “You can’t see it.”

Flint looks at me like I’m very, very confused. “Sure I can. It’s right there.”

“No!” I grab his arm and start tugging him to where Macy is standing as I wave the others over.

“Holy shit!” Flint exclaims. “Where did that come from?”

“What do you mean?” Macy asks. “It’s been here all along.”

“No,” Jaxon starts. “It wasn’t—”

“Yes,” I tell him excitedly. “It was.”

I look around, trying to spot more buildings, but I can’t see any others from where I’m standing. Except the giants are obviously coming in and out of somewhere, so the buildings must be here, hidden among the trees, like these two are.

“I’ve heard of this before,” I tell them. “When I was thinking of going to UC Santa Cruz for college.” It seems like a million years ago instead of months. “When we went to visit, they made a huge deal of talking about the architecture and how the whole campus is designed so that you can only see two buildings at any one time, so as not to mess with the landscape. They have redwoods, too.”

And, admittedly, their architecture is a lot more utilitarian than these whimsical buildings, but the environmentalism behind the design is the same. I’d fallen in love with the campus all those months ago, and now I’ve fallen in love with this Giant City just as completely.

“It’s the sickest thing I’ve ever seen,” Luca says as he paces from one edge of the clearing to the other. “Do you think the whole city’s like that?”