“Exactly,” said Benyamin, who was beaming at Alice. “If we cannot appeal to their minds, we must appeal to their hearts.”

Alice smiled at him as she tugged three large paintbrushes out of her backpack and said, “So I will paint them a beautiful story. Benyamin will narrate.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” said Oliver, who’d crossed his arms.

“You,” said Alice, “will have to persuade them to sit through it.”

Now the insect boy was looking them both up and down. “Ready to get going?”

“Wait,” said Oliver, turning to Alice. “Does your father know you’re gone?”

Alice shook her head, looking nervous for the first time. “I snuck out. But as long as I can fix this, I know he’ll forgive me when I come home.”

Oliver could read the determination in her eyes. He knew Alice well enough to know that she would not be dissuaded. “Alright,” he said.

Alice nodded. “Let’s go.”

Benyamin gave her a short bow. When he next lifted his head, he placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and long. Not moments later, the birds were back.

Cawing as they came, three large purple birds grabbed Alice, Oliver, and Benyamin by the scruffs of their necks, scraping them up into the sky like they might be midnight snacks. The birds circled the open water for only a few seconds before the seas were punctured open by a sudden, violent exhalation of air, followed closely by a glossy body so large the children could only imagine its size.

Oliver heard Alice gasp as the whale yawned open its enormous mouth and, one by one, the birds tossed them inside.

It should be noted here that whales are not generally fast creatures. They are not slow, no, but they are much slower than, say, any kind of train or underwater elevator, to be sure. And in any other scenario, having a very large, rather slow whale as a main source of transportation (whilst in a hurry) might not have seemed like such a coup. But it had taken Benyamin only two hours to get to Ferenwood by whale (let us remember that even the newer, faster underwater contraption had taken two days), and here is why:

The magical members of the underwater community (about whom our brave protagonists would one day learn) had used their gifts to build faster paths and tunnels to various parts of the world. These paths were accessible to all native sea dwellers—including animals, magical and non-magical alike. Our age and perspective allows us the privilege of knowing this information now, but it was without understanding how, exactly, this magic worked that Benyamin had learned from his mother that he’d be able to bring his friends back to Whichwood in a timely manner.

In any case, I’m afraid this explanation is interesting only to us; Alice and Oliver were far too pleased and/or distracted to ask any follow-up questions about the commute—they were only happy to be given a second chance to set things right.

NOW, WHERE WERE WE?

Laylee wandered the empty, echoing castle halls in a daze.

Dust danced, suspended in strokes of light as she paced up and down carpeted corridors, scenes from the day blurring through ancient, stained-glass windows pockmarking the walls. She could hear the gurgles of a newborn river, fresh snow melting steadily in the afternoon sun, and she paused to listen, her heart racing as she realized how very alone she was. Funny, she had felt lonely for so long now, but she had never been truly alone until now. She looked down at her hands, healthy and brown; touched her cheeks, supple and warm; and counted on six fingers how much she’d lost in her quest to live: Two parents— Three friends— One job—

Laylee no longer knew what to do.

She would go on trial in exactly nineteen hours and had been placed under house arrest until the hour she was required. At precisely nine o’clock tomorrow morning, she would be met at home, shackled, and escorted to the courthouse. Until then, she was physically bound by strict magical reinforcements that imprisoned her within her own walls. Worse still, she wouldn’t even be allowed to work. The Elders had forbade any citizen from sending their dead her way; instead, the town would be holding any recently deceased in a secure chamber until her fate was decided; only then (in the event that she should be found guilty) would they enact new measures to deal with the corpses. It seemed a logical enough plan for managing the particulars of her unique situation, but Laylee had already begun to worry.

In the last three days alone, six people had died, and Laylee somehow knew this to be true.

She could feel this truth without the words to articulate why, but when a spirit separated from its body, the specter seemed to sing to her. She’d never before been held away from her spirits, so the sensation was new, but she could feel them—each phantom like a phantom limb, a second heartbeat thudding against her chest. She could practically reach out and curl her fingers around the feeling, knowing without understanding that the dead were calling to her, pushing painfully against the magic that repelled their substance from her home. She hadn’t known the moment when things changed for her—when it was, exactly, that she’d begun to love her ghosts despite their meanness and mischief, but she knew herself to be their caretaker, and despite her many grumbles about her work, she’d always understood that they needed her—cared for her, even—in the short time they spent together.

Oh, how she missed them now.