Chapter 1: Ellery 1 ELLERY ELLERY EVANS CURSED AS THEY hauled another plastic tub of dirty dishes across the metal counter toward the deep kitchen sink. Sweat gathered at their temples as they sank their hands in the steaming hot water, transferring the dishes into the basin to soak. The kitchen of the small diner was stifling. From the heat and sizzle of the stove, and the steam rising from the seams of Ellery''s closest coworker, Hobart the industrial dishwasher, the room felt more like a tropical island than a restaurant. It was funny, in a way, that Ellery could grumble about the heat despite living in Solis City, a city renowned for the endless winter that had plagued them for the past five years, a weird weather phenomenon that no one could explain. According to the calendar, it was supposed to be the middle of summer, but when Ellery biked to the diner that morning, wrapped up in their heaviest coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, it had been snowing. But that had been life for all of Ellery''s teenage years. It was as if the seasons had just decided not to change one winter, and the warm wet of spring had never come.
And without spring, there was no blazing heat of summer, and certainly no harvest in autumn. That was the way it had been for the last half-decade. And while there were scientists who had researched and tried to explain the situation--everything from climate change to the movements of the poles to changes in the ocean currents--no one quite understood what had happened, or why it had happened to this one particular region. Which also meant no one had any viable solutions. Ellery was twelve when the seasons had stopped and now, at seventeen, didn''t rightly care why their patch of the world had freezing temperatures year-round and snow every month. Ellery only cared about the consequences. They used the spray nozzle to rinse an obscene amount of ranch dressing from a salad plate. A glob shot out and landed squarely on their apron, which, gross .
Ellery made a face as they shoved the plate in the rack that they would run through the dishwasher once full. They grabbed a handful of utensils from the bus pan and dropped them into the suds. Elbows deep in the water, sponge in hand, Ellery scrubbed, absently humming along to the radio that played a random pop tune in the background, ignoring the cooks yelling at each other again. The sound of pressurized water beating against the inside of the metal box that was Hobart mostly drowned out the cursing. The door to the kitchen swung open, and Ellery looked up briefly to catch their cousin''s head popping through a slim crack. Her red hair was piled high, a pencil threaded through it; her freckled cheeks were flushed. The white apron around her waist had a blobby stain that might have been spaghetti sauce. "Hey, El," she said, holding up her cell.
"Phone. Your mom." Ellery sighed. Of course she''d call in the middle of a shift. And she called Charley''s phone because she knew Charley would answer. Ellery''s phone was tucked away in the pocket of their jacket, Ellery having learned quickly that a sink full of soapy water wasn''t conducive to healthy electronics. A day in a bag of rice later, and Ellery''s phone was still spotty at best. "Can you tell her I''m busy?" "Like the last three times? I don''t think so.
I''m not taking that heat." "But it''ll all be--" "Supernatural bullshit. Yes, I know. You''ve said. Many times." She thrust the phone toward them. "Take a break. Diego won''t care.
Lunch rush is over anyway." "There was a rush?" Ellery muttered. Charley frowned and pointed aggressively. Groaning, Ellery straightened from their hunch over the sink and stripped off their long rubber gloves. They pushed their short brown hair out of their eyes, snatched the cell from Charley''s hand, and escaped through the back door of the restaurant out into the alley. They wedged an old pipe, which Frank had left on the stoop after being locked out one too many times, between the door and the jamb to keep it slightly propped. Overhead, Ellery spied a rusted horseshoe nailed over the entrance and rolled their eyes. "Hey," Ellery said into the phone, standing on the concrete steps outside.
The blast of chilly air when they exited had felt nice for a few seconds, until the absolute bone-piercing cold started sinking into their skin. Their T-shirt wasn''t an adequate defense against the temperature. At least it wasn''t snowing, though the sky was heavy and gray, ready to open at any minute. It wasn''t even close to dusk, but the alley was dark with shadows cast by the dim glow of the streetlamp a few yards away. "Ellery," their mom said. "How good of you to take my call." Ellery tipped their head back and took a fortifying breath. They slipped one hand in the pocket of their worn jeans, fingers brushing the acorn wrapped with iron wire that resided there.
"Hi, Mom. How are things?" "Good," their mom said. She didn''t elaborate further, which meant she was lying. After all, nothing had been "good" for the last five years. Ellery swallowed around the sudden lump in their throat. "How''s the farm?" "Oh, it''s going along okay. One of the greenhouses failed because we had some problems with the electricity. But other than that, the farm has been fine.
" "It failed?" Ellery asked, rubbing the toe of their sneaker into the slush piled on the steps. "What does that mean? Did you lose the crops?" A beat of silence. "Not all of them. And it''s okay. The other greenhouses are working, and we''ll have quite a yield from them." Another lie. Ever since the winter set in, the family farm had struggled to produce anything. It couldn''t.
Not until Ellery''s dad and uncles were able to construct a few greenhouses. Even then, the crops weren''t as abundant, because the greenhouses were small and there wasn''t as much space in which to plant. Also, greenhouses used heat, and between that, the farmhouse, and the barn, the electric bill had grown exponentially, too much for the extended family to afford. In fact, everything was too much for the family to afford, so Ellery had moved in with their older cousin for the summer to work in the city and send money back home. "Well, I was just checking in to see how you were doing. How is Charley? Is she treating you well? Are you eating enough?" Ellery winced. "Yes. Things are good.
Charley is great. My job is good. Everything is fine." "Oh, that''s good. When I don''t hear from you, it makes me think something bad has happened." Guilt twisted beneath Ellery''s ribs. "Sorry. I''ve been busy working.
" "Not too much, I hope. We didn''t let you move to the city to live with your cousin just for you to spend all your time working. I hope you''re getting out and doing things. Having some fun? Experiencing new things?" "Sure." It was Ellery''s turn to lie. "Do you still have the iron acorn I gave you?" Ellery''s lips twisted into a wry smile. Their mother believed the acorn''s iron-wire cage could combat the magic of the supernatural, providing Ellery protection from any creature with ill intent. Once upon a time, Ellery, too, believed in the myths of the faeries who lived under the hills in vast, glittering kingdoms, and the fae king who ruled over them.
They believed in the garden gnomes who made the plants grow if they left them gifts, and the nymphs who coaxed the rivers to run and the wells to fill and who required offerings during the droughts, and the mischievious pixies who would lead travelers astray for fun, unless the individual had a pretty rock or sunflower seed to give to them. Most importantly, they believed in a gracious and loving goddess who ensured a bountiful harvest each autumn to those who brought offerings and burned incense and prayed like good little sycophants. That she would bestow her favor on and protect those who worshipped and revered her and showered her with trinkets like they''d been taught to by their elders. Ellery believed in all the stories--that magic was real, that people were inherently good, and that if they believed in something desperately enough, it wouldn''t fail them. Until they learned it was all a lie. "Yes." Despite not believing anymore, it was the last thing their mother had given them before they left, and sentimentality was difficult to let go of. "Did you get the money I sent?" "We did.
You don''t have to do that." They had this same conversation every time. "But it helped, right?" She sighed over the line. "Yes. Of course it did. We used part of it to buy an offering for the goddess. I have a good feeling this time. I''m certain she''ll hear us.
" Ellery''s stomach sank. "Mom," they said, their tone almost admonishing. "Why did you do that? You could''ve used it for something else, something important." "Ellery. It is important." Ellery ducked their head and squeezed their eyes shut. This was another line of conversation they had each call, one that Ellery would''ve liked to avoid. "How can you still believe in her? It''s a waste of money and time.
" Their mom huffed. And Ellery knew they had crossed a line. But they couldn''t understand how their mom still held fast to her beliefs. Ellery had watched for years as their parents and the rest of the neighboring farm folk begged and pleaded to an empty shrine in the corn, only for nothing to change. Ellery''s faith shriveled and died, like the plants in the field, and the fruit on the vine, and the livestock without feed. A.