At first, he thought it was a trick of the shadows.Â A reflection of something beyond his field of vision.Â He wouldn’t go so far as to call it a delusion.Â After a moment, he decided it was definitely real.Â “Anna,” he said.Â “Look.”
She did.Â He heard her gasp.
In the middle of the field, where before there had been only a wide expanse of grass separating two of the oldest sections of the cemetery, a series of tents had popped up.Â If there had been a fair before Anna and Darren reached the rest house, he was sure they would’ve seen it.
But that’s what it looked like.Â A miniature fairgrounds.Â Instead of typical fair crowds, there were one or two dozen ravens perched in pairs on top of the tents.
A sweet smell, like candied apples, reached them, and a single raven’s caw, and a sudden breeze.
“Shangri La?” Anna said, standing.
Darren was shaking his head.Â “How did we not see that?Â It’s not a carnival, is it?Â No.”Â He was certain of that now.Â “A camp?”
Anna moved to the window and leaned out over the bricks.Â Definitively, in a tone that left no room for argument, she said, “Fairies.”
Though he couldn’t argue, Darren knew, without question or reservation, she was wrong.