"It's easier if you don't fight it. Sometimes the transition between worlds can be a bit bumpy," the Phouka explained, while rubbing at a grass stain on his elbow. He looked behind us to the traffic which was still visible through the portal.

"I'm supposed to quietly allow myself to be decapitated by a rampaging stallion that doesn't have the sense to stay off the freeway and out of drainage ditches?" I snorted derisively. "I don't think so."

The Phouka sighed. "I wasn't rampaging and, if I didn't cross the freeway, how were we going to get to the drainage ditch and the portal?"

"There's a portal in the drainage ditch?" I asked.

The Phouka sighed again. I think he was getting tired of my inability to keep up with events. "It's clearly marked."

"It is?" I said. I went to the opening and stuck my head out. Attached to the top of the ditch tunnel was a small sign written in fancy script that read "Portal Entrance, This Way". "Well, I'll be," I muttered. To the Phouka, I said, "Is it a good idea to mark them like that? What if the wrong sort crosses over?"

"There are so many of them that we found it's easier to find them if they're marked. As for the "wrong sort" finding them - did you see the sign before I pointed it out?" I shook my head. "They're designed that way. No one sees them who aren't supposed to see them."

As I mulled that over, I looked around. We had landed in a clearing of trees. The grass underfoot was lush, soft, and green. It was the perfect grass for bare feet. I started to kick off my shoes but the Phouka stopped me. "Hawthorn," he cautioned. "You could get a nasty stick."

I peered closely at the trees. They were nicely shaped with one inch thorns all along the branches and small white flowers. In the gathering dark, they glowed like a scattering of stars. I picked up a fallen branch and looked at the sharp thorns, glad I hadn't stepped on it. "Why didn't we just use the portal in Mary's room?" I asked.

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "I suspect that Jack and his friends know about that one. This one is my little secret and no one else knows about this clearing in the Hagedorn Wood."

"I'm in the Hagedorn Wood of Fairie?" I asked. "Cool!"

He took the branch from me just as I was starting to pop the thorns off of it. "That's not such a good idea," he cautioned. I started to argue but he put his hand up and cut me off. "This clearing is circled entirely with Hawthorn trees, which are sacred to the Fey. In fact, it's often called Fairy Bush. A circle of them is also a fairy trysting place," he said with a leer.

I looked at him sideways. "And you come here often?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. I narrowed my eyes at him, preparing to get huffy. "Alone! Geez, lighten up, will you? I'm just trying to teach you a little of our lore." He motioned me beside him and, when he saw me shiver, he put his arm around me and pulled me close. "Hawthorns often guard wells and, if you ever see one covered in scraps of bright cloth, you'll know that it's a wishing tree and each bit of cloth represents a wish. It's also associated with Beltaine, so it's timely that we're here right now." I settled in closer, so he continued. "Oak, Ash, and Thorn comprise the fairy tree triad. Historically, a lone hawthorn tree marked a portal to Fairy but that's changed a bit nowadays. Hawthorns, along with many other trees, just aren't as abundant as they once were. And sometimes we don't want the portals to be so obvious, you know?"

I was thinking about something. "At Jack's house, his portal is an Oak tree, right?"

The Phouka nodded in affirmation. "Our word for Oak is "Duir", from which the word "door" is derived. It's probably Jack's little joke that he's got what amounts to a door in his Duir. It would be nice if we could shut his portal down."

I covered a yawn with my hand but the Phouka noticed. "I guess we'll be sleeping here tonight. At least it's not raining." We spooned together with his arms around me. He hesitated. "Um ... it's a bit cool here ... what would you have for a sleeping companion? A rampaging stallion, perhaps?" His smile was leering.

I looked back at him for a moment and sighed. "I'm cold, sore, and tired, Phouka. Can I have a dog to keep me warm?" He held me closer for a minute and then, with that same soft popping sound, I was encircled by dog. I squeezed his big paws and whispered, "G'night, Dogbreath," which earned me a wet nose in my ear. I giggled and soon fell fast asleep.