Chapter Nine

  What had she done?

  Guilt clawed up Greer’s throat as she watched the color drain from Chris’s startled face. He stepped backward, his eyes darting around in panic as he took in their surroundings. The deep violet sky stretched overhead like a velvet shroud, dotted with strange, faint stars that didn’t belong to any constellation he knew. Around them, towering pines loomed like dark sentinels, their pointed tops piercing the unnatural twilight.

  “Greer,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “what happened-” he stopped himself and stared at the sky, his hand caught in his hair. “What the fuck is going on with the moon?”

  She followed his gaze. The crescent moon lay on its side in the purple twilight sky, like an open bowl waiting to be filled with stars. Around them, she could almost hear a distant rhythmic rasping, like the inhale and exhale of breath, and a shiver sped down her spine.

  “It’s not supposed to look like that,” he was saying unnecessarily. He stepped backward like he could put distance between himself and the strange sky.

  She moved without thinking, grabbing his hand and threading her fingers through his in a tight grip. At first, he tried to pull away, his movements jerky like a skittish animal, but she clung to him with a desperation that stopped him short. “Just hold on,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “It only lasts a moment. Stay with me.”

  Chris froze at her words, his body rigid as his wide eyes bore into hers. “Wait. What do you mean, ‘only lasts a moment’?” His voice was low and sharp, the tone cutting through her rising panic like a blade.

  Greer faltered, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambled for the right words. “I—” She shook her head, squeezing his hand tighter. “It happens without warning. You just have to stay close, okay? Hang on to me.”

  Realization dawned in his expression, his features tightening with disbelief. “This isn’t the first time,” he said, the words more accusation than question.

  She flinched, the truth clawing its way to the surface despite her best efforts to shove it down. “Chris—”

  “How many times?” he interrupted, his voice rising as his free hand raked through his hair. His other hand tugged against hers, but she refused to let go. “How many times have you been here?”

  She swallowed hard, her chest tightening as shame and guilt threatened to consume her. “A few,” she admitted quietly.

  Chris let out a sharp breath, his head snapping back toward her. “A few?” he repeated, his voice taut with incredulity. “And you didn’t think to tell me? Jesus, Greer—what the hell is this?”

  Her grip on his hand loosened, and she glanced away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t want to drag you into this,” she murmured. “I didn’t even understand it myself.”

  “That’s not good enough!” he snapped, yanking his hand free at last. The loss of contact stung more than she expected, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if to hold herself together. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

  “I wasn’t lying,” she protested, her voice small.

  “Not telling me is the same damn thing,” he shot back, his tone laced with anger and betrayal.

  The weight of his words settled heavily on her chest, and she felt her heart sink. She had wanted to protect him, but now it was clear she had only pushed him further away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words feeling feeble and inadequate.

  Chris stared at her, his jaw tight and his shoulders tense. For a moment, she thought he might say something, but instead, he turned away, his hands fisting at his sides. “Just tell me everything,” he said finally, his voice flat. “No more secrets.”

  Greer opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her mind raced, scrambling for a way to explain without losing him completely. The silence stretched, taut and brittle, until Chris turned back to her, his eyes hard and unyielding.

  “Well?” he pressed, his voice sharp and unrelenting. “When did this start?”

  Greer hesitated, her throat tightening. She knew the truth would only make things worse, but the weight of his glare left her no room to maneuver. “After my grandma died,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “At first, it was just a few seconds. I’d be there and then I’d snap back, like it never even happened.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as though the memory alone could pull her back into that place. “But over time… I started staying longer.”

  Chris let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “So that’s why you were up on the hill,” he said, his voice hardening. “You weren’t just closing up the house, were you? You were looking for something.”

  Greer flinched, but she didn’t deny it. “I thought maybe there were clues—something Grandma left behind that could explain what was happening,” she said quickly, hoping to diffuse his anger. “I didn’t want you to get dragged into this. I was trying to figure it out on my own.”

  His expression darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Dragged into this?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Greer, you didn’t just drag me into this—you threw me into it blindfolded. How many times were you going to lie to my face before you told me the truth?”

  “I wasn’t lying,” she protested weakly, though the words sounded hollow even to her.

  “Bullshit,” he snapped. “You’ve been lying this whole time! How do I even know what’s real with you anymore?” He took a step back, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. “Did you do that thing back at the house on purpose?”

  Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with shock. “What? No!” she said, horrified. “Chris, I swear, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

  He scoffed, his gaze narrowing. “Right. Just like you didn’t mean to tell me about this place. Just like you didn’t mean to let your grandma curse you. Was my grandpa right, Greer? Are you a dark witch?”

  Her breath caught, and she shook her head vehemently. “No. He wasn’t. I’m not—” She stopped short, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m just as lost as you are.”

  “Lost?” he said, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You’re not lost, Greer. You’ve been keeping secrets, playing games, acting like you’re the only one this affects. Do you know what it felt like back there, watching you—watching whatever that was happen to you? Wondering if you’d survive?”

  Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You think I’m not scared?” she shot back. “You think I haven’t been trying to figure this out? I’ve been alone, Chris. No one to ask, no one to trust. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose you too.”

  Chris’s face twisted, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or hurt. “Well, congratulations,” he said bitterly. “You managed to do that anyway.”

  Her heart sank, and she took a tentative step toward him, her hands outstretched in a silent plea. “Chris, please…”

  He held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “No more, Greer. No more lies, no more—”

  Without warning, the crow’s abrasive caw shattered the silence, a loud and jarring note that rang through the still, quiet night. Greer flinched at the sound, her heart jolting. The bird launched itself from its perch in a flurry of dark feathers, its silhouette cutting across the strange twilight sky.

  Chris’s gaze tracked its flight, his face unreadable. She wanted to say something—anything—to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but the words stuck in her throat. The weight of his anger pressed down on her, making her feel small and exposed.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, the gesture doing little to ward off the chill creeping through her. The air in this place felt heavier now, the rhythmic rasping she’d noticed earlier growing louder, like something alive was stirring in the shadows. A shiver raced down her spine, and she forced herself to speak.

  “We should keep moving,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She hated how weak it sounded, but she didn’t trust herself to say more without breaking.

  Chris didn’t respond immediately. He just stood there, his jaw tight and his hands clenched at his sides. She could see the tension in the lines of his shoulders, the way he kept looking at her like she was a stranger.

  Finally, he let out a sharp breath and nodded. “Fine,” he said curtly, not meeting her eyes.

  Greer’s stomach twisted. She wanted to reach out to him, to apologize again, but she knew it wouldn’t help. He didn’t trust her anymore, and she didn’t blame him. She’d kept too many secrets, and now they were stranded in this… place because of her.

  She glanced around the clearing, her gaze sweeping over the towering pines and the strange, alien sky. The purple twilight was darker now, and the faint stars overhead seemed sharper, more menacing. The rhythmic rasping grew louder, coming from somewhere deeper in the woods, and her breath caught.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  Chris glanced at her, his expression still hard, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I hear it.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, the sound filling the air around them. It was a strange, rhythmic rasping, like the inhale and exhale of something large and alive. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her pulse quickened.

  “We need to move,” she said again, her voice firmer this time. She didn’t wait for him to respond. She turned and started walking, her sneakers crunching softly over the pine needles that littered the ground.

  The sound of Chris’s footsteps followed a moment later, reluctant but steady. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t bear to see the distance in his eyes again.

  Each step felt heavier than the last, the oppressive atmosphere of the forest pressing down on her. The rasping sound followed them, growing louder with each passing second. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her breathing steady.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” Chris’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and accusing.

  “No,” she admitted, the word falling from her lips like a stone. “But standing still doesn’t feel like an option.”

  His silence felt like another accusation, but she kept moving, forcing one foot in front of the other. Her thoughts churned, a tangle of fear and regret. She’d ruined everything. The fragile bond she’d started to rebuild with Chris was shattered, and she didn’t know if she could fix it.

  The rasping sound grew louder still, closer now, and she stopped abruptly, her heart hammering in her chest. Chris nearly bumped into her, his hand instinctively reaching for her arm before he caught himself and pulled back.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice low.

  Greer didn’t answer immediately. She strained her ears, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. It was all around them, surrounding them like a living thing. Her hands trembled, and she tightened them into fists to steady herself.

  “We’re not alone,” she whispered.

  Chris tensed beside her, his jaw tightening. For a moment, neither of them moved, their breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Greer’s gaze darted through the trees, searching for any sign of movement, but the shadows were too deep, too impenetrable.

  She took a step closer to Chris, the instinct to seek safety overriding her guilt and fear. His presence, no matter how cold or angry, was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

  “What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  Chris glanced at her, his expression grim. “We keep moving,” he said, his voice low and firm.

  ---

  Tad turned and saw the other witch standing on the bottom stair, her arms filled with glass jars.

  Fuck.

  For a second, Tad and the other witch stared at each other, each seemingly frozen in place while their minds processed the unexpected turn of events.

  For Tad’s part, his first instinct was to rush her, but his legs were about as useful as rocks. Actually, they were less useful than rocks. He could’ve at least thrown rocks. Instead, he chose to retreat, dragging himself away from her with his arms.

  His shoulder was fucking killing him.

  The witch (he really wished he’d asked her name) shouted and dropped the jars in her hands, rushing toward him. The jars shattered, sending glass shards in all directions and spilling their contents on the floor as the tang of vinegar filled the air. She lunged for him, and Tad scurried backward as fast as he could in his haste to get away from her, dragging his useless legs as he went.

  “No!” she shouted at the same time his shoulder finally gave out. It buckled, and he collapsed onto his side. The pain was tremendous. Far worse than the initial injury. He cried out wordlessly, rolling onto his back and holding his arm close against his torso as the pain overwhelmed everything else.

  The house groaned and started to shake.

  “What did you do?” the witch screeched. She ran across to the worktable and started throwing open drawers, looking for something. Most of the second circle’s chalk lines were on his jeans now but enough remained that he could see the outlines of its perimeter. Something was starting to burn darkly in the air above the wide silver bowl, a pinprick of darkness that hurt his eyes to look at, and he grit his teeth, struggling backward. Wind wound around the circles, rocking the bags that hung suspended above his head as the wind howled and pawed at the chalk lines.

  The witch cried out behind him and hurried toward the middle of the room, a white stick of chalk in her hand. The wind barked and pushed her back. She fell to the ground, losing her grip on the chalk, and it shattered against the concrete floor. Above them, the sacks were swinging wildly. Behind him, he heard Henry and Simone groaning.

  The witch whirled on him. “You ruined it!” she cried.

  At her back, the burning darkness grew larger, and the wind picked up speed. One of the bags fell from its hook, splitting open when it hit the floor. A decayed man’s head, still wearing a red trucker’s cap, lolled out of the ripped seam.

  Tad cried out and scrambled backward from the sight. His legs, which had been little more than concrete a second before, buzzed as feeling abruptly returned.

  The witch screamed with pain and clutched her head. A trickle of blood seeped from her nostril.

  “What did you do?” he bellowed, trying to pitch his voice over the howling wind. His shoulder was hot, and it throbbed, keeping rhythm with his racing heart. The darkness behind the witch was as big as a golf ball, and looking at it sent shards of pain into his brain. A second bag fell from the ceiling, and the air became pungent with the smell of decay.

  The witch looked scared. Suddenly, she cried out, and then she was on her stomach, her face pressed into the dirty floor. Simone was on her back, her curls rioting around her face. She had one knee against the younger woman’s spine while she gripped the woman’s shoulder, holding her against the basement.

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  “Simone—” Tad started, but then he saw the shard of glass in Simone’s other hand. She was pressing it between the young witch’s shoulder blades, dragging it in a circle that cut through the fabric of the witch’s shirt. The other witch screamed and flailed against Simone.

  “Help me!” Simone cried, struggling to keep the woman beneath her still. Henry, who had also woken from his drug-induced coma, immediately flopped his body over the woman’s flailing legs.

  Tad stared at them, inching backward at the feral light he saw in Simone’s face. “What are you doing?”

  She glared up at him. “Help me!”

  “No! You’re hurting her!”

  “She tried to kill us!” Simone growled at him. “Help me hold her still!”

  He stared at the three of them, his mind floundering at the sight of the woman he’d come to trust hurting someone else.

  “Tad!” Simone shouted. It was an order. A demand.

  Still, he hesitated. His brain buzzed loud like he had a whole swarm of angry bees inside his head.

  “I can’t hold her and do this at the same time!” Simone shouted.

  He moved forward and grabbed the woman’s other shoulder. His arm wasn’t good for shit, though, and he had to exchange his hand for his knee, pressing against the woman with the bulk of his weight. He cradled his aching arm against his chest. He felt like he was going to be sick.

  Simone ripped a line down the other woman’s shirt, exposing her back. From his vantage point above them, he watched as she outlined the circle she’d just carved into the witch’s skin with a second circle. She muttered under her breath as she worked, the shard of bloody glass catching the weak light as she moved it across the woman’s back. Symbols came next. Each one shimmered with an unworldly light despite the blood that covered the witch’s back.

  Suddenly, the witch under them stopped moving, and Tad pushed himself away from her, worried that they’d killed her.

  “Don’t stop!” Henry cried. Tad didn’t know who he was talking to, himself or Simone.

  The air in the basement changed. It felt electrified.

  “Tad!” Henry shouted. “Hold her down!”

  But the other woman lay unmoving on the ground. He struggled to discern the rise and fall of her chest. The bulk of Simone’s lower body was in his way. He moved to their other side, ignoring Henry’s cry. The younger woman’s lips were blue, and her eyes were open, sightless.

  She was dead.

  His heart hammered in his chest, and adrenaline flooded his veins. He rammed into Simone, pushing her off the witch. “Get off of her!” he cried. “You killed her!”

  She fell over with a surprised grunt, dropping the shard of glass. Her curls twisted in the incessant wind, and her face was cut by harsh lines of shadow.

  An unworldly voice hissed in the wind, sharp and unnatural.

  Tad froze and looked behind him. Shadows that hadn’t been there before clung to the walls, almost like living things. In the low light of the basement, it looked like they were moving in the unnatural wind that surged around them. The infinite darkness in the middle of the room had grown large enough that he could’ve stuck his head into the opening.

  The voice hissed again, coming from the darkness. Shadows seemed to leak from it, flowing to the floor like streams of water. Over their heads, the last sack swayed wildly in the wind before finally dropping from its nail. When it landed on the floor, the seam split, and an arm peaked through the gap.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, stumbling away from the dead body inside the bag.

  Simone was scrambling to her knees. “She left the debt unpaid!” she screeched as she swept her hands over the floor, looking for something.

  The woman on the floor moaned.

  Henry’s face was wild, and he clung to the witch’s legs with the same desperation Tad had seen when the Hunter chased them. It dawned on him that he’d probably done something very stupid.

  He rushed back to the body, but it was too late.

  Blackness, as thick as the darkest night, appeared like scales over the dead woman’s skin. Her body was pushing itself up, brushing away Henry’s hands like they were paper. It was no longer the witch. Something else peeked through her eyes. Something inhuman.

  It opened its mouth and spoke, but the wind caught the words before Tad’s ears could hear them. He could see Simone’s face blanche in the dimness. Its eyes fell on Tad, and it rushed toward him, reaching with long, thin arms. He scrambled backward, putting space between him and it, but his feet slipped on the wetness still left from the broken jars. He fell backward, his shoulders hitting the stone wall behind him. The back of his head connected, and he saw stars as pain bloomed, obscuring his vision for an instant.

  The witch’s reanimated body pounced on him, slamming him against the stone wall. He cried out. The thing in the witch’s body opened its mouth. Tad could see oblivion beyond her teeth—a blackness that waited for him.

  It screamed and released him.

  It spun, scrabbling for the shard of glass that was now embedded in its back.

  Behind them, Simone stood, looking pale, her legs shaking. Her mouth moved, saying words that Tad couldn’t hear.

  The thing screamed again, and the black scales began to break apart. Pieces of it sloughed off like dead skin and were caught by the wind. In the center of the room, the black hole began to swallow the bits of darkness that were shed by the witch. When all of the scales were gone from its host, the body dropped to the floor, inert. The whirlwind flashed once, then twice, then blinked out of existence.

  The room fell silent.

  Tad looked first at Simone, then at Henry. “What the fuck just happened?”

  Henry pushed himself to his knees, his face a kaleidoscope of pain. “You just about killed us; that’s what happened,” he growled.

  Bewildered, Tad looked at Simone. She was shaking. “Simone,” he started, but she held up a hand, stopping him.

  “No,” she said sharply. She pushed back her unruly hair. Her face was dark. “Henry’s right. You fucked up, kid.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. The screen was lit, and it buzzed in her hand. Tad could see the blood on the screen.

  “I didn’t mean—” he started.

  She held up a hand, stopping him, and accepted the call. “Hey, Kenny,” she said gruffly. “Yeah, we ran into a problem over here.” She flicked a hard glance at Tad. “I know,” she said, getting to her feet. Her face was drawn and tight. “She was a fucking dark witch. There are bodies all over the place here-” Simone stopped speaking so suddenly that Tad instinctively glanced at her. He watched the blood drain from her face, leaving her ashen in the low light of the basement. She abruptly hung up the phone and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. She reached down and yanked Henry to his feet.

  “Come on,” she said gruffly. “We gotta get out of here.” She pulled him toward the stairs. The look on her face was such that the other man didn’t even protest.

  Tad looked at the bodies leaking from the bags on the floor, then back at them. “Wait! We can’t just leave them here like this,” he argued. “We need to call it in.”

  Simone shook her head and pushed Henry ahead of her on the stairs. “No time,” she said. “Kenny said they could feel this all the way over at my house. If they could feel it, then you can bet your ass that the witch hunters felt it too. We need to get the hell out of here before they show up.”

  Henry was doing his best to hobble up the stairs as quickly as he could, uncharacteristically silent, and Tad watched them leave, feeling helpless. “We can’t leave them like this,” he said. “They’re people.”

  Simone swung at him. “They’re dead people,” she stressed. “They don’t care. Now move your ass before we become dead people too.”

  “But we didn’t do this; she did.”

  Henry had finally cleared the narrow door at the top of the stairs, and she jogged up the rickety steps. “The witch hunters aren’t going to split hairs if they find us here,” she said. “We’re here, and there are dead, non-magic people here with evidence of dark magic in the air. We’re as good as dead if they find us.”

  “But-”

  “Now, kid,” Henry thundered from the top of the stairs, looking anxious.

  Tad shook his head, but he gripped the wooden rail and started up to the first floor. Every step felt like a betrayal of his ethics, and he did his best not to look back at the bodies lying on the floor. Simone and Henry didn’t wait for him. They were busy peering through the blinds in the front room. Outside, a car door slammed, and they froze.

  “Do you see anything?” Simone hissed at Henry.

  Henry shook his head. “Nothin’,” he said. “The damned tree is blocking my view.”

  Simone, spotting Tad, waved him over. He crossed the living room and peered through the blinds she held open. “See that black truck?” she asked, pitching her voice low.

  He nodded, and it felt like a stone had settled in his stomach. “It wasn’t there when we got here.”

  “Yeah.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second, then glanced behind them toward the empty kitchen. “If it’s them, they’re probably headed toward the back of the house.”

  “Then we need to move now,” he said, his policeman’s instincts taking over. He moved to the front door, his insides shaking. He peered through the window, but nothing moved outside. He glanced behind him and was surprised to see both Simone and Henry at his back, watching him expectantly.

  He blinked, then recovered quickly. “Ready?” he asked unnecessarily.

  “Just move your ass,” Henry snapped.

  Tad’s lips thinned, and he quickly turned the knob and stepped outside.

  No one tried to kill him. He glanced up and down the street, but it was quiet. As smoothly as he could, he made for Simone’s truck with her at his heels. Henry brought up the rear, the crutch making a creaking sound as he booked it across the yard.

  A tense silence followed them into the truck. Simone glanced at them quickly before turning the key in the ignition. The truck roared to life, and she immediately pressed the gas pedal down, peeling away from the house. A shout sounded behind them, and Tad turned to look out the back window. Three men were running from behind the house. One of them was carrying a-

  “Oh shit!” Tad cried, ducking down as the man fired his shotgun at the fleeing truck. It barked, loud as a cannon, in the quiet of the residential street. Simone cursed. The tires squealed as she yanked the wheel to the right. They roared down a side street, flying down the hill as fast as the aging truck would take them, straight for Main Street. It was midmorning, and Tad could see the traffic flowing past at the end of the street.

  Simone fumbled for her phone in her back pocket. She threw it at Henry.

  “Call Deborah!”

  He thumbed it on. “I need your face!”

  She snatched the phone back and held it in front of her while she navigated the narrow side street, then tossed it back to him. Henry reached up and grabbed the bar above his head as the truck bounced over the uneven pavement while he navigated the menus. He pressed a button and held it to his ear. After a moment, he held it out to her.

  “It’s ringing!” he shouted.

  She grabbed the phone and held it to her ear.

  “Deborah! I need you to call your dogs off!” Simone swerved around a particularly large pothole. Another shot rang out behind them. Tad turned and saw the black truck behind them. One of the men was leaning out the passenger window, aiming his shotgun at Tad’s head.

  Tad cursed and dove down.

  “They’re right behind us!” he cried.

  Simone whirled, clocked the truck, and turned back to the road. “No!” she cried into the phone. “You sent us to a dark witch!” A pause. “Yes, I’m sure! She tried to fucking kill us! Now we’ve got witch hunters on our ass!” Simone cursed and hit the brakes as they flew toward the traffic up ahead. She glanced quickly in the opposite direction before wildly turning the truck onto Main and heading toward the courthouse. Behind them, horns blared, and wheels squealed as their pursuers tried to do the same.

  “I don’t care!” Simone shouted into the phone. “Call them off!” She tossed the phone back at Henry with a curse. Ahead of them, the light turned red, and she hit the brakes hard enough to make Tad surge forward against his seatbelt.

  “She’s gonna talk to them, right?” he asked, turning to look for their pursuers. He couldn’t see their truck, and his stomach twisted.

  Simone glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “So she says,” she said.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Henry spat.

  “It means Deborah Smithfield always has her own agenda, and we’re lucky she’s decided we’re on her side.”

  “Just how much power does this Council have?” Tad asked, rubbing his temples.

  “Too much,” Henry said darkly.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Tad saw something dark fly down Riverwalk, which ran parallel to Main. He grabbed the back of Simone’s seat and pointed. “Over there,” he said urgently.

  She turned, pushing her unruly hair out of her eyes. “Where?”

  “Down by the river,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  She cursed and settled her hand on the stick shift, eyeing the light. When it turned green, she peeled away. The big black truck roared up the short side street, careening into the intersection. It fishtailed for a second before it pulled in behind them. Tad looked through the back window and found himself pinned beneath the scowl of the two men inside.

  “Fuck.”

  ---

  The purple sky above their heads was the color of winter plums, rich and dark. There were no clouds, no stars—just the odd crescent moon lying on its side like an open bowl, silver and silent. It cast an eerie glow over the towering pines, their jagged silhouettes clawing at the sky.

  Greer shivered, wrapping her free arm across her waist as her eyes darted through the shadows. The rhythmic rasping sound still lingered in the air, a faint but unsettling presence. She stiffened when her gaze caught a flicker of orange light in the distance.

  “Do you see that?” she asked, her voice tight.

  Chris squinted, his features hardening. “Yeah. What is that?”

  She didn’t answer, already stepping forward, drawn to the warmth of the glow. It reminded her of a candle or firelight, small but steady. The thought of anything familiar in this alien place was too tempting to ignore. Chris tugged her back, his grip firm.

  “Hold on. We don’t know what it is,” he said.

  She turned to him, irritation flickering through her fear. “We don’t know what anything is,” she shot back. “But standing here isn’t going to help.”

  His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured for her to lead the way, though his fingers stayed tightly laced with hers, like he didn’t trust her to keep him tethered to reality.

  In the distance behind them, something screamed, a guttural, bone-chilling sound that froze Greer in her tracks. Her blood ran cold as the noise echoed through the trees, vibrating in her chest like a warning. She tightened her grip on Chris’s hand, her voice trembling. “Was that?”

  Chris’s jaw tightened, his eyes scanning the shadows. “Yeah,” he said grimly. “We need to move. Now.”

  The light grew brighter as they moved closer, its orange glow spilling through the trees like liquid fire, painting the ground with streaks of shadow and light. Greer felt a strange sense of déjà vu creep over her, her breath catching as a memory surfaced with jarring clarity.

  The dream.

  She froze, her feet rooted to the forest floor as the realization hit her. They were walking toward the sun in her dream.

  Chris turned sharply, his expression darkening when he saw her face. He stepped in front of her, his fingers tightening around hers. “What’s wrong?”

  “I dreamed about this,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  His brows drew together, and he ducked his head to meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  Greer swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sickening feeling twisting in her stomach. “Last night. When I was sleepwalking. I dreamed this.” She gestured toward the orange glow flooding the horizon.

  Chris straightened, his expression unreadable. “When you heard your grandma?”

  She nodded, unable to speak, her heart pounding in her chest.

  He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he stared at the light. She could almost see the pieces coming together in his mind, each realization hardening his features further.

  “Is there any chance it wasn’t a dream?” he asked finally, his voice low and deliberate.

  “What?” Greer’s mouth went dry.

  “You said you’ve been coming here against your will, right?” he pressed.

  She nodded hesitantly, dread pooling in her stomach as his meaning became clear.

  “What if you came back in your sleep?” he said, his tone grim. “That would explain why I couldn’t find you.”

  The realization hit her like a blow, stealing the air from her lungs. “Wait,” she said hoarsely. “That means—”

  Chris’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Wilhelm was right,” he finished for her. “Your grandma might not be dead after all.”

  “No!” The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate. She yanked against his grip, shaking her head violently. “She’s dead, Chris. She has to be. I’m finally free.”

  “Greer, stop,” he said firmly, pulling her closer. His eyes were steady, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in them that made her stomach churn. “We don’t know anything for sure yet. But whatever this is, we’re going to figure it out together.”

  She was trembling, her knees threatening to give out beneath her, but the conviction in his voice steadied her. She exhaled shakily and nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

  The creature’s scream cut through the silence, closer this time. The sound clawed its way into Greer’s chest, squeezing her lungs and making her legs lock. Her breath hitched as fear wrapped around her like a cold chain. “It’s getting closer,” she whispered.

  Chris’s head snapped toward the sound, his expression sharpening. “I get that you’re afraid,” he said quickly, his tone urgent. “But we’ve got to keep moving. That light might be our only chance.”

  She hesitated, but the scream echoed again, and the primal terror it sent racing through her left her no choice. She nodded, letting him pull her forward.

  The forest seemed to fight them at every step. Thorny underbrush clawed at her legs, raking her skin, while branches reached for her hair like skeletal hands. Chris pushed ahead, shielding her from the worst of it, but even his jeans tore under the forest’s relentless assault.

  The glow grew brighter with every step, the trees thinning as they neared its source. The light was warm and golden, but it filled the woods with a sense of foreboding, like the heavy stillness before a storm.

  Chris stopped suddenly, and she stumbled into his back.

  “Do you hear that?” he murmured, his voice tense.

  Greer strained her ears, her breath hitching. The forest was silent—too silent. She shook her head, her fingers tightening around his hand.

  Chris grimaced, his jaw clenched. “I thought I heard something,” he muttered.

  Her gaze darted through the trees, her heart racing as shadows seemed to shift at the edges of her vision. “Do you think it’s the creature?” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips.

  “I don’t know,” Chris said, his voice low. “But we can’t stop now.”

  They pushed forward, weaving through the underbrush as the light spilled over them like molten gold. It painted Chris’s face in fiery shades of vermillion, the sharp planes of his features turned demonic in the glow.

  “It’s coming from Henry’s yard,” he said suddenly, pointing ahead.

  Greer squinted through the light, disoriented. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” he said. “The road runs through there.”

  He quickened his pace, pulling her toward the edge of the forest. The trees thinned, and they stumbled into a grassy yard bathed in amber light.

  Ahead of them lay a stout, twisted tree. Glowing amber fruit hung from its sparse branches, and she realized it was those strange fruits that were creating the light.

  The tree seemed to sigh, its dry branches creaking, and the glowing teardrop-shaped fruit swayed ever so slightly.

  “So,” a woman’s voice said, smooth and familiar, cutting through the charged silence. “You’ve come at last.”