Chapter Ten

  The witch hunters made no move to overtake them as Simone drove her big truck down the crowded Main Street. They seemed content to follow them silently, doing their damnedest to stay on Simone’s ass. Now, as they crossed the wide cement bridge out of town, Tad watched them uneasily. There was nowhere for Simone to lose them. Traffic wasn’t bumper to bumper on the bridge, but it was close enough. Any attempts to lose the two witch hunters would be useless.

  Simone’s phone began to ring in Henry’s hand as they were crossing the bridge. He looked at her questioningly, and she glared at him in response.

  “Answer it!”

  Henry accepted the call. “Hello?” he said, glancing at Simone. A grimace crossed his face, and he lowered the phone. “It’s Deborah.”

  “Thank God,” she said. She held out her hand impatiently. “Give it to me,” she said, flicking a glance in the rearview mirror at the black truck trailing them, her freckled face illuminated by the late afternoon sun reflecting off the dashboard.

  The windows of the cab were rolled down, and the truck was filled with the smell of hot asphalt and diesel fumes. The bright sunlight streamed in through the passenger side, illuminating the pale skin of Henry’s forearm while the wind ruffled Simone’s curls, sending them fluttering away from her face.

  She spoke animatedly on the phone, her voice rising and falling with each sentence. It wasn’t hard to see the drain of the afternoon’s events in her body. It was in the way she hunched over the steering column and how she clutched the wheel with her free hand so tightly that her knuckles were white under the thin skin.

  “What do you mean?” She paused, then frowned. “I am a grown-ass woman, Deborah. I don’t need—” She paused a second time. Her cheeks reddened, and he watched her eyes grow dark with anger in the rearview mirror. “Fine,” she bit out. “But only because I don’t have the time to argue with you! We’ve got other things to worry about—yes, I know! We’ll be there soon.” With a loud sigh, she hung up the phone and threw it back at Henry, who looked first at the phone, then back at her.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  Simone scowled. “They’re going to escort us to the farm,” she said, stretching her fingers as she readjusted her tight grip on the steering wheel.

  Tad shot a quick glance at the truck behind them and shifted uneasily in his seat. He ran his good hand up and down his thigh.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Simone glanced at him, confusion on her face. “Why what?”

  He gestured to the truck behind them. “They just tried to kill us,” he said, feeling confused and frustrated. “Why would they help us now?”

  Her mouth settled into a grim line. “Because most of the witch hunters around here are in the Council’s back pocket. If Deborah says jump, they ask how much.”

  He turned and looked out the window, not seeing the stores and auto dealerships as they flew by. “Does my dad know about this?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. He pretty much hauled ass last time we had to deal with a magical problem.”

  Tad clenched his jaw. “Yeah, he’s good at pretending things don’t exist.”

  Her eyes found Tad in the rearview mirror again. “It’s not usually like this,” she said as if needing to reassure him. “Today has been a very bad day.”

  Henry snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  As they drove, Tad couldn’t help but feel like something bad was about to happen. His gut was twisting itself into anxious knots the closer they got to the farm, and by the time they turned off the main road and onto Blackriver Road, he felt like he was going to throw up. Cars and trucks lined the shoulder of the road leading to the remains of the Dane house. He counted fifteen in all before Simone pulled over onto the shoulder and parked. The driveway to the Dane house was clogged with Deborah’s truck and a few others he didn’t recognize.

  Simone killed the engine, and the three of them filed out of the truck. Kenny urgently waved at them from the top of the knoll when he saw them coming.

  When Tad didn’t follow them up the slope, Simone looked back at him. “You okay, kid?”

  He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, shoving his bad hand into his pocket, where he wouldn’t be tempted to move it around so much. It hurt like hell. “I got a call to make first.”

  She looked at him with her dark eyes, and for a minute, he thought she was going to call him out on it, but then she just nodded and headed up the knoll toward Kenny. Tad squinted into the afternoon sun and watched Henry slowly follow in her footsteps.

  He didn’t want to talk to his dad, and he felt like a coward for admitting it, but he knew it was something he had to do. Right then seemed like the absolute worst time to have a heart-to-heart with Joe Shannon, but Tad couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get very… permanent.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and thumbed it on. The screen had cracked at some point during his adventures, and he ran his thumb over the fissure, feeling the sharp edge of glass bite his skin. Tad turned to face the eastern field and pushed the button next to his dad’s image. At first, it only rang, but then the line picked up, and a rough voice answered.

  “Joe Shannon,” his dad said.

  “Hi, Dad,” Tad said.

  “Tad! Where the hell are you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  “I’m out on Blackriver Road—”

  “What the hell are you still doing out there? I thought the Fire Marshal’s office was taking over.”

  “Dad, is it true Grandma had magic?” Silence filled the line. “Dad?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Simone Calhoun.”

  His dad cursed on the other end. “Bitch should know when to keep her mouth shut.”

  “Is it true?” His dad went silent again. “Dad, I just want to know the truth.”

  “Your grandmother was... different.”

  “Was she a witch?”

  “There’s no such thing as witches,” his dad said. The words came out fast like they were something he said often enough for them to be second nature.

  “I know that’s a lie,” Tad said. “I know she called you last night.”

  “You need to come back in right now,” Joe said. “I need you to—”

  This time, Tad cut him off. “No, Dad,” he said. “I can’t leave them.”

  “Can’t leave who?” Joe demanded.

  “The witches.”

  “I told you, there’s no—”

  “Dad, she told me what happened back then,” he lied. Then he shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I’ve seen things. Things that can’t be explained.”

  “Those people are crazy, you hear me? Stay away from them.”

  “They’re not crazy,” Tad countered. “Dad, something big is happening out here. It might be bad.”

  “Tad! Come back right now!” His dad thundered on the other end of the line. Something that might’ve been fear trembled at the back of his voice.

  “No,” Tad said. “I won’t leave them alone. But if things go wrong, you need to evacuate the town.”

  Joe Shannon was silent on the other end, and Tad sighed. “Bye, Dad,” he said.

  “Wait—”

  Tad ended the call. He thought he would’ve felt better after talking to his dad, but he somehow felt worse. He shoved his phone into his pocket and turned around.

  “Tad!” Simone called, jogging down to him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked when she was near, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled him toward a group of several witches, who watched him approach with varying degrees of skepticism.

  “Simone,” he said, “what’s going on?”

  “They can’t close it,” she said. She sounded like she was out of breath.

  He froze. “What does that mean?” he asked as a thread of fear wound itself down his spine. Simone tugged him forward.

  “Come on,” she said, “the others are waiting.”

  He resisted. “No,” he said. “Tell me what that means.” Fear colored his voice, turning uncertainty into authority.

  She stopped pulling on his arm and turned. She must’ve seen the fear on his face because her own features softened. She stood in front of him and looked up into his face. He was struck by how much she reminded him of his mother. They had the same time-worn face and the same aching age in their eyes. Kindred spirits, his grandfather would’ve said.

  “We need your help,” she said, still looking him square in the eyes. He could see the truth written in the lines of her face and felt it in his gut. “Something is preventing us from closing the pit—something inside it. I want you to take my place in the coven circle so I can go in and investigate.”

  “Why?” he asked. “I can’t do magic.”

  “You’re the only one around for miles that has even a smidge of talent. There’s no one else that could get here in time.”

  “I called my dad,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry. But he’s pissed, and if I know him, he’s gonna show up here with the whole force.”

  Something closed in her face. “How long?”

  “An hour, maybe less?”

  She nodded and pulled at his arm again. He winced, and she looked abashed. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get you patched up at least.”

  She led him to the group. They were a motley bunch. Most of them were middle-aged, but a few were older. One woman, in particular, looked about ninety. Kenny and Deborah were there. The latter spared him a sharp glance before returning to the animated conversation.

  “No,” she was saying. “Bradford’s council wouldn’t make it here in time before this thing starts to leak over.”

  “Kenny!” Simone called.

  The man separated himself from the rest. “What’s up?”

  She gestured to Tad with a tilt of her head. “He got banged up. Can you give him a brace?”

  The man eyed Tad, taking in the mud and torn jeans. “Where?”

  “My shoulder,” Tad said. He placed his palm over the joint. It was hot under his touch. “The Doc gave me a sling, but I lost it.”

  “Well, that was stupid,” Kenny said, not unkindly. He came closer and poked Tad’s shoulder. Tad winced. Kenny mumbled to himself and walked around Tad, never taking his eyes off the shoulder.

  “Can you fix it?” he asked.

  Kenny snorted. “If you want it fixed, go back to the doctor.” He motioned Simone over. “Best I can do is turn the pain down for a few hours. Any more than that, and I won’t be able to hold my part of the circle.”

  Simone looked at Tad. “It’ll have to do,” she said.

  “Okay, then,” Kenny said. “Let me get some things from my car.” He pointed to the blackened, gnarled tree beside the pit. “Go sit over there,” he said to Tad. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Tad looked at the tree. Henry was already there. Even from that distance, Tad could see the grayness that clung to him.

  “How’s he doing?” he asked Simone.

  She followed his gaze. “Not good,” she said. “Between you and me, he’ll be lucky if he lasts the night.”

  Tad’s blood ran cold. “Can’t someone help him?” There were witches everywhere he looked. Undoubtedly, one of them could do something.

  She shook her head. “We offered the same as you to numb the pain, but he refused. Said he didn’t need our help.” She sighed. “It’s his own fault, but I can’t blame him. Not now. He’s always gone his own way.”

  Together, they walked to the tree and its sole occupant. Henry looked up at Tad, pain etched into the lines of his face. “So she got you in the end,” he said flatly.

  Tad glanced at Simone, confused, but her face gave nothing away. She knelt in front of Henry and gently pulled back the torn fabric of his pants.

  “Keep your hands off me,” Henry said, swatting at her hands, but it was a half-hearted attempt.

  “Shush,” she crooned as she peeled back the green cloth. She had to pull it back higher and higher before she found what was left of his leg. The shards of broken darkness were well past his knee now, and Tad sucked in a breath.

  Henry glanced at him. “That bad, eh?” he asked dryly.

  Tad looked at Simone. “You have to fix it,” he said. “There are a dozen witches here. Can’t one of you do something about it?”

  Simone shook her head. She and Henry shared a look that Tad couldn’t decipher. “There’s no fixing this, kid,” Henry said. This time Simone let him push her hands away as he covered the darkness back up.

  “Let me have one of the others take away the pain, at least,” Simone said.

  Henry glared at her, and she sighed. She stood up and turned her attention to Tad. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “I know I’m not giving you much of a choice, but thanks just the same.”

  Tad shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with her gratitude. “I’ll do what needs to be done,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “And that’s what makes you so special. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

  He felt his face grow warm and looked away. He was saved from saying anything more by the approaching figure of Kenny. He was lugging a sizable wheeled cooler across the pot-marked yard. He stopped a few yards from them and opened the cooler. He motioned Tad over.

  “Take off your shirt,” he instructed, fishing through the cooler.

  That was easier said than done, but Tad managed to struggle out of his shirt, easing it around his aching shoulder. Kenny took his shirt and draped it over the cooler’s open lid. He found what he was looking for and stood up, holding a small, unmarked metal tin. Kenny unscrewed the cap and took a quick whiff of the contents. He immediately reared back, holding the container away from him.

  “Yep, it’s still good,” he wheezed.

  The smell hit Tad almost immediately. “Jesus,” he said, backing away from Kenny and his jar. “What the hell is in that?”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Boiled rue and lichen from the oak tree in my backyard,” Kenny said, dipping one finger in the pot and moving toward Tad. The substance on his finger was thick and clear, almost like petroleum jelly. “Hold still,” he said.

  Tad had to force himself not to move further away. “Why does it smell so bad?”

  “I ferment it,” Kenny said. He smeared the salve on Tad’s skin. The smell was worse up close, but he kept himself still as Kenny administered it. It was hot when it touched his skin. Still, it cooled almost immediately, leaving behind an icy sensation that numbed the burning joint. He moved it experimentally, expecting pain but feeling none.

  He cracked a smile. “Thanks,” he said earnestly, “that feels much better.”

  Kenny’s serious expression didn’t change. “Don’t overuse it,” he cautioned. “Just because you can’t feel the pain doesn’t mean that it’s not there. If you’re not careful, you’ll do permanent damage.”

  Tad stopped moving his arm. “Got it,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Kenny looked over Tad’s shoulder at Henry. “Offer still stands, Fowler,” he said.

  Henry scowled at him. “Keep that nasty shit away from me,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  Kenny gave him a hard look, then shrugged and capped the tin. “You’re not fine,” he contradicted. “But you’re a grown man. If you change your mind, let me know.” He dropped the tin back in the cooler and handed Tad his shirt before he closed the lid. “Are we ready?” he asked Simone.

  She looked at Tad, and he could see the hesitation in her eyes, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah,” she said. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”

  ---

  The tree filled the twilight with the glow of its golden fruit. The branches were pitifully thin and reached out toward the nonexistent sun like skeletal arms covered in thin, flame-colored leaves. The fruit hung from the branches like golden teardrops, swollen with ripeness and infecting the air with a sickly sweet, almost rotten, odor. The tree seemed to sigh again, an exhale of damp air, and the fruit swung tumultuously from their delicate perches like thick, soundless chimes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” the voice said.

  Greer’s blood was ice in her veins, and she gripped Chris’s hand hard. “Who’s there?” she asked, unable to keep the tremble from her voice.

  The voice laughed, a harsh rasping sound, and Greer took an unsteady step backward. “I’m disappointed you don’t recognize me,” the voice said.

  As a child, the sharp, chilling timbre of Kat’s voice had been the foundation of every nightmare. In her dreams, her grandmother always returned to finish what she’d started, and Greer, small and helpless, could do nothing to stop her. For years, she’d lived in terror, convinced she’d hear that cutting voice break through the quiet of the night, pulling her back into the web of fear and pain she’d tried so hard to escape. Now, as the past rushed over her, it dragged her down like an undertow, the weight of old nightmares mingling with fresh dread, until it felt as though she were drowning in the tide of her memories.

  Chris looked back at her, taking in her stricken face and wide eyes, then glanced up at the tree. He called out with a loud, clear voice: “Come out where we can see you!”

  The darkness answered him with silence. Then the voice laughed again, only this time, it ended in a hacking cough that sounded both wet and diseased. Greer’s heart raced as she tentatively stepped forward, her fingers gripping Chris’s hand tightly. The tree provided a small bit of cover from the mysterious figure calling out to them, and Greer and Chris crept closer, moving slowly across the grass. As they inched around the trunk of the misshapen tree, Greer gasped in horror, and nausea surged in her throat.

  What was left of Kat Dane’s body was fused against the thick tree trunk like some twisted dryad out of a sick retelling of a myth. Large chunks of her body seemed to be missing, and what was left was covered by rough scales of bark that wound its way up her legs and torso. Her left arm was completely gone, lost to the tree, and only patches of her right were visible, still clothed in a bright blue plaid shirt.

  Greer and Chris stepped cautiously towards her grandmother, their feet sinking into the damp soil. Kat’s face, half-consumed by the Tree, glowed with malevolent eyes—one black and empty, the other a fiery gold that matched the fruit above. Those piercing eyes followed Greer and Chris until they were standing in front of her.

  Her grandmother’s gaze zeroed in on Chris, and Greer felt rather than saw him flinch. Kat’s twisted smile revealed yellowing teeth, and her knotted fingers twitched under the tree’s bark. “I didn’t realize you’d brought a guest.”

  Chris stiffened, his posture rigid, and his eyes trained on the strange face of Greer’s grandmother. Kat’s cold gaze assessed him from head to toe before settling on his face.

  “What’s your name, young man?” she demanded.

  “Chris.”

  Recognition briefly flickered across Kat’s strange eyes. “Ah, yes, Wilhelm’s little brat,” she murmured before turning her gaze to Greer, who stood frozen beside Chris. “I thought I’d seen the last of you when this one ran away,” she said, pinning Greer with a gaze that felt like talons piercing her skin. “How is your mother, dear?” she asked, addressing Greer.

  The air around them grew heavy with tension as Greer swallowed hard and forced herself to reply. “She’s...fine.”

  “Still dead?” her grandmother asked conversationally. Her eyes wandered over Greer’s face before landing on the network of scars on her cheek. “I see it didn’t take,” Kat said flatly, dropping all pretense.

  Greer’s heart began to pound in her ears as she felt a wave of hot rage rush through her veins. Her grip on Chris’s hand tightened until her knuckles turned white. She glared at her grandmother. “Why are you here?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  “That fool Henry,” Kat sneered, her voice laced with derision. “He thought he could grow a Tree.” She let out a bitter laugh, but the sound was distorted by the stiff bark creeping up her face,

  Beside her, Chris tensed, but nothing about this made sense to Greer. She scowled and shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  Kat’s eyes narrowed, her expression venomous. “Henry Fowler,” she hissed, spitting the name like a curse. She paused, her gaze flicking past them to the decrepit ranch house at their backs.

  Greer followed her grandmother’s eyes. The dilapidated brick facade was coated in a sickly green paint that peeled away like gangrenous skin, while jagged holes in the broken windows showed only darkness.

  “That little twat got his hands on a seed somehow,” Kat continued, the words dripping with contempt. “By the time I realized what he was up to, it was too late. He ambushed me—thought he could kill me.”

  Her yellowed teeth gleamed as her lips curled into a wicked grin. “But I sent a killing curse after him. With luck, the bastard’s dead already.”

  The air around Greer felt heavy, each word from Kat pressing down on her. Fear prickled through her as she realized how easily violence came to her grandmother. She tried to step back, but Chris’s grip kept her in place.

  “Why aren’t you dead?” he asked, his voice filled with anger.

  “Who says I’m not?” Kat answered defiantly.

  Chris reached behind him and pulled a thin knife from the waistband of his jeans. He took a step toward Kat, his face set into tense lines.

  “I don’t care what deal you made with my grandfather,” he said menacingly, brandishing the knife toward the old woman. “Send us home!”

  Something dark lingered in his eyes. The world around them seemed to hold its breath, and then, with the suddenness of a hawk, a branch swooped down and rammed into Chris’s chest. The force of the blow pushed him backward, scraping across the sodden grass toward the shell of the house. Greer cried out and dashed after him.

  “Chris!” she cried, falling to her knees beside him. She put one hand on his chest and felt the fluttering of his heart under his ribcage.

  He groaned and took her hand in his. “I’m okay,” he managed.

  She looked over her shoulder at the unholy union of the tree and her grandmother. “Why are you doing this?” she shrieked.

  Her grandmother’s stare was cold. “Because Henry sacrificed me— me!— to the Tree. And now look at me, wasting away while it sucks me dry!”

  That didn’t answer Greer’s question. She helped Chris back up and glared at Kat when he was standing again. “Send us back,” she demanded. If Kat had been pulling her into this place, then she could damn well send her back.

  Kat stared at her for a moment, then she laughed. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Greer challenged.

  “My magic is gone—” Kat started, but Greer cut her off.

  “Bullshit!” she snapped. “You’re the most powerful witch on the fucking east coast!” That fact had been drilled into her brain her entire life. “If anyone can do it, you can!”

  But Kat only laughed at her, a scathing, mocking noise. “You really don’t understand anything, do you, my dear? These Trees eat magic.” She paused and gave Greer another sickeningly sweet smile, full of malice. “You, of all people, should know that.”

  Greer’s mind spun. “Why would I—”

  Kat’s face split into a wicked grin, and Greer suddenly realized the old woman had been waiting for this moment.

  “Because you are one.”

  Something about the way Kat dropped that declaration— like she was dealing a prophecy from a hand of tarot cards— made the air rush from Greer’s lungs. She stumbled backward, gasping for breath. Her brain struggled to make sense of her grandmother’s words, but she couldn’t make the pieces fit.

  “You’re insane,” she said, taking another step backward, her hand gripping Chris’s tightly. For his part, he clung to her just as tightly, but she couldn’t focus on him just then. She couldn’t focus on anything. She couldn’t breathe. She bent double, trying to force her body to draw air into her lungs. There was an unnatural light in her grandmother’s eyes as she watched Greer struggle. She seemed to be relishing the sight of Greer’s pain and confusion.

  Kat’s grin widened. “Why else do you think I tried to bind you?”

  But all Greer could do was shake her head. “Because you’re a selfish bitch. You didn’t want another blood witch in the family to take away all the prestige—”

  “Those are your mother’s words,” Kat cut in harshly. “If you were a blood witch, the minute you hit puberty, my binding would’ve failed instantly. But that’s not what happened, is it?”

  Greer’s mind was in shambles. She tried to think back—tried to remember what had happened. The problem was that everything seemed to have happened all at once. “When you died, you cursed me. I started coming here—”

  Kat burst into laughter.

  “Is that what you think happened?” The way she said it made Greer feel like an idiot.

  By then, Chris had had enough. He turned, wrapping his arms around Greer and letting her hide from Kat’s cutting words. She ducked her head into his chest, her mind spinning wildly. “Look,” he cut in. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to cut it out—”

  “This isn’t about you,” Kat snarled at him.

  Suddenly, a scream filled the air, and the tree shook, the branches and leaves rattling violently. Several of the plump fruits fell to the ground, the ripest of which burst as they came into contact with the grass. Chris and Greer broke apart, shielding their heads from the falling debris. Greer’s foot slipped on one of the fruits, and she lost her balance, falling backward. One of the fruits burst under her weight, revealing a single slim seed inside and soaking the backside of her thighs with its juice. In the distance, they could hear the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs, growing louder with each passing moment.

  The creature. It was coming straight for them.

  Chris reached down and grabbed Greer’s hand, and she scrambled to her feet, feeling a sudden burst of adrenaline. She looked around frantically, searching for an escape route.

  “Inside!” Chris shouted, tugging on her hand, but it was already too late. The creature burst from the trees, braying in triumph. It loped toward them, cutting them off from their escape route to the house. They ran back toward the tree. Above everything, Greer could hear Kat laughing.

  “You’re never going to make it,” the old woman cackled.

  “We need to climb,” Chris yelled, shoving Greer in front of him.

  She gave him a blank stare. “What? Are you crazy?”

  “We have no choice,” he said, pushing her towards the trunk of the tree. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase against the rough bark. Chris wrapped his hands around her waist and, with a strength she didn’t know he possessed, he lifted her until she reached the lowest branch. Greer pulled herself up, using the branch as leverage. Pale sap wept in rivets along the tree’s sides, sticking to the pads of her fingers as she reached for the next branch above her head.

  Behind her, Chris hesitated for a moment, then followed her lead, desperately trying to stay a step ahead of the creature. He leapt and caught one of the lower branches and hauled himself up by sheer upper body strength. The creature’s inhuman scream pierced the air as it leapt toward them with claws outstretched, barely missing Chris’s foot. Greer and Chris scrambled up the tree until, finally, they reached a thick branch solid enough that they could rest. Greer crawled along the wide branch, making room for Chris’s bulk. The creature was still there below them, its bones sharp and jutting beneath its leathery skin, standing in front of the tree and snarling its rage at their escape. Its clawed hands scraped against the rough surface of the branch as its eyeless face turned upward to stare at them with malevolence. For a moment, she felt a chill run down her spine as it stared up at them, snarling in rage. It screamed its panther scream and its breath was like rotten meat. She gagged and turned her head.

  “Now what?” Chris asked from behind her.

  From below them, Kat sniggered. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

  Greer massaged her temples. She just needed to think. Below, the creature leapt at the tree, its claws raking down the trunk. The tree groaned, and its branches shook under the assault. The creature howled, the sound carrying across the yard like a jackal’s wail. She shifted her weight carefully, the rough bark biting the skin of her palms. The sap on her fingers was sticky and sickly sweet. It smelled almost like peaches left too long in the sun, sweet rot heated through.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Chris began, and she looked over her shoulder at him, feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt. It was her fault he was there. If she hadn’t let her guard down, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. She tried to rotate on the branch, but the wood creaked beneath her hands.

  Chris was staring down at the creature, pacing on the grass like a caged lion. “We need to get out of here.”

  How do you keep a predator back?

  “Hey, do you still have those matches?” she asked, suddenly getting an idea.

  She looked over her shoulder at Chris and watched as he dug through his pocket. He tossed her the tiny green book, and she caught it deftly.

  “What’s your plan?” Chris asked, his voice edged with skepticism. Greer tightened her grip on the branch.

  “Just trust me,” she said, though the words felt hollow even to her. Chris scoffed but said nothing more, his gaze flicking warily toward the creature below.

  Reaching down, she grabbed the nearest off-shoot from the branch she was straddling. She tugged, yanking back on the stubborn limb—

  Suddenly, the branch cracked under her weight, and then she was falling through the air. All she could see was Chris’s face above her, his mouth parted in surprise and his eyes wide with fear.

  Below, the creature screamed in glee.

  She hit the ground hard, the world tilting and shattering into sunlight. Greer gasped, her lungs burning as she stared up at the tree—no fruit, no glowing branches, no Chris, no Kat, just dark bark against a blue summer sky. She twisted on the ground, gasping for breath, and stared at the squat ranch behind her. There was no peeling paint. No broken windows.

  She was back.

  She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and vomited into the grass.

  ---

  Tad ducked his head against the relentless summer sun and took another bite of the power bar one of the witches had given him. He checked his watch. They’d been standing around for twenty minutes while Simone, Kenny, Deborah, and some of the others crouched on the ground. They were drawing in the blackened earth with sticks and muttering amongst themselves. He glanced back at Henry under his tree and felt envious of the shade. He and a handful of others stood at fixed positions around the pit, watching the others do their calculations. No one had told him what he needed to do yet, so he waited as patiently as he could under the sweltering sun.

  He avoided looking at the pit. Despite the bright sunlight, it remained dark as pitch, like a hole to hell. At that point, the comparison felt appropriate.

  Eventually, Simone and her small group stood to their feet. They spoke a few last words to each other and parted ways. Kenny drew her into a tight hug before taking his place across from Tad in the circle. Simone came over to him. There was a new sort of weariness hanging over her.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said when she was beside him. “I’ve worked it so the others can compensate for you, but you have to stay here.” She pointed to the ground. “Right here. A coven needs thirteen living bodies,” she explained. “You’re going to be a channel for the magic, so you might feel strange sometimes, maybe even lightheaded.”

  “Can I sit?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Sit, stand, lay down; it doesn’t matter. You have to be awake and conscious—that’s all.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  She threw him a withering glare. “Maybe at first,” she said. “But it could get intense the further I go. Things might try to get out.” She pierced him with her dark eyes, and he swallowed thickly, remembering the Hunter in the darkness. “It’s vitally important that you stay here,” she said. “If you move, it could collapse the circle, and I’ll be dead.”

  He swallowed thickly. “Got it.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  They both turned to Henry, who’d hobbled up behind them without either of them noticing.

  Simone shook her head. “No,” she said. “Even sending me in is a risk. Two people mean the circle will last half as long.”

  “Then I’ll go alone,” he said.

  “No,” she countered. “You can barely walk as it is.”

  “I can feel the Tree,” he said doggedly, his eyes bright and feverish. “Just like last time.”

  “This isn’t like last time,” she hissed. “This is much, much worse. Last time, we got lucky. This time, it’s festering. This isn’t going to be a cakewalk.”

  “I need to go; it’s calling me-” Henry started, but she shook her head.

  “No!” she snapped. “It’s not—” she paused and looked at Henry. Really looked at him. “Stop,” she said quietly, pitching her voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “Can’t you see what’s happening? Somehow it’s already gotten to you. You need to stay here where you’ll be safe.”

  Henry swayed on his feet, and Tad caught his elbow, but before he could ask if the other man was alright, Henry snatched his arm away from Tad. He stalked away from them without another word, limping on his crutch. Simone watched him go, looking more like his mom than ever.

  “If he’s not going to last the night, wouldn’t it be kinder to let him go?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I told him the truth. More than one person will cut the time the circle can hold by half, and I’ll need every minute to fix this before the coven collapses.”

  “What happens when the coven collapses?”

  “The pit should close, assuming I’ve done my job.”

  “And if you haven’t?”

  “Then the pit won’t close, and my ward lines will fade.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means,” he said.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “It means we all die.”

  They fell silent for a moment, and Tad tried to ignore the stone in his stomach.

  “If he wants to die in there, isn’t that his choice?” he asked quietly.

  She sighed. “Life doesn’t work like that.” She looked away from him into the hole in front of them. He followed her gaze. The blackness of the pit swirled under the cloudless sky. “Get yourself comfortable,” she said. “We need to get started.”

  She left him, then, alone at the edge of the pit. He took another bite from his power bar and chewed thoughtfully. A thought occurred to him.

  She didn’t mention how she was going to get out.

  He turned sharply, her name on his lips, but she was halfway across the circle by then; the words he wanted to say died soundlessly. He watched her walk to each of the witches and say a few words to them. He realized something.

  She wasn’t planning on coming back.

  On the other side of the circle, Simone clapped her hands loudly. “If I can have everyone’s attention!” The twelve witches around the circle looked at her. “We’re ready to get started,” Simone was saying. “I need everyone at the ready!”

  The other witches moved into their positions around the pit. Some stood, while others sat on the ground like Tad. The oldest, the woman who looked almost a hundred, had a camping chair complete with a cooler. Tad had to admire her preparation. He turned his attention to Simone.

  She had looped one of her large duffle bags around her shoulder, carrying it crosswise across her back like she was about to go on a hike, which Tad assumed wasn’t too far from the truth. She had bound her unruly hair at the nape of her neck, and without the riot of curls to distract the eye, the lines of her face stood out in sharp relief, making her look older than she was. Exhaustion hung over her like a bruise. Tad wished there was something more he could do than just sit in a circle.

  “Everyone ready?” She called. Tad nodded silently with the rest of them and watched as Simone raised her arms high above her head. His vision blurred, and a thrum of something coursed through him like a buzz of electricity. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to feel the magic. It felt like he was swimming against a viscous tide.

  Someone shouted an alarm to his right.

  Tad’s eyes snapped open in time to see Henry barreling toward him. Henry’s face was set with determination.

  He was going to break the circle.

  Tad shouted and reached for him. His hands closed over the older man’s arms, but Henry’s momentum pulled them both forward. Tad’s feet slipped on the edge, searching for purchase amid the loose rocks and soil and finding none.

  Together, the two men fell forward into the darkness.