Chapter Three

  Panic closed around her, and Greer staggered backward from Chris’s questioning gaze. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as the tingle in her fingertips spread down her hands, pooling in her palms. She laid one cool hand against her forehead, trying to stave off the dizziness that wanted to wash over her, but it was no use. A sharp shock climbed the back of her scalp like a burst of lightning, leaving her nauseous and light-headed. Chris, who had been watching her face, shot a quick glance at the Clarke’s, then turned to her, blocking the couple from her view.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and concerned. “You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

  He wasn’t wrong, and desperation made her cling to his arms as hysterical laughter bubbled up, constricting her throat. What wasn’t wrong at that point? She was trapped in a place she hated, alone and afraid, about to fall off this plane of existence. But then she caught sight of his face and paused. The kindness she saw in his eyes made her want to believe he could help. Her mouth opened on its own accord, secrets poised on the tip of her tongue.

  “What’s going on?” Pattie demanded from the doorway, breaking the spell that had fallen over Greer.

  Her mouth snapped shut, and she let go of Chris’s arms as if his skin was on fire. She had to get out of there quickly before she disappeared in front of them. She stuffed her icy hands in her pockets. “I’m fine,” she said stiffly.

  His gaze followed her retreating figure, eyes narrowing. “Greer.” His voice was a mix of worry and disbelief.

  But her heart was drumming too loud in her ears, making it difficult to hear what he was saying. She swallowed thickly, but it only made her stomach churn. She glanced behind her, navigating the steps backward. “Really, I’m fine,” she lied, clenching her hands into fists inside her pockets. Cold was starting to spread over her wrists. Nausea surged up her throat.

  “You’re not fine,” he said, following her down the stairs, but she was already turning and jogging across the grass, her blood prickling in the veins at her wrists like an itch she couldn’t scratch. “Greer!” he called after her, but she barely heard him. She was focused on the dense grove of trees on the side of the road. They could hide her from view.

  Her fingertips started to grow numb.

  She forced her feet to move faster. Just a few more steps.

  “Greer!”

  She whirled, Chris was loping after her.

  “No!” she cried out, ducking into the trees. “Stay there!”

  “Let her go!” she heard Pattie call from the porch.

  Pressure clamped over her ribcage, making it impossible to breathe, and she stumbled, reaching for the nearest trunk. Her knuckles scraped against the rough bark, nails scraping painfully on lichen. She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the tree. Her stomach lurched.

  Not now. Please.

  “Greer—”

  As she heard Chris call her name again, she caught a flash of his shirt through the trees, an instant before an icy sensation plunged over her head, and she dropped out of reality. She gasped, the suddenness of the shift pulling her to her knees. A dark purple sky churned overhead, and an insistent wind tugged at her still-damp clothes, chilling her to the bone. She shivered, clamping her arms across her chest, her breath ghosting the air. Gold dust glittered in the pale smoke of her breath, hanging in the chill air like sunlit pollen.

  “Greer.”

  A voice called her name, carried on the wind like a whisper. Dread curled in her stomach, cold and sharp.

  It couldn’t be.

  She spun, her heart thudding in her ears—

  Only to find herself back among the trees with Chris. He turned around, her name on his lips, and saw her clutching the tree for support, still blinking from the transition.

  “There you are.” He took a step toward her, but she thrust her hand out to stop him as her stomach heaved and nausea clawed up her throat. She clapped her hand to her mouth and stumbled away, barely avoiding his feet as vomit sprayed from her mouth onto the leaves and gravel.

  “Oh,” Chris said, drawing up short. He hesitated, his boots crunching on the undergrowth. After an awkward moment, he stepped closer, his voice softer. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head mutely and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt his large warm hand on her back, steady and grounding, and it undid her. Hot, treacherous tears blurred her vision as she turned to him, clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only solid thing in the world.

  Chris froze for a moment, startled, but then his arm came around her, hesitant at first but firm enough to hold her as she buried her face in his chest.

  Her breath hitched as the fear and exhaustion of the last few hours overwhelmed her. All she could think about was the voice—Kat’s voice—echoing in her ears.

  Her insides were vibrating, her hands were shaking, and she gasped for air. Her heart hammered against her breastbone, a frantic rhythm that echoed in her ears.

  “Greer.”

  She couldn’t go back there. Not if Kat was there.

  “Greer, breathe.”

  The air was trapped in her throat, and she held onto the fabric of his shirt in a death grip, trying to force air into her lungs.

  “Hey, look at me.”

  Oh, God. What was she going to do? Kat couldn’t find her. She’d kill her if she found her.

  Chris wrapped his hands around her arms and forced her upright, bringing his face close to hers. “Greer, look at me,” he said urgently.

  She tried to swallow, but something was blocking her throat—

  He shook her. “Greer!”

  Her eyes flew to his.

  “That’s it,” he crooned, his hard grip on her arms softening. “Look at me.”

  She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in almost two decades. Took in the lines around his eyes, the freckled sunburned skin that stretched across his nose and cheekbones, the crooked line of his mouth.

  “Breathe,” he urged.

  She dragged air through her nose into her lungs. It stuck in her throat, then something dislodged, and she felt her face crumple. She was going to lose it. Oh god, she couldn’t cry—not in front of him. She struggled out of his grip and stumbled away, putting several feet of distance between them. He let her go.

  “Greer,” he said plaintively.

  Her eyes swung back to him, and for a second, it felt like he could see her. Like he could really see her. All of her. All of the bad shit she’d ever done. All of the mistakes and the selfishness. She wrapped her arms around her chest and looked away from his clear gaze, knowing he wouldn’t like what he saw.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  She shook her head mutely, her voice trapped somewhere in her throat. Nothing was going to be okay again. Not if Kat Dane was waiting for her on the other side. She clapped a hand over her eyes, feeling a trickle of tears leak through. She had to fix this. She had to figure it out.

  Chris took a step toward her, and she came back to herself, her wet eyes flying to his. “I can’t,” she croaked, shaking her head. She couldn’t live like this. There had to be a way out. There had to be.

  He came to stand next to her, carefully watching her face like she was a caged animal, and he was afraid she’d take a swipe at him. “It’s okay,” he repeated, looking very much like he wanted to touch her again. She clung tightly to her own arms, keeping her elbows between them, her eyes scanning his face for any indication of judgment. All she found was compassion, and that almost undid her again. She dragged in a shaking breath, forcing herself to stop, to step away.

  “Sorry,” she said, looking at her feet. It had been years since she had a full-on panic attack.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Chris smiled at her, the curve of his mouth easy and genuine. She found herself drawn to it, almost against her will. “I get it.”

  Did he?

  How could he?

  Did he have a grandmother who thought he was better off dead? Had he ever felt like the ground might open up and swallow him whole, and maybe that would be better?

  The questions buzzed in her head, sharp and jumbled, but she didn’t ask them. She just stared at him, unsure of what to say, resentful of his kindness even as part of her wanted to lean into it.

  He seemed to sense the change in her because his face became wary and almost tentative. He searched her eyes. “Do you feel up to coming back?” he asked gently.

  “Oh god,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her eyes. “No, please don’t make me do that.” She risked a peep at him. “Pattie already thinks I’m a freak; I’d rather not give her the opportunity to rub it in.”

  He nodded like he’d expected that response. “It’s okay,” he said. “I gotta get that jump starter. It’s gonna be dark soon, and I don’t want us to get caught in the rain.” He peered into her face. “Are you gonna be okay? I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded. She could take care of herself. She’d been doing it for years. “Yeah,” she managed. Even though it’d been his idea, he still looked torn about leaving her by herself, and he hesitated. “Go,” she said, irritability settling in. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

  “I’ll be here,” she said humorlessly. She watched him leave, feeling boneless and detached. And tired. So fucking tired.

  She gingerly stepped around the vomit and moved closer to the road. There, she settled the line of her back against one of the trees and watched the forest on the other side while she waited. The sun was almost entirely gone. The breeze was insistent, running through the tree trunks with the fleetness of a hawk and bringing with it the smell of leaf rot and tree sap. After a minute, Chris returned, holding a thick oblong case the size of a brick. “Got it,” he said when he neared. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

  She tried to smile at him. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. She fell into step beside him, and Chris waved to Fred, who was still on the porch. The old man didn’t wave back; instead, he watched them walk back down the road.

  “So,” Chris said hesitantly after a moment of silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “No.” The last thing she wanted to do was rehash the events leading up to almost vomiting on his shoes. “How’s your grandpa doing?” she asked instead, desperate to talk about something other than herself.

  “He’s good,” he said. “Still old, still grumpy.” He slipped her a smile. He had a good smile. It was easy and warm. “More or less the same as you remember him.”

  She had to force herself to laugh. Her mom used to say you had to fake it till you made it. “Does he still hate me?” she asked.

  Chris took his time answering. “I don’t think he ever hated you—” she snorted at that, and he shot her a glance. “Not you specifically,” he amended, “I think his dislike for your grandma rubbed off on you and your mom.” He glanced sideways at her. “How is your mom anyways?”

  Greer’s smile suddenly felt wooden. “She passed away a couple of years ago.”

  He paled. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

  She shrugged like it didn’t matter. “You didn’t know.” Stupid tears welled up at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to draw attention to herself by wiping them away.

  ---

  Despite his brave words, easing himself down into the black pit that used to be the Dane basement made Tad uneasy. The night sky above his head was black as pitch, and the storm clouds blocked out the light from the stars. It was like the sky had disappeared. The wooden board shifted under his weight, and he was forced to do an awkward slipping run down the remaining length before it gave way entirely. The light from his flashlight bounced as he moved, illuminating the debris around him in stuttering glimpses.

  Above him, thunder rumbled.

  “Everything okay down there?” Simone called, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. There was no nervous tremor, just a rough edge of impatience.

  “Yeah,” he called back. “Let me know if you find Henry.”

  She was quiet long enough that he started to wonder if she’d left. “Alright up there?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of irritation.

  “Tad,” she said, her tone sharper now, something unfamiliar lacing her words.

  He paused. “What?”

  The flashlight flickered in his hand, and he swore under his breath, giving it a shake. The beam sputtered back to life.

  “You should come back up,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “You’re gone.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’m right here.” He swung the flashlight up toward the edge of the pit. “See?”

  “No, you’re not listening to me,” she snapped, frustration bleeding into her voice. “I’m looking at the pit, and you’re not there.”

  He froze, her words rooting him to the spot. “Look,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady, “it’s just your brain playing tricks on you—”

  “You’re not listening to me!” she cut him off, her voice hard and rising. “Get your ass up here, now!”

  He considered going back up to calm her down. But the thought of climbing up the board, only to turn around and have to come back down again, sent a wave of ghostly pain over his shoulder. It already ached from the climb down. He didn’t want to repeat it more than he had to. “I’m fine,” he called up to her, trying to inject a sense of confidence into his voice. “I’ll be up as soon as I’m done here.”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “What do you see? What does it smell like?”

  They were odd questions to ask, and he paused for a second before answering. “I see a lot of wreckage from the fire, and it smells just how you’d think—like there was a fire here.” When she didn’t respond, he spoke again. “Look, if you need to, sit in the car. You won’t do any harm.”

  “No,” she said, and he could almost hear her shake her head. “I’ll stay. I need to finish the circle but listen to me. This isn’t a game. If you see anything, anything at all, get out of there.”

  Part of him bristled at her patronizing words, but she wasn’t freaking out anymore, so he let the matter drop. He ducked under a fallen beam, touching the torched wood with the hand holding the flashlight as he ducked under it.

  It was hot, but he knew that was impossible. Simone’s agitation must have gotten to him, and now his mind was playing tricks on him. The fire department extinguished the fire days ago. Clint would have said something if some of the timber was still burning.

  He panned the flashlight from side to side, lighting up what was left of the basement. There was a lot of burned debris in the pit, more than it had looked from above. Fire-ravaged timber and blackened stones littered the floor. They left him little room to maneuver and even fewer clear sight lines. He looked behind him at the board he’d climbed down on and used it as an anchor point.

  The flashlight stuttered and went out.

  He had to laugh. It was perfect timing.

  He shook the flashlight, hearing the batteries rattle in the hard plastic casing. The light blinked, but only for a second. Somewhere in the darkness, rubble shifted and settled. Even though he knew it was nothing, he couldn’t stop the spike of anxiety that thumped his heart against his rib cage.

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  “Come on,” he muttered, hitting the flashlight against his thigh. The light flickered for an instant before dying again. The darkness closed in around him. This time, it felt closer. His breath quickened as something scraped in the dark. Cold fear made goosebumps break out along his arms and the back of his neck. He slammed the flashlight against his thigh again, and this time it turned on. Panic wrapped around his chest. It’s nothing, he told himself. Just nerves.

  He swung the light toward the noise with his heart in his throat.

  A man in green sweats stood where there had been only emptiness seconds before. Surprise flashed across the man’s sharp features, and he opened his mouth, but a deep hacking cough rose out of his chest. He bent over a broken beam, gasping for breath and holding onto the fire-ravaged wood with one hand. His pale, trembling hand was thin enough that Tad could see the spidery network of veins beneath pale skin as translucent as vellum. A dark stone swung from the chain around his neck. A pale light seemed to originate from the stone, and it pulsed irregularly in the dark.

  “What are you?” The man forced the question out between wracking spasms.

  It wasn’t the question Tad expected, and it made his brain stutter. Not who, but what. He blinked, thrown off balance. “What?”

  The man wiped his lips with the back of a shaking hand, a thoughtless, practiced gesture. He glanced up at Tad, then winced and shielded his eyes against the glare of the light. Guiltily, Tad shifted the beam to the side.

  “What are you?” the man repeated.

  “I’m a cop,” Tad said automatically. The man’s brows drew together for a moment before his face split into a humorless laugh. Tad frowned at him. “What’s so funny?”

  But before the other man could answer, something shifted in the darkness behind him, and he whipped around, scanning the black. For the first time, Tad noticed a latticework of delicate black roots that covered much of the beam nearest him. If he stared, he could almost see them moving, inching up the charred wood. He reached out to touch it, but the man in front of him hissed and took a step backward. Tension corded the man’s body, and when he turned back to Tad, his eyes were bright with urgency. He laid his hand on Tad’s arm. His touch was ice cold.

  “Pull us out,” he said. “My spellstone is dead.”

  Tad’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open as he stared at him. “Huh? What’s a spellstone?”

  Confusion washed over the man’s face, followed quickly by the realization that Tad had no idea what he was talking about. He threw a glance over his shoulder and cursed. Tad followed his gaze and watched as part of the shadows behind them unfolded itself from the darkness.

  “Move!”

  Tad followed the man numbly as his brain tried and failed to fit that shadow into something that made sense. In his whole life, Tad had never been truly terrified of anything. But now, as he scrambled over charred debris, he found himself facing a bone-deep fear that spoke to the darkest part of him—the part that was pure instinct.

  The hot arid air tasted like charred wood and burned his throat as he ran through the wreckage, dodging fallen beams as he went. In his chest, his heart raced as his body pumped adrenaline into his bloodstream. He looked behind them, searching for the creature. When he spotted it, cold fear ran down his shoulders and pooled at the base of his spine. It scrambled over the wreckage on all fours like a large, oddly articulated dog. Its black skin had a sheen that reminded Tad of tar. He stumbled on the uneven ground, almost losing his grip on the thick flashlight, but somehow he managed to stay upright. He forced himself to focus on what was in front of him and the man running ahead of him. Behind him, the creature screamed like a panther. Tad glanced at it over his shoulder.

  With his attention behind them, he didn’t see when the man stopped, and Tad plowed right into his back. They fell in a heap on the ground. The flashlight dropped from his nerveless fingers and skittered away uselessly into the dark.

  “Get off me!” the man cried.

  But it was too late. The thing was on them before Tad could do more than roll over. He cried out and tried to scramble away, but it held onto him relentlessly. Its eyeless face was cracked like old leather. When its maw opened, it revealed rows of stained and pitted razor-sharp teeth. It was a thing made of nightmares, something he’d dreamed about a thousand times as a kid.

  Those teeth bit into his thigh. The shock of it made him gasp. The pain was cold, like dry ice against his skin, and the cold traveled down his leg, igniting his nerve endings with bitter pain. Suddenly, the creature yipped and let go. The man stood over him, holding a thick piece of broken wood.

  Tad scrambled backward, holding his hand against his leg, and kicked out at the beast. His boot connected, and the creature skittered back, groping for purchase on the hard earthen floor with claws that Tad hadn’t realized it had.

  “Run!” the man said, dropping his club. Tad scrambled to his feet and launched himself into an awkward, limping run with his good hand clamped against his thigh. The man followed, but they didn’t get very far. The crumbling basement wall burst out of the shadows in front of Tad, and he couldn’t slow in time, running face-first into the scorched stone.

  He looked around, but he couldn’t see the board he’d come down. Above his head, he thought he could see the glimmer of stars. Or maybe that was just his imagination. The man skidded to a stop beside him.

  “What the fuck are you waiting for?” he asked, jumping up and grabbing for the lip above them.

  Behind them, the creature found its grip on the earthen floor and launched itself at them. It grabbed the man’s foot and pulled him to the ground. He landed with a thump that Tad could feel, a heap of knobby bone and thin skin. The man cried out and kicked the creature in the head, but it wouldn’t relinquish its prize this time. Tad lobbed one of the stones that littered the ground at the beast, landing a solid hit on its flank. The man screamed in pain.

  Too late, Tad remembered the taser in his sling. He reached inside the folded fabric for the device, but his questing fingers only met air. He must have lost it somewhere along the way.

  The man screamed again, and Tad heard the crunch of bone. He looked down in time to see the man’s foot tear away from the rest of his leg. The man clutched his calf, wailing. The creature tossed the foot away and turned back to them.

  Tad reached out blindly for anything to stave off the impending attack. His hand brushed against something solid and warm, and he realized it was a broken piece of pipe. He gripped it tightly, feeling its weight as he hefted it. Taking a step forward, he braced himself.

  The creature, sensing a challenge, leaped, claws bared. Tad stepped into its path and swung the pipe, muscle memory harkening back to his varsity baseball days in high school. He felt the pipe connect in his elbows.

  The creature yowled and was pushed backward by the force of Tad’s swing. Tad closed on it, swinging his metal pipe again. Something inside him cracked a little, and the caveman that lived in him leaked out. He swung the pipe repeatedly, blind fear making him frantic. It took him several seconds to come back to himself and realize he was hitting the dirt floor. Tad looked for it, but the creature was gone. Behind him, the man groaned.

  Tad dropped the pipe and rushed to the man’s side. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading, soaking into the dirt like spilled ink. The man’s skin was ashen, his breaths shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered like he was fighting to stay conscious. Tad knelt awkwardly, fumbling with one hand, his injured arm pinned uselessly in the sling. He shifted to brace the man against his good shoulder, ignoring the sharp ache in his body. He glanced around, heart hammering. Was the creature still there? The silence was heavy, pressing in from all sides. He tipped his head back, eyes searching the blackness above, straining to see stars that weren’t there.

  “Simone!” he cried.

  “Tad?” Her voice sounded far away.

  He looked around again, wishing for an easy way out of this place, but he knew what he had to do. Reluctantly he lowered the man back to the ground. The man’s eyes, which had been closed, snapped open. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Don’t leave me here!”

  Tad only shook his head and gingerly maneuvered his arm out of his sling. He flexed it slowly, feeling the tight pull of the strained muscles. This was going to hurt.

  Squatting down, his thigh protesting, he scooped up the man’s body into his arms, thankful the other man was skin and bone. Then, slowly, he stood up. His body burned with pain. He grunted and grit his teeth.

  “Simone!” he called out again. “Grab him!”

  Before she could protest, he lifted the man, his arms shaking with the effort. Her weathered hands appeared and grabbed the man under the armpits.

  Tad’s hold wobbled. “Hurry!”

  The man’s weight slipped from him as Simone managed to pull him up. Tad sank to the ground, his back against the wall. His thigh burned cold and hard. He clamped his hand against the wound and scanned the darkness. He reached for the discarded pipe fragment.

  To his right, the shadows hissed. Above him, Simone screamed his name. When the creature emerged from the veil of darkness, he was waiting for it. He slammed the sharp end of the broken pipe through its open mouth. It flailed blindly at the protruding end of metal with a high wordless wail. Taking the opportunity, Tad swung around and dug his hands into the uneven spaces between the rocks of the fieldstone wall. He dragged himself up by sheer force of will, his fingers scraping against the stone and his shoulder on fire.

  Just when he thought he was free, something cold and unyielding clamped around his boot. Panic surged through him like ice in his veins. He kicked wildly, his heel connecting with something solid, and the grip loosened. His chest heaved as he scrambled, claws raking against the dirt just behind him. Before it could grab him again, he threw his weight forward, clawing at the earth and dragging himself over the lip of the pit with a desperate, graceless heave.

  His body hit the wet ground, trembling with effort. It was only then he noticed the cold sting of rain against his skin. It trickled down his face, mingling with the sweat that burned his eyes, the droplets tasting metallic on his tongue.

  “Get back,” he cried to Simone, who had rushed to his side. “It’s right behind me!”

  She ignored him. Instead, she grabbed him under the armpits like she’d done to the other man and pulled him backward until his boots were clear of the pit’s lip. His chest heaved, and his hands scrabbled at the wet ground, desperate to put more distance between himself and the edge. He felt exposed, too close to whatever might still be down there, as if it could reach up and drag him back at any moment. He scrambled backward, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

  “Watch the line!” she cried, gripping his shoulder hard.

  He looked behind him. At his back, something thin glowed in the dark, shimmering blue and green like bioluminescent algae. The salt line. Simone let go of him and ran back to the other man, who was lying on the charred ground beyond the glowing band.

  Tad gingerly maneuvered himself over her protective circle and sank bonelessly to the dirt on the other side. He couldn’t take his eyes off the edge of the basement, noticing for the first time the network of black roots that rose out of the pit and crawled over the dirt and stone of the basement wall. He wondered if they had been there before, and he’d been too naive to notice.

  “What if it comes back?” he found himself asking.

  At first, he didn’t think she’d heard him, but then she looked up from the other man, her face hard. “We’ll be ready for it.”

  ---

  Going down the hill was much faster than heading up it, and Greer could already see the black bed of Chris’s truck as they rounded the bend. Around them, the world was changing as the storm approached. Thunder belched belligerently, and the wind pushed her hair into her face. The light of day was almost fully gone as twilight faded into night. When they came to a stop in front of the truck, Chris set the battery on the hood as he pulled his phone from his back pocket. He thumbed it on and pressed a few buttons to turn on the flashlight.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to her, “hold this.” He grabbed the battery and passed that to her too.

  “What are you—”

  “Just a second,” he said. He walked around the truck and opened the driver’s side door. His head disappeared for a second as he bent down and then the hood popped up with a loud clunk. He came back around and lifted it up for the second time that day. Greer tilted the phone’s light so he could fit the end of the thin metal prop into its hole at the top of the hood. He took the battery from her and balanced it on the truck’s engine.

  “Why did you guys leave?” he asked as he craned his neck to see the truck’s battery. She moved the light with him, shining it onto the thick dirty block.

  “What?” she asked, startled by the sudden question.

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Back then,” he clarified. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving. One day you were there; the next, you were gone.”

  “Oh.” There were a lot of answers to that question. “It’s complicated.”

  “I mean, I put together that it had something to do with your grandma and your mom,” he said as he clamped the charger’s wires to the battery. He glanced at her.

  She knew he was waiting for an explanation, but she was suddenly drowning in the memories of that night. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear her mother screaming at her grandmother. Could still feel Kat’s curse burn through her. Unable to help herself, she laid her palm against her hot cheek, feeling the puckered scar tissue. His eyes tracked the movement.

  “Did she do that?” he asked, his voice restrained. She looked away from his burning gaze and nodded. He cursed. “I should’ve known it was something like that,” he spat, looking more like the angry boy she used to know.

  Greer stared at the round circle of light, forcing herself to concentrate on the dirt that caked the truck’s battery instead of the memories. “Mom walked in on Grandma when she was doing… this,” she gestured to her face. “We left that night.” She hugged her body with her free hand, feeling like she was a kid again.

  He fixed the last clamp on the truck battery and turned to her, putting his big warm hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, lifting her chin. She didn’t want pity from him—didn’t need it. She was past it. She’d moved on. She had a life now.

  “I wish I’d known,” he continued. “I could’ve been there. Maybe there was something I could’ve done.”

  “You were eleven,” she argued.

  “Never underestimate the resourcefulness of an eleven-year-old boy.” Despite his words, his smile was strained, but she found herself returning it anyway.

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” she said dryly. Despite herself, she felt her smile widening.

  His hands tightened for a second before he let go of her shoulders and reached for the portable charger instead. “Let’s see if this thing works.” He pressed a button, then set it down and walked around Greer to the open driver’s door. “Stand back,” he said, ducking inside the cab.

  Greer hastily backed away from the open hood, keeping the light trained on the small charger. After a moment, she heard him swear, and he came back around to the open hood.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He sighed and shook his head, sounding frustrated. “It didn’t work.”

  She looked back at the open hood and frowned. “I’ve never used one of those before. I don’t know how they work—”

  “I did it right.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you didn’t—”

  He exhaled. “I know. I just—” He swore again and began unclamping the wires from the battery. “I’ll have to get Fred to give me an actual jump tomorrow.”

  She looked behind them at the bridge with its broken side. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  He scowled. “I can’t just leave my truck here forever,” he pointed out.

  She rolled her eyes. That hadn’t been what she meant. “Maybe we should try calling another witch before we risk Fred’s car dying too.”

  He exhaled noisily, then unclamped the hood and let it fall back into place. The resulting bang was loud. He stood there for a moment with his hands on the hood. Then he turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, then looked at her. His face was drawn in the stark light of his phone’s flashlight. “Come on,” he said, taking the battery from her. “I gotta give this back.”

  She fell into step with him and handed him his phone. He took it wordlessly and turned off the flashlight, stuffing it into his pocket. She tapped her fingers against the damp backpack straps on her shoulders and considered him. Beneath the beat-up brim of his baseball cap, shadows cut into his face, elongating the planes of his cheeks and the thin line of his mouth. A stupid part of her wanted to comfort him, to wind her fingers through his and let him know it was okay—that they’d figure it out. Somehow.

  “I figure we’ll head up to my house,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Then we can call around and see if anyone knows who can help us fix the ward,” he said, glancing at her.

  “Where would we even start?” she asked, thinking back to the witch her mother had mentioned. She felt the loss of her mother’s guidance, but without something to channel her voice into, Maggie Dane was forced into silence.

  “I have a few ideas,” Chris said.

  She wanted to ask him what the hell that meant, but he was already moving away from her, and she had to jog to catch up. Before she could question him further, they rounded a curve in the road. The porch light from the Clarke’s house broke through the darkness like a lighthouse.

  “Stay here,” he said, hefting the charger. “I’ll be right back.”

  She watched as he crossed the lawn in four long strides toward the weak porch light. The front door was still open, with only the screen door between the living room and the moths that hovered around the light on the porch ceiling. Chris clomped up the stairs to the door and knocked on the edge of the screen, his knuckles rapping loudly on the brittle wood frame. Fred appeared at the door and said something she couldn’t hear.

  A stout breeze pushed up the road. It buffeted against Greer’s back and brought the scent of rosemary. She turned, almost expecting to see Kat, but the only thing watching her was the dark pine trees. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. After a few moments, Chris jogged back to her.

  “How did it go?” she asked when he was near.

  He shrugged. “Fine. He wants to look at the truck tomorrow, see if he can help.” He eyed her. The porch light fell around his ears, turning the curls that peeked out of his hat to fire.

  “He offered to give us a ride, but I said no. Figured you didn’t want to be squeezed in a small truck with him.”

  “Honestly, I don’t mind Fred Clarke,” Greer said. “It’s his wife I can’t stand.”

  The wind burst down the road again, rocketing past the trees and making them moan. He lifted his face to the wind. “The storm’s almost here.” On cue, lightning burst across the dark skies, throwing the road into stark contrasts of shadow and pale blue light. From far away, thunder growled over the hills. Chris pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked on the flashlight again. “We’d better get moving.”

  They set off up the road. The small halo of light from the phone’s flashlight was thin compared to the thickness of the night. The wind gusted up the hill, bringing the scents of pine and rot and the faintest whiff of rosemary. Uneasiness threaded its way down her spine, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder as they walked.

  “Something’s not right,” she said, tightening her grip on the backpack straps.

  He glanced at her, and she could see her tension mirrored in his face. “It’s the storm,” he said. “We just need to keep moving.”

  The incline grew steeper, and Greer readjusted the backpack strap on her shoulder. The light from the Clarke’s porch grew farther and farther away with every step until the road curved, and the darkness finally swallowed it up. Almost immediately, it felt like their house was hundreds of miles away and not just a handful of yards. The trees loomed around Greer and Chris as they walked up the hill, the insects silent as the grave. A twig snapped in the trees, making her jump. “What was that?”

  Chris glanced at the woods for a long moment. “It’s probably just a deer.”

  Greer hurried forward, forcibly yanking the strap of her backpack up higher. Even though she knew it was stupid, she couldn’t shake the idea that the darkness inside the woods was watching her.

  “What do you know about witches?” she asked in an effort to distract herself. It’d been eating at her since the discovery of the ward line.

  “I know your grandma was one if that’s what you’re asking.”

  It hadn’t been, but Kat had been something of an open secret. Everyone knew she was a witch; just no one talked about it.

  “How about you?” he asked. The tone of his voice was tense, suggesting he’d been waiting to ask that question for some time. “Are you a witch?”

  She was so startled she stumbled and almost fell face-first into the hard-packed dirt. “Am I—”

  “A witch,” he finished for her. He stopped walking and stared at her, his face hidden by the shadows. “Are you?”

  She didn’t know how to answer that. It was the same question she’d asked herself for the last fifteen years. Could you even be a witch if you didn’t have magic? “I don’t know,” she said, starting back up the hill. He followed.

  “What does that mean?” he asked. “Either you are, or you aren’t—”

  “It’s not that simple,” she bit out.

  “It seems pretty cut and dry to me—” he started.

  Somewhere within the woods, rocks tumbled, and she jumped. “What was—” As she said the words, something dark moved at the edge of her vision within the forest. Tight bands of fear closed around her chest, and her mouth dried up. She backed away.

  “What’s wrong—” he started, but she grabbed his forearm in an iron grip, her nails digging into his tanned flesh. Her eyes darted across the shadowed trees in front of them.

  “Did you see that?” she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely a breath in the heavy silence. The forest seemed to swallow her words, its dense darkness impenetrable.

  “See what?”

  Her gut clenched as a large shadow darted between the trees. Not just a shadow—a form. Something solid and real and unlike anything she’d seen before. Her mind was screaming at her to run, but her legs wouldn’t respond.

  “Chris,” she started, her voice trembling.

  His brow furrowed, concern etched deep into his features. He scanned the treeline with sharp, attentive eyes, sweeping the light over the trees. “Which way did it go?”

  “That way,” she pointed with a shaking hand.

  A sudden snap echoed through the air, jarring the oppressive silence. Both of them froze. The forest seemed to hold its breath, and for a second, everything was eerily still. Then, without warning, another snap—louder, closer than the first.

  She could feel a scream building in her throat. “Chris,” she pleaded, the fear making her voice tremble.

  Chris suddenly turned to his right, sweeping the light along the opposite side of the road where the forest gave way to meadowland. The weak flashlight showed them nothing but empty darkness. Greer froze and strained her ears to hear anything.

  Wood snapped again, this time to their left. Chris backed away from the sound. “Run,” he said.

  Greer didn’t need any other encouragement.

  She ran.