by Chris Cooper
His hips hung at a slant on a broken frame he kept propped up with his elaborate cane. Eric guided him down the aisle on one side, with Bev on the other.
Oliver wondered why Simon had chosen his mother out of all the people in the town since she was no taller than five feet and was hardly built like a bodyguard. Then he remembered—she’d been the one who found Asher. It’s her prize.
Simon’s facial hair had come in unevenly, leaving odd patches of white on his sunken face. The paper-thin skin covering Simon’s body appeared almost translucent, and Oliver swore he could see veins underneath, glowing like some odd aquarium creature.
The tank of Asher’s blood might have brought him back from the dead, but the man was only a shell of his previous self. Oliver wondered whether the cost of resurrection was worth it. The blood hadn’t healed him, just allowed him to regain a semblance of life, like the fish in the tanks. Asher must have been right—his blood must not have worked on the dead as it did the living, and based on Simon’s appearance, Oliver wasn’t sure why anyone would want to live in that state. Some bits appeared to have been left in the underworld. And how long will it last without another dip in the blood pool? Eventually, the fish bones stopped jiggling.
As Simon walked down the aisle, the crowd pressed itself more tightly against the walls as though magnetized, but they were unable to escape through the locked doors. Clearly, whatever spell the Siren had sprinkled over the townspeople was lifted by Ruby’s illusion. Oliver no longer had to concern himself with battling the entire town—his odds had just gotten significantly better.
When Eric noticed the shattered violin at the front of the room, he raised his revolver in Oliver’s direction. “You’ve taken it from us.”
Oliver looked for an escape, but the Siren was guarding the back door. He lifted his hands in the air and hoped for some sort of mercy.
“Shoot him, shoot him!” Bev yelled. The words hit Oliver hard in the chest.
As he teared up, he locked eyes with her. Her expression was one of anger—one he’d seen many times before, but never this severe.
Oliver muttered the only word he could think of, in a soft, desperate whisper: “Mom.”
As Eric clicked the hammer back, she twitched slightly, and her expression shifted from one of anger to fear.
She heard me.
“Let’s not be brash,” Simon said, breaking the tension. “We’re not quite done with him yet, and we can get the girl another violin.” He placed his grizzled hand on Eric’s and pushed the gun toward the floor. “And a bullet’s too kind for how much he’s mucked up our plans, don’t you think?” His s’s came out slurred, as if he hadn’t yet regained full control of his speech.
“You,” Simon said with disgust, turning his attention to the Siren. “Where is the boy? Why isn’t he here?”
“There’s been a snag.”
Simon curled his lip. “Clearly.” He looked around the room. “Couldn’t even count on you to whip this town of old buffoons into shape.”
“I can’t just play whenever I feel like it. Playing takes energy. You promised to pay me before I had to play again.” She wiped some smeared makeup off her cheek. “See what this is doing? I need his blood. I’m owed his blood.”
“You had the boy right in front of you. You could have taken it yourself!” Simon wheezed at the edge of the stage and started a coughing fit. “Don’t just stand there. Help me,” he sputtered. He teetered forward and backward for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium, then stood up straight again.
“What do you need?” Eric asked.
“A chair, you imbecile,” Simon hissed. “Help me to a goddamned chair!”
The Siren pulled another chair from a corner of the room, and Simon hobbled over to it and fell onto the cushion with a loud wet squish.
“Lungs not working like they used to?” Oliver asked.
Simon drew his slender sword from its cane holster. Oliver felt a twinge of phantom pain in his side, where Simon had dug the blade in the year before.
“We won’t have much time, now you’ve freed the town.” A smile at one corner of his mouth was all he could manage as the other side of his face hung limp. His yellow teeth shone through his parted lips. “Where is the boy headed?”
“I don’t know,” Oliver lied.
Simon cocked his head. “Let’s not forget who holds all the power at the moment,” he said, rolling the sword handle over in his hands, letting the light from the overhead lights flash off the metal.
“To the station,” Oliver said. “I told him to wait for me in Amberley.”
“He’s a liar.” The Siren stood between them. “He told the boy to wait for him at the edge of the briar patch.”
Simon thought for a moment.
“You must think I’m foolish, that my little stint with death somehow cost me a few brain cells. We’re going to go for a walk down the hill.”
“Are you sure, sir?” Eric asked.
Simon smacked him in a shin with the flat of his sword. “Of course I’m sure. Just needed to catch my breath,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair.
As Eric pushed Oliver toward the back door, he looked back at the townspeople. Izzy walked toward him, but he held his hand out for her to stay.
The Siren started to follow.
“You stay and deal with your mess,” Simon hissed.
“You owe me,” she said, moving toward him. “It’s because of me you have him.”
Eric stepped between them.
“Had him,” Simon said. “And I will pay you. In the meantime, I recommend you hop on over to the music shop and find yourself another violin, or Eric here is going to be mighty angry when we return. You’ve promised him a show.”
Chapter Fifteen
The march to the edge of the woods was more of a hobble as Simon struggled to maintain a steady pace. He’d barred the town hall’s rear door and left Bev behind with the Siren to ensure the rest of the townspeople stay put.
Simon’s hip bones clicked with each step, and his shoulders crackled as his body shifted. Eric held Oliver from behind as Simon clumsily stuck his cane into the soft earth to keep himself steady.
When they reached the tree line, Simon shouted into the forest, “Come out, boy!”
An owl called back, but Asher remained silent.
Stay in Briarwood. Oliver silently pleaded for Asher to stay hidden. “Guess he’s not here.”
“That would be unfortunate for you,” Simon replied, pulling out his sword. He approached Oliver, struggling without the cane to support him, and pressed himself close. As he lifted the sword to Oliver’s neck, the man’s fetid breath crept into his nostrils.
“Time to come out now! I know you’re hiding.” Simon shouted, his voice strained and raspy.
“You’re wasting your time,” Oliver said, somewhat shocked by his own bravado.
“Come on, boy. Don’t want me to hurt your friend, do you?”
Simon grabbed Oliver under the chin and lifted his head, exposing his neck. “Come out now, or I swear I’ll lop his head off!” he screamed.
Asher’s face appeared through the invisible barrier like a disembodied head floating across the patch. The wall seemed to cling to him as he stepped through, the edges of his silhouette outlined in a rainbowlike glow and water-like ripples radiating through the air around him. The briars folded beneath his feet and cleared a path to the edge of the woods. Asher’s face was pale, as if the sight of Simon had drained all the blood from his body.
A sickly grin spread across Simon’s lips. “Son,” he said, “so nice to see you again.” He released Oliver and pushed him toward Eric.
Asher stopped midway through the patch. “Spare the act, Father. I know why you’re here.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Oliver asked.
Simon turned around and gave him a spiteful glance.
“Without you, he’s got nothing. He’ll wither and die.”
“Shut up,” Simon said.
Eric squeezed the back of Oliver’s neck hard, causing him to wince.
“If you want me, let him go!” Asher shouted.
Eric continued holding tightly onto Oliver.
“Do it, or I’ll cross the barrier, and you’ll never see me again.”
Simon nodded back at Eric, who loosened his grip.
“Remember how he treated you!” Oliver shouted with desperation in his voice. “He’ll lock you away.”
“Enough!” Simon spat.
“He’ll just keep coming!” Asher shouted from across the patch. “Death can’t stop him. He’s nearly destroyed Christchurch, all because of me. I won’t let him hurt you too!”
“We can stop him. We’ve brought the entire town back from the brink, and we can figure out a way to stop him.”
“I told you to shut up!” Simon smacked Oliver in the shin with the broad side of his sword. “Another word, and I’ll put another hole in your side!”
Asher crossed the rest of the patch and walked toward Simon.
“That’s right, boy. Now come along,” Simon said.
Oliver had lost the battle. He thought back to when he’d first met Asher, malnourished and bleeding from wounds inflicted on him by his father, having no knowledge of the outside world aside from what he’d found in books read under the dim light of a dungeon lantern. Oliver had been so hell-bent on saving Asher that he hadn’t realized the man was now perfectly capable of saving himself if he wanted to.
As Asher stepped toward Simon, shouts came from over the hill, and flashlight beams appeared, shining on the grassy horizon.
Simon let out an angry grunt. “Now, how did they get out?” He stepped toward the briars and tugged Asher along, hand gripped tightly around his arm. “Fine. Come on, we’ll wait in Briarwood.”
Oliver still wondered what mystical force Simon was waiting for. Simon stepped into the briars, which parted under his feet.
Asher looked back at Oliver. “I’ll be okay. Tell Ruby goodbye for me, and thank your family.”
Eric followed, but as a rogue vine snagged his foot, he second-guessed himself. Bev stood at his side, occasionally throwing a worried glance at Oliver.
Oliver expected Simon and Asher to vanish, but Asher stopped midway through the patch before reaching the invisible barrier.
“Get moving,” Simon said, yanking on Asher’s arm, but his son’s feet remained planted firmly on the ground. “I swear I will make your life even more miserable than it already is if you don’t pick up your damned feet.”
“You need me more than I need you,” Asher stated calmly.
“What are you talking about? Come on!” Simon yanked on Asher’s arm again, but instead of conceding, Asher ripped his hand away.
Simon spun and reached for Asher, but he had already taken several steps backward.
“You need me more than I need you,” he said again.
Simon’s expression changed from anger to fear. He attempted to step toward Asher, but the vines had already strapped his feet to the earth.
Asher pulled the chain from underneath his shirt and dangled the coin in front of Simon. “Should have taken this first.”
In an act of desperation, Simon pulled the slender sword from his cane and slashed at the vines. At first, he made enough progress to free one of his feet, but new vines moved in more quickly than he could clear them.
“Get back here,” he pleaded, still trying to sound in control. “I’ll spare the town. If something happens, more will come searching for you, and they won’t be as kind to Christchurch as I have been.”
“Spare the town?” Asher scoffed. “You’re not in a bargaining position.”
Eric paced desperately at the edge of the briars, helpless as the vines climbed up Simon’s legs, tensing and ripping the fabric of his pants as they did.
The patch around Simon bloomed with bright-red roses as the vines pulled him toward the ground. The red flowers radiated outward until delicate roses covered the entire patch. The image brought back memories of the Witch, who’d fought against the same briars. The man let out a terrified scream as the brambles covered the rest of his body and wrapped around his face.
Just as the queasiness in Oliver’s stomach subsided, the patch changed. The blood-red petals wilted around the edges. Eventually, the flowers dried, shriveled, and shed from the branches like dark-brown potpourri fluttering to the ground.
The sickness spread to the branches, and the deep-green brambles curled and snapped as if being set ablaze.
By the time Asher reached the edge of the patch, the briars had crumbled around him.
Something in Simon had poisoned the patch. Asher’s blood had brought him back, but just like the animals confined to the tanks, he was different—tainted somehow.
Oliver looked toward the area where Simon’s body had fallen and hoped to whatever beings were watching over him that the man wouldn’t rise again. Eventually, the area cleared enough to reveal a glimpse of Simon’s body.
Asher looked back in disbelief before turning to Oliver. “Didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said. “Wasn’t sure the briars would want him.”
“Does this mean there won’t be any more music?” Eric asked, as though learning someone had canceled his childhood birthday party.
Oliver turned to face the remnants of Simon’s shrinking army. Eric was standing with gun drawn and pointed at him.
“You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined everything!” Eric screamed. He clicked the hammer back as Oliver looked for a place to run. Eric put his finger on the trigger, but before he could squeeze, he was distracted by a shout from behind as the two other Christchurch police officers approached from the edge of the field.
“Eric!” one of the officers shouted.
As Eric spun around, gun drawn, Oliver saw his moment and charged, plowing into him and knocking him down.
The officers seemed to be caught off guard by the sudden show of violence and rushed in to help Oliver pin both of Eric’s arms to the ground until he could pry the man’s fingers from the grip.
Oliver tossed the gun aside. “Take it,” he told Asher, who picked it up and pointed it at Eric.
“I want to hear it again. Let me hear the music again!” Eric screamed.
“Take him back up the hill—I’ll be right behind you,” Oliver said to the officers.
“Where’s the other man?” one officer asked.
Oliver pointed at the briar patch and the exsanguinated lump in the middle. “He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”
As the officers turned toward the town hall with Eric, Oliver and Asher stepped into the patch of broken brambles. The patch crackled around him, the white noise of snapping limbs filling the night air. As the branches crumbled under their feet, Oliver reached a hand out to prevent himself from running into the invisible barrier.
The surface of the barrier felt like cool glass under his fingertips, but the surface was oddly uneven, almost rough. He could see the faintest trail of color following his fingers as they traced the glass.
Magic left behind. Ruby had said it the day they’d left to see Madam Marie.
Oliver had never thought of Ruby’s or Asher’s abilities as magic. Magic had always been clean and innocent—something he read about in childhood fairy tales. Even those who used their powers for evil—witches casting sleep spells and warlocks shrinking prisoners and holding them in teacups—seemed tame by comparison. But unnatural magic was real, grim powers bound in blood and bone that took a toll on those who used them. This magic was rough, like the surface of the dome, and covered in thorns, like the briars crumbling under his feet.
He stepped back and imagined how tall the invisible barrier must be. If someone had left this much magic behind, little must have remained in the caster.
Next to him stood Asher, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.
“Are you all right?” Oliver asked.
The question seemed to catch Asher off guard.
Oliver put his hand on Asher’s shoulder.
“I killed my father,” Asher replied. He looked down at his feet, surrounded by crumbled branches.
“He was already dead.”
Asher hesitated. “Do you think what he said is true, about more people coming to take me?”
“He had to have help—the man was a prisoner. He couldn’t have planned the entire thing from inside a jail cell nor as a corpse. But if more come, we’ll face them together.”
After a moment of silence, Oliver continued, “Come on. Let’s go back. I’m sure they’re worried about us.”
They turned and made their way out of the patch and across the field. As he reached the base of the hill, a loud snapping caught Oliver’s attention. He thought it sounded like a large branch breaking free from one of the forest oaks, but he turned to find a crack in the invisible Briarwood shield.
The break formed at the base, where the patch had consumed Simon, and stretched upward to Oliver’s height. They waited a moment, but the rest of the dome seemed to hold steady for the time being.
As they reached the back of the hall, Oliver noticed the bar on the back door had been removed, which must have allowed the officers to escape.
“Go check on Ruby,” Oliver said as he approached the back door.
Asher disappeared around the side of the building.
He expected chaos when he opened the door to the hall, but the townsfolk had already picked up the chairs and rearranged them into neat rows. Madeline was standing at the front of the room, conducting the ebb and flow of townsfolk passing through the hall. The commotion stopped once the townsfolk noticed Oliver and Asher standing in the doorway.
“He’s gone,” Oliver said. “Dead.”
Madeline strolled to the front of the room. “Thank God.” She opened her arms for a hug but then seemed not quite comfortable enough to do so, so she patted him on a shoulder. Her eyes were tired, her face freed from its typical makeup mask.
Others gathered around them, townsfolk still woozy from whatever mystical force had held them captive for several days.
