by Chris Cooper
“How long did this take?” Mercy asked, mesmerized by the beautiful filigree etched in the metal.
“Nearly a year,” he replied.
“After the attack?” Mercy asked.
“I started after the attack, but with Simon gone, I knew it was only a matter of time before you came for the weapons. I am dreadfully behind on clock repairs, but I managed to finish this a few weeks ago.” He pulled another item from the velvet bag, a brown leather belt, which held a line of bullets in perfectly sized loops.
“Do be careful,” he said, sliding the belt across the counter. “And promise you will come back alive.”
Mercy placed her hand on her father’s. “I promise,” she said. “But if we don’t go now, we may lose our chance.”
“Then be on your way,” he replied.
“We’ll send the others for the rest of the weapons when it’s time,” she said.
“How many others?” Oliver asked.
“Depends on how many keep their word—maybe ten or more.” Mercy unwrapped the two sheathed daggers Gideon had pulled from the rice barrel. “Something to protect yourself,” she said, handing them to Oliver.
And what exactly am I supposed to do with these? Oliver gripped the sculpted metal handles and tried to imagine himself fighting off a pack of angry townspeople, or worse, the Witch herself. His engineering degree hadn’t trained him in the skills of war—he must have slept through that lecture.
Mercy slid a bullet into each of the barrels and wrapped the belt around her waist. “Shall we?” she asked, tucking the blade into the customized holster built into the side of the belt.
Although Gideon’s sword was nearly as long as his leg, he concealed it beneath his crimson trench coat.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oliver guided Mercy and Gideon to the edge of the briar patch, where he had crossed over from Christchurch. The tangle of trees cast an ominous shadow on the unlikely trio as they looked out across the field. The scene was made of the same earth, with the same features as before, but he saw no evidence of humanity on the other side. Izzy’s house on the hill was gone, as were all the hives and other artifacts of her existence. His heart dropped at the thought of never being able to see Izzy again.
He patted his empty pocket, where the Briarwood coin had once been. It must work both ways. The coin made it possible to see Briarwood from the outside, and the magic surrounding it must have also sheltered the people of Briarwood from seeing Christchurch.
Although he couldn’t see the house, he did notice the stark difference in the tree line on the other side of the patch. The deep greens of the Briarwood forest collided with the autumn leaves of Christchurch, almost as if an invisible forcefield was shooting up through the center of the patch and separating the two worlds and seasons within them.
Gideon picked up a long, curved stick and stuck it firmly into the briars. The vines wrapped around it, pulling it free from his hands. This caught him by surprise, and he nearly crushed Oliver’s foot when he stepped backward from the patch.
“Let us wait over there.” Mercy pointed at a downed tree that must have been at least three feet in diameter. The gap between the trunk and the earth had been covered on one side with branches and falling leaves. They wedged themselves up against it—a perfect hiding spot from the view of anyone approaching.
Oliver had nearly nodded off when the crunch of footsteps on the forest floor awoke him. Branches snapped, and leaves crackled under several sets of heavy boots. He pressed himself closer to the tree trunk as the pack of men marched past.
“Here,” one of them said, walking toward the edge of the patch.
Oliver peered through a small crack in the trunk. He could count five men and held out five fingers behind him for the others to see. He panicked at the thought of having to confront them.
Five men? How can the three of us take five men? Panic set in. What am I doing here? Why did I agree to this? He wasn’t a fighter, yet he was facing possible injury and death.
He immediately recognized the man who had left an enormous welt on his forehead. Bennett led the pack, and all were heavily armed with makeshift weapons. He reached into a small coat pocket and pulled out a shiny metal object, which he held up for the others to see.
“The two of us shall go through,” Bennett said, patting the man next to him on the shoulder, “and the rest will stand guard and wait for our return.”
The men nodded in agreement.
Bennett took a step toward the patch, and the vines shifted as if cast away by the invisible aura surrounding the coin. As he reached the edge, he let out a grunt and stopped suddenly. He seemed to struggle, his torso twisting as he tried to pull himself free from the ground, which somehow gripped his shoes like some sort of muddy cement.
Oliver tapped the two others and motioned for them to stick their heads out over the fallen tree.
Bennett fought the force for several seconds before a rustling from the trees above him caught the attention of the trio hiding behind the tree trunk. A swirl of deep-black hair descended from the trees, its fall somehow slowed like a fluttering leaf in the wind. The band of men saw the Witch but could do little more than stand and stare except for one who turned tail and ran toward the town. She fell onto all fours behind Bennett, who was still frozen in place. As she rose, her limbs contorted and cracked as if her body wasn’t properly built to stand. At full height, she was but half of Bennett’s, but she compensated by hovering above the ground until she faced the back of his head.
Oliver had never heard the brittle crack of human bone before, but the sound would be difficult to forget. The upper half of Bennett’s torso twisted round, while his feet stayed firmly in place. He was face-to-face with the Witch, who stood unflinching as Bennett let out a bloody scream. Oliver wanted to run—needed to run—but surely that would call her attention to him. But couldn’t she have seen us from the trees?
Perhaps his muscles were tensing from the sudden trauma, or perhaps due to pure resolve, Bennett somehow still clutched the coin. Blood had started to soak his shirt at the waist, and his pants were quickly changing color as they turned a deep crimson. The Witch turned her head slightly, looking at the coin clasped in his hand. As she twisted her head, so twisted Bennett’s wrist, resulting in several sharp popping sounds. The man must have been in shock because he let out no cries of pain. He released his grip on the coin, and as soon as he did, the invisible force seemed to release its grip upon him. He fell backward—or forward, depending on perspective—into the briars. The vines curled around him, ensnaring his limbs and drawing blood from the cuts caused by the sharp thorns. Without the key, he would surely be consumed.
The Witch bent over to pick up the coin—the object she had been hunting for some time—but as she did, a wooden hammer swung down and struck her in the side, sending her stumbling into a tree. When she had released Bennett from her grip, the other men snapped out of their momentary panic. They approached the fallen Witch as the grizzled blacksmith-looking fellow who had struck her stood over the coin. Gideon started to rise from behind the trunk, but Oliver placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back down behind the tree. The man picked the coin up from the forest floor. When he turned to face his cohort, his body shuddered, and he fell backward, stiff as a board. One of the band’s makeshift swords protruded from his chest, and the man from whom the Witch had stolen it stood clutching his throat, trying to keep the spewing blood inside his body.
The remaining slipshod soldier hung in the air. The Witch turned to face him, and Oliver saw his opportunity. He couldn’t let her cross into Christchurch or reunite with Hale. Simon was powerless without her, and she seemed to harm only those who stood between her and the coin. Without Simon pulling the strings, she had no mission but to track it down. If Oliver could just make it back across the briars, she would have no one to chase, and he could ensure Simon caused no additional harm to Christchurch.
“We can’t let her take it. Stay here
. I’ll try to come back if I can,” he whispered to his two companions.
Mercy grabbed his shoulder as he began to rise. “She will kill you.”
“I can make it. It’s either this or we all die. We can’t beat her like this. Go back to Briarwood. She has no reason to chase you without the coin.”
Mercy pulled her ammo belt free from her waist and handed it to Oliver. “Take this, then, and be careful.”
He set his daggers on the ground and tightened the belt around his waist before quietly climbing over the tree and toward the body of the impaled man. He twisted the coin loose from the man’s sausage fingers and edged toward the patch. The Witch had been momentarily distracted by the man hanging in the air. She seemed to be playing with him, like a cat playing with a rodent. The man began to scream as Oliver reached the edge of the briars, and he turned to see the poor soldier’s mouth open inhumanly wide. He thought back to the Christchurch victims, turned back toward the patch, and broke into a full sprint.
The roses had begun to bloom once again, seemingly fueled by the body of the contorted revolutionary who had fallen into them. Oliver had made it halfway across when a scream came hurtling toward him. The Witch had sent the last soldier flying into the patch, but he collided with something midflight, and his yells suddenly ceased.
Oliver didn’t stop to look—couldn’t stop if he wanted to survive—until he made it out the other side of the briars. As he passed over the last group of brambles, he slid to a halt and turned to face the other direction. The last soldier had fallen somewhere in the middle of the patch, and the Witch was standing on the other side, separated from the key and powerless to harm him. She lingered there for a moment, frame hunched with her arms at her sides. Then, as if filled with a sudden burst of rage, she thrust her arms forward, her lips releasing an echoing wail. He could almost see her anger in the air, but the scream stopped at the barrier and reverberated with such force that it knocked her backward, her head like a comet trailed by a stream of tangled hair. The air above the briars seemed to sparkle, outlining the shape of a bubblelike curve extending from the center of the patch.
Oliver turned to face the house on the hill and was greeted by the familiar sunny-sided building. A minute before, the landscape on this side of the briars was barren, free from any signs of human intervention.
He trudged forward as the raindrops started to fall, but he didn’t care—he was almost home. As he crossed the field, his eyes watered. For a few moments, when he was tied to the post in the Briarwood square, he thought he would never return to Christchurch and would never see Izzy and Anna again. He felt the same fear in the pit of his stomach when he looked upon the vacant hill, where Izzy’s house had once stood.
Although the sky had darkened, the house lights were off, and Oliver noticed no signs of life from the outside. Even the bees seemed to be slowing down for the season. Maybe she’s at the police station. He hoped the police had found a reason to keep Simon in custody.
A line of yellow police tape crossed the back of the door, and a note, forbidding entry, hung in the window.
What the hell is going on?
Surely, they wouldn’t have kicked Izzy out of her own house to investigate the attack.
Oliver walked around to the front of the house. The same sign hung in the front window. The upended police cruiser had been towed away, leaving deep scars in the ground where it had landed.
The only other thing he could think to do was to walk across town to the police station.
As he rounded the bend by the market, Oliver decided against the station in favor of Anna’s cottage. Two police cruisers sat across the street, keeping an eye on the market goers. He received several glares as he walked by and must have looked insane in his drenched overcoat and obscure wardrobe. Even if he hadn’t looked as though he’d lost his mind, he certainly felt that way. He’d just seen several people murdered before his eyes and had left those who had saved him behind with the murderer. The Witch had no reason to hurt them though, since they didn’t possess the coin—at least he hoped. Still, the guilt remained. The events of the past few hours swirled around in his head, but he didn’t have time to be overwhelmed by them. He had to ensure that Izzy was safe and Simon was safely locked away. He stuffed his emotions into the back of his brain to deal with later.
Anna’s cottage was seemingly immune to the chaos around it. He tapped his knuckle on the door and heard movement inside. He felt a wave of relief when Anna’s face appeared through the crack in the door. When she saw him, she threw the door open and wrapped her arms around him.
“Thank God!” she said, tears starting to flow.
“Where’s Izzy?” he asked.
“They don’t know. We thought something terrible happened to you. We can’t find her.” She pulled him inside, and a flurry of scampering paws and corgi fur greeted him as Pan ran to his feet and leapt against his legs.
“Hey, bud,” he said, bending down to address the neglected pup.
The sight of Pan was too much for him, and he completely lost it, tears dripping onto the dog’s soft fur. Nekko lounged on the back of Anna’s sofa, still a symbol of feline aloofness.
“Where have you been?” Anna asked.
“The Witch chased me to the woods, and—”
“Witch? What are you talking about?” she asked.
“The Witch,” he said, wiping his eyes. “The woman who’s been attacking everyone. She came for us. That officer, Ben I think, saw it all. He was the only reason I was able to get away.”
“Ben?” she asked. “Oliver, he was killed. They found him inside the house. Somebody cut his throat. You and Izzy were gone by the time the other officers arrived.”
The news knocked him backward. “What? But the Witch followed me into the woods. Who would have slit his throat?”
A firm knock caused them both to jump. Anna peered out of the side window to see who was at the door.
“Eric,” she said. “Someone must have seen you walking over here. What do you want me to do?”
“I have nothing to hide,” he replied.
He still hadn’t fully processed the facts that Izzy had gone missing and the man who was hired to protect them had been murdered. Death had filled his day, something he would have nightmares about for years, but this was more personal, and the thought of something happening to Izzy caused a pain deep down in his stomach.
Anna opened the cottage door wide, putting Oliver’s thin frame in Eric’s eyeshot. The two said nothing at first. Part of Oliver still feared being blamed for the attacks. After all, he had been present for every single one except for Madeline’s. The connection was an obvious one to make. Still, how could I have flipped a police cruiser?
“Is Izzy with you?” Eric asked, breaking the silence. His tone was that of legitimate concern.
“No. I was chased into the woods. I told her to lock herself in her room, and that was the last I saw of her.”
“We haven’t seen her since last night. We think she may have been taken. When the call from Ben came through, he mentioned something about a woman, said things were floating in the air. What the hell happened at Izzy’s?”
“Everything he said was true,” Oliver replied. “This woman, she’s the one behind the attacks. Somehow, Simon’s been controlling her. He’s been using the carvings on the door to mark his target. I don’t know why he’s killing them, but he dropped this along the way, and he’s been trying to track it down.” Oliver pulled the Briarwood coin from his pocket. “Do you still have him in custody?”
The expression on Eric’s face was a mixture of confusion and worry. “After the break-in, we let him go, told him to leave town.”
Oliver’s brow furrowed. “He killed Ben.”
“We had no other evidence to keep him. The only thing linking him to the attack was a single sighting. We had no choice. What’s so important about the damned coin?”
“The coin provides safe passage through the briars. It’s a key and
Simon’s only ticket home.”
Eric cocked his head.
“I know this sounds crazy. I have a hard time believing it myself, but I can show you if you take me there. I can guarantee Simon has Izzy, and he’s not going to leave town until he has this coin. He’s nearby.”
Eric stepped outside to radio the station. Oliver could only hope Simon hadn’t already done away with Izzy and needed her for leverage to retrieve the coin.
Eric guided Oliver into the passenger seat of the cruiser. Oliver pulled his overcoat tightly around himself, careful not to reveal the weapon strapped to his waist.
The back door of the cruiser opened and shut behind him, and he turned to find Anna buckling herself in.
“You don’t think I’m just going to sit this one out, do you?” she asked. “Just sit at home and wait? I don't think so.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The cruiser cut across the field, wheels dipping in and out of the divots of uneven ground and weeds bending under its bumper. The periodic rain had caused the ground to soften, making the journey even more difficult.
“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Eric said, gripping the steering wheel tightly as it jerked in his hands.
“Eric, you out there?” A voice came over the radio, slightly obscured by static.
“Go ahead,” he replied.
“We just got a strange call from someone asking for you, claiming they had information about the attacks around town.”
