by Casey Lane
Neoma tried to pull herself from the nightmare. She struggled, fighting her way to the surface of consciousness only to have herself pulled back under. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to remember what they'd done. She didn't care what Ezri said or even what the old mountain witch said, remembering hurt—it physically hurt—and she didn't want to do it.
But it didn’t matter what she wanted. The memory had her trapped, and she knew with a sick certainty it wouldn’t release her until she relived every moment. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to Wren or Rhys or even Isa or Tristin. She could endure the pain if she wasn’t alone.
But it was only Neoma and Dylan…and Ruby.
Ruby with her crooked tooth and her jarring laugh and her cold brown eyes. Ruby who thought nothing of holding Neoma down while Dylan stole her blood. Ruby who would make Dylan cut her just so she could drink Neoma’s blood straight from the source. She hated Ruby. Neoma blamed Ruby for all of it. Dylan hadn’t looked at Neoma twice until the witch arrived.
Neoma shivered despite the heat, taking in her surroundings, hoping for something, someone, who could help her but there was nothing, nothing but the maze. It wasn't burnt and black like in her dream with Ezri, but the golden green stalks that once stood vibrant against a blue sky had long since withered and turned brown.
The maze wasn’t dead, but the energy within was toxic. She could sense it’s sluggish lifeforce. She could smell the rot and ruin. The maze was a felled beast, shot through with a poisoned arrow, struggling to take its last heaving breaths. Neoma knew with certainty that the beast’s killer lie in wait at the heart of the maze and that they held a poison arrow for Neoma too.
The strange fog that had surrounded them in the truck followed them still, clinging to the ground and rising into the air like smoke, obscuring the ground below. Neoma could feel it clinging to her skin, seeping into her pores, infecting her with that same black energy. Neoma stared longingly at the direction of the house on the edge of the property. Even the slouching house with its gate monster seemed better than what lie within the maze.
Ruby didn't wait for them. She just started walking, hips swaying as she made her way to the entrance of the maze. Neoma knew better than to fight Dylan, but when he pushed her shoulder, gesturing for her to follow the witch, she hesitated. She buried her feet in the soil, digging in her heels and reaching out with her senses. If the maze still had a pulse, she could draw from it. Bad energy was still energy. She just needed a boost, something to jumpstart the power within. If she could just tap into that energy, she could use it to fight, to save herself. She could use it to escape.
But Dylan wasn't having it. He crouched down beside her, shaking her hard. "I'll drag you by your hair if I have to," he warned. “I’m the only thing keeping you alive. Believe me, if you disappeared, nobody would miss you.”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. She did believe him. His family was nice to her, but she wasn’t one of them, not really. If she went missing, it’s not like they could call the police. Technically, she didn’t exist. Maybe Wren might miss her, but Wren was far away. By the time he returned, it would be too late. So, she gave in, allowing Dylan to pull her along, wincing as the rocks hidden beneath the fog bruised the tender skin of her bare feet.
They caught up with Ruby as she made a sharp turn deep within the maze. Neoma didn’t want to think of what waited inside. Instead, she focused on the white tank top Ruby wore and the way it would ride up with each step, revealing the tattoo on her lower back. The ink formed a barren tree, with a stitched together heart strangled by the rope dangling from its branches. Neoma understood the sentiment, if not the significance. She felt like an unseen rope squeezed her heart too.
Neoma stumbled as Ruby stopped short, held upright only by Dylan’s rough grip, his claws once more digging into her skin. They’d reached the heart of the beast, and it was as black and empty as she imagined. Once again, Neoma called dug her bare feet into the soil, closing her eyes, calling on any living energy. Unlike the rest of the maze, this barren space returned her call, not with life but with death, with darkness, with a feeling of despair so thick she was gagging on it. Even the fog didn’t dare tread in this decayed, rotting space. It formed a perimeter around them, just as the corn did.
Nothing alive should exist in that space. It was an abomination. But Neoma wasn’t alone with Dylan and Ruby. There were others, both men, and women alike. At first glance, they appeared human, but when she looked closer, she saw that they were like no humans she’d ever seen before.
They dressed in all black. The men in pants and button down shirts and the women in long black dresses that caught the anemic breeze, plastering the fabric against their too thin frames until Neoma could make out their ribs. The inky black of their clothing was a stark contrast to their chalk white skin. The clouds overhead only seemed to enhance their hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. They all stared at Neoma, eyes dead, their lips cracking and bleeding, their mouths opening and closing like Tegan’s fish when it had jumped from its tank and landed on her desk.
The group parted, and Neoma’s eyes went wide, fighting Dylan with everything she had. The hollow people were awful but the woman they’d shielded left Neoma feeling hollow herself, like somebody had scooped out her insides and left her empty inside.
The woman stood just outside a large circle of stones, her thin strapped dress hanging loose on her skeletal frame, highlighting arms and fingers seemingly too long for her body, symbols decorated her bleached white skin in blood so thick it looked like old rust and smelled like a jar of pennies.
Neoma recoiled from the scent but couldn’t bring herself to look away from the woman. A mask made from an animal skull obscured the top of her face and horns jutted from the woman’s snarl of frizzy black hair. The bones of her face were knife sharp, as hollow as those of her followers and her lips were so thin it seemed as if she had no mouth at all until she smiled revealing rows of sharpened teeth.
She raised her arm in a beckoning gesture, her bones and joints moving in a way no humans should. Neoma blinked rapidly; she wanted to wake up now. She’d seen what she needed to see. She didn’t need to know what happened next. Dylan could take her blood. He could take whatever he wanted. She just had to get away from that...thing.
It was useless to fight but she fought anyway, her heart racing, skin so sweaty, she managed to slip from Dylan's grip. This time, he yanked her off her feet, grasping her around the waist, grunting slightly as she kicked and struggled against him.
She couldn’t breathe. The closer she got, the heavier that crushing weight on her chest. She clawed at her dress as if it were to blame. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was supposed to be helping Alis. “I want to go home. I want Wren. I want Alis,” she sobbed, barely able to form the words. “I’ll be good. Please, Dylan. Please!”
For just a moment, Dylan faltered, and Neoma’s heart stood still. Maybe. Maybe he’d heard her. Maybe, just once, he’d let her go.
“Bring her to me,” the woman said, her voice an icy wind blowing through the hollow void in Neoma’s chest, raising goosebumps along her skin. She could feel herself trembling, teeth chattering but she was unable to stop. Her body no longer felt like her own. Her heartbeat slammed in her ears, accompanied only by the low keening noises she made.
Her bladder let go, soiling her dress and Dylan’s jeans. Dylan laughed, but Ruby stepped away, lip curling in disgust. Neoma didn’t care. She wanted to go home. This place was a bad place. It was a dead place. These people were all dead, and they wanted to make her dead too.
“Oh, don’t be frightened, little fae. You’ll live through this,” the woman’s tone was teasing, as if she found Neoma’s fear amusing. “Take her.”
Then the hollow people surged around her, swallowing her into their darkness, their hands gripping her everywhere, sweeping her off her feet and lifting her towards the sky, like an offering to some dark god. Maybe that’s exactly what that thing w
as. Maybe these were witches like Magna and Ezri. Maybe the woman was some god or demon.
The chanting started then, sharp whispers in a foreign tongue repeated, faster and faster, until their words hit her like a thousand tiny cuts along her skin and she couldn’t tell where one sentence ended and another began. Then everything went silent and still, and for a moment Neoma felt like she was floating weightless in the sky. The hands holding her disappeared, yet she remained in place, hovering in the air, and for just a moment, Neoma experienced a sense of peace.
Until the woman’s sharpened teeth sank into the flesh of her neck. Neoma tried to scream, but no sound came. They’d taken her voice too. She could do nothing but stare up at the evil sky overhead, wishing a tornado would come down and suck her away from all this, like Dorothy, like in her dream about Ezri. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else but the searing pain at her throat and the sound of the woman’s feeding.
Then it was over, the woman backing away. The woman hadn’t lied. She was still alive. She let out a shaky breath, relieved. Then the woman spoke again. “Your turn, children.”
Neoma’s eyes went wide, and she cried out as a thousand teeth, sharp as needles, punctured her skin at once, the pain making her vision go black at the edges. She let her mind drift away from there, closing her eyes and forgetting everything but the sky above. They were killing her, but maybe she’d kill them right back. There was no energy from the ground, so she stole it from the sky, making her intentions clear. Lighting cracked, hitting close enough for the ground to shake. The clouds let loose, rain pouring from the sky hard enough to drown out the feel of those teeth in her skin.
The woman laughed, holding her arms out and tipping her face to the sky as if welcoming the storm. Neoma let her eyes close. She was going to die out there, and Wren would never know what happened to her. Dylan would make sure of that.
But she didn't die. When the hollow people finished feeding, they laid her gently on the wet ground, each lining up before the woman. Neoma’s limbs felt heavy, her lids weighted, chest hurting as with every breath she drew. Puddles of rain formed beneath her head and she wondered absently if she’d simply drown after everything that had happened.
She didn’t want to know what came next but she couldn’t turn away. She could do nothing but watch as Dylan handed the woman a large blade with a curved handle. She couldn't make a sound as each of those hollow people stepped within the circle of stones and offered up their throat to the blade.
There was so much blood. It leached into the soil. It painted the stones. It coated the woman from head to toe and not even the rain could wash away her sins. Still, she didn't stop the culling of the hollow ones. Her blade opened one after another until they were just empty husks, stacked atop one another just outside the stones.
Until only Ruby and Dylan remained.
The woman paused as if she was waiting for a sign. Neoma waited too, dread heavy in her gut, her head pounding, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.
"I believe you're an offering short," Dylan told the woman, his voice sounding miles away.
The woman looked to the bodies and smiled. "I believe you're right."
She turned those empty black eyes on Ruby. Ruby must have sensed what would happen next because she tried to run, to escape, but Dylan wouldn't allow it. He swept her off her feet, dumping her within the bloody circle. Neoma tried to keep her eyes open, tried to hear what Dylan said, but the storm was drowning out his words. "Come on, Ruby...it's an honor to feed the dragon."
Neoma frowned. What dragon? Ruby's look of betrayal was almost enough to make Neoma feel sorry for the witch. Almost. Ruby closed her eyes as the blade sliced across her throat, blood spraying everywhere as her heart pumped frantically, painting everything crimson until Neoma could swear it was raining blood.
Neoma felt the energy shift immediately. It displaced the rain, rolling along the corn like an invisible wind, closing in on them. Neoma braced herself for the collision of so much dark energy, but it never came.
"Take the girl and go,” the woman ordered, laughing as she held out her hands once again, embracing that dark energy like she’d embraced the violence of the storm Neoma conjured.
She felt herself being lifted, tossed over Dylan’s shoulder. Then he was running, foregoing the paths of the maze to shoulder his way through the stalks, cutting his own path straight to the abandoned pickup truck. He threw open the driver’s side door, dumping Neoma in the seat before shoving her over so he could get in. He turned the key, and the engine sputtered to life, chugging like a freight train.
Outside the truck, the fields were black, the rain clashing with the fog, engulfing the maze in a white haze.
She didn’t dare look at Dylan until they were once again driving down the long dirt road back to the house. He was soaked, his black t-shirt clinging to him, rain dripping from his hair. She wasn’t much better; her dress clung to her uncomfortably, her hair lay matted against her head. She tucked herself against the door of the truck, doing whatever she could to put as much distance between her and the wolf.
He glanced at his watch and grinned. "See. Told you we'd make it home before dinner."
* * *
Neoma sat up with a start, blinking in the darkness. Outside rain tapped on the window. She tried to recall her nightmare but could only remember pieces. Her and Dylan in the truck with Ruby. The corn maze. The woman in black. She killed the hollow people.
She was up and moving without thought, closing Tristin's door behind her and walking to Rhys's room. She opened his door as quietly as she could, but Rhys heard her anyway, sitting up and rubbing his eyes at he stared at her in confusion. "What's wrong."
"I remembered something," she whispered.
"Remembered what?"
"I saw her...the one who lives up here." She tapped her temple. "I saw her in my dream. She fed on me. She let the others feed on me too. Then she killed them all."
Rhys startled at that, looking around his bedroom as if he expected the woman was lurking somewhere close. "Who? Who fed off you? Who killed who?"
She didn't know how to make sense of the flashes she'd seen. "The woman. Dylan said she was a dragon. She fed the hollow people my blood."
"Why?"
Neoma shrugged. "The dragon fed the hollow people my blood...and then she killed them."
Chapter Sixteen
Isa
Day 3
Isa woke the next morning, all alone in her big bed, eyes scratchy and lids heavy. Outside, the sun was creeping over the horizon and birds were chirping happily in the tree outside her window like she'd woken in a damn Disney movie. She glared in their general direction, growling low, but still, they sang, unimpressed by her wolf. She briefly contemplated going back to bed, before throwing the covers back and forcing herself to her feet. She moved on auto-pilot, brushing her teeth, showering, getting dressed for work, all the while aware of the six other heartbeats moving about the house. She tried to ignore the oddly cozy feeling it brought.
Downstairs, she found Wren in the kitchen with the kids. He was wearing his sweatpants from the previous night, a black t-shirt, and the hideous frilly, polka-dotted green and white apron Quinn’s father, Allister, had gotten her for Christmas the previous year. He stood at the stove, cooking enough eggs to feed a small army. He twirled the spatula in his hand like a gunslinger, rattling off a list of supplies he needed from the hardware store. Rhys carefully copied each item down on the magnetic notepad that usually sat forgotten on the front of the fridge.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Wren said, with a wink.
Isa frowned, heart sinking as she glanced at the clock on the microwave, wincing before she said, “I don’t have time.” She gestured to the kids. “We don’t have time. I’m already running late, and I still have to drop the kids off at school.”
Kai and Quinn stopped pulling pieces of toast from the toaster so they could both stare at her with disapproval. “Aww, man
. He’s making us a real breakfast. We got up early and everything. See we’re already ready already,” Quinn said, gesturing to his clothing, holding up his shoed foot for good measure.
“Yeah, why do we have to miss breakfast because you got up late?” Kai asked.
Isa’s eyes flashed gold. “Excuse me? Is that the tone you want to take with me when I’m uncaffeinated?”
Kai’s shoulders fell. “No, ma’am.”
Wren shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll take them to school on my way to the hardware store. Go to work. It’s fine.”
“Yeah, let Wren take us to school. I’m hungry. I don’t want pop-tarts again,” Tristin intoned from her seat at the table, her nose buried in a book. Neoma sat next to Tristin, mimicking her pose, Tristin’s favorite book in the elemental’s hands.
Quinn pushed his large glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Wren said tomorrow he’d make us pancakes.”
Isa turned, arching a brow at Wren. “Oh, did he?”
Wren grinned, handing Isa a to-go cup and stuffing a piece of toast in her mouth. “Your coffee’s black. You seem like the kind of girl who doesn’t like to water down her fuel.” Isa eyed him warily until he laughed. “Go, woman, I’ve got this.”
Isa tore off a piece of her toast, chewing it in what she hoped was a somewhat threatening manner. “I know what you’re doing,” Isa murmured, voice low enough for only him to hear. He stepped closer, and Isa’s stomach dipped as he lowered his head, dropping his tone to a husky whisper, “Oh, yeah? What am I doing?”
“Making yourself indispensable. Taking care of the house, taking care of the kids, taking care of me.”
He chuckled, and something inside of Isa shivered. “How is that a bad thing?”
