I leaned closer, fighting the temptation, though it was near impossible when the phantom mists of someone else’s dreams still drifted through the forest. My lips rested beside Maddie’s ear and I whispered.
“Stay,” I said, speaking the words I had longed to say from the moment I first saw her in the store. “Stay in Ticonderoga Falls for one more day. Then you’ll be free to go. I give you my promise. I only ask that you stay for the Hunt. Please.”
With a great reluctance, I pulled away. She was caught in that still and silent world between breaths, and there are rules about how much you can tell your prey to do.
Rules bind our worlds together, hold the moon and sun in place.
I know that now. Wished that I had known it long ago.
With a leap and a mighty surge of wings, I broke my spell and I soared away from her, into the heavens, high above the trees. Where I could resist her fragrance once more.
Chapter 9
A Secret Wound
Thane:
Dreams still hung in the air, mingled with the odor of spilled blood. The forest hung quiet and fixed in place, as if frozen by an invisible glacier. I crouched in shadow and rock, my flesh pressed thin and my bones crumpled into distorted, unrecognizable shapes. Even my face had been flattened in this narrow space between stone and boulder. Part of me watched a space between two thick lodgepole pines where River and I had hidden the human carcass, buried beneath a blanket of leaves before we had sailed off through woodland green.
And the other part of me watched all that happened back on that wood-chip trail.
Ash soared between thick trees and cast a Veil. Then my dear cousin dropped to the forest floor and approached the woman. At that moment, when it looked as if he recognized her, he suddenly winced and crumpled near in two, and the Veil he had cast—a mediocre piece of workmanship—began to melt.
That was when I knew that the stories from home were true.
Ash crouched in pain from a secret wound.
This sudden weakness in my cousin was exactly what I had been hoping to discover. It was worth my entire journey to Ticonderoga Falls.
Cousin Ash recovered, then mumbled a brief snippet of poetry and held his Veil in place. If it had been me, I would have sailed away, right then and there. But that’s not what he did.
I watched him with great care, trying to puzzle out his motive.
He pulled himself straight, cast a mournful gaze toward the human woman, then he leaned nearer to her, but to what purpose? To kiss her or whisper in her ear?
There was some secret between them. I needed to discover what it was.
Ash broke the spell then, sooner than I expected, and he flew away.
The human woman and her boy and their dog woke up, groggy at first and easily confused. I sang a brief song to them from my hiding place, twisting the wood in their mind, turning the trails into a maze that would lead them astray.
“Stay here,” I whispered over my shoulder to River. “Mayhaps Cousin Ash is still nearby. I’ll go out and test the air, see if his scent is yet strong in the timber. Wait ’til I return and say whether it be safe.”
“Aye,” my brother growled from his enclosure. “But don’t be long.”
Then I left him and I melted into twilight shadows.
Chapter 10
A Dark Tide
Maddie:
Time bled and changed, turned into something liquid, and I got caught up in a daydream. I must have stopped, right there on the trail, lost in some reverie, for when I finally came to, everything looked different. The sky and the trees wavered around me. Shadows grew longer—like a dark tide, they spread out across the forest floor until the whole expanse before me lay black and gray. I stretched, then yawned. It felt like I had been asleep, standing in the same position for a long time, my muscles stiff, as if a single instant had stretched out into a year.
I turned around slowly, searching the wood, now filled with the song of birds and the soughing of wind through pine needles. The mysterious creature had disappeared. Just a heartbeat ago, something had been flying through the trees, something dark and sinister. No. I paused and ran my fingers against my cheek. Not sinister. More like a long lost friend. But whatever I had seen, it now felt like nearly half an hour had passed, plenty of time for that winged beast to escape.
In fact, I could still hear the echo of my own words hanging in the air. I had just called out to the dog and he now snapped his head toward me, ears up. He charged back down the slope, a black-and-tan blur, running to me.
“What did you see, Mom?” Tucker asked, yawning first, then looking around. “What was in the woods? A coyote?”
“No,” I answered. I grabbed the dog by the collar, clipped on his leash and pulled him close. “It was just my imagination, there was nothing there.”
But there had been something, I was certain of it. And as we turned to head back toward the cabin, it felt as if something still lurked in the woods, watching us. My skin prickled. My thoughts scattered as we stumbled down the trail, amidst shifting shadows, beneath a sky that deepened to the color of pomegranate. And there was something that I couldn’t quite remember, almost as if I had left the stove turned on or misplaced my keys.
The trails now looked foreign in the fading light. As soon as we came to the first fork, I realized that I didn’t know which way to turn. I paused and glanced around, trying to get my bearings, looking for some familiar landmark but seeing none. Meanwhile, the dog blundered ahead, too impatient to wait for me. He jerked the leash out of my hand, and we had to traipse after him. I hoped that he might have an uncanny sense of direction that would be able lead us safely back.
Unfortunately, his uncanny sense of direction led us right to a rabbit that scurried off into dusky shadows. The path we were on took us to the river’s edge.
“We didn’t come this way, Mom,” Tucker said with a heavy sigh.
“I know,” I said.
Sunset bled into twilight, the sun sold her kingdom to a handful of wayward stars and a bloated moon. And none of them gave us enough light to see where we were.
“We’ll find our way back, no problem,” I told him with a bravado I didn’t feel. “All we have to do is head back down the mountain. Eventually we’ll find a trail that will lead us to the cabin.”
“I’m hungry,” Tucker said. “Maybe we can find some berries or something we can eat.” He paused beside a suspicious bush and began to finger through the leaves.
I dug deep into my pocket, pulled out that half-eaten granola bar and handed it to him. Just then I heard something rustling in the thicket behind us, saplings wisped and cricked beneath the weight of something large stealthily moving nearer. A fragrance carried on the breeze, like toadstools and cobwebs.
Samwise growled and strained at the leash.
Some woodland creature was following us. I reached for Tucker’s hand, pushed him in front of me on the trail.
“Come on,” I told him. “Let’s go.”
He tried to scramble over the rocky terrain, now sodden with water. His feet slid beneath him and he almost fell into the creek. I grabbed him by the jacket, pulled him back onto the path. He was tired, both of us were. The only one with energy left was the dog and he kept snuffling at the bushes, growling low, his hackles up.
That was when I noticed a flash of light, bobbing and weaving through the thicket up ahead of us.
“Is somebody there?” a voice called. A safe, familiar voice.
“Here!” I shouted back.
Light was spilling through the trees, drawing nearer.
Meanwhile, Samwise growled even louder, teeth snapping at twilight dusk and I could barely hang on to him. His leash slipped through my fingers but I managed to grab it with my other hand.
“No, boy! Don’t!” I didn’t want him to charge after whatever was following us. Could be a bear or mountain lion. He wouldn’t survive a fight with something like that. “Stay.”
Then I saw that it was Mr. As
h coming toward us, the caretaker at the inn. He must have hiked off the main trail, just like us, down through vines and thorns, for his shirt was torn and he had a gash across one cheek. He turned the flashlight on us as he approached. At that moment, when his light cascaded into the bushes all around us, I was finally able to see what had been following us through the woods. It was only a shapeless outline; still I could make out something huge—much taller than me—with broad shoulders, less than an arm’s length away from us. Then the light shifted and instantly the creature’s shape melted into the surrounding darkness.
It vanished.
Whatever had been following us just disappeared.
I shuddered. Samwise sniffed the ground curiously.
Mr. Ash was beside us then and the sense of danger was gone, almost as if it had never existed.
“You’re off the main trail,” he said, though it sounded almost like a question. “Lost?”
“Yeah,” I answered, rubbing my hands, noticing a chill bite in the wind. “I’m not sure how we ended up down here by the river.”
“Come on.” He reached down to Tucker and easily pulled him into his arms.
“How did you know we were here?” I asked. We were headed toward the summit that led back to the Ponderosa Trail. I was winded from the climb and my words came out separated by long pauses for air.
“You didn’t unpack your car.” He carried Tucker, who was already asleep in his arms. Samwise scampered alongside the two of us, weaving between us from time to time. “And there were no lights on in your cabin, so I figured you must have gone for a hike.”
I smiled reluctantly.
“Be careful of the woods, Maddie,” he said, his face masked in shadow, his tone serious, his flashlight aimed steadily before us. “These paths aren’t as friendly as they look. It’s easy to get lost on the Ponderosa Trail. Be best to stay off it.”
I nodded. The moonlight fell down through the leaves and branches, outlining him in silver light. He was a handsome man, more handsome than his father, broader at the shoulders and maybe a full hand taller.
“I’m glad you came along when you did, Mr. Ash—” I said, though I didn’t like to confess we had needed saving.
“Please call me Ash.”
“Ash.” The name settled in my mouth, at once familiar and sweet. “I think some wild animal was following us, though I never saw it clearly. It disappeared when you showed up.”
“There’s not much tame and safe in Ticonderoga Falls.” He grinned at me in the moonlight, and he chuckled, low and soft. “That’s one reason why I love it here.”
That was when we cleared the last stand of trees.
The sky and the surrounding landscape had darkened to violet. We now stood at the edge of a twisted black wood and, save the beam from his tiny lamp, we were engulfed in darkness. I shivered as a brisk wind greeted us and we stepped away from the forest.
“Come, you’re almost home,” he said, and he put one hand gently on my shoulder.
From the moment he touched me I felt safe, something I hadn’t felt for a very long time. Then together, we walked toward the cabin, silhouetted in the near distance behind the rising moon.
Chapter 11
Autumn Skies
Thane:
One moment Ash was walking the human woman and her boy through the wood, the next he was a winged shadow that flew through autumn skies, nightmarish and dark, carrying the fragrance of wind and rain. River joined me and together we hid in the forest gloom, both of our faces turned toward the little cottage on the green, watching as it lit with yellow light, as Maddie and her son transformed into black silhouettes.
We’d been so close to catching her earlier; if Cousin Ash hadn’t come along when he did, surely we’d have harvested her by now. She would have been delicious. I was sure of it. Even the trees and the wind had seemed to sense it.
And now she was walking toward the bed and breakfast, crossing the green meadow and then the road. Her boy remained back inside the cottage, playing in the front room with the dog.
All the while, I could see Sage watching us from the widow’s walk. She knew we were here, hiding in the wood. A shiver of regret ran through me as I realized that it was now too late to go back and dispose of the dead human.
Chapter 12
A Glass Jar
Maddie:
The door swung closed behind me and from the moment my foot crossed the threshold, I felt like I was in another world. Outside the moon cast broad silver beams, the forest clung possessively to the colors of summer and the air was electric. But here, inside the Ticonderoga Falls Bed and Breakfast, I felt suddenly trapped.
Like I had just walked inside a glass jar and someone had spun the lid closed.
It’s my imagination, I thought, forcing myself through the foyer into a large entryway, toward the registration desk. I’ve always hated Victorian houses, with all their nooks and crannies, pantries and closets, their doors within doors and hallways that seem to lead nowhere. Hitchcock got it right when he staged Psycho in that mausoleum. Ever since that movie, my heart would ricochet in my chest whenever I saw turn-of-the-century architecture. Like this place.
Part Victorian Gothic, part Queen Anne romantic, part Herman Munster scary.
I crossed the lifeless room filled with swirling dust motes, shadows melting in corners, time standing still. My body the only thing moving as reality seemed to shift around me.
The rules are different here.
I stopped, remembering that thing I had seen back in the woods: Talons and skin the color of night—
My pulse sped and something flickered in the back of my mind, something that hadn’t happened for so long that I almost didn’t recognize it—an idea for a new character.
“Did you want something?” Professor Driscoll, the owner of the bed and breakfast, gloomed in the shadows, blending in like a chameleon. He crouched behind the desk, a wizened old man staring over wire-rimmed glasses. With his bowed stance and unflinching grimace, he looked like he had eaten something bad for lunch.
“Yeah, I—” I reached the registration counter, remembering that wild animal that had followed us in the woods. I swallowed with difficulty, my throat suddenly dry.
“Speak up.” Driscoll tilted his head, probably aiming his best ear in my direction.
“I want to rent the cabin for two more days.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You went off the Ticonderoga Trail. I warned you not to go up by the falls. That bridge isn’t safe after all the rain last week and I’m not gonna be liable for some idiot who tumbles over the edge out there.”
“But I—how do you know I went off the trail?”
“It’s written all over you. Eucalyptus leaves in your hair, red clay on your shoes. That stuff’s only on the Ponderosa Trail.”
I ran a hand through my hair and, sure enough, I pulled out a leaf. “Okay, I won’t go up that path again. I promise.” But even as I said it I knew I was lying. I suddenly needed to see what was up there, hoped that I would see that flying creature again.
Leathery wings, body that hovered in midair, staring at me.
I just wouldn’t go at night next time. And I’d take my pepper spray.
Driscoll squinted his eyes, watery and pale blue and bloodshot like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. He watched me, almost as if practicing the ancient art of telepathy.
“I’d really like to stay.” I pulled out my credit card and set it on the counter between us.
He glanced nervously toward the stairway landing. I thought I saw someone up there, a tall figure watching us. But if anyone was there, he vanished almost instantly, retreated down the hallway. Nothing but shadows up there now.
“Fine,” the old man said as he grabbed my card, then swiped it through a machine nearly as old as he was. “I’ll send fresh linens over in the morning. Just remember what I said about staying off the Ponderosa Trail, or I’ll come over there and help you pack up your things myself.”
He lowered his brow. Perhaps his telepathy had finally kicked in.
I folded the receipt, tucked it in my back pocket and nodded good-bye. Then I headed toward the door. Eager for fresh air.
Chapter 13
The Great Puppet Master
Professor Eli Driscoll:
The door swung shut with a thump. For a long, painful moment it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, like Maddie MacFaddin was the only true living creature in the world. Then I caught my breath. My body sagged back in the chair, limp. I closed my eyes. If I had been a praying man, there would have been a litany of words pouring from my lips right then, I would have been begging for release. I’d have scuffed my knees on that polished wooden floor, would have braided my fingers together and clasped them to my chest.
But prayers meant nothing to me.
The only thing that mattered was the curse.
I knew this reprieve was temporary. I felt like a prisoner who finally got to walk around in the yard, who could let his head fall back and stare up at the sun. This long, delirious moment of quasi-peace was marred only by the fact that it wouldn’t last. It would shatter, break into a thousand unrecognizable shards, I might not even be able to remember that the Beast had left me untended.
Sometimes it was so lonely when that happened. Like a horrid vacuum.
But right now it was sweet as sugar, sweet as a thick caramel sauce drizzled over vanilla cake, sweet as a baked apple swimming in buttery molasses—
That was when I realized I wasn’t truly alone. The Great Puppet Master was still inside my head, listening.
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