"The boy from the woods? The one who used to watch you? He's finally free and he's here. He's going to try and take you. Again."
"How do you know—"
"I know everything there is to know about you, Jemma." He scowls, but offers me his hand. "I'm Owen. Owen Augustine."
"How do you know my name?" I stare at his hand as if it's a poisonous snake. "Get away from me. You're following me around and you expect me to just shake your hand?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I expect." He grabs my hand without my offering it and gives it a firm shake. His warm skin sends tingles up my arm.
"There. You know me. Now, I don't want us to get killed, so I suggest you follow me," Owen says.
The sound of splintering wood fills the aisle as I glance back at the woman. Waves of black lines cover her skin once more. They remind me of tree roots. Trees. The trees and Molly. Something about Molly.
"Jemma. Come on!” Owen's words are hushed, but still forceful. “You have no idea what he's capable of, or what he can do. If we stay here, we're endangering not only our lives, but the lives of everyone in the building. I know you don't want that."
The woman bursts free of her icy tomb, her arms growing, sharpening. She knocks over the bookcase. Her hair elongates to form a leaf-covered branch. It shoots out. A crash splinters the silence as she shatters a window. Screams fill the room. All around us, people are running, tearing across the floor.
"Don't be a fool," Owen says through gritted teeth. "We need to leave."
I can't move a muscle to follow. Fear has me frozen in place. Instead, I stare, my mouth hanging open as one of Tree Woman's branches moves in our direction, the smaller twigs bent like fingers, forming a giant claw. I can't wrap my head around it. The clawed branch is advancing, reaching for me. It's going to grab me. Take me to him.
"Now, Jemma!" Owen seizes my hand. It's like my head's been dunked in a bucket of liquid clarity.
Unease scurries over my skin. Owen's right. I have to get out. Now. "Oh crap!"
"Now!" Owen practically drags me to the stairwell. This time I let him. The woman is only inches away. She could touch me, hurt me if she wanted to.
Owen slams into the door and it bangs off of the wall. We fly down the stairwell, our footsteps echoing inside the concrete space. The building is only a few stories and we pound down all three flights of steps without a word.
It’s not too late. We’re going to make it. We’re going to get away. The sound of screaming fills the distant air. What? So we’ll escape and all those people... "Wait. We need to go back. If she hurts any of those people."
A cracking sound draws my attention and I glance at the railing. Vines are growing, shifting, and weaving their way along it. I try and snatch my hand back, but one of them encircles my wrist.
"Ah!"
Owen whips around. His eyes narrow. "Not on my watch." He presses a single finger to the vine and ice trails over it, freezing it, trapping it. The cold burns my skin, but Owen slams a fist on the vine shattering it to pieces, freeing me. He takes my hand. "Come on. It’s not them she’s after."
"Wha-what? H-ow?"
"Not now, Jemma." Owen doesn't glance back, but his voice still manages to be a warning. We finally reach the parking garage and he stops. I almost collide with him. My breath spits out in fast huffs. I wrap my arms around myself, but it does nothing. I'm freezing. My stupid coat is upstairs.
"Do you have a car?" Owen's voice is demanding.
"No. I walked."
"Great. Well, we'll have to acquire one, then. Come on." He moves into the distance, but I don't follow. He whips around. "Are you coming?"
"No." I try to make my voice sound strong. "You just admitted to stalking me and what was that thing? What are you?"
"That thing was a tree warrior." He shrugs like this is no big deal.
It is such a big deal. I shake my head, backing up. "A tree warrior?"
"He sent them." Another chill passes over me. How does Owen know about him? "As for me, that's a really long story. One we don't have time for right now."
Yesterday, I had so many questions for this hottie. That was before I almost got accosted by some tree warrior in the History section. "I'm going home."
"You can't." Owen shakes his head. "He's not going to stop, Jemma. He'll follow you. He'll kill anyone who gets in his way. He'll make you think of nothing but him. Just like Molly."
My face heats. "How do you know about her?"
"I told you, Jemma. I know things."
"No. You're a stranger. You're probably way more of a threat than he is."
Owen shakes his head and stalks toward me. Impatient, gray storm clouds build in his eyes, reeling me in. Once again, I find myself unable to turn away. Then he's close, so close. This guy has no concept of personal space.
"Look. I don't want to do this, Jemma, but you're leaving me no alternative."
Owen leans in, brings his lips to within an inch of mine. Is he going to kiss me? Better yet, do I want him to? Instinctively, I part my lips, his intense eyes holding mine hostage.
He puckers his lips together like a child would. Before I can laugh, he blows a slow stream of air into my mouth. It's frigid, like frost. I can't help myself from allowing it in, from drawing Owen in.
And then the darkness comes.
CHAPTER FIVE
Juvie, Anyone?
In the dream, I'm running through the woods, stumbling, searching for him. He needs me. Mom and Dad will be wondering where I am. I don't want to scare them.
Yet, that didn't stop me from sneaking out to meet him. Maybe he can finally tell me his name?
I listen for his voice as I rush up the steps behind our house. He calls.
Jemma. Come, Jemma.
A high-pitched scream bursts from the woods. A girl's. A little girl's, like mine. It sounds like my best friend, Molly. We always meet in the woods. Especially, when her parents start hitting her. She must be in trouble.
Stumbling on the steps, I reach the top and tear into the forest. The moonlight brightens the ground the way the nightlight in my room illuminates my bedroom carpet. I slip on something slick, a liquid that the shadows hide.
"Jemmmmm-a." I whip around and find Molly. She's standing in front of a large tree, dark splotches covering her pajamas.
"Molly, are you okay?" I want to ask her what's on the front of her PJs, but I'm too afraid.
"Get out. Get out of the woods, Jemma, before it's too late." Her voice sounds stilted, like she can't move her mouth all the way.
I shake my head. "Why? We love these woods. The boy—"
"He's a monster," she says. As soon as she speaks the word ‘monster,’ the limbs of the tree behind her wrap around her in a hug. She cries out. It's pulling her, crushing her against it. "Help! Jemma, please!"
Her words trickle to my ears, but I can't turn away, I can't stop watching. The tree is drawing Molly inside of it. It's soaking her up like a sponge absorbs water. Her cries turn to shrieks, then dull. She's disappearing right before my eyes and I can't stop it. I don't know how. My best friend is fading away. I almost can't see her, then I don't. She's become part of the tree.
Slipping again, I realize what I'm standing on. Blood. There's blood everywhere. So much blood. I start screaming.
Something rips me from my nightmare and I jerk to a sitting position. Owen's shaking me with his right hand, concern written on his face. His left grips the steering wheel of a car I don't recognize. "Jemma. Jemma, wake up. It was just a dream." That's when I realize we're tearing down the highway.
Memories slam into my brain at once: the library, The Book of Trees, Owen, the tree warrior with the claw attacking me.
And then those I've just recalled. A sob escapes me. Molly. The trees killed Molly. I'd forgotten. How could I forget something like that? And I almost went with that thing back at the library. Would she have killed me like she killed my best friend? Molly was only a kid.
A panic-stricken look rises up
on Owen's face. "Are you okay? Why are you crying?" As if getting almost murdered by a random woman who can turn into a tree isn't reason enough.
"It's none of your business." I mutter the words, wiping at my eyes. Still, maybe it is his business? After all, Owen says he knows things.
"Well, it's your call Cookie Monster." He reaches over and gives the blue stripe of hair on my head a tug. His fingers graze my forehead, sending a jolt of awareness through me.
I jerk away. "Don't call me that and don't touch me. What was all that icy air stuff about back there?"
He shakes his head. “Like I’d tell you.”
“Well, you should. You're the jerk who acted all rude in the coffee shop and then kidnapped me from my job.” Then I get a good look at the speedometer. "What the hell? You're going one hundred miles per hour?" I sound all parenty—like I'm doing an impression of Mom or something.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we're in a hurry." He punches the gas. "I'm glad you woke up. Do you know how heavy you are when you're all passed out and limp? I could barely carry you." He smirks.
"Whose fault is that? What right do you have to give me an attitude? Who are you? Some government agent with a secret paralytic breathing thingy?"
He laughs. "A ‘secret paralytic breathing thingy’? That's awesome. You're clearly a brainiac."
"You need to explain yourself."
Owen grits his teeth. "There's no time. Not if you want to survive."
"Don't you think I deserve answers?" I ask, gripping the arm rest on the door.
He sighs. "Yeah, but not here. For now, we keep moving."
As I stare out the window, I can’t help but remember the tree warrior coming for me at the library. The image of her claw will haunt me forever. Thick patches of trees flank the road here, swaying back and forth in a menacing dance. Is it my imagination, or are they threatening me? It’s probably just the wind making them sway.
Jemma...Jemma, come to me...you miss me...
Oh my God. He's calling to me, again. My heart seems to be trying to beat its way out of my chest. He's somewhere close and wants me to come to him. A deep ache spreads in my belly. How will I survive if I can't reach him?
A small bead of longing slides down the back of my throat. I need to get back to the boy. He'll be waiting.
No. I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts from it. I don't want to think them, because a larger part of me knows they're not my own.
"Where are we?" Must find him. I need to find him. We're going too far away.
I clutch the door handle. It's cool, smooth to the touch. I need to go. To find the boy. I'll pull the door handle and then...
Owen touches my arm and the sickness slides off of me, like it was never there. I glance down. Why was I going to open the door? I search Owen's profile.
"Look, now that your boy's on the loose, I thought it'd be better if I took you to my place."
Heat burns my face. I've never had a guy offer to take me to his place before. "What does that mean? Why would you want to take me there? Do you—" Then it hits me. "I don't even know you. I'm not sleeping with you." I mutter the words.
"What?" His eyes are wide and he drops his hand. "I'm taking you there to protect you, not for sex. Besides, if I wanted that from you, you'd know."
My throat closes up as he says the word ‘sex’. Holy crap. My entire face is on fire. "You can keep your wants to yourself. And he's not my boy."
"He seems to think you're his. You're the first person he sought out when he got free. At least I was able to get my hands on this car."
Jemma...I need you, Jemma...
My legs shake, nausea creeps up again. Oh, if only I could go to him. Everything would be better. I need to get out, to get back to him. I need to see him. I swallow and reach for the handle on the door, but that's not right. I try and push past my own confusion and focus on what's happening around me.
"Did you just steal this car?"
His eyes widen. "What did you want me to do? I took the ‘L’ this morning. That wasn't going to cut it for a fast getaway."
I search the interior. It's lush, expensive. I read the words on the steering wheel. "You stole a Porsche? What the hell? Way to be inconspicuous."
"I wasn't going for inconspicuous. I was going for speed."
"Well, way to think that out. The speed part is the one thing that's going to get us pulled over."
I puff out my cheeks and remember doing the same in the booth with Shaz yesterday. What if I never see her again? What about my parents? What does Owen have planned for me? He claims to be saving me, but...
As if on cue, sirens begin wailing. Three cop cars speed into view behind us, lights flashing. "Shit!" Owen puts his foot on the gas and the needle on the speedometer sails upward.
There's a jerk, a pulling inside of me. One I can't control. I need to get out of this car and soon. He needs me.
Jemmmmaaaaa....
I let out a whimper. Wait a minute. Maybe I could just fall out of the car and let the police pick me up? Maybe they'd take me to him? My boy.
Something slams down on the roof. Owen jams his foot on the brakes, resulting in a combination of squealing tires and burning rubber. A tree branch rolls down the windshield and off of the dented hood of the Porsche. This is my chance.
I shove the door open and launch myself out. I do my best to tuck and roll, but as soon as I hit the cold, hard ground I realize my flee tactics have resulted in a seriously uncomfortable escape.
And what exactly am I escaping to? Something better? Or something infinitely worse?
CHAPTER SIX
Just Call Me An Action Hero
My shoulder hits the earth first. The skin tears, rock cutting into my flesh. It's when my ankle slams against the concrete that I cry out. "Agh!" More gravel, more eating up the asphalt, before I slide to a stop. Aside from the searing pain in my ankle, I'm alive. Good.
Jemma...Come to me...
Oh. The world spins around me as I try to stand. I jump to my feet. Stupid. I can't stand on my right foot. At best it's sprained, at worst broken.
The hurt brings with it another wave of lucidity. I shake my head. Why the hell did I just throw myself out of a moving vehicle? Sure, Owen's no gem to be around, but...
"Jemma! Jemma, hurry. Get back in the car." Owen cries, from somewhere behind me.
But, just as quickly as I notice him, my chest tightens and all thoughts of Owen drift away. The ache recedes. It's easier to think of the boy. When I think of him, there's no pain. Where is my boy? I need to get to him.
Three police cars slam to a halt in front of us. I wave my arms, hoping they'll get to me before Owen does.
"Help me!" I scream. "Help. Somebody help! I've been kidnapped." I limp toward the cops. In the opposite direction on the highway, regular, non-stolen cars are speeding by. Why can't I be in one of those? Safe? Not hurting. Riding back to him.
A police officer gets out of the first car and ambles toward me. "Miss, are you all right? Are you hurt?" He's older, maybe sixty or so? With a round beer gut that implies his biggest threat to the bad guys is probably sitting on them.
The officers in the other cars don’t get out. Neither does Beer Gut’s partner, but I’m sure they’re at the ready. The exhaust from their running vehicles creates a toxic haze that burns my lungs.
I focus on Officer Beer Gut. "Yeah. I was kidnapped."
His eyes jump into saucer-wide mode. "Are you hurt?"
"Can you just take me to him?” I ask.
“To who?” Officer Beer Gut asks, frowning.
I take a step forward and wince as I put my weight on my ankle. “To him. The boy.” As I speak the words there’s a part of me that’s screaming, run away, you don’t want the boy. Yet, the need to see him overrides everything. I take another step and stumble.
A second officer climbs out of the passenger side of the first car. "Jemma. I'm sorry you're hurt. He won't like that we're bringing you to him damaged."
"Yes," says Officer Beer Gut. "How do you know her name?" He's staring at his partner as though he's never seen him before.
Officer Two shrugs, but despite the human action, a network of black veins appears on his face, lacing together across his pale skin exactly the way they did on the tree woman. They cover his nose and cheeks, slip down to his neck. "Complication," he says, and, as he raises his hand, I realize he's not flexing fingers, but claw-like tree branches. He shoves the unforgiving branches straight into the chest of the older man and rips out his heart.
Blood squirts out of Beer Gut's chest, like in a horror movie. I'm screaming, screaming hard. Unable to move, to think. Like the night Molly was lost.
Before I can do anything more, Officer Two lashes out at me with his claw, slicing my chin. "Don't touch me!"
“Drop your weapon!” The officers in the remaining cars are out of their vehicles, guns pointed in Officer Two’s direction.
"You really are an idiot." Breath tickles the back of my neck as Owen sneaks up behind me. He bumps my bad ankle with his foot.
"Ouch!" Tears spill down my cheeks, even though I'm gritting my teeth.
Owen frowns. "Jem, what—" Officer Two whips a branch out. Owen puckers his cheeks and blows a stream of air outward. The wanna-be cop recoils and slackens, icing over.
Frost slowly encases the other vehicles, swirling over the windshields, tracing patterns. The police are frozen in place, eyes rolling violently.
With the threat on hold, Owen turns to me. "What were you thinking? You jumped out of a moving car! Are you hurt?" Owen's voice is filled with worry.
For just a moment, there's a ball of warmth in my chest. Owen cares about what happens to me. He doesn't want to see me get hurt.
“Are you hurt?” he regards me through darkened eyes.
"When I jumped I hurt my ankle. I think it's a sprain." As for what I was thinking, even I'm not entirely sure.
He nods and bends down, then prods at my ankle, checking God-knows-what. I'm trying to blot from my mind the little trails of heat that his examination is leaving behind. Even with the ache trying to cancel those sensations out, they're still there. After a thorough inspection, he stands up. "It doesn't seem broken, but I do think it's a bad sprain. We have to get you out of here."
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