What the Woods Keep

by Katya de Becerra

  36

  FAMILIAR

  Predictability is preferable to change for the human mind; psychologists call this the mere-exposure effect. The tendency to use certain words and expressions repeatedly, a preference for particular types of faces and voices. Even similar book and movie plots become more attractive to one’s brain than others through exposure and repetition. In my case, over the years I’ve developed a deep-seated preference for rational explanations of strange occurrences over supernatural ones. So that’s what I’ve been doing my entire conscious life—insisting on explaining things that made no sense to me, things that scared me a great deal. I strived to justify the weird and the odd, normalizing it all with my scientific reasoning.

  Now, as I’m sitting in my father’s secret office, hidden away in the house my Nibelung mother willed to me, as I’m reading my father’s diaries, seeing the evidence of years and years of his observations and scientific research, I conclude that I am a fraud. Possibly, the best liar that ever was.

  Research-backed studies show that strict parenting makes good liars. Still in doubt? Have a nice long look at my life: the years of Dad fussing over me alongside a near decade of homeschooling, therapy, and isolation created me, a girl who’d rather live in self-denial la-la land than accept that her mother is not human and that the blood of a mythical and apparently world-destroying race runs through her veins.

  My scientific mind has always been my best (and perhaps only) defense, but when this exoskeleton grew so elaborate, hard, and thick that it covered me whole, it devoured me to the point where I could no longer tell where the real Hayden ended and the made-up one began. Now, with all my natural defenses stripped away by a new reality, I insist on applying my familiar old principles to make sense of this brave new world. Simultaneously, I fear the moment in the near future when this will no longer be enough and I’ll be forced to evolve into something new and scary.

  * * *

  I keep my nose buried in Dad’s journals till words begin meshing together and my eyes water. I rest my arms on the desk, forming a cushion for my head. I allow sleep to drag me into its dark, spidery lair. My last thoughts as I drift off are about the anomalous Black Clearing, bathing in free neutrons and black-body radiation. Dad’s computer counting down … Mom wanting me to do something bad … Maybe all of this is a fever-induced dream. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and find Del, Dad, Nadia, and Riley crowding my hospital bed, telling me how worried they were.

  “Hayden, are you upstairs?” Del calls out from somewhere far away. No, I want to stay asleep. I want to pretend for a little longer that my trip to Promise turned out to be something simple, uneventful. But Del’s voice insists on being heard, bringing me back to my current, Promise-shaped reality.

  I stand and listen for Del’s approaching footsteps. But she’s not coming up here. I hear her moving downstairs, the fridge door opening and closing. More of those impatient footsteps. She must be ravenous after her midnight liaison.

  Should I behave like I didn’t follow her into the woods last night? Like I’m not concerned about Santiago’s strange location choice for a hookup session? I’ve got no reason except, I realize with absolute certainty, that I don’t like Santiago. Worse even, I suspect he’s dragging Del into something strange and not entirely safe.

  “Coming!” I lock the door to Dad’s office and rush downstairs.

  Del’s munching on toast. Her hair’s out of control, two tiny twigs and a miniature chunk of moss stuck in her curls. She’s wearing jeans and boots and what looks like Santiago’s jacket over her pajama tank top. The jacket is way too big on her, and she’s pulling it tighter around her, looking mildly self-conscious. That reminds me, I still have Shannon’s Windbreaker, and he probably wants it back.

  “So, um, did you have a good night’s sleep?” I ask her.

  She gives me a funny look. “I need caffeine before we do this.” She finishes her toast and starts to boil some coffee in a pot, the space filling with that undeniable smell of new mornings.

  Once the coffee’s done brewing, Del opens the fridge door and slams it, the most annoyed I’ve seen her in a while. “Right, no milk.” Clearly still determined to caffeinate herself, Del pours a cup and takes a long sip. “I’m meeting Santi for brunch.”

  “He doesn’t have to work?”

  “Nope.” She gives me another weird, long look. “He’s taking some time off to spend the day with me.”

  “That’s one fast-blooming romance.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  If I could take back my words, I would. But they’re out, and now I have to face Del, who’s twitching with quiet fury. When you fall in love, it affects your cells’ chemical composition: Your blood gets pumped with hormones, the type your body wouldn’t normally produce in such huge quantities. This change clouds your mind; it can make you dizzy with heart palpitations at the mere thought of the object of your obsession. The crazy hormones ease off with time, and the love-provoked madness thins out. In other words, falling in love’s a lot like having the flu. You just have to wait it out. And that’s what I should’ve done—waited till the fog clouding Del’s head settled in a little before I started my anti-Santiago campaign. But time’s something we do not have. So I take a breath and push on. “You’re moving so fast, Del. I don’t want you to get hurt. But Santiago aside, there’s something important we need to talk about—”

  She interrupts, “I’m not going to try and leave Promise again because you had another bad dream and got spooked.… I’m staying here for the rest of my spring break. I want to spend as much time as I can with Santi before I have to go home.”

  “I ‘had another bad dream and got spooked’? You know there’s a lot more than that going on here, Del!” The venom coating my words must show on my face, too, because Del steps back, her body tensing.

  Our eyes locked, I go on, “This is not some nightmare I dreamt up. This is real, Del! I’ve been reading Dad’s journals all night and … I’ve seen things, felt things in these woods. And I get this odd vibe from Santiago—I think he’s up to something!”

  I brace for her reaction, but Del is silent. I wait. Then a wave of disgust floods my stomach. Del’s eyes have that dreamy expression I’ve now seen too many times to discard as a fluke. Her pupils have shrunk in size. The skin of her face is completely relaxed, no lines around her mouth, no frowns of disapproval on her forehead. Crap. I might’ve used my Niflheim compulsion on my best friend just now.

  “Del?” I grab her shoulders and give her a light shake. Her head bobs in a weird, doll-like manner, unblinking eyes locked with mine. Her skin is clammy to the touch. This is so not good.

  However … maybe this is the only way I can get Del out of Promise? Maybe I can compel her to come with me? No, I can’t do this. Can I? Should I at least try? I mean, she’s already halfway there.… Besides, this is evidence. I know for sure now that I do have a power to compel others, one that comes with the rest of my birthright, according to Elspeth. Without breaking eye contact, I say, “Del, I need you to listen. Santiago’s bad news. We need to leave Promise.”

  A scraping sound from the nearby window makes me turn around fast, and I lose Del’s attention in the process.

  She snaps out of it, eyes regaining normalcy. “Cut it out, Hayden!” With an angry thump, she sets her coffee mug on the table. I expect fury, but her expression is instead disappointed in a way I haven’t seen since her now-ex-boyfriend Bolin revealed which party he voted for in the last elections.

  I try a different approach. “Del, I thought you were missing last night, so I … I went after you, into the woods.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Yeah. Look, I wish I didn’t see you there, but I did. Whatever it is you want to do, it’s none of my business, but, Del, why in the entire forest would Santiago choose the one spot that has such a sinister, morbid history? Why would he take you to the place where my mom disappeared, where she … died?”

  Pur
sing her lips, Del shakes her head slowly. When she speaks, her voice is steel. “Look, I’m sorry you had to see us like that, Hayden, but honestly, your fixation on these woods … it’s starting to wear a bit thin.”

  Stunned by her one-eighty, I stay quiet while she goes on, “We didn’t choose that particular spot, okay? It just happened.”

  “Right. You had to walk quite a ways into the forest for it to just happen to be that spot. I’m sure that Santiago—”

  “Enough.”

  “I’m just looking out for you, Del!”

  “If that’s really the case, I need you to stop. I can look out for myself, and I definitely don’t need you judging me for my guy choices. You’re not one to judge, anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You haven’t dated anyone for longer than a week. You got stood up by a guy who never even saw you. You’re just a naïve, homeschooled girl who’ll fall for the first guy who pays attention to you.”

  She might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

  “Why are you being like this? What happened to you?” I feel that too-familiar pressure of tears building behind my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of Del right now. Nothing she said just now is a lie, but I wasn’t expecting to hear it from my best friend.

  “I need some air.” Del leaves the kitchen, keeping her eyes down. I let her go.

  Something’s just shattered to pieces between us, and it’s partly my fault. I want to go after her. I know I should. But instead I turn away and walk upstairs to my room.

  I switch into autopilot mode: shower, change of clothes (my favorite jeans—skinny, black, shiny—and a clean tee). Whatever routine it takes to feel as close to normal as I can right now. I dust off my green Docs, an extra pair of bulky footwear I lugged here all the way from New York. Shoes that give me such an immense boost of confidence should be illegal. When I go down the stairs again, Del’s gone and so is our car. Damn it.

  I put my jacket on, grab my bag, and open the Manor’s door, determined to walk to the research base if I have to. I step over the threshold and run smack into Shannon just before he rings the Manor’s bell.

  37

  IN THE FLESH

  His hands prevent me from falling on the slippery porch. Even through my clothes, his fingers burn my skin. I had clouds in my mind, but now a ray of strange light is making its way through the haze. I look up, and when my eyes meet his I experience an intense moment of heart-fluttering. Shannon’s doing that almost-smile thing. He leans in and presses his lips against mine. A simple, fast, but firm move that leaves me weak in my knees.

  “You keep smacking into me like that. What’s chasing you this time?” he asks.

  “I was going to the base. To find you.”

  His face turns serious. His hands release me, and I hesitantly step out of his personal space. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yes. No. I really don’t know anymore! I found some more of my dad’s files in the house and then Del … Shannon, what do you really know about Santiago?”

  “Santiago? What’s this have to do with him?”

  “He and Del…” I give Shannon an edited version of Del’s nocturnal rendezvous with Santiago in the woods.

  “I don’t think he’s dangerous,” Shannon says. “I’ve known him for almost a year. This is the first time I’ve seen him interested in someone.”

  His face changes, becoming more serious, as if he just remembered something important. He nods toward the car parked by the porch, an oldish Jetta I haven’t seen before. In his research base paramilitary uniform, Shannon is a mismatch with it. “Come with me. There’s something in the lab for you to see.”

  I lock the Manor’s door and follow Shannon. While I fasten my seatbelt, Shannon asks, “So what did you find in your father’s files that got you all edgy this morning? That is, edgier than usual.”

  The car begins to move, but before I have a chance to tell him about Dad’s research notes, an earsplitting siren goes off, its high-pitched screech coming from everywhere at once.

  I turn to Shannon for an explanation, but his face tells me what I already know: Something’s wrong.

  “That would be an evac order,” he says.

  I let the words sink in. Evac. As in evacuation. “Has this happened before?”

  “No. But we thought it might one day. We trained for it. I guess I just didn’t think it’d happen so quick after…”

  “After what?”

  “After your arrival, Hayden.”

  * * *

  So it’s happening. Today. Now. The event that my father’s counter is counting down to. It’s coming and coming quick.

  The question is: Should I run from it or toward it?

  Then I remember the horrible morning I was having before Shannon showed up on my porch. “Del’s out there somewhere!” My voice wavers. My fingertips grow cold. “She said she had a brunch date with Santiago. Where would he take her?”

  “Santiago checked in with the base about twenty minutes ago. He said Del was with him. It’s okay, Hayden, he’s trained to act in situations like this one. We know that Del’s with him, so she’s safe. The official procedure is to meet at the base and evacuate from there, but if he’s unable to make it, we’ll rendezvous with him at a specified location just outside of Promise. Besides, his house is equipped with a storm cellar and a panic room. If they don’t make it out of Promise, they can lie low till it’s safe to come out.”

  The cool calm in Shannon’s voice soothes me a little, and I tell myself to trust him, but a nugget of worry makes its permanent home in my head.

  * * *

  When we roll up to the research base, we find it being stripped to bare bones. A small army of staff, some dressed like Shannon, others in white lab coats, are swarming over the equipment, disassembling it piece by piece, and loading it into small trucks parked just off the forest road. Human chatter combined with woodland noises and the clatter of boxes filling the trucks backs the scene with a soundtrack of anxiety.

  “Come.” Shannon takes my hand and leads me toward the white tent I remember well from the day after my arrival in Promise. The sensations from having his hand entangled with mine tinge my reality, making my focus falter.

  We find a temporary reprieve from the evac madness inside the tent. A bespectacled young woman, raven-haired and sultry in the way only those 100-percent confident in themselves can be, emerges from behind a curtain. A genuine smile fills her face when she sees me. “Hayden! We’ve never met officially, but I’m your father’s former assistant. My name’s Arista.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” I say, my voice wooden with distrust. I can’t help it.

  “Surely it was only good things you heard?” Arista lets out a short laugh, having to raise her voice to be heard over the siren blaring outside. Done with the introductions, she switches into serious mode, losing the smile. “Hayden, there’s someone here you need to see.”

  As if timed for maximum impact, the curtain hiding the back of the tent from view slides to the side, revealing my father. Part of me suspects I might be having one of those lucid dreams again. I wait for the world to waver around me, but all stays still.

  My fingers curl into loose fists. The rush of blood to my head leaves me stunned, struggling to pick up my scattered thoughts and words. “You’ve been here all along, haven’t you?”

  “Did you really think I was going to let you come back all on your own?” he says. “That would make me a terrible parent. And with your mother already holding the top prize in the worst-parent-of-the-decade contest, I couldn’t fail you, too.”

  “How did you even know where I was?” I ask.

  “Your phone’s got a bug.”

  “Oh my God, Dad!” I grab my cell out of my bag and throw it to the ground, stepping on it for good measure. The screen cracks, and I’m already sorry for doing it. My poor phone. It didn’t deserve this. I push back furious tears. In my moment of ph
one-destroying madness, I pick up that Arista and Shannon have wisely left me alone with my father. The siren outside has transformed from a nonstop wail to a spaced-out Morse code, slightly less annoying but just as serious.

  “You could’ve just taken out the chip.” Dad shakes his head, a slightly amused expression playing up on his face. “Or you could’ve thanked me.”

  “Thanked you? For what? Hiding the truth from me for years? Locking me away in a shrink’s office when there was nothing wrong with me?”

  “Nothing wrong with you?” He looks at me like I’m an alien, my skin green with slime, eyes too many to count. He’s about to say more, but instead he moves the curtain aside and invites me to follow him past it. Hesitantly, I do.

  Behind the curtain is a minilab with a pair of powerful-looking microscopes sitting on a desk and, wedged between them, a plastic box containing a single test tube. I come closer, recognizing Shannon’s neat writing on the tube. My blood sample.

  “Hayden, you’ve read my journals, I take it?” Dad picks up the tube and gives it three rigorous shakes. The blood inside lights up like it’s radioactive.

  “Some of them. Not all,” I reply, unable to look away from the blood glowing eerily in the tube. My father nods, like he knew the answer already, then opens the test tube and invites me to approach him. I watch as he drops a bit of my blood on a little glass tray, then inserts it under one of the microscope’s lenses.

  “I don’t have enough time to explain everything right now. Your mother loved to say that showing is better than telling. I agree with that. So why don’t you come here and have a look.”

  His face lit up with encouragement, he points at the microscope. Wary, I come closer. What I see through the lens shakes my mind into a temporarily blank state of WTF.

  Multiplied by the microscope, at first my blood appears normal, but as Dad increases the strength of the lens, the view changes. The substance loses its red tint so that, instead of a sea of red cells moving in lavalike movement, I behold a truly alien cocktail of blue and purple. The longer I stare, the more the sample turns to chaos, starting to emit light and move frenetically—a storm brewing on a glass tray.