by Sara Clancy
“No matter what happens, you can’t lose that box,” he said gravely. “Your survival depends on it. Pick it up now, and don’t let it leave your person until this is done.”
Ozzie nodded. I can do this. She’s a dead witch. I’m a Davis. A Sewall. There’s nothing that can get the better of me.
For all his conviction, the box still lay there, untouched.
Chapter 7
Time didn’t work the same in Black River as it did everywhere else. Nested within miles of untouched wilderness, the farming town seemed content with the simpler way of life. Plentiful crops of corn and wheat saw them through the summer. The winter harvest stood ready for the picking. Stalks with bulbous puffs of cotton, fields of plump pumpkins, and orchards full of crimson apples spread out over the undulating earth. The woods rose up sharply at the edges of the outlying properties. Towering old growths of oak and maple worked together to enclose the town.
The autumn night hung over the area, thick with chill and still as the grave. Basheba knew the instant she entered the town limits. Not by some shift in the forest or the sudden emergence of the crops. It was the moonlight. From Nashville, it had hung low in the sky, drenching the calm world with silver light. The moment she entered Black River, it died away, wilting until there was barely a trace of it left to touch the road before her.
Buck hadn’t lifted his head from the crook of Basheba’s arm. He had dozed on and off for the forty-five-minute drive, only stirring to growl softly at the glove box. She didn’t try to move the object. Simply kept her focus locked onto the dark road as she weaved past the ancient homesteads. Her grip on the wheel tightened when she approached the last obstacle that properly separated the town from the surrounding farmlands.
There were numerous points where the river that gave the town its name thinned into little more than a babbling brook. Naturally, it was at these markers the first settlers had decided to construct bridges, and the town hadn’t seen any reason to change that. Most of them hadn’t even been upgraded and remained as little more than a few planks hastily nailed together. There were a couple that had been changed into covered bridges. She had purposefully gone a mile out of her way to ensure she managed to cross at one of these points.
A dull overhanging light bulb illuminated the opening and she set her gaze upon it, breathed deep and slow, locked her elbows, and pushed down the accelerator.
The car lurched forward over the gravel road. Her headlights flooded the elongated cave of the tunneled bridge and washed over the dark water. A broken cry escaped Basheba as she put her entire body weight down on the brake. The tires locked and skidded over the loose earth. With a final lurch that threw her against her seatbelt and sent Buck tumbling onto the cab floor, the car came to a halt.
“Sorry, sorry,” Basheba whispered as Buck scrambled his way back up.
It took a concerted effort to loosen her death grip on the wheel. She gave him an apology scratch behind his ears.
“Sorry,” she breathed one last time.
Don’t look. Just don’t look. It was impossible to listen to her own advice. The dark water drew her gaze. It shifted like liquid onyx around the stones that stood out like exposed bones. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs, each beat rattling her small frame.
“It’s only a few inches deep,” she told Buck. “Only a few inches.”
He grumbled, nose twitching wildly as he glanced around. Watching his fruitless efforts to find the source of her anxiety made her feel like an idiot. She gave him another scratch.
“I’m okay. You’re with me, right boy?”
Buck plopped his butt down on the seat, straightening his front legs, a guard dog at its post. At least, that’s what she liked to think of him as.
“All right. We’re going to just shoot on through. It’ll only take a second.”
Not trusting herself to see through her conviction on the first attempt, she ordered the Rottweiler onto the floor in front of the passenger seat. Once he was safely stowed away, she put her manual car in gear, took a deep breath, and stomped down. She was forced to shift rapidly as the car picked up speed. Flimsy wooden walls kept the river from her view. Basheba locked her eyes on the end of the tunnel, racing toward it, the process only taking a few seconds.
A sudden jerk threw her forward. Her seatbelt tensed, crushing the air from her lungs before forcing her back. Buck yelped, the headlights died, and the roar of the engine was reduced to a hollow rapid clicking. Wincing, Basheba struggled to understand what had just happened.
Vaguely, she was aware that the abrupt stop had sloshed her brain around her skull. Whiplash? The thought was quickly dismissed. All the pain in her body existed in the single bar where her seatbelt had struck her.
“Buck, you okay, boy?”
Deprived of both high beams and moonlight, shadows strangled the world around her. Buck’s fur was the perfect camouflage. She groped for the seatbelt, calling for him again when she first heard it. Something moving within the water. The door muted the sound but she recognized it instantly. Snapping into motion, she hunched forward, slipping her emergency bag out from under her seat. Leaning to the side, she blindly fumbled with the latch of the glove box. The instant she had the witch’s music box in hand, she thrust open the passenger door and rolled out, calling for Buck to follow. A bark and scrape of claws indicated he was following.
Don’t look back. Don’t stop. The self-commands unbidden and unnecessary. Past experience had already sent a surge of adrenaline through her veins. Cold air burned her lungs as she sprinted for the far end of the bridge. The wooden slats rattled under her feet. Small gaps opened to allow the sound of rushing water to echo around her.
The unseen presence consumed the distance between them, slithering through the water with impossible speed. Water exploded through the slats like a geyser, drenching her as the scent of damp earth and decaying moss spewed into the air.
Buck yelped and snarled. Basheba gathered her strength and leaped forward. Still air struck her as she broke free of the wall of water. With a sharp twist, she managed to land hard on her shoulder and duck into a bone-rattling but effective roll. She came to a stop on all fours, snapping back around to stare at the bridge, fingers clutching both her bag and the music box.
Whatever force that had kept the water rising died with a low hiss. Gravity took hold, bringing the droplets back down like a pattering rain.
Panting hard, Basheba scanned the lonesome road, absentmindedly patting Buck when he ran forward to lick the river water off of her cheek. A few unseen night birds chirped from the treetops. The stream gurgled lazily against the stones. Buck’s nails scratched shallow grooves into the dirt as he bumped and wiggled for her attention.
Basheba never stopped scanning the river as she crammed the enchanted cube into her backpack. Still refusing to look down, she patted the slick, waterproof material repeatedly, searching for the trademark shape. Only then did she rise to her feet.
A shift in the water instantly drew her attention. The dull moonlight caught the minuscule breaking waves more than the object that had disrupted the flow did. Her attention locked onto the curved blob, narrowing her focus until it was the only thing she could see.
Suddenly, twin orbs broke through the pitch darkness of the object. Eyes. Impossibly wide, burning red, and fixated on her. There wasn’t time to process the sight before light shattered the darkness, rendering her blind.
Her car’s engine roared like a wounded animal. The feeble planks of the bridge strained under the rapidly moving vehicle. Regaining all of its previously lost momentum, the car barreled toward her. She spun on her heel, calling for Buck to follow her as she sprinted away from the approaching high beams.
Gravel crunched and the engine whined behind her. Basheba lunged desperately for the tree line. Her feet got tangled and she dropped like a stone. Thorny bushes slashed at her as she dropped down behind them. A colossal cracking thud sounded before chipped bark sprayed over her back like
shrapnel. She scrambled forward, ignoring the spikes of pain as she sought shelter. A nearby thunderous crack made her freeze.
She shivered in the resulting silence. Every ounce of pain she had ignored made itself known, leaving her breathless and whimpering as she freed herself from the tangled mass of spikes.
The night was dark once more. Scrambling, she pulled her phone from her pocket. A cobweb of fine cracks distorted the lock screen picture but the flashlight app still worked.
“Buck?” The first call was barely more than a whisper. But when she received no reply, it rose to a shout. “Buck!”
Basheba knew she was projecting when she decided his bark sounded relieved. The Rottweiler bound into the glow of her phone.
“Good boy,” she gushed while fighting her way back onto the road. “Smart boy.”
He reared up as she approached, balancing his front paws on her shoulders to better lick her face. She almost buckled under the extra weight.
“Are you okay, Buck? Did she hurt you?”
Logically, she knew he couldn’t answer. So she rubbed his flank encouragingly while shoving him into motion. About half a yard down the road, her car was now wrapped around the thick trunk of a tree. Glass scattered across the ground, shining like diamonds in the flickering headlights. A thin string of steam curled up from the now dead engine with a serpentine hiss.
Basheba eyed the tree as she closed in on the totaled vehicle. “A witch elm? Really, Kat? It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
Yelling into the darkness only made her feel better for a moment. After that, the gnawing dread ravaging her stomach forced her into action. She checked for the box once more, slipped her backpack on, and headed down the road in a lurching jog.
***
Cadwyn eased up on the brakes and pulled his motorcycle into the gas station. The 2016 Triumph Thruxton’s primal growl echoed over the open slab of concrete. In anticipation of the Harvest, he had slept as much as he could. It didn’t really matter, though. Stonebridge and Black River were separated by a seventeen-hour drive. With a full shift on top of that, there was no way to avoid the effects of sleep deprivation. He clung to the hope that the others arrived promptly, allowing them the luxury of a full night’s sleep in a proper bed.
The leather of his riding gear crackled as he swung a long leg off the bike. He stumbled. The extended ride had turned his muscles into stone. Pain sparked under the waves of pins and needles that covered his skin.
Cadwyn swallowed a few curse words and carefully stretched out his legs, his back, his arms. Caffeine. The reminder made him turn toward the door. Halfway there, he recalled he also needed to fill up his Thruxton. At least the extra pacing helped to work the blood flow back into his legs.
That done, he retraced his steps back to the gas station, ignoring the few people who were watching him. The dawn was pushing against the horizon, giving the gas station a thin but steady flow of early risers on their way out and people just coming off of night shifts.
He remembered entering the doors. Then everything was covered in a fog, clearing after he had been staring at the drinks fridge for who knew how long. It would put his organs through hell, but he gathered up a half dozen energy drinks, the kind loaded with enough caffeine to put an elephant into cardiac arrest. Cadwyn guzzled down one of the cans as he made his way to the counter.
“Hey,” the bored clerk said.
Cadwyn forced a smile in greeting and held up the can he was working on to make sure they added it to his bill. The others, he dumped on the counter.
“Pump five, thanks.”
“Long night?” The clerk chuckled.
“It’s going to be a long week,” he replied, glancing up as he started to count out a couple of bills.
A looming abyss reared up behind the man, a dark shadow the overhead lights couldn’t touch. It was thick and wide and lunging toward Cadwyn. He jumped back, knocking over a display and scattering candy bars across the floor.
“Hey!”
In the space of a blink, the shadow dissolved, leaving only a confused minimum wage employee.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Cadwyn rubbed a hand over his face, digging his knuckles into his eyes. “I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry.”
He had just begun to gather up the bars when the clerk came around and helped him.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“I’m really sorry,” Cadwyn said.
The clerk took the bars and studied Cadwyn carefully. “Are you okay to drive?”
He nodded rapidly and got to his feet, making sure to leave the change as an apology tip. Another of the energy drinks was gone by the time he had returned to his bike. He could feel it strumming through him like a live wire. It still wasn’t enough to drive the dry, aching feeling from his eyes. A few swift smacks and the cool air helped a little.
Call someone. The thought seemed to come from a distant echo chamber. It took a few seconds for him to realize what his own mind was telling him. The Bluetooth in his helmet would allow him to keep a conversation going. The question was who he would call. His clouded mind dredged up the answer that left him cold. Rudolph.
Crushed under a wave of guilt and grief, he didn’t notice the first patters against the high metal awning. It was only when it picked up speed and became a downpour of hail that he paid it any attention. A moment later, his brain caught up with why.
It doesn’t sound right.
A lighter tinkle. A different pattern. The morning sun drove back the shadows, illuminating the tiny objects falling from the sky.
His stomach clenched, almost forced the sugary drink back up his throat. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he swallowed rapidly and fixed his eyes on the ground. Soon enough, the constant stream of falling teeth bounced into his field of vision, their jagged ends encrusted with withered flesh and stained with blood.
She’s trying to stop you. They’re not real.
Knowing that didn’t make it any easier. After stowing away the drinks, he shoved his helmet on. Teeth scattered around his feet as he threw a leg over his bike.
Through the tinted visor, he caught sight of the downpour once more. Fine tremors shook his hands, remaining even while he twisted his grip around the handles. His stomach rolled, sloshing the minimal contents of his stomach and threatening to bring it back up.
Falling teeth caught on the wind, swirling as they fell until they completely covered the ground. Cadwyn squeezed his eyes closed to block it out. Before he could calm his rapid heartbeat, sleep reared up within him, and he was forced to open them again. Forced to watch the unnatural rain, to hear the tiny patter as they skittered across the ground.
He gagged.
You have to go. You have to keep moving. You’re running late.
The motivation gave him enough strength to stomp down and bring his bike roaring to life. The familiar sound covered the worst of the noise, but there was still the sight to deal with. It’s just hail.
Instead of the phone call, he turned on his music, pushing up the volume until he couldn’t hear the teeth crunch under the wheels of his bike. Clenching his jaw until it ached and unable to quell the tremors that racked his body, he peeled out. Just get to Black River.
Chapter 8
Ozzie couldn’t get over the fact that the whole forest looked like it was on fire. He’d seen autumn leaves before, but nothing like this. Endless shades of red and yellow stained the foliage. They blazed in the morning light and shimmered with the slightest breeze. It was hypnotic, and he found himself staring unblinkingly for moments on end. The lack of sleep probably isn’t helping, he thought, blinking rapidly to remoisten his dry eyes.
Being forced to wait for the rest of the world to wake up had been its own kind of torment. Logically, they knew the wait was worth it. Chartering a helicopter would get them to Tennessee faster than taking a standard flight or driving. But knowing that didn’t make the wait any easier. Ozzie’s parents had paced endlessly
across the gravel entrance to the airfield, literally creating a trench. It was small and mostly consisted of high heel marks, but Ozzie had decided it counted.
Percival had tried to keep them all distracted, regaling them with stories of past Harvests and all those who had survived. While Ozzie had done his best to listen, his attention had always been drawn back to the box. It had shone like molten gold in the first few rays of daybreak. Every now and then, he was sure he could feel something moving inside of it.
Stifling a yawn, Ozzie scrubbed a hand through his thick black hair and leaned against the window. It’s actually kind of pretty, he thought as he watched the scorching colors pass by. He had thought, once he had the moment to think, he could do just that—explore his deepest soul and bring the chaos of his mind into a coherent order once again. It just seemed like something he should be doing.
It hadn’t worked out that way.
He had tried to think, put the full force of his mind and determination into it, about what was waiting for him. He tried to think of different ways he could win the others over, or even about all the things that had forever changed now that he knew all that paranormal stuff was real. But he couldn’t keep his mind from straying. A few times, he had taken a run at the easiest topic before him.
How do I feel about being a Sewall?
He adored his family; loved his life in general. Only a few hours ago he had learned it was all a lie.
Not to mention my godfather is genetically my dad.
It felt weird to even think of it. All his life, his mother and Percival had been like siblings. Emotionally close, sporadically annoying each other, and with zero romantic tension. It was just gross to think they had been together like that, let alone produced him.
And no one cared! At least, not enough to let me know.
That was about the limits of his organized thought process. Over and over, his brain crumbled the moment he reached that point. He tried to grasp the thoughts, force himself to lead them to their inevitable conclusion, but never could. Everything always brought him back to the same point.
