by E. M. Fitch
“Yes, next,” Samantha continued as Jon slid a slice of white broccoli pizza onto a paper plate for her. “Half our class is already out of town. I heard Ami landed an art internship, and Gwen already moved into an apartment near her campus with her older sister.”
“Lara’s spending time at the lake with her family before she leaves for State,” Rebecca added.
“But we have a whole month of summer left. What are we gonna do with it?” Samantha pressed.
“I don’t,” Rebecca said, accepting the plate Jon offered her. “Orientation starts in two weeks; can you believe it?”
“That’s what you get for getting into a fancy school,” Jon teased, doling out the last plate of pizza and taking a seat next to his girlfriend. Samantha knocked him with her elbow, unable to scold him around the bite of pizza in her mouth. “What? It’s true! Her and Ryan are up and leaving us townies behind.”
Cassie’s gut clenched as the words left his mouth. He was right, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to hear. Cassie, Jon, and Samantha were all scheduled to take classes at the local community college. It wasn’t that Cassie hadn’t gotten into any other schools; it was that two months ago, she had been terrified to accept. Therapy was helping, incredibly so. But the thought of leaving the town, living somewhere else, somewhere with strangers, was unthinkable at the beginning of summer. She had spent an entire week just staring at the acceptance page on her computer screen. The little confirmation button was right there, so easy. Her mouse hovered over it; one click could have done it. But in the end, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t do it. Her parents seemed to understand. Then, community college felt safer. Now, her gut twisted at the thought of her friends leaving her behind. Though, of course, she wasn’t alone.
Samantha had similar issues. One classmate had died after the party at Gwen Spiro’s house, and Samantha had been laid up in the hospital, working her way out of a coma. College deadlines had come and gone, and community college was the one solid bet she had left. Jon didn’t bother applying anywhere else. He had planned to join his uncle at his electric company for years now, and he just wanted a few years of college under his belt while he learned the trade.
But Ryan and Rebecca, they were leaving.
“I still have a solid three weeks left; sorry, Becca,” Ryan said, wrapping his arm around Cassie and squeezing firmly. “So I’m game. What are we doing?”
Three weeks. Cassie breathed deeply through her nose, leaning against Ryan’s shoulder as she slowly pulled pieces of her pizza apart and put them in her mouth. Three weeks, and he’d be gone. Not forever, not even that far. But not here, either.
The conversation buzzed around her, vague plans that may or may not come to fruition. Cassie let them all decide. She already she felt her attention slipping. There was one last stop she needed to make before she could go back home for the night.
The ivy crept up the trellis, full and green. The leaves still held a healthy luster, much as they did in the middle of the summer. It had been hot, and the Gerricks didn’t water their plants. Cassie could tell because the azalea bushes looked dried-out and brown in places.
The sun hadn’t set yet; it still hovered on the horizon beyond the quiet street, but the occupants of this house were already settling their youngest member to bed. Little Liam screamed as his adoptive mother fussed over him, changing his diaper, Cassie assumed.
She sat in her parked car across the road. She had pulled over a few houses down the street from their home, not wanting to be seen. She was parked in the exact same spot she had made Ryan drive to at the beginning of summer.
It was obsessive and strange; Cassie could admit that. But she was drawn to the child. More than that, she was drawn to the child’s mother. Laney was still here. She hadn’t shown herself, no strange messages had been left, but still, Cassie knew. After returning to town from her week of hiking, Cassie found that, more than anyone else she had left behind, she wanted to see Laney again.
She opened her car door. The overhead lights came on, creating a soft glow inside the metallic womb. She felt just as she had when she ran from the fair, not so long ago, into the wilds of the forest. With one sneakered foot planted firmly on the asphalt, a rush of warm wind licking up her bare leg, and the rest of her body still encapsulated in the forced, cool air of her air-conditioned car interior, she felt once more half in her world, half in theirs. She twisted the keys from the ignition, stood quickly, and closed the door behind her, shutting off the light and shuttering the cool air behind the steel door.
Her keys fit snugly into the pocket of her shorts. She left everything else behind and entered the woods behind the Gerricks’ home.
Every night, Laney came. Every night. Because soon she wouldn’t be able to, not through the winter, at any rate. And how could she not see her son while she could? Cassie came on occasion, Laney knew that, but even she had been suspiciously absent in the last week. So, of course, Laney came nightly.
She left the group to their parties. None but Aidan suspected, and he was so lost in his own misguided attempts at grieving, she seriously doubted he cared. She melded with the tree trunks, as Corey had once taught her, and let her spirit fly ahead of her through the forest. Her new body followed easily, jumping like a shadow from tree to tree. With each new life her spirit encountered, she gathered strength. Each tree had its own smell, a taste. Or more like a flavor—it saturated Laney and left strong feelings. Oak trees felt powerful and still, deeply rooted. They tasted sharp and serious and just a touch bitter. Pine felt dry to Laney, though veined with resin. They were sweeter than oak, but still more acrid than maple. Maple trees were Laney’s favorite, and it was that trunk she clung to nightly at the edge of the forest nearest to Liam’s window. Maples were young and joyous, playful, while aging and rooted. They tasted of eternal spring, even now, when the rest of the trees swelled with heat, and that faint tinge of death rose in the late summer air.
By the time she arrived at Liam’s, breathless but invigorated, Laney felt reborn. She hadn’t gotten used to that feeling of connection, and she hoped she never would. It was the closest she’d ever felt to a miracle.
Other than the moment she first saw his face, of course.
Liam’s window was already darkened. She’d miss his sleepy smile tonight, but she could watch his eyelids flutter as his eyes darted about underneath and imagine what vivid dreams his little mind was living.
“You didn’t leave.”
Cassie’s voice came from the direction of the street, a direction Laney barely ever looked. Her sneakers crunched through the underbrush loudly, far louder than Laney’s feet ever would. The breeze blew from behind Laney, rustling the leaves. In that fragrant air, it was there again—the subtle scent of death. Cassie wouldn’t be able to smell it, it was so mild. But Laney could.
She watched her friend duck underneath a broken white birch branch, her fingers trailing over that delicate, papery bark. There was no judgment in her face. She knew Laney would be here. Of course she did.
“How could I?” Laney whispered as soon as Cassie stopped walking. The ferns caressed Cassie’s calves, and she swatted them away.
“I get it,” Cassie replied. She looked from Laney to Liam’s bedroom window. The lush ivy gathered beneath the chipped white window sill. It looked almost like a balcony beneath, a fluffy green cloud that could support a fairytale princess.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down thy hair!
“I knew you hadn’t gone,” Cassie added. She looked to the lush ivy and then back at Laney, raising her eyebrows. “They’re gonna notice.”
Laney could almost feel the heat of Cassie’s presence, the warm-blooded vibrancy that all humans possessed, heart and soul and blood, all mingled together in one pulsing wave that beat from their bodies as consistently as the oceans ebb and flow. She leaned closer, not touching, just relishing her presence.
“I can’t control the trees like they can,” Laney whis
pered. She tried to beat down her frustration, but Corey’s reassurances still echoed in her ears.
Oh, love, give it time, he’d have said. What’s the rush? We have all the time in the world; eternity, in fact.
Only they hadn’t. He was gone, so much earlier than was fair. Frustration, sorrow, and despondency all mixed and mingled in her gut. It left a feeling not unlike shame pressing in on Laney’s chest. She sighed, let her head list a bit to the side, but she kept her eyes on Liam’s window.
“Where have you been, anyway?” Laney asked Cassie, peeling her gaze away from the darkened window and the soft vibrancy of the life beyond that glass. Even from here, Laney could feel the heat and force of his little human body.
“I was away for the week, hiking,” Cassie responded.
“A whole week? You said you’d watch over him!”
“And I have, and I will,” Cassie said firmly. The little muscle in her jaw bounced in agitation. A fleeting spark of remorse coursed through Laney and then was forgotten. Liam stirred in his crib; she could hear the mild whimper. She looked to his window, leaning closer. Every part of her longed to scale the side of the house and peer in through the glass. “I can’t watch him every day. He’s with parents who seem decent. They love him,” Cassie continued. “And you can’t honestly plan to sit here every night and spy on the kid through his window.”
“I can if I want to,” Laney murmured, not truly paying attention to her friend. Cassie barely understood. Not just the longing, but the concept of time. It was different for Laney. A lifetime was a spattering of moments, and she had many, many lifetimes before her. She could watch Liam grow, and it would seem to happen in the blink of an eye. She wanted him to live a human life, to marry, have children of his own, then grandchildren. And she could watch them, too, if she wanted to. She absolutely could.
“How are you, Laney, really?” Cassie asked. Laney pulled the fleshy bit of her lip through her teeth, biting gently. She wasn’t sure there was an honest way to answer that question.
“Different, obviously,” Laney murmured. She paused again, searching inside. But she must have paused too long; time was so hard to judge in this new body. With a potential eternity of years, a few minutes felt no longer than a breath. Time was no longer linear; it was a massive circle, always coming to a close. Cassie fidgeted beside her, her gaze darting from the house to Laney’s face. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
“It’s fine,” Cassie said. She drew a deep breath. “I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.”
Laney laughed; it was a tinkling kind of laugh, one that made the trees shake and tremble in its wake. But it felt closer to a sob. “I know,” she whispered, “I know. But that part of me that you loved, it’s still here. I can feel it.”
“Tell me about it? All of it?”
Under the canopy of trees beneath her son’s window, she did. She told Cassie the history of the Fae, the royalty-like hierarchy they all operated under. She told her about the feel of the trees, the communion of earth and water and fire. She told Cassie about the poison of iron, and, with heart-wrenching clarity, the reason it had killed her beloved.
“It could have been an inch to the left, or to the right. Anything but directly through the heart. He would have burned and scarred, but we could have healed him. But straight through the heart? That’s the only wound we couldn’t save him from. The only … ”
She trailed off, pausing to soak in the serenity of the stars that now lit the sky. She could have stayed in silent mourning all night, waiting for the sun to rise and bathe her in orange and pink and purple streaks of light, waiting for her grief to flow to the forest floor and the sunken roots around her. But Cassie was here, and human, and wouldn’t be able to wait that long. Laney pushed on.
She explained the Boys, the Red Caps. Cassie shuddered as she described their diet; it was a fair reaction, as Laney had been repulsed at first, too. She had been more than repulsed; she had been unsettled, even scared. Those Fae, with their childlike appearance and playful grins, disturbed her more than any other creature she had met so far, and there had been many she hadn’t known to exist before her life changed so drastically. She told Cassie about the few she hadn’t met but had heard about: pixies, water sprites, and hobgoblins.
She told Cassie about life with the Fae, about wine and apples and berries and human companionship that made the unending nights feel less daunting. In many ways, existence felt like a draught of ancient, deep red wine—hearty, flavorful, full, and overwhelming to the senses if you swallowed too much.
After she told Cassie everything that came to her mind, everything she felt like sharing, she felt a warm weight on her arm. Cassie’s fingers slipped down her forearm and tangled with her own. Her human pulse of energy flowed into Laney, making her feel energized and vibrant. But at the same time, a fierce longing pierced her chest, and she felt tears well as she fought them back.
“I still love you, Laney,” Cassie whispered, tugging on the entwined fingers. Laney moved nearer to her and tentatively rested her head on her shoulder. Cassie tilted her head, resting her temple on Laney’s crown.
“Me, too,” Laney whispered.
“Laney?”
“Hmm?”
“Is he coming for me?”
The trees trembled at the words, an innate fear that slept inside Laney. She couldn’t help its manifestation in the rustling leaves and the quaking of roots buried deep in the soil. But it was with complete sincerity that she answered.
“No.” And then softly, almost as an afterthought, she whispered, “I won’t let him.”
“We thought you forgot about us,” Patrick Harris teased as Cassie came walking in the front door. He regarded her from his favorite chair by the fireplace in the living room. He placed the Kindle her mother had given him for his birthday in his lap, ignoring what Cassie was sure was some horror novel. She smiled, tossing the car keys at her father. He caught them deftly with one hand. His wife, Cathy Harris, peeked in from the kitchen.
“There was another town hall meeting while I was gone,” Cassie said, looking from her father to her mother. “I’m sorry.”
“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” her mother said from the doorway. Her father shook his head in agreement, echoing her mother’s words, “Absolutely nothing.”
“Mrs. Evans must feel totally vindicated now,” Cassie mumbled. Jessica Evans, a classmate of Cassie’s, lost her life at the cruel hands of a Fae named Judoc. She was danced to death, literally. Her mother had been campaigning to hunt down the “gang that lived in the woods.” Though, of course, she didn’t truly understand what she was asking. With Cassie’s confession at the close of the fair, a confession forced from her by the presence of the obvious newborn, Liam, in her arms, she had confirmed Mrs. Evans’s worst nightmare. There was a roving gang, the same men Cassie had originally said were involved with Laney’s disappearance, and so obviously, they were targeting girls in town. That included her own deceased daughter, Jessica.
Only, they weren’t a cult, or a gang, or drug lords, or Satanists. They were worse.
Cassie’s father sighed. “She kind of has a right to be, don’t you think?” A twinge of guilt lit in Cassie’s gut. Her father had insisted that all the precautions were for nothing, never believing anyone was attacking the townspeople.
“She’s insisting they’re still around,” Cassie’s mother said softly. “In fact,” she continued, now smiling a bit, “she was appalled that we let you go off hiking.”
“I was a bit surprised myself,” Cassie admitted through a laugh.
“Well,” her father said a bit gruffly, “they’re gone now, aren’t they?”
Cassie nodded.
“We’re not stupid,” her mother continued. “We know what stalkers can do, and what they’re like. In fact—” she paused to laugh uncomfortably “—we told most people who asked us that you were away for the week looking at colleges for next year.”
“Said you were on the West Coast,” her father interjected with a wry grin. “We figured that if he came around, that boy who was harassing you, and he heard that, it’d help.”
“Help keep you safe,” her mother clarified gently.
“Besides,” her father continued, “we figured it’d be a shot in a million to find you out hiking on that trail. He knows where you live, but how’d he find you out there?”
An uncomfortable silence swelled, as both her parents contemplated with dread the possibility of their daughter’s stalker returning; and Cassie admitted to herself that it would probably be easier for Aidan to find her in a forest than any other place on earth.
“I really haven’t seen anyone,” Cassie said after a time, meeting her mother’s eyes with difficulty. “I swear it. I really do think he’s going to leave me alone.”
“We know,” her mother rushed to say, a pinched expression overtaking her features. She jumped as a high-pitched squealing rose in volume behind her. “Teapot,” she mumbled, darting back into the kitchen.
Cassie toed her sneakers off and stepped into the living room. “Thanks for letting me borrow the car,” she said, nodding at the keys now idly spinning in her father’s hands. He smiled a cocky smile, and, as seemed to happen between her parents at times, her mother must have sensed it.
“Oh, just tell her,” her mother called. The teakettle whistle drifted into whispers, and then Cassie heard the sloshing of boiling water into two mugs. Cassie knew tea bags were already nestled there. Moments later, she could smell the warm, honeyed aroma of her mother’s favorite drink.
