The Grove

by J. R. King

  “You had best explain yourselves,” Scarlet’s aunt said.

  “You haven’t been introduced yet. This is my friend, Ariahna VayRenn.”

  A strange air crept into the space.

  The woman shook her head. “You can’t interfere.”

  “I’m not. She came to me for help.”

  Dark eyes met Ariahna’s puzzled face, and she tried to gauge the probing look and unspoken words, louder than the quiet chatter going on in the other room.

  Scarlet’s aunt sighed. “I could get in a lot of trouble for having this, and so could you.” Her gaze froze on the girls’ features. “Fine, but this is the only time I’m coming to your aid. If you mess it up, it’s not on me, and I can’t help you again.”

  Ariahna turned to Scarlet hopefully, watching as the woman bent over the wooden floor. She swept aside a rug, lifting a trap door by its tarnished handle. Ariahna stared in surprise, hesitating before following them into the cellar beneath the store. A match was struck in the dark, and as its tip touched each candle, illuminating the space, she felt her chest swell with admiration.

  From floor to roof, the cellar was only tall enough for Scarlet and her aunt to stoop. Aria’s head brushed the ceiling, where dirt and small roots dangled curiously, nearly touching the flames. Several crude desks and cupboards filled the cramped room, each one adorned with oddities and various ends. Plants (ones she recognized as magical, and others, poisonous) decorated the spaces in between. There were instruments scattered among them all, most alchemical in nature (and some so strange she couldn’t have guessed as to their purpose). Vials sat high on simple shelves, empty and awaiting their use.

  “What is this place?” Ariahna said.

  “Never mind that,” the woman replied. She pushed aside a crate of vases, moving to the back corner of the makeshift room.

  Scarlet shared a look of confusion with her friend.

  “Here, this is what you wanted.” A large pot slid into view. In its center sat an overgrown plant, long leaves drooping to brush against the ground. It looked remarkably ordinary.

  “That’s the binding root?” Scarlet said.

  Her aunt looked at her contemptuously. “The plant is called a stun weed,” she said. “They used to grow all over those hills down by the coastline. You should know that.”

  Ariahna frowned. “It’s a weed, then?”

  “They multiply at an alarming rate. The only proper way to keep one is contained, so that it can’t spread. But what you’re after is the root, at its base.” She watched Ariahna move forward, hissing a warning at her. “Be still. It may appear harmless but it is downright awful to handle. Those tendrils in between the leaves, they move quickly. And if one of them touches you—” She snapped her fingers. “There goes your magic, zapped in an instant.”

  “Is it permanent?” Aria asked.

  “No, but it lasts a few days. And it hurts more than a horse kick to the chest. Those who’ve had the misfortune of encountering one are typically knocked out cold.”

  “How do we harvest the root then?”

  Scarlet’s aunt smiled and stood back to observe. “That’s for you to figure out. I only agreed to supply it.”

  The two girls shared a look of disbelief.

  “But you’re the all knowledgeable expert,” Scarlet said. “You’re always complaining about how valuable your skills are, and how nobody appreciates you… so prove it.”

  Her aunt returned her scowl. “This is your turn to shine. It shouldn’t be a problem. You have been paying attention to your lessons, after all. So go ahead. Show me what you’ve learned.”

  Ariahna looked at Scarlet hopefully. “I trust you…”

  The comment lacked its intended encouragement.

  A small rake rattled against the table as Scarlet slipped it off the edge and into her hand. She looked at the long thin leaves, paying close attention to the spiraled tendrils. They rested innocently against its stem and the sides of the pot. “We’ll just give it something else to bite.” She stepped forward, freezing when one of the tendrils began to move. It rose delicately, waiting for some sense of fluctuation or change.

  The only thing Aria was able to do was utter a shocked cry when it struck rapidly at Scarlet through the air. She caught her friend as she stumbled back, staring at the rake being pulled into its bed. “Okay,” Aria said, “clearly, we need to try another approach. Are you alright?”

  “It didn’t touch me.”

  “Alright, let’s think about this. How can we get a piece of the root without disturbing the plant or being touched by it?”

  Scarlet shrugged. “Torch the thing?”

  Her aunt made a noise of disapproval. “That would be a bad choice with this particular specimen. And I would prefer it if you did not.”

  Ariahna turned in the small space, walking a stretch of floor beside two narrow tables. “We’re going about this all wrong,” she said. “What’s the purpose of that behavior? Is it just defensive, or is it detrimental to the plant’s survival?”

  “I think I see where you’re going with this. You mean it’s not just like an aggressive thing. It strikes for a reason.”

  “Maybe,” Aria said. She tilted her head, staring thoughtfully at the gentle looking shrub. “If it drains a witch’s magic when it encounters one, then maybe it needs magic to sustain itself.” She looked at Scarlet’s aunt, hoping to receive some cue that her assumption was correct. The pensive expression the woman was giving her alluded to little. “There are a number of creatures that feed off of magic. Maybe if we give it a little energy…” She took a step forward, summoning a small pocket of magic in her palm. The tendrils moved all at once, standing abruptly alert.

  “I don’t know about this,” Scarlet said. She watched Aria move around the pot, carefully drawing the plant’s attention.

  “You’ll have to harvest the root while I preoccupy it.”

  Scarlet protested immediately. “I have to?”

  Ariahna smiled. “Well I certainly don’t have the extra hands. You’ll be okay… I think.”

  Scarlet sighed, grabbing a pair of shears from the tabletop. Ariahna had begun feeding magic to the tiny, reaching tendrils. The plant seemed to vibrate slightly, leaves shaking in jumping little waves. Scarlet inched forward, hesitating when dirt shook loose from the floorboards above. The plant was closer to Aria when her eyes returned to the room again.

  “Hurry,” Aria said.

  In a moment of bravery, Scarlet knelt on the ground and unburied a section of the root with her hands. The shears clamped around the beastly piece, and the tendrils froze, pausing in their advance. Scarlet cut off a sizeable chunk, reeling back as the plant surged out in her direction. “I got it!” she said. She stood, looking at her aunt smugly.

  “Took you long enough,” the woman said.

  She followed the girls back up into the shop, closing the trap door with effort. The rug she rolled neatly back into place, hiding the cellar beneath it. “Let me wrap that up for you. You don’t want to be carrying it around for just anybody to see.” She accepted the root from her niece, grabbing a cloth from one of the supply shelves and wrapping it tightly. She handed it to Aria. “Now go. And if anyone asks, you didn’t get that from me.”

  “What do we owe you?” Aria said.

  “Nothing. Just don’t come back here again.”

  They stepped out of the shop and the old door cracked closed at their backs. A few pedestrians moved by on the street as they stood there for a second, drinking the encounter in.

  “I’m not sure your aunt likes me very much.”

  Scarlet shrugged. “You’ll get over it.”

  Ariahna wasn’t sure that was true. She looked down at the wrapped parcel they’d received, slipping it into her school blazer. “I really hope this works…” A hand touched her shoulder. Scarlet was giving her a supportive smile when she looked up.

  “It will.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Smile Like the Sun


  Christian stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection as he washed his hands. The warm water and suds felt soothing against his skin, but otherwise did little to distract. Kaleb had been absent from every place he had thought to look, and he was quickly realizing how little time he had left. If they couldn’t find him, there would be no way to perform the spell. Even if Rome wanted to go through with it, they needed that fang, and nobody else had presented any bright ideas about how to get one. The door opened at his back, and he watched as Logan stepped into the room. Christian turned off the faucet, drying his hands with a rush of air. “Move,” he said.

  Logan grinned, holding position in front of the door.

  “I really don’t have time for this right now,” Christian said.

  “What’s wrong, looking for someone?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

  Logan smirked, shrugging carelessly. “You don’t happen to have a light, do you?”

  Christian could feel a particular type of anger building in his chest (the kind he’d learned little about how to control). The fact that it was Logan’s smarmy face staring back at him worsened matters. “Stop fooling around and tell me where he is.”

  “Never mind,” Logan said. “I’ve got one.” He moved to light the cigarette, laughing when Christian surged forward and smacked the lighter out of his hand. “Testy, aren’t we?”

  “Can we deal with your inferiority issues later?” Christian said. “This is kind of important.”

  “I know… A little birdie told me. You need the vampire to break your curse and go about your merry life. Too bad he seems to be missing.” Logan swept the lighter off the floor, flicking it and drawing the flame close to his mouth. “That’s a real conundrum you’ve found yourself in. If only you’d had some friends in higher places.”

  Christian felt his face go tight. “What do you want?”

  “The typical arrangement. I say jump, you say how high?” The other boy scowled heavily at him. “Ah, come on,” Logan chided. “We’re friends, remember? You’ve only been kissing my ass for the last two years anyways. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “I’m not sure you’ve met yourself.”

  “Take it or leave it,” Logan said.

  Christian stared him in the eyes, mulling it over and coming to resent his current options. “I truly despise you…”

  Logan smiled. He flicked some ash onto the floor, accepting his silence as defeat. “You’ll find him in the basement,” he said. “Trent’s keeping him company.”

  The basement looked more like an abandoned building than a part of the school. Old pipes ran along poorly painted walls, the low lighting illuminating only enough of the space to make it feel foreboding. Christian moved from the staircase, gripping his arm uncertainly. Following the sound of machinery, he charted a path to the boiler room, hardly remembering his way back. The pipes led him further into the cellar, where steam whistled from broken joints. He finally found Trent leaning against a barren corner, smirking at him from under the glow of a dingy lamp. Christian approached warily.

  “Where is he?” he said.

  Trent ambled over to him, slapping a small satchel to his chest. He smiled cruelly. “You’re welcome.”

  Christian listened to the sound of his dissipating footsteps, disturbed by the way they echoed off of the brick. The brown bag in his hand was tinged red, innocent tassels keeping it pinched closed. “Kaleb?” he said. Christian turned a corner, staring at the hunched figure on the floor. Kaleb was on his knees, hands bound behind his back. A sack hung over his head. Christian ran the short distance, quickly uncovering his face. Only then did he realize what he was stepping in. He lifted the toe of his sneaker, grimacing at the sticky, stained edges.

  Kaleb’s mouth was covered in dried blood. Trails led down his chin and drops were splattered across his bruised collarbones. He had a dark welt above his brow, and a cut on the opposite cheek. His glare was a fierce, and somehow absent thing. He was holding Christian’s gaze steadily, blinking only when brown eyes flashed a brilliant gold. Christian made quick work of the ropes, helping him wordlessly to his feet. Kaleb’s eyes fell instantly to the satchel at their toes.

  The hollow feeling in Christian’s chest deepened. He loathed himself for even bending to pick it up. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said. They moved slowly towards the exit, Kaleb trailing along beside him. It wasn’t until they were a few feet from the stairs that he started to lose consciousness. Christian caught him, wrapping an arm around Kaleb’s waist.

  “I’m taking you to the nurse’s office,” he said.

  Kaleb shook his head. “No.”

  They lingered there, still standing. Christian exhaled in the expanding silence. “Do you want me to find Rome?” he asked.

  Kaleb was quiet in contemplation.

  “Come on,” he said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  In the Eye of the Storm

  The evening air smelt heavily of rain. Dark, thunderous clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to open up and pour down on the world below. Rome had no notion of the storm that was headed his way. He was watching the last slivers of refracting light move across his ceiling. It reminded him of the northern lights (and everything else he’d yet to see in his life). All he’d ever known was Redwood Bay. The Redwood Bay before magic and blood curses. He almost missed the simplicity. And yet he couldn’t imagine a world without them now.

  A muffled thud moved through the wall at his back, followed by a few other stumbling sounds. Rome sat up, wandering out into the hall before a knock could even come at his door. Kaleb’s room was ajar when he pressed a palm to the wood. He stepped through the entry in a haze, looking from Kaleb to Christian and back again. “What happened?” he said.

  Christian didn’t have the words. He conjured a few damp towels, leaving them on the nightstand. “You two should talk.”

  Rome frowned, watching Christian leave. He was too exasperated to voice his discontent. All he could do was focus on Kaleb. He was sitting limply on the edge of the bed, pressing his fingers into his hairline. “Do you want me to clean you up?”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Kaleb said.

  Rome let the comment be what it was. He moved closer, unfolding one of the warm rags. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? By the time you’re done, you’ll feel better for it.”

  The look on Kaleb’s face said that he found that doubtful. “There’s nothing to tell. I made the mistake of underestimating how far someone would go. End of story.”

  “I’m not going to push you,” Rome said. “By now, if you don’t feel like you can trust me then I’m not sure what else I can do. But I know no one could get the jump on you like this. Not unless you wanted them to. And that worries me.” Kaleb winced as Rome brushed the cloth over his cheek. “You’re not alone anymore, and whether you like it or not, your actions affect more people than just you.”

  Kaleb sighed, the noise loud in the quiet space. “I don’t deserve your pity. And I don’t need your help.” He touched Rome’s knuckles as he pressed the cloth to his face. “I brought this on myself.”

  “No, you didn’t. You just didn’t stop it. And I don’t pity you. That’s not what this is about.”

  Kaleb met his eyes pleadingly. “Then what is it about? Because I can’t stomach the horrible indifference anymore. We’re not close, there’s nothing tying us together… I’ve never done a thing to help you, and in fact nearly ended your life the other night. So why would you think you owed me anything?”

  Rome tossed the soiled rag at the hamper half-heartedly. “Do you always try pushing people away?” They sat there quietly, both dissatisfied with the retort. “I was under the impression that we were close,” he said finally. “And I don’t do things for people because I feel like I owe them.” Rome sighed, trying to put words to something he’d spent days working to figure out. “I felt like you an
d I shared an unspoken understanding; something I don’t even know how to describe. And then… you kind of threw me for a loop.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You wanted to kiss me,” Rome said.

  The set to Kaleb’s shoulders shifted significantly. He propped one foot on the bed frame, knee rising between them like a protective barrier. “Is that such an odd response, given you almost died?”

  “No. I suppose not. But where does that leave us? How am I supposed to react? Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not seeing a way out of this. Not without hurting someone in the process.”

  “That may not be much of an issue soon.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rome said.

  Kaleb glanced at him nervously. “They’re going to break your curse tonight. I guess the spell called for a vampire’s fang, and I got to be the lucky donor.”

  Rome froze as Kaleb revealed the gruesome reminders (two bloody crevices set above his regular set of teeth). He’d never felt so many warring emotions all at once. “Did Christian—?”

  Kaleb shook his head. He stood from the mattress, moving over to the mini fridge in the corner. Rome was watching as he downed a container of cold blood. “I assume you want to stop them?” he said.

  Rome dodged the question. “Will they grow back?”

  “Slowly, and painfully,” Kaleb said. “But yes. They will grow back, given time.” He let out a strained breath, hating the vulnerability in his words. “I never thought it would be possible to feel like less than I was. I always thought that was the worst things could get.”

  “Why did you let it happen?”

  Kaleb set him with a stare. “I wanted to save you… or own you, I suppose. I wanted to make up for whatever suffering I had inflicted, and erase this debilitating guilt. Even if you weren’t mine when it was all through, I needed to be useful.” He stared out the window without expression. “I didn’t know it was going to happen at first. I thought they might rough me up, and maybe I felt like I deserved that. But then when it was happening, and I found out why, there just didn’t seem to be a good enough reason to fight back.” Kaleb smiled emptily at himself. “It was easier to be broken.”