A Dark and Starless Forest

by Sarah Hollowell

  “And mine brought me,” I say. “But . . .” It’s right there in Claire’s file. Parents sought help—resisted and were terminated. “Claire showed me something. It’s, uhm. It’s not good.”

  “Tell me,” Irene demands. “And don’t look at me like that. Like I’m about to break. It’s too late to worry about that, so just tell me. I want to know.”

  Hesitantly, I tell her what Claire showed me at the bottom of the lake. “It was a vision, but it was real. I’d swear it on my life that it was real.”

  Irene stares at me in horror. “He kills the parents, too?”

  “Not all of them,” I say. “Bertha’s file said her parents abandoned her. Some of us really were abandoned.”

  “We watched our mother drive off,” Irene says. “So unless she came back . . .”

  “I’m guessing it’ll say in our profiles,” I say. “If we want to know what happened to our parents, it’s all in his notes.”

  Our gazes turn as one to the computer. The answers we’ve longed for are all stored away digitally right here. Either our parents really abandoned us, or they’re dead.

  I don’t know which answer is worse.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  We freeze. Dr. Sam is standing in Frank’s front room, watching us. Violet is right behind him, face twisted in apology. They must have tried to stop him.

  “Uhm,” I say intelligently.

  “What are you doing here?” Irene asks. “We just had our exams.”

  “Frank’s been worried about your mental states. He called last week about doing some counseling.”

  He must have called before Elle’s death, and he must have forgotten about it because I don’t think he’d have left otherwise.

  “And I think he was right to do so,” Dr. Sam continues, “if you’ve decided breaking into someone’s private quarters is a good course of action. I’ll have to tell him, of course. Where is he?”

  “Out,” I say. “It was an emergency.”

  Dr. Sam sighs, and does a maneuver with his arm to make his sleeve shift enough to reveal a watch. “If he isn’t back soon, I’ll have to call him, I suppose.” He returns his attention to us. “Well, come on. That’s enough snooping for you.”

  With a few quick, nearly imperceptible movements, Irene closes every window we had open. Then we all follow Dr. Sam out into the living room. Brooke must still be taking care of the little twins elsewhere, and I’m not about to mention that to Dr. Sam.

  “Do you have to tell him?” I ask. “Couldn’t it just be between us?”

  Dr. Sam looks at me sternly over the top of his glasses. “I think you know we can’t, Derry. But don’t worry. Frank will understand, I’m sure of it. You’ve been through quite a bit recently. It can make people act irrationally. I probably should have suggested the counseling sooner.”

  I lower my head contritely. I don’t feel contrite, but I know how to look it. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “Of course not. But there are consequences to your actions, girls, and you have to face them.” Dr. Sam takes a seat on the couch. “Would you be so kind as to get me a cup of tea?”

  At that, I brighten. “Yes!” Irene and Winnie look at me strangely for my cheery tone, but I’m too pleased with my idea. I spin on my heel and go into the kitchen.

  I grow the valerian root I used to make my siblings sleep, but I make it more potent. I use it to brew his tea. It comes out bright yellow—that’s unfortunate. It makes the tea look herbal, and I know Dr. Sam hates herbal tea.

  I call for Violet in the most casual voice I can. They come jogging into the kitchen, clearly happy to be out of the awkward living room atmosphere. “Yeah?”

  ‘Glamour this tea brown.’

  They look down into it. Then up at me. Back down at the tea. They touch the cup, and inside, the yellow tea turns brown. It looks just like decent, normal black tea with a little bit of cream.

  I touch my fingers to my chin and move my hand down toward Violet in thanks.

  I stir in a generous amount of honey to mask the taste, then take the tea out to Dr. Sam. Irene is sitting next to him on the couch, her leg shaking. She hops up when I come into the room.

  I keep my smile pasted on. I keep my voice calm.

  “Would you like anything to eat? We have some strawberries, I think. Or toast?”

  “No, thank you, Derry,” he says. He holds out his hands to accept the tea, but before I give it to him, I want to know something.

  “Did Frank tell you that Elle is dead?” I ask.

  Dr. Sam looks startled. Believable enough. “No, no he didn’t. What on earth happened?”

  I shrug. “Maybe it’s just bad luck. Elle. Jane. Winnie. And the girls who lived here before us. Didn’t they die, too?”

  He tries to keep his expression neutral, which is proof enough of his involvement for me to hold out the tea. He accepts it, and takes a sip. “I don’t know what girls you’re talking about.” He doesn’t remark on the tea, so it must taste normal. Good, even, because he sips it again, and again.

  I don’t know exactly what it’s going to do to him. Yeah, the valerian root I gave my siblings worked exactly as intended. But when I grew these my brain was a storm of urgency and we have to stop him.

  As he sips again, I nearly smack it out of his hands.

  Can I trust my magic not to have grown something lethal?

  But maybe I really am the monster I worry I am because I don’t say anything. I watch him drink. I listen to his breath catch. I don’t move when his body starts to slump, except to tilt my head, curious. His gaze meets mine before his eyes close and I don’t feel guilty.

  I feel proud.

  “Derry,” Irene says carefully, like I’m a wild animal to placate.

  “He’s not dead,” I say. “I think. Probably.” I think I’d feel it if my tea had killed him. “Help me.”

  I slip my arm between him and the chair, and put his arm over my shoulder. Irene does the same on the other side. It’s good he’s not a large man. It means we can, together, hoist him up and carry him.

  “Upstairs,” I say.

  My idea for now is to hide him in a closet. For now because I don’t know where my plan goes after this. But I know we have a couple of closets not currently in use, and I know Jane’s is not only the bigger of the two, but cleaner. She hated clutter. Elle, on the other hand, could never get rid of anything. It all went in her closet.

  Irene and I haul Dr. Sam’s dead weight clumsily toward the stairs. Violet comes out of the kitchen, probably drawn by our labored grunts.

  “Uhm,” they say. I guess no one has words for what I’ve done. That’s okay. They don’t need to.

  “I’ll explain in a moment!” I say. Irene and I get up the stairs and into my bedroom. We try to set him gently on the closet floor but he slips and lands with a thump. I pull him up and lean him against a wall. I don’t want him to be too uncomfortable.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, and press my hands to the floor. Vines grow out of the wood. They wind around Dr. Sam’s wrists and ankles and stay rooted into the house. I grow another to gag him with.

  I shake my head, and tiny blue flowers fall from my hair and onto the floor.

  “What did you drug him with?” Irene asks. She’s crying again, but I don’t think she’s noticed, and I don’t point it out.

  “If I did it right, it should be a really potent valerian root,” I say, brushing hair off my sweaty face. “Normal valerian root tea wouldn’t do this, but it was the only plant with sedative properties I could think of in the moment, so . . . I tried to make it stronger. I think it should keep him down for a while.”

  Brooke appears in the doorway. I haven’t closed the closet yet, so she sees Dr. Sam, and she sighs heavily.

  ‘Violet said you drugged him.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ I sign.

  She narrows her eyes at me. Is she putting it all together? This, with the night they
all slept like the dead? ‘Why?’

  ‘We can’t let him talk to Frank. We don’t want to end up like Elle.’

  Brooke, who doesn’t know yet what we saw on Frank’s computer, glances at Irene.

  ‘She’s right,’ Irene says. ‘Going against Frank right now would be . . . dangerous.’ She launches into an explanation of what we found. I cut in occasionally.

  With each passing moment, Brooke grows more and more grim. She sits heavily on my bed.

  ‘I never thought he was that bad,’ she signs slowly. ‘I knew he could be manipulative and emotionally abusive, but I thought we were all at least physically safe.’

  ‘We are until we’re ready for the harvest,’ I sign. ‘Or until we become a liability.’

  ‘Elle and who knows how many others. We’re generation nineteen. Even if the other generations didn’t have as many alchemists as we do, we’re still talking a death toll in the dozens—and that’s before we get to the parents.’

  Brooke doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and she doesn’t have time to find a way. Loud, running footsteps come up the stairs and Violet careens into the room. They pant. Their face is tear-streaked.

  ‘Come quick,’ they sign. ‘The little twins are gone.’

  ‘What do you mean gone?’ Brooke demands. ‘I told you to look after them!’

  ‘They said they were going to the bathroom,’ Violet signs. ‘I sat in the living room and waited, and waited, and waited, and when I went to check on them—they weren’t there. So I checked their room, and . . .’

  She hands the note over to Brooke. Irene and I crowd around to look over her shoulder. It’s in London’s precise handwriting.

  We’ve gone to find Jane and Winnie.

  “They went to the forest,” I breathe. I’m running down the stairs before anyone else can react, though no one is far behind. We gather in the little twins’ bedroom, and for a moment, stare at the wall that leads to the tunnel.

  ‘I’m going,’ I sign. ‘I don’t know if it’s safe for anyone in the forest, so no one has to come with me, but I could use the help.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Irene signs. ‘I’m obviously coming.’

  ‘So am I,’ Brooke signs. ‘No point arguing.’

  We all look to Violet, who shakes their head. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘I don’t know if you should stay alone—’ I start, but Violet shakes their head, casting me a withering glance that, for a moment, reminds me of Elle.

  ‘You all need to find the little twins. Someone needs to stay here and start packing. Because I don’t know about all of you, but I think it’s time we run.’

  ‘I should stay with you,’ Brooke signs.

  ‘No—three already isn’t enough to search the forest. But one person can pack essentials, and I happen to be the one who can glamour them in case Frank comes back.’

  Everything they’re saying makes sense. We still hesitate. Violet’s years older than the little twins, but I’ve never been able to stop thinking of them as one of the children. It feels wrong to leave a child behind.

  But they’re only two years younger than me, and they’re right.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ I sign. Violet nods. ‘Okay. Then let’s go.’

  Brooke takes their hand, squeezes it. Violet smiles reassuringly, and because we have no more time to spare, the three of us dash down the tunnel, leaving Violet behind.

  “Will your ghost know where they are?” Irene asks.

  “Hope so,” is all I can manage to say.

  We reach the forest, and immediately I start calling for Claire. When several minutes pass and she still hasn’t shown up, Irene and Brooke start to look nervous.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ I snap. ‘Don’t start thinking I’ve made her up.’ If you do, I might start believing it, too.

  ‘Derry . . .’ Brooke signs.

  ‘She probably just doesn’t know what to do about other people being here. It’s always just us.’ I turn in a slow circle and yell, “Claire! Please! I need your help!”

  My sisters gasp. I complete my circle, and there’s Claire, as if she had always been standing right in that spot. I’d be angry she made me wait if I wasn’t so relieved that she is, in fact, real.

  “Have you seen two little girls?” I ask Claire. “Twins. Black, both with short hair, one with glasses.”

  “I have. They’re looking for Jane and Winnie, and if you’re not quick, the forest will let them find its hiding spot.”

  “Hiding spot?” Irene asks.

  “Sometimes the magic here is unpredictable,” Claire says. She only has eyes for me, as if my siblings don’t exist. “It can do strange things. It can, for example, take a girl out of time and space and tuck her away somewhere safe until her sister’s strong enough to find her.”

  “Am I?” I ask.

  “That’s up to you to answer,” Claire says. Then she smiles. “But I think so. I think you’ve proven your potential to the forest. For you, it’ll let them out.”

  Claire turns and walks deeper into the forest. I look back at Irene and Brooke.

  ‘Ready?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ Brooke signs. ‘Let’s go.’ Together, we follow Claire.

  It’s easy to recognize the path we’re on. Claire glances over her shoulder, and I know she knows, too. She’s giving me a chance to stop her, like I did the last time she tried to show me where the forest put Jane.

  I don’t stop her. I have to do this.

  We emerge into a clearing. It’s normal enough. A pleasant, sunny little clearing, perfect for a picnic. If you knew where to look, you’d find a slight rise in the earth and an unusually high concentration of wildflowers.

  I know where to look. Not only did I dig the grave the flowers hide, I killed the man inside it.

  20

  We were never supposed to be in the forest, but sometimes Jane broke that rule, and sometimes I broke it with her. There was a little forest near the farm where she grew up, and she missed the trees. She found a small clearing where there was room to spread out a blanket, but when we lay on it, we could still only see a little section of sky between the branches.

  I remember how doing magic here seemed to feel just an inch more powerful, have a little more sparkle, but I thought it was just side effects from the adrenaline of breaking rules and the joy of being with Jane. I’d grow sunflowers up to the treetops. She’d take sticks and use her magic to form them into animals, into whole dramatic scenes of princesses saving themselves from dragons. We were always trying to make each other smile and laugh a little more than we had the last time.

  On that day, Frank was off on one of his trips. We all went outside as a group. While the big twins swam and the others enjoyed the sun, Jane and I snuck off to our clearing.

  We weren’t planning to be gone long. A few minutes, nothing more. I wanted to show Jane a new trick I’d thought of.

  “I haven’t tested it very much, so it might not work,” I warned. Jane waved it off.

  “Show me!”

  I knelt, pressing my hands to the ground. I closed my eyes. I knew I’d succeeded when I heard Jane’s gasp.

  I’d turned a whole circle of the clearing’s natural wildflowers shimmeringly iridescent. Jane clapped her hands over her mouth and laughed.

  “Oh my god!” she said. “Derry, holy shit.”

  I beamed. I normally can’t alter the appearance of an already-existing plant that much. I can grow new plants out of it, but changing the color or shape of the base plant has always been tricky. I’d been practicing just for this moment.

  It was just the crack of a branch that alerted us to the hiker’s presence. He stood at the edge of the clearing. His eyes were wide, his mouth slack. He’d seen. He’d seen.

  Every horrible story Frank had told us, every warning about what they did to alchemists outside our little home, every time he’d come home with black eyes and bloody lips just because people suspected he might be harboring alchemists—it all
flooded into me. I stood up and shoved Jane behind me.

  The man advanced.

  My hands shot out, and with them, vines. They rocketed out of the ground and toward the man. It was just like when I’d lashed out at Claire, except the hiker wasn’t a ghost. He was human, and solid, and my vines went right through his chest.

  As soon as I realized what I’d done, I withdrew. When my vines whipped back, they splattered his blood everywhere.

  I saw the blood that burbled out of his mouth. I saw the confusion in his eyes. Jane gripped my arm tight when he fell.

  “He was—I had to—”

  “You did,” Jane assured me in a shaking voice. “You protected us.”

  “What do we do?” I asked. “We can’t leave him here. What if Frank finds him?”

  “We’ll figure it out. We’ll go get the others—”

  “No!” I shouted. “No, no, Jane, please, we can’t tell them.”

  Jane grabbed on to my hands and held them tight. “It’ll be okay,” she said soothingly. Her hands trembled where they were wrapped around mine and her eyes were shining with the tears she was forcing back. “They’ll understand it was self-defense.”

  “Please,” I whispered. I couldn’t find the words to explain why I didn’t want them to know. We shared everything. We had no one else to share with. Stripped of the families we were born into, we’d made a family out of the one Frank cobbled together.

  Jane was right. They would have understood. But all I could think—then and now—is that they’d look at me a little different. The Derry who could murder a man thirty seconds after meeting him wasn’t the Derry that London would go to for her word of the day, or that Winnie would curl up in bed with when her own bed was too lonely and full of nightmares. It wasn’t the Derry who would be called upon to settle Scrabble disputes.

  Murderer-Derry would still be loved and treated mostly normally, except that there would be a hesitation. An uncertainty. Every time she grew a flower, they’d remember what she could do with vines.

  I couldn’t survive being feared by my own siblings.

  “We have to bury him,” I said.