A Dark and Starless Forest

by Sarah Hollowell

  “It’s fine,” I say, not because I believe it, but because it has to be. “It’s fine.”

  The wall is open, and nothing is fine, because Frank is waiting on the other side. Violet sits on London’s bed, crying.

  The gun in Frank’s hand is pointed directly at us.

  22

  I don’t know how to deal with guns. I don’t even know what kind of gun he’s holding. It’s big, but he holds it in one hand. Does that make it a handgun? Which kind is the revolver?

  A gun seems . . . indomitable. That’s it. Perfect word, on the first try and everything. Indomitable. If I see a gun, I’m supposed to run run run. That’s what I want to do. Run run run.

  But I can’t. I don’t have parents or police to run to. I have Frank, who has the gun, and siblings, who I need to save from the man with the gun. I need to run run run into the dangerous place.

  I’m not prepared.

  I step in front of the siblings I can still shield.

  “Welcome home,” Frank says. His voice is steady but there’s something wild in it that I’ve never heard before. I stand very still, as if that will calm him, because I don’t want to know what Frank is like when he loses control. He narrows his eyes at Jane and Winnie. “Look who’s back. I don’t know where you went or who you saw or who you spoke to, or what you thought you were doing by running away at all, but you aren’t leaving again.”

  He’s turned paranoid. Something’s broken him, just a little. He had to go outside his plan and kill Elle, and now he knows we had a way out of the house all along. He didn’t have as much control as he thought.

  “You can’t keep us here,” I say. My voice shakes. I clear my throat, too aware that I don’t make much of an intimidating figure as the fat bespectacled girl with dirty bare feet. “We know that you’re a murderer and we know that you were always planning to kill us. It’s eight against one, and we have magic. You don’t.”

  “Derry, it’s been nine against one for years. Didn’t do you much good then, did it?”

  “This is different,” Winnie snaps. “We’re different.”

  “Are you?” Frank grins. He spreads his arms, gun held casually in his right hand. Brooke, eyes sharp on the sweep of his arm, takes the chance and pulls Violet to their feet. Frank lets them join us. “Winnie, your magic is barely worth stealing—though don’t worry, I will. But I won’t stop you if you want to try. Really. Go for it. I’ll give you a head start.”

  Furious heat radiates off Winnie. She steps forward, nudging past me. Her little pet poltergeist kicks up. Books fly off the shelves. Unswept dust and dirt swirls into a little cyclone at her feet. She reaches out with both hands, trying to guide it. It swerves, and she sidesteps toward the wall, leading it back on to the path she wants. She only has eyes for Frank.

  The cyclone moves toward him. London’s music box crashes onto the floor next to him. Olivia’s terrariums rattle under her bed. Her little pet poltergeist is actually following her direction. Disbelief and joy light up her face, and—

  Frank shoots a bullet right through her delight, and her face is gone, and I’m screaming, and everyone is screaming, and Winnie is gone.

  “Looks like I win,” Frank says, the grin still stretched out across his face, turning into a distorted maw that threatens to devour us all.

  All I can think is this: my glasses have Winnie’s blood on them.

  Her position kept the rest of us out of his line of fire, but she was close enough for the blood to splatter out of her skull and onto me. Irene, too. She’s wiping desperately at the blood on her arms, smearing it.

  “Anyone else want to throw a tantrum?” Frank asks. “Or are we going to be good little children?”

  I can’t look at Winnie.

  I can’t take my eyes off her.

  We just got her back.

  Frank strides over to us and nudges the gun against my shoulder. “Should I make you bury her, too?” he asks. “You did such a good job with Elle.”

  No no no

  “No,” he says, and I’m indescribably angry that he has me so fucked up I want to thank him for not making me bury another sister. “I think she’s better left here. A nice little warning for all of you. Can’t get out unless you want to step through her blood.” He laughs. “I just don’t think any of you are that brave.”

  That’s when I lunge.

  It’s stupid. It’s beyond stupid. I just watched him kill my sister, I know he killed Elle, I know he’s killed countless others.

  I don’t think about that. I want to see him bleed. I want to dig my teeth into him and I want him to bleed because of me.

  He steps easily out of the way and grabs my hair. I reach back, scratching at his hand. He pulls my hair hard and my head snaps back.

  “Are you volunteering to be next in the ground?” he asks. “I’d hate to do it, Derry, but I will if you don’t calm down.”

  He pushes me back into the group, where Brooke and Jane catch me. Or hold me, so I don’t dive back in. Maybe a little of both.

  There’s blood under my nails. The warmth burns into me like fire. I hold on to it. I relish it.

  “How about we all move to the living room in a calm and orderly fashion?” Frank asks.

  We let him lead us away from Winnie and our secret passage. Violet and Irene walk ahead of us. Violet is crying. The little twins are shielded in the center of our group, with Brooke and Jane behind them, holding hands as if they’re keeping each other tethered to the earth. I follow at the back, hands clenched into fists, all rage and grief with nowhere to go.

  Violet and Irene crowd onto the couch with the little twins. I perch precariously on the arm, trying not to remember how Winnie would always sit here. Jane and Brooke stand next to me. Tears stream silently down Jane’s face. I reach out, taking the hand not held by Brooke. I squeeze, and she squeezes back.

  Frank tucks the gun into his pants and stands in front of the flowers, hands on his hips. Winnie’s red amaryllis has turned into clear, colorless glass.

  There’s still blood on my glasses. Winnie on my glasses. I whip them off and rub furiously with my shirt. They don’t get clean, but it’s good enough. I can see, at least.

  Frank looks us over and sighs, like we’ve been misbehaving. “I’d really hoped for a few more years with you. You all had promise. I’ll take what I can get, but . . . it’s a shame.” Frank frowns at us. He’s not angry we’re forcing him to kill us early; he’s disappointed.

  “What are you going to do to us?” I ask. I don’t let my voice shake. If he wants fear from me, he’s not going to get it.

  “I could just drain out all of your magic,” he says. He turns to the flowers, and plucks my poppy off the shelf. I feel his grip on it like it’s a grip on my heart. “It’s not an unpleasant death. It hurts at first—I won’t lie to you about that. But from what I’ve observed, after it passes the halfway mark, the pain lessens, then numbs entirely.” He describes it all so casually. “You’ll lose consciousness before you actually die, don’t worry about that. You won’t have to experience the actual moment of death. You’ll just . . . go to sleep.”

  Violet muffles their loud sobs behind their hands. Brooke has her arms wrapped around the shellshocked little twins and each of her hands are over one of their ears, as if it can stop them from hearing it. She can’t hear him herself, of course, and Frank’s not signing. Brooke squints at his mouth in an attempt to read his lips. I dimly realize one of us should translate for her.

  “But.” Frank holds up a finger, a little wait. “I’m actually hoping we can come to some kind of agreement,” he says. “Like I said—I was hoping for a few more years with all of you. I don’t want to kill you.”

  “But you wanted to kill Elle?” Irene asks harshly.

  “Elle was . . . regrettable,” he admits. “That she had to die so soon, of course, but also the manner of her death. She surprised me, and instead of killing her the way I should have”—he gestures to her clear snapdragon—“I
was a little sloppier, and her magic was lost. But it doesn’t have to be that way for all of you. You could live out those next few years—longer, even. I’d be willing to let you live indefinitely, fulfilling your true purpose a little bit at a time instead of all at once. It’s my preference, actually. In an ideal scenario, I’d take your magic in smaller amounts and allow it to recharge before taking more.” He clucks his tongue. “Of course, it does recharge less and less as time goes on, but I suspect I just haven’t found the ideal dosage yet. That’s not the real problem, though. The real problem is . . . insolence.”

  “What’s the point of this?” Violet asks through their sobs. “You don’t have magic, you can’t use ours!”

  “You haven’t been paying attention, Violet,” Frank snaps. “Of course I can’t use your magic like you do, but I’d argue I use it better. It feeds me. It regenerates me.”

  “It isn’t yours to take!” Irene shouts.

  “Why not?” Frank snarls. “Why do you deserve it? Why do a few silly children get to have inhumanly long lifespans and magic just because of a trick of birth?”

  Claire said something about alchemists having long lifespans, but can they really be that long? I guess none of us have had the chance to find out. Maybe we never will.

  Frank clears his throat, forcing the rage off his face. “That’s not important,” he says, brushing the topic away. “What’s important is that you don’t have to die today. You don’t even have to die soon. If you can all manage to just be good children and submit to regular withdrawals, you can live . . . well. Longer. How long depends on you. Do you find that agreeable?”

  None of us respond. What are we supposed to say? Sure, Frank, we’ll sacrifice the rest of our lives to feed your artificial immortality. We’ll spend the tiny remnants of our childhood and who knows how long after that as your prisoners, existing only for magic transfusions.

  But maybe that is what we should say.

  “I wish I could give you some time to think about this,” he says. “But I’d like to know as soon as possible if you’re going to be useful past today.”

  I look up at Jane, willing her to read the question on my face, willing myself to understand her reply.

  It’s not a real offer. Surely we all know that much. He’d keep us alive past today, but he wouldn’t really keep us alive indefinitely, unless indefinitely means until we annoy him. We’d be on borrowed time.

  We could still agree to it, though, because we need all the time we can get. That morsel of borrowed time might be enough for us to figure out how to escape.

  Jane nods. I have to trust that we’re thinking the same thing.

  “Okay,” Jane says. She sounds defeated. “If you’ll promise not to hurt us anymore, then I think we can find that . . . agreeable.”

  “I also say okay,” I add. I brace for sounds of betrayal from my siblings, terrified that Jane and I have read the room incredibly wrong.

  It’s hard to say if they have more trust in me than I deserve, or if it’s all their trust in Jane, but no one argues. Instead of gasps and protests, they murmur their assent.

  “Wasn’t terribly excited about living out there anyway,” Irene says.

  “It’s safer here,” Violet agrees.

  A smile spreads over Frank’s face. “Splendid,” he says. “I think we can make this all work. But first . . .” He holds up my poppy to the light. “You’ve grown so much stronger lately, Derry.”

  He’s right. The red is richer, deeper, more vibrant. It’s because of the forest, but it’s still mine. My heart skips a beat as my magic answers with a surge of power. Vines climb up the couch and the walls and the floor rumbles gently with new roots. Flowers blossom up and down my arms.

  I tighten a fist, thinking, I’ll get the roots to break through the floor and crush Frank and then this will all be over—

  Something stabs into my heart. I actually look down to see if blood is spilling out of me, if he’s killing me like he killed Elle, but there’s nothing happening. Then the pain comes again. I double over. I fall off of the couch arm, onto the floor. Multiple voices call my name. Someone screams. Frank’s shouting, but I can’t make out the words. Through eyes blurred with pain, I look up at him.

  The red is seeping out of my poppy and up his arm. His veins glow red, and the redder they are, the paler my poppy is. His eyes flash scarlet, just for half a second, short enough that I think I imagine it.

  His other arm is stretched out, gun aimed. My movements are agonizingly slow. I follow the line of his aim. It’s pointed at Irene, who’s placed herself in front of London. There’s a fury on London’s face I’ve never seen, but I recognize it. She wants to hurt Frank. She knows her magic could hurt him, and she’s longing to lash out. She strains against the arm holding her back—Violet. Olivia’s wrapped her small fingers around Irene’s wrist and enveloped her in a magical shield, desperate to protect Irene while she’s in Frank’s line of fire, even though I don’t think her shield can withstand a bullet. Jane is saying something to Frank, trying to calm him. Brooke stands by her side with a small spark of fire in her fingers. A warning.

  The red glow of Frank’s arm flickers and my pain cuts off all at once. I’m left gasping for air. Sound returns.

  “Let’s all calm down,” Frank says. He turns his gaze to Brooke, who warily lowers her flame. Violet lets London go so that she and Irene can come to my side.

  “Are you okay?” London whispers. I want to reach out and smile and comfort her, but I can’t seem to make the motions happen. Irene places a hand on my shoulder and tries to project calm. There’s nothing for it to take the edge off of. The pain is gone—I’m just empty now.

  Frank places my poppy back on the shelf, and straightens it until it’s centered to his satisfaction. It’s a pale shadow of what it used to be.

  I touch my hand to the floor and try again to bring the roots up. But I can’t feel them anymore. I can’t hear them, and they can’t hear me. All I manage is half a dozen weak poppies that wither in seconds.

  I curl into myself, whimpering. London kneels over me, her little forehead pressed to the back of my head, and she whispers, “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  Frank crouches next to me. I know it’s him because I can feel him—feel my magic radiating off of him. His fingers ghost across my hair. “This is why you were born,” he whispers. His voice, like everything else, is muffled. I press my ear to the floor and try to hear the roots, but there are only distant, tinny cries that dissipate so fast I’m afraid I imagined them.

  “I don’t want to do this, you know,” he says. “But at this point, it’s self-defense. You’ve been a bit of a ringleader in this rebellion, Derry, and I need to make an example out of you. I need you and all of your siblings to understand what will happen if you don’t keep to our deal.”

  His palpable presence fades as he stands. “And you do all understand now, don’t you?” No one says anything, but they must nod, because Frank says, “Wonderful. I’ve got a few things to work out with this, and unfortunately I’m not prepared to trust you roaming around, so for the time being, you’re going to be isolated to your rooms. Let’s all make the trip upstairs, shall we?”

  Irene and Jane help me stand. My legs wobble, my head buzzes, but I’m able to make it up the stairs on my own.

  We walk ahead of Frank. He doesn’t point the gun at us, but I feel the phantom presence of it anyway. I imagine the metal against my temple. I imagine my glasses broken and bloody like Winnie’s.

  I wonder if her blood is still warm. How long does it take for blood to cool and—what’s the word? Coagulate.

  Irene and Violet are sent into their room first. Frank locks them in with a key from his pocket. He’s never locked us in before, but it shouldn’t surprise me that he has a way to do it. Next, he locks Brooke into her room. He lets the little twins stay with her instead of locking them in their room with Winnie. It’s not a kindness. It keeps all of us away from the tunnel.

&n
bsp; Now he’s left with just me and Jane, but he stops us before we can enter our room.

  “Actually, Jane,” he says, “you come with me. I have quite a few questions for you, and I think you’ll agree that after all of this, you’ve more than earned a time-out.”

  I grab her hand. “Can’t you just talk to her in here?” I ask. He raises his eyebrows at me. Anxiety vibrates through my whole body, and I still feel so weak from the draining of my magic that I might collapse. I stand strong as I can.

  “Derry, I think you’re still a little confused,” Frank says. “From this point onward, the less cooperative you are, the more disposable you are. Your dictionary taught you disposable, right?”

  Jane pulls her hand out of mine. Frank stares at me until I back away into the room. He closes the door with him and Jane on the other side. The lock clicks into place.

  Every swear I know flashes through my mind. Once their footsteps fade I try the knob. It jiggles but doesn’t turn. I lean hard against the door and twist, but nothing budges.

  It can’t be said that Frank didn’t build a quality house.

  I try the window next. Sure, going out this way would set off the alarms, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to get to the forest before he caught me. The forest is its own form of danger, but I’m reasonably certain it doesn’t want to kill me, so I’ll take it over Frank until we can figure something else out.

  The window remains firmly shut. That’s weird—the second-floor windows have always opened, even if the first-floor ones don’t. I run my hands over the frame, looking for a lock. I don’t find one. I do find the nails that Frank hammered into it.

  Did he do it after he found me returning from the forest? Or while we were gone, rescuing Jane and Winnie? Is it every room, or just mine? I slap my hand against the wall, angry at all these pointless questions that aren’t going to get me out of here any sooner—

  There’s a groaning sound from Jane’s closet.

  Dr. Sam.

  With everything going on, I completely forgot that I drugged a man and stuffed him in a closet.