Blinded and panicked, I slow down, straining my eyes to see the condition of the road ahead through the frantic movement of the windshield wipers. A flash of lightning illuminates trees under assault by the slashing rain. Another lightning bolt. Then another. And another. No thunder. Just endless sparks of light hitting seemingly the same spot, over and over again. A tree falls with a thud, making me jump in my seat. Del lets out a squeak. I hit the brakes. “Crap! That was close.” The car jerks to a stop.
A fallen blue spruce, not fully grown but still large enough to block the road entirely, has missed us by a few feet.
I meet Del’s eyes, red-rimmed and wide, and I see in them what goes through my mind, too: We are trapped.
29
EVENT HORIZON
Black holes are created when a large star grows so old it begins to collapse into itself. With star matter getting packed tighter and tighter, the gravitational pull grows stronger and stronger—until it packs so tightly that the ordinary rules of physics break and everything starts getting dragged in. The dead star collapses into a black hole. Once trapped in a black hole’s gravitational pull, not even light can get out. What happens in a black hole stays in a black hole.
The event horizon marks the boundary where escape is impossible. Put simply, an event horizon is the point of no return.
I have a feeling that the fallen spruce that nearly crushed our car was our event horizon.
* * *
All but deafened and blinded by the sky’s angry deluge, I reverse on the narrow, slick road. I slow down whenever the car threatens to swerve and, once we’re out of the woods, I turn onto another road that runs parallel to the trees, hoping to get to the highway via the town’s center. Hallelujah! I can see the spire of the clock tower and the outline of the church next to it, both coming up on the left. We’re almost in Promise’s downtown.
I step on it and don’t slow down until the car rolls onto Promise’s sleepy main street. From there I aim for the town’s heart. The rain is slamming down like mad. Not a soul on the streets. I know on a rational level that this town isn’t abandoned, but it sure feels like it.
“Take a left here, I think,” Del says, pointing through the rain.
Going left gets us just off the town’s center, not far from Angie’s Shop of Curiosities. From here I take course for the clock tower up ahead. When the tower grows nearer, a wave of relief washes over me, clearing my head like a doubleshot of espresso.
My euphoria doesn’t last. The road takes an unexpected turn, making me lose view of the spire for a second. I blink away the sudden fuzziness veiling my eyes and swear. Following the turn, our Kia has somehow ended up going the opposite way, the clock tower now haunting the rearview mirror. We pass Angie’s Shop of Curiosities again, heading back the way we came.
“This makes no sense!” Del whispers. “It was just one turn. We couldn’t have made a one-eighty!”
Shaking my head, I spin the steering wheel and make a U-turn, going for the spire again only to lose it once more and end up on the street leading back to the Manor.
“I don’t know what to do, Del!” I whimper, not recognizing the sound of my own voice.
“Just go back.”
“No.”
“Just go back to the Manor, Hayden. We need to regroup.” The note of defeat in Del’s voice takes me off guard. “Something’s wrong with our sense of direction. Or we’re both having some kind of episode. The end result is the same: We can’t leave. Or at least, we can’t leave right now. So let’s just go back to the Manor and think this through.”
She doesn’t mention the possibility that must’ve crossed her mind in the last few minutes: Promise is blocking our way, doing all it can to redirect us back to the Manor.
And it’s winning.
Despite my subconscious knowing that we can’t leave, I still want to argue with Del, but her words sound so much like something I would say—stone-cold logical—that I have no choice but to nod my reluctant agreement.
Satisfied, Promise reshapes the space-time continuum once more and spits us out of the town proper and into the woods. Our Kia heads down the road all the way back to the Manor without incident.
I’m relieved that Elspeth isn’t here to gloat when I step out of the car and take in the familiar landscape. The Manor’s gothic-novel-worthy outline shimmers meaningfully in the gloom. Defeat tastes like rainwater, plain but poignant.
We haul our luggage back into the house, getting drenched to the bone in the process. The Manor creaks and murmurs, either welcoming us back or ridiculing our failed escape attempt.
After changing into dry clothes, I can’t help but sigh in relief, letting out some of the pressure that’s built up in me during our drive to nowhere. I appreciate the soft and dry cotton of clean clothes, pure happiness against my skin.
I go down to the kitchen, eager to reconvene or, as Del called it, regroup. We have a lot to talk about, and, as usual, I don’t know where to start.
I take a seat at the kitchen table and watch Del as she extracts an aluminium container of cocoa from Dad’s stash in the storage closet and makes hot chocolate. I’m grateful for Del’s presence now more than ever, thankful for her calm bravery in the face of this highly unusual spring break trip, but I’m still unsure of what to say, how to express my gratitude, and how to explain all the things I’ve just discovered and the even crazier things I suspect. A large part of me feels guilty for dragging her out here and getting her mixed up in my family’s mess, but I also remember that she volunteered to come along. Still, I owe her the truth about what’s been happening to me since we arrived in Promise. The need to tell her everything burns inside me, an all-consuming fire. I savor the moment as I pass over my own event horizon and let the words flow.
“Here’s the deal,” I start, and Del, sensing that this is important, meets my eyes. Grasping my mug of hot chocolate with both hands, I seek courage in its warmth. “My mom wasn’t mentally stable, and my dad was … is obsessed with her. His obsession extends to this town and this mythic warrior race called the Nibelungs. There are legends telling of the Nibelungs’ treasure, but Dad used to tell me—back when I was still willing to listen to his ramblings—that it’s supposed to be a metaphorical treasure, something abstract, like power or knowledge, not diamonds and gold.”
Del doesn’t interrupt, so I continue, wondering how much she already suspects after sharing a roof with me for many months and having had a chance to observe my family’s comings and goings. “After Mom disappeared, Dad and I moved to New York. In school, I’ve always struggled being around other kids. Or maybe it was they who struggled being around me. I used to have these anxiety attacks caused by recurring dreams— I was either haunted by Mom or leading an army through the night, or both. Whenever I had those dreams, in my head I could feel the warriors’ intent—to raze this world to the ground so they could build one of their own on its ashes. I thought these supernatural army nightmares were a courtesy of Dad’s Nibelung tales, but now I don’t know anymore. Then one day in school, someone got hurt. I don’t remember what happened. Not exactly. But a teacher claimed that we were arguing and I pushed this girl, Jen. Her face was a mess.…” I shudder at the memory.
I wait for Del’s features to twist into disgust or pity, but she just nods, a curt move of her chin, beckoning me to go on.
“You know the rest, I guess. I was pulled out of school. Dad hired tutors to homeschool me. I was in therapy, taking antianxiety meds for a while. It was only a few months ago that I was allowed to come off my meds completely. It was decided that I was adjusting fine.”
I tell Del about Doreen, my mother’s “conditions” and “clues” in the codicil to her will, and then the big one: what happened when I took Gabriel’s amulet into the woods.
After a moment of alarming silence, Del takes a long sip of her hot chocolate before saying, “You actually saw your mother open a portal in the woods and then get sucked into it?”
I co
nsider her emphasis on saw and say carefully, “It was as if I was in two places at once. In that moment I was my mother, opening the portal and welcoming the army into this world, and at the same time I was me, watching my mother … perish. Whether it was all in my head or not, it was horrifying. I mean, at that moment, Mom really wanted to destroy the world.…” I pause. “You probably think I’ve finally lost it.”
Del becomes quiet again. This time the silence drags on for what feels like ages, though it must be barely a minute. Deliberately, she finishes her drink and places the empty mug on the table. I know her well enough to recognize the mannerism as her attempt to stretch out her response time, so she can gather her thoughts and formulate her words properly. “I haven’t told you this before, but I have a sister who’s in a cult. They call themselves the ‘Watchers’ Disciples.’ They believe they can develop superpowers by cultivating silence and abstinence. There was this BBC documentary about them.…”
“You never mentioned you had a sister.” I think of Del’s family, her proud parents, her gorgeous brother, the way they are so happy and radiant every time they video chat with Del.
“That’s because we don’t talk about Alice. My family’s way of dealing with a problem, any problem, is to distance ourselves from it and never ever talk about it. Alice must’ve been eighteen, straight out of high school, when she met the cult’s leader. Weeks before her nineteenth birthday, she announced her move out of my parents’ home to live in a compound on the outskirts of Paris. Our parents didn’t fight for her. Mom and Dad just watched as she packed up her things and left. I know it sounds unrealistic, but my parents are like that. Their pride was hurt. They took her decision to leave as if she made it to personally wound them, as if they weren’t good enough for her. And maybe there was an element of resentment on her part, but that’s not the point. The morning my sister left, my mother removed all photos of her from the walls. Alice got erased from our life, completely cut out.”
“Del, that’s really screwed up and I’m so sorry … but why are you telling me this? Why now?”
“I’m going somewhere with this. You see, I visited Alice regularly after she moved into the compound. I had to keep our meetings secret from our parents—they would be mad if they found out—but I had to see Alice. She was always the cool- headed one, the logical one. Actually, now that I think about it, you remind me of her a lot. So when logical Alice got involved in this cult stuff, it just didn’t make sense to me. Brainwashing wouldn’t work on her, I knew that, so I thought it had to be something else. My sister would have to believe that this cult and its leader were the real deal, otherwise she would’ve never left her family like that.”
“So what happened?” I ask, captivated by the story as much as I’m numbed by the revelations about Del’s family. “What did you find out?”
“The compound turned out to be a lot less sinister than it sounds. Not the creepy Manson stuff at all, but more like a happy hippie commune, you know, everyone’s content and real quiet. When I went there to see Alice, she told me that she decided to join the commune after she saw the cult’s leader levitate and move objects with this mind.”
I can’t help the freaked-out expression forming on my face, but Del misinterprets it as skepticism and shakes her head, saying, “I know what you’re going to say, Hayden. This supernatural ability stuff can be faked, etcetera, etcetera. I’ve watched those Uri Geller videos with you, so yeah, I know where you’re coming from, but hear this: It doesn’t matter if it was fake or not. My sister really believed she saw the leader do all these things. And that belief shaped her reality, no matter whether the leader could really levitate or not.”
“So I’m a victim of trickery?”
Absently Del rubs her head, once more careful to choose her words. “I didn’t say that. Remember that I do believe in the paranormal and you don’t—unless you’ve changed your mind at last. What I’m saying is that this Elspeth chick is superscary, and I wouldn’t put it past her trying to pull some crazy stunt to—”
Del stops midsentence and gives me a suspicious look. “She wants something.” When I don’t confirm or deny her words, she says, “And you know what it is. You have it.”
I’m about to tell her about the blood vials, but then I decide showing is better than telling. So I run upstairs. The rune-decorated box is where I left it.
Back downstairs, when I open the box for Del after explaining how I found it in the crawl space, I watch her face, fascinated by the way her expression tightens in confusion. “What the hell?” she asks.
“Blood that doesn’t go bad,” I say. I extract one of the vials from its keeping place and shake it to demonstrate; there’s a ghoulish beauty to its waves. “This one’s got Mom’s initials.” I run my finger over the ET-H printed with permanent marker on the vial’s side. I cast my eyes over the other two vials (ED and GD) and make a realization. “The other two must be from Elspeth and her father. Elspeth Diamond and Gabriel Diamond. The three of them were connected somehow, and they felt their blood was important enough to preserve.”
“Like the relics of a saint,” Del says.
I nod. “Right. Pieces of a saint, a preserved hand or a finger that supposedly doesn’t rot. But I’ve never heard about blood staying fresh like this. It’s supposed to coagulate. Unless, maybe, the person is sick, but haemophilia is hereditary, and I know Mom didn’t have it.”
“Maybe something’s been added to the blood to preserve it. Besides, you don’t know for sure this is your mom’s blood. Or even blood at all.”
“I wish there was a way we could test it.”
If lab analysis revealed something unexplained, something definitively nonhuman about this blood, then it would be proof—finally, proof!—that my mother wasn’t human.
I know we’re thinking the same thing, I’m just the first to articulate it. “And, of course, conveniently, there’s a high-tech lab dedicated to blood research in Promise.”
Del nods.
I just need to convince Shannon to help me get the blood from the vials analyzed without attracting too much attention from anyone else.
30
RESTLESS
I contemplate grabbing the blood vials and going to the Blue Haven research facility in the woods now, but like all the best-laid plans made in Promise, this one gets put on hold because of weather. The rainstorm raging outside is a howling, elemental beast, leaving us no choice but to wait it out.
So we stay in for the rest of the afternoon, talking about anything but Promise and its creepiness. As we lounge about, sticking to the less-dusty parts of the Manor, Del tricks me into giving her a pedicure. While I buff her nails to shiny perfection, she tamely suggests giving me a makeover. As I always do, I laugh it off. She waits until I’m done with her nails to start pushing my buttons. It’s like we’re back in Fort Greene. I realize I miss our home.
I do a double take when Del says, “Don’t you even have, like, the slightest desire to impress Shannon with your understated beauty?”
“You’ll pay for that understated beauty comment, you beast.” I make a grab for her feet, intending to smudge her freshly painted nails, but she wiggles out of the path of destruction and slides off the couch to the floor, chortling.
“You are the beast, Hayden. Scaring boys, sometimes before they even get to see you.” She stops when she notices my changed expression at her reference to my fiasco of a blind date with Ross. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. To me, that is. I mean, it was my idea to organize that stupid blind date. But please, why won’t you let me be a good friend to you and fix that god-awful wavy hair of yours? Just so Shannon doesn’t break his fingers when he runs his hands through it.”
“I’m not letting you anywhere near my hair. But fine, I will wash it and style it. Because I was going to do it anyway, not because I share your deranged belief that Santiago and Shannon are going to make their way
to the Manor through this storm. Besides, once the weather calms down, I’m going to the blood collection point, so you can deal with Santiago on your own.”
I drag my feet upstairs and draw a hot bath. The change from cool to hot is shocking, and it takes three deep breaths and some mental cajoling for me to stay in the bath. But soon my body starts to melt into the water. I close my eyes and allow a light smile to play over my lips as I submerge into twilight.
Twilight.
Mom’s blond ponytail flickers as it vanishes into the mass of dusky trees. Mom wants me to follow her, but the forest has another idea; trees shift, moving or popping up out of nowhere, blocking my path, snapping branches at my face. My feet keep tripping over the wild underbrush. Driven by the blood in my veins, I push on. Electric buzzing—a swarm of angry, iron butterflies flapping their wings—rules the space around me, evolving into that now-familiar noise of metal clanging against metal. Dream logic keeps my emotions at bay when I realize I am the source of the clanging; head to toe, I’m encased in leather and metal. The leather is tight, its touch sensual, reminding me of Shannon’s fingers running the length of my arm. Elaborate metal plates protecting my chest and back make me feel an infinite strength from within. Strength the likes of which I’ve never felt before.
But without a horse, I’m vulnerable out here, a voice says in my mind. As if it’s totally normal to be wearing medieval gear in the middle of Colorado and bemoan the absence of a horse to carry me.
Then a horse neighs. Not far away. My beast is searching for me. My army is waiting. Restless.
My fingers curl and uncurl in anticipation of folding over the leathery reins of my battle horse. I can smell him, his powerful, musky scent. There’s a heat building in the bottom of my belly that’s both uncomfortable and liberating.
The forest tightens around me. The branches are demanding, searching as they wrap around and slide against my body. But the cold feel of something metal in my fist gives me power. I raise my hand to see the wicked shine of a curved blade, black runes running its entire length. I slash and hack, tearing through the woods, attacking the tightly woven wall of firs and spruces. Under my onslaught, the trees give in and release me into a small clearing, where a giant of a horse stands facing me, a challenge written all over his face. Only his black mane is free; the rest of him is hidden under armor, twinkling in the night.
What the Woods Keep Page 18