They were almost at the halfway mark in their journey between Vendetta Heights and Druid’s Hollow. It seemed silly to turn and run back now after they’d come so far.
His phone buzzed in his bag. Unanswered, the call went to his voicemail, probably on account of the shitty signal. He pulled the phone from his bag and listened to the message.
“Grayson? It’s Ms. Monroe. I’m just seeing your note about the books you took. One of those—The Dark Mother and Her Children—is, well, it shouldn’t be read. If you haven’t read it yet, don’t. Just bring it back, please. It’s not that you need to worry about the content or anything like that. It’s...well...the book has a will of its own.”
Grayson wondered what exactly that meant.
“Just don’t open the book,” she said. Fretfully, she added, “Call me as soon as you get this.”
Abby nodded north, suggesting they press on. When he started walking, she seized his arm and shook it. She jabbed her finger north again and he frowned. Once he followed her gaze however, he understood.
There, not a hundred feet away, was a woman.
She was walking away from them. She wore an outfit that looked like equestrian riding breeches and black leather gloves. Her black hair was pulled into a low pony at the nape of her neck. Her boots crossed the forest floor in absolute silence.
She didn’t look their way, but the idea that she could pass so close and not see them was unimaginable. Or perhaps she couldn’t be bothered by two teenagers wandering the woods. Her incessant stride suggested she had a very important appointment she could not miss. She marched on.
Or it was a trick. Maybe she wasn’t a woman at all.
“She doesn’t look like a monster,” Grayson whispered.
“Looks deceive,” Abby replied. “Let’s give her room.”
They kept their distance, though both parties were headed in the same direction. There were times when they’d seem to lose her as if she were walking three or four times faster than they could manage. She would disappear around a bend, or a rock-face and be gone. But when they arrived, she would always appear again.
Was she adjusting her speed for them? Did she want to be followed?
Grayson ran through the list of dangerous creatures he knew roamed the Western Woods. Dryads, of course, with claws like blades. Wendigos—equally terrifying. But neither of those took the shape of a woman. Perhaps it was a fey. Fey was an umbrella term for any number of creatures who lived on the magic of nature. The nastiest ate children and stole husbands. The best simply hated humans for their part in the world’s deforestation.
Perhaps the woman was fey and this game a trick.
What happened when she grew tired of playing with them?
They finished out seven miles, and Grayson checked his watch. He wanted to be mindful of the time. But in fact, in trying to keep up with the woman, they’d managed to cross seven miles before it was even three o’clock. They were making great time. But he was itching from the sweat glistening on his skin. He lifted his shirt and wiped his face.
“We’re almost there,” Abby said, her own breath labored. “Don’t give up on me now. I want to get the hell out of here.” She urged him on, setting the pace for the remainder of the hike.
Less than a mile later, the trees broke and the winding path dissolved into an enormous field. In the center of the field, The Crone Tree.
No one needed to tell Grayson this was the tree. Nor did he require any convincing that this was the subject of Castle Cove’s oldest lore.
The name was apt. The tree was monstrous and with spindly black limbs. It was like the Indian goddess Kali, black limbed with a thousand twisted arms extended from her. Her branches were full of strange blood-red blossoms unlike any Grayson had seen before. And it sounded as if it were full of birds. No small creatures flittered from branch to branch and yet the chorus seemed to emanate from it.
The trunk itself was knotted in such as a way as to suggest an old, weathered face.
Grayson was pulled from his gawking by an incessant quiver against his spine.
Grayson’s backpack vibrated against his back. He mistook it for another call, until he pulled his phone from the pack and found it dark.
It was the book. The book vibrated in his hands.
“What’s that sound? Do you hear it?” She knelt down beside him and turned her ear as if listening. “God, is it singing?”
All the cautious attention that she’d kept about her as they walked through the woods left her. Her eyes were wild with curiosity now. She bordered on delight.
And Abby was right.
The book was doing something. Vibrating or singing, he couldn’t be sure.
“Is it made of the same wood?” she asked. Her finger lovingly traced the cover.
That’s when Grayson realized that it was wood that encased the pages. How could he have mistaken it for leather before?
“Let’s bring them together,” Abby said. She looked from the book in his hands to the tree sitting in the center of the field. “Maybe they want to be together.”
Her voice had a faraway, dreamy quality to it now. Grayson himself felt as if he was dreaming as he wandered toward the large, imposing tree.
Suddenly, Grayson was knocked off his feet and thrown through the air.
It happened so quickly that he barely processed the feeling of his feet leaving the earth before his abdomen was jerked up and backward. He tumbled to the ground. All his breath left him in a single gush. His pack had hit the earth ten feet away, spraying its contents into the dirt. Somehow, he still held the book.
He sat up in the tall grass, confused.
“Well,” someone said. “That was unexpected.”
It was the woman in the equestrian outfit. Her black boots shone in the sunlight. Her gloved hand went to her hip as she frowned down at Grayson.
That’s when Abby stood up, knocking the dirt off her knees. When she saw the woman, she let her backpack slide off her shoulders and took a fighting stance.
The woman seemed amused by this, smiling at Abby over her shoulder as she continued to stand over Grayson. “What have we here?”
Before Abigail could answer, the woman waved her arms in a furious arc as if gathering wind and hurled it in Abby’s direction.
But the wind only parted around Abigail, ruffling the tall grass and eliciting groans from the trees behind her.
The gloved hand returned to her hip. “Not bad. But you reek of Miriam. Is it your power you’re throwing around or is it the coven’s, little girl?”
Abby didn’t take the bait. “You all right?”
She spoke to Grayson but her eyes remained fixed on the woman.
“He’s fine,” the woman replied. “I suspect he’s stunned at best. Was that your doing? A hell of a protection spell, if I do say so myself. Of course it could only be that strong if you really loved him.”
Abigail’s cheeks flushed.
“Oh, you two are adorable. But I need a sacrifice if I’m to get the Witching Blade out of this tree. Since I’m a romantic, I’ll let you choose. Would you prefer to offer yourself, or watch him die? He’ll only leave you anyway. Men are like that. That’s what your father did, didn’t he? To your mother?”
With a battle scream, Abigail ran at the other woman.
Grayson couldn’t be sure what he was seeing. Flames seemed to rip from the woman’s hands and sail toward Abigail. But then they only evaporated into thick plumes of smoke before Abigail threw a knee into the woman’s chest.
Figures emerged from the trees at full speed.
Dryads, Grayson thought, heart hammering. Or wendigos. Or maybe the mouth of Hell had opened and all manner of creatures were now going to rise up and consume them.
But it wasn’t dryads or wendigos.
It was only two women and a man. A lightning crack of energy zipped through the air and the woman in riding gear was thrown off Abigail. She tumbled across the earth and hit the dirt twenty feet from Grayson�
��s left, closer to the tree than anyone.
The woman was on her feet almost instantly, snarling. The curled lips and animalistic sneer turned her beautiful face into a hideous parody of itself.
Then she saw the woman responsible and her face harnessed a disturbing calm.
“Oh, Miriam, it’s just you. I thought it might be an actual threat.”
Miriam, a tall woman with wavy brunette hair stood beside Abigail. No, she stood over her as if guarding a precious charge.
Where the hell did she come from? Grayson wondered. He’d never seen the woman before.
“Can you get up?” Miriam was looking at the woman, but Abigail was the one who answered.
“Yes.” She pulled herself to standing and dusted off her knees.
“And is he all right?” Miriam asked, her eyes flicking toward Grayson for only a moment.
“I think so. Just stunned. He flew pretty far.”
Grayson found his voice at last. “I’m okay.”
“Good. Get up. We are leaving the forest,” Miriam said. Her voice was calm, almost pleasant, but it left no room for argument. “Now.”
“No, they aren’t,” the woman replied, batting dirt from her riding breeches and gloves.
“Do you think you can stop all of us, Hope?” Miriam asked.
Miriam balled her hands and swept them into another beautiful arc. The man beside her did the same. Their hands glowed with soft light.
But before they could attack, the woman named Hope had a trick of her own.
Black smoke poured from her hands, pooling around her feet. It rose up like a blanket and encircled the woman completely.
When it dissipated, she was gone.
A hand seized him and he looked up, surprised to find Ms. Monroe of all people, her hand tightly clasping his arm.
“Get up!” Ms. Monroe yelled. She wrenched him onto his feet. “Run!’
The black man who’d stood guard beside Miriam a moment before grabbed Abigail’s pack before trotting over and gathering Grayson’s as well.
“Don’t worry, mate,” he said, seeing Grayson’s distressed face. He was shoving the spilled contents back into the backpack. “It’s safe as houses with me.”
Grayson was surprised by his English accent, but he soon forgot it.
The book was gone. “But the book—”
Ms. Monroe shook it at him. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Come on!”
Grayson was dragged through the trees as if the Devil himself and all the hounds of Hell were on their heels. The man and Ms. Monroe flanked him, pulling him along so that his pace didn’t falter. Abigail and Miriam stayed ahead of them.
We can’t do this for eight and a half miles, Grayson thought. His body ached from its collision with the earth. We can’t.
Yet they dragged on. Ms. Monroe was relentless as any mother who was scared out of her wits by a child’s near brush with death.
“Why are we running?” he begged. “She disappeared.”
“We aren’t worried about Hope!” Ms. Monroe hissed. “Use your eyes boy!”
A terrible crashing through the trees made him wrench his head in the direction of the sound. A dryad was galloping after them. Like a tree come to life, it lumbered forward. Its limbs whipped about its head like uprooted tree branches.
“Dante!” Ms. Monroe yelled.
“I see it!” Dante cursed. Light sparked from his hands. “It’s like stunning a stone wall. It only knocks them back for a second!”
“Lift and throw!” Ms. Monroe cried. “Lift and throw. Give us distance.”
With another furious flick of his hand, the dryad was tossed through the trees away from them.
“Keep moving!” Miriam called from up ahead. “We’ve still a long way to go.”
And to Grayson it seemed true. He felt like they’d walked for days, not hours. There was no sign of Hope, and the dryads would not give up. At one point they’d collected an entourage of five. No matter how many times they were tossed out of sight by magic they lumbered back.
It seemed enough for the three witches—not including Abigail—to handle.
Or was it two witches.
Grayson had not yet seen Ms. Monroe—who the others kept calling Tabby or Tabitha—cast a single spell.
At long last, the light broke ahead. Grayson was so relieved to see the woods part and the large expanse of Vendetta Heights before him that he collapsed to his knees.
“Not here!” Ms. Monroe hissed again, dragging him forward. “Get in the sunlight.”
He obeyed, exiting the woods and falling against the hood of his car. A cherry red hybrid sat beside it.
There was a black woman leaning against the hood of the red Prius. She sighed, visibly relieved at the sight of them. “What happened?”
“Hope Duvani,” Miriam said. “Naomi, did you see her?”
“What? No,” Naomi said. “I thought it was just the book! I should’ve come with you!”
“No, it was good you were here,” Miriam said. She was trying to catch her breath, chest heaving. “The cloaking helped. I think we would’ve been found out by more than a few dryads if you hadn’t stayed behind to cover us.”
“I’m so sorry,” Abigail said, chest heaving. She hadn’t yet caught her breath. None of them had. “I put everyone in danger. I accept full responsibility for whatever punishment you want to give me. I deserve it.”
“Oh my life. Do you hear this?” Dante cut his eyes to Miriam. “What do you have this girl thinkin’?”
“We’re your coven, not a tribunal,” Naomi said gently. She was smiling at Abigail the way one might regard a small child who has said something funny.
“She’s right.” Miriam gave Abigail a small smile. “You used your power in service of someone you love. That’s exactly how you’re supposed to use it, Abigail. There’s no blame here.”
Abigail’s face flushed red. That was twice today someone had informed Grayson that Abigail loved him.
“I don’t want to disappoint you or let you think I don’t take being a witch seriously. You must think I’m the kind of person who runs into danger like—”
“We don’t,” Dante said, interrupting.
“I blame the book,” Naomi said, fingering her braids.
“Me too,” Ms. Monroe said. She was the only one who seemed to be breathing fine again so quickly.
“What’s wrong with it?” Grayson asked, realizing that Ms. Monroe still had the book. He reached for it but she pulled back.
“Sorry, but we’ve got to keep it wrapped up. It’s safer that way.”
Grayson let his hands fall. “Why?”
“It’s a cursed object,” Ms. Monroe said, pulling her glasses off her face and cleaning them with the bottom of her shirt. There was a smudge of dirt on the side of her nose. “A cursed object with one objective, to lure human sacrifices to The Crone Tree.”
“Certainly looked that way from what I saw. The moment I looked at it, all I wanted to do was go to the tree,” Abigail said. “But how could a book do that?”
Ms. Monroe pushed the glasses back up on her nose. “The printer, Bentley Yorkshire, believed that the demons might’ve tampered with his printing press as a joke. He recorded in his ledger that he found shards of strange tree bark in the press’s gears and leftover sheets of paper that ‘could absorb blood.’”
“I wonder how he discovered that trick,” Dante said with a snort.
“Either way, the press made seven copies of that damned book before it was shut down. Most were gathered up and disposed of before they could get into human hands.”
Grayson didn’t miss the way she said human hands, as if that didn’t include her.
Miriam lifted her hair off her neck, welcoming the breeze that rolled across the Heights. “Four copies have been found over the centuries—this one is the fifth. They were all disposed of properly, but there is a fear that the others might’ve made it out into the world.”
“Maybe this is good news then,
” Dante said. “Maybe they’re here in Castle Cove somewhere.”
“I wish you’d been wearing the onyx I gave you.” Ms. Monroe turned to Grayson. “Perhaps it would’ve protected you from the book’s sway.”
“No,” Grayson piped up. He was beginning to feel better now that they were out of the woods and the book was away from him. “I was wearing it before we went into the forest. It didn’t protect me from the stupid idea in the first place.”
He thought of the night before, of the way he’d felt when he’d opened the book and began reading the story. Who knew a book could possess a person?
“I’m glad he didn’t wear it,” Naomi countered. “If he had, we would’ve never found you.”
“You’d both be dead,” Miriam agreed. She gave Grayson a disapproving look as if he was to blame.
“Thank you,” he said, finding his manners at last. “Thank you for helping us.”
They shrugged him off.
“What I want to know is why Hope is here. And by The Crone Tree of all places. There’s no reason,” Naomi said.
“Yes, it would help to know what she was after,” Miriam said, her eyes looking across the road to the ocean beyond. “No doubt the trouble around town with the sirens and graveyard can be blamed on her.”
“The Witching Blade,” Abby said. She was looking at her arm, inspecting a scratch she’d received from a tree branch during their escape. “She said she wanted The Witching Blade.”
The witches exchanged furtive glances, before Miriam fixed her with a hard gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Of course she’s sure,” Naomi said. “How would she even know that name unless she’d heard it?”
“This is bad,” Ms. Monroe said. She squeezed the book tighter against her chest. “Really bad.”
Miriam turned and considered the ocean for a long time. No one moved or spoke. Grayson wondered what that must be like, to have so much authority that people literally just stood around, waiting for you to give orders.
“We need to speak to Ethan,” Miriam said finally.
“When?” Dante asked.
“Now.” Miriam moved toward the cars. “Come on.”
Night Tide Page 23