Most of the person’s previous life and human connection were instantly forgotten. These vampires were reborn, strong and fast. Their powers included telepathy, mind-control, telekinesis and flying, depending on how strong the demon that inhabited their body was.
According to Abigail—or Abigail’s mother, who knew almost every citizen in their town—it was actually only one demon per clan. The demon—and its power—was strongest in the oldest clan member, and weakest in the newest recruits. That was why they adhered to a hierarchy. Like all demons, they were unable to go into sunlight and died when the sun rose each day. They were cold to the touch, because they were essentially reanimated corpses. There was no life left in them.
As Grayson drove past the large, looming mansions, he wondered if such creatures really dwelled within. The revival architecture and old live oaks thick with moss seemed to say, old beings dwell here. With homes so massive, he imagined there was plenty of room for an entire clan and all their attendants to live comfortably.
Just east of Hyde Park, before Castle Cove University began, was a small neighborhood called Hummingbird Hollow. It had small, quaint ranch-style homes and postage stamp yards. He turned off Ruby Road onto Violetear Drive and found Abby sitting on her porch with a camo backpack between her knees on the step below her.
She stood when she saw him pulling into the drive and slung the sack over her shoulder.
He hadn’t even fully come to a stop before she threw the passenger side door open and climbed inside.
“My mom’s shift ends in ten minutes so you better step on it if you want to miss her,” she said, and pulled the seatbelt across her chest.
He was back on Ruby Road moments later.
He was struck with the smell of her. Her hair looked damp and freshly washed. Her clothes reeked of fabric softener.
“So what do you know?” she asked, adjusting the pack between her legs.
“About the Western Woods?”
“No,” she said then she cocked her head. “Well yeah, that too. But I meant Landon. You said you had a book about how to bring him back from the dead?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted.
He could see her looking at him from the corner of his eye.
“I read a story about Vendetta and The Crone Tree. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
He recounted the story for her, from Vendetta’s hard life until she was turned into a demon and took on the ruthless queen.
“What does this have to do with Landon?” she asked when he was done.
His thighs had begun to stick to his seat. He leaned forward and adjusted the A/C. “According to the story and my mother, The Crone Tree will bring him back to life if we make a sacrifice.”
“Is there a dead body in the trunk?” she asked. “Because I don’t see a sacrifice.”
“I was hoping my blood would be enough.”
“You expect to cut your hand and resurrect Landon?” she asked. “Grayson, you didn’t think this through. Which is...really unlike you.”
Was he that obvious? Of course, he hadn’t told her the truth. He couldn’t tell her that he’d intended to cut himself—really cut himself. That he’d hoped his own blood would attract a dryad or some other monster and that he would kill it beneath the tree—offering that in exchange for Landon’s life.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.
He shifted in his seat.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked.
“No,” he said. He turned and looked at her, trying to gauge how angry she was. She was irritated, but not furious. He didn’t want to see how far she would push him.
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea that I know what the actual plan is before we go into the big, dark woods?”
He sighed. “I was going to cut myself.”
“Again, I don’t think a bit of blood counts as a sacrifice.”
“I was hoping the blood would attract...something.”
Her lips pursed in question. “Any particular something? Or will any monster work for you?”
“First come, first served,” he said.
“What if it is a dryad?”
His heart faltered. “What if it is?”
“Dryads are supposed to be sacred to The Crone. If you kill one maybe you’ll piss her off and she’ll smite you.”
“Or we spare it in exchange for what we want.”
“Or we get swarmed and eaten by a dozen of them. Or maybe she won’t be impressed at all and tears us apart herself.”
“Vendetta—” he began.
“Vendetta was turned into a demon so she could murder someone.” Abigail spoke the words as if it answered everything. “That’s some dark shit. I don’t think the tree is into oh-please-save-my-best-friend type of requests. And all the things I’ve ever heard about The Crone Tree or She Who Sleeps is about her loyalty to her creations—demons, sirens, dryads. I don’t think slaughtering one of her children is going to win her over.”
He understood what she was saying. They had no proof that this would work. And the idea that they were going to walk over eight miles into the most dangerous woods on just a hope seemed...fine. It’ll be fine, he thought.
Grayson pulled to a stop at the four-way in front of Crossroads.
“You’d have better odds going in there,” Abby said. She pointed at the demon bar across the street.
Even though it was the middle of the day, several cars sat in the gravel lot outside the old timey saloon. The Crossroads bar was a demon bar. Every long-time resident of Castle Cove knew that. One only went in there to make dangerous deals.
Abby gestured to the slouching porch and batwing doors. “At least you know what you’re getting when dealing with those guys.”
Grayson sat at the four-way stop, considering his options. “You don’t have to come. You can wait in the car.”
“Because you’re going in there no matter what I say, aren’t you?”
South Beach bloomed on his left, revealing sandy beaches and blue-grey water today. On his right was the open fields known as Vendetta Heights. Grayson drove until he thought he was about parallel to the place known as Druid’s Hollow.
“Christ,” Abby swore. “This is really happening.”
“Then don’t come!” he said. “I don’t know why I even brought you!”
Her face reddened as if slapped. She remained silent for the remainder of the drive, all the way to Vendetta Heights.
“I’m coming,” she announced. “Now give me a kiss. For good luck.”
She licked her lips.
He pulled off the road and parked the car, the nose pointing at the looming woods ahead of them.
“No, you’re just trying to distract me.”
“Come on,” she said, leaning over the console. “We might die in here.”
Heart hammering in his chest, he leaned across the console toward her. She met him halfway. Her lips were warm and sticky as they slid against his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, sending shivers down the back of his neck. A strange prickling raised the hairs along his skin.
Just when he thought he might burst with the desire building in his chest—because god, if it was her plan to make out with him in this car to prevent him from going, it just might work—she pulled back, frowning.
“What are you wearing?” she asked. She was looking him over as if she’d never seen him before.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you wearing? Do you have any oils on or maybe jewelry or a rock in your pocket?”
He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the onyx. “You mean this? How did you—”
She took it between her fingers, frowning at the black stone. “At least I’m not losing my mind.”
“What are you saying?”
“Why not? It’s a good a time as any.” She sighed and searched his eyes. “I’m a witch.”
For a moment, he sat there looking at her. It sound
ed like a punchline to an incomplete joke. Like someone had told it poorly, skipping important information.
Finally he managed, “What?”
“I’m a witch. I joined the Castle Cove coven when I turned eighteen. I’d wanted to join since junior year but you have to be of age. Then it’s a ten-year apprenticeship until you’re a full member.”
“And they just let you join?” he asked. It sounded like a stupid question once it left his lips. It was funny how some questions sounded very smart inside his head, but less so once spoken.
“I have an aptitude for magic.”
“Wait,” he said, straightening and running a hand over his face. “What does this have to do with the onyx?”
But then he remembered Ms. Monroe’s words.
“Were you trying to cast a spell on me?”
“A protection spell before we go in there half-cocked. But to be honest, I don’t even know if it’s going to work. There’s a saying in the coven: There’s not enough magic in the world to protect against stupidity.”
“Is this why you wanted to come?” he asked her. “You thought you could protect me?”
“I’m trying,” she said. She bit her lip, her anxiety showing. “I wanted to cast protection spells and stealth spells on us both. I was hoping that it would get us further into the woods without being detected. Or if we run into something, we’ll have a bit of luck on our sides. But Grayson—”
He snapped himself out of the mental spiral that was sucking him down.
Abby is a witch. Abby is a witch. Abby—
“Grayson—the Western Woods is old magic. Old as Hell itself, do you understand? I have zero belief that my wimpy spells are going to get us through this alive. That’s why I called Miriam.”
“Who?” Every time his heart slowed down, Abby said something to send it kicking again.
“My coven leader. I told her where we are. I asked for her help.”
Grayson dragged his hands down his face. “What if they stop us?”
Abby snorted. “If only we were so lucky. Do you really want to go in there?”
She pointed at the woods.
He looked at the darkness pooling beneath the trees. “Yes.”
“And if you don’t go now, you’ll just sneak in by yourself some other time, won’t you?”
“How did you—”
“Right. So I’m going in with you then.” Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. “And I’m doing what I can to keep us safe, but I can’t cast any spells on us if you have that necklace on.”
He looked down at the onyx pendant resting against his chest. He lifted it, gazing into its black face. He saw his own, puzzled reflection staring back at him.
Grayson wrapped his hand around the onyx. “Can you get the clasp?”
He leaned toward her, feeling her cold fingers on the back of his neck.
The weight slid off his neck, clinking into her palm. She slid it into a cup holder.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she said, her eyes shining. “It’s just a small protection spell. I would never do anything that changed your will or something like that.”
“I know.” He smiled. “So how does it work?”
A crooked grin tugged her lips to one side. “Like this.”
She leaned across the console and brushed her mouth against his. Her parting lips invited movement of his own. He opened his mouth and welcomed the brush of her tongue.
A warm tingle ran down his spine, raising the goosebumps on his arms and the back of his neck.
She pulled back from the kiss, panting. “We better get a move on.”
“No,” he said.
She laughed. “Yes.”
She grabbed the pack between her legs and threw open the passenger side door.
“Come on.”
Grayson looked at the dashboard clock. It was 12:12. She was right. They were losing daylight.
He stepped from the car into the tall grass. It scratched at his jeans as he rooted in the backseat for his pack. He hefted the pack onto his shoulders and locked up his car. With several long, loping strides he was able to catch Abigail at the edge of the woods.
A shiver ran down his spine as he recollected the illustration from The Dark Mother and Her Children. He didn’t see any eyes watching him, waiting for him to step vulnerable into the woods. But he suspected there might be creatures here that he couldn’t see. This was Castle Cove after all.
Abby took his hand and pulled him into the forest. “I want us out of here before dark. Come on.”
The dense canopy overhead immediately blotted out most of the sunlight.
They hadn’t even gone twenty feet before he realized he was right about the low light. He’d suspected the covering in this part of the forest was thick, dappling what little sunlight they had.
In the Wayward Woods, he could walk until nearly sunset and count upon the light. The trees weren’t as crowded and the wide expanse of bright sky overhead invited hikers to linger in any of the beautiful, open fields surrounding the trails. Lake Trail, in particular, offered a gorgeous view for stargazing. And it was close enough to Sunset Park that one could linger well into the evening and feel relatively safe.
Here the trees seemed to stand almost on top of one another.
They are crowding in on us, he thought. He shivered again.
“We need to get to The Crone Tree within three hours if we can. We can make it if we keep a good pace,” he said.
Her head was up. Her eyes were bright. He respected her even more for that. She’d always been smart, probably one of the most brilliant students at their school, but her seriousness—when seriousness was merited—had always impressed him. Landon had been a jokester. He’d laughed at all the wrong moments and whenever the moments had been tense, like when Abigail’s father left town and never came back, he’d tried to use laughter to dispel the gloom.
“I don’t think we should talk,” she whispered.
Grayson agreed so they walked in silence.
First a mile. Then two. By the third mile, his mind had entered a sort of trance state as it often did when he walked. His thoughts flittered away and left him only with the sensation of the experience. His body laboring. Fresh air moving in and out of his chest. A slight sweat forming on his brow and the back of his neck. The shirt trapped between his skin and backpack had grown damp.
He kept walking.
However, it was difficult to traverse the woods with complete stealth. It looked lush and green. The forest floor was thick with spongy moss and soft clover. Their steps should be nearly muted. And yet, it seemed that every snapping twig, every shifting rock betrayed them.
Something is wrong, he thought. The forest was beautiful. Grayson might even have used the word inviting. But he found himself thinking of the story about lost children finding a house made of candy. He was sure the witch’s candy house had seemed inviting, too.
The canopy shed sparkling light onto their path as if urging them further, deeper into the woods.
A wild thought visited him then.
This forest is alive. Like a single, sentient creature, it lived. Not only did it live, but it knew they were there and did everything it could to draw them deeper into its yawning maw.
He hesitated on the path.
Abby froze instantly beside him. She looked eager, almost ready to bolt and run the other way.
“Does it feel....” He searched for the right words. Now, the idea that he would come to this forest, that he would look for this damned tree seemed incredibly stupid. “Does it feel alive to you?” he whispered.
When Abby didn’t answer, he was worried that perhaps he was too quiet to be heard.
Then she nodded. Her eyes had gone a fraction wider since they’d first entered.
“There’s a lot of magic here,” she whispered. He saw goosebumps prickle along her skin. “I’ve never felt anything like it. There’s magic all over Castle Cove, more in some places than others. But this...” She was un
able to finish her sentence.
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.
Night Tide Page 43