Chapter 18 Druid Like Me
I arrived back at Foresyth a few minutes past midnight.
As I entered, the House greeted with its usual creaks and groans, and I carefully avoided the rotting board of the entrance steps.
I had become accustomed to the sounds of the House.
It was as if it had a life of its own, breathing and trembling, just as its inhabitants were prone to do.
My knees ached from the drive, and I stretched them along the lanes of the hallway, readying myself for bed.
I had secured the Skorn deck and could count the day as a success. But still, thoughts of my father, the Council, and the red woman wrapped around me like a cloak of mist—ephemeral and difficult to grasp. My father hadn’t been investigating Foresyth as I thought.
He had been attending it.
A migraine was budding at the base of my skull, and I rubbed the sensitive place with my thumb. As I rounded the corner up to the stairwell, I saw light pouring out from the reading room. Who would still be up at this hour?
The floor creaked again, and a backlit shadow appeared in the frame of the door.
“You made it back,” the shadow said.
“You would have preferred I didn’t?” I said to Aspen.
“Why do you antagonize me so?” he said, stepping into the hallway.
I could hear the sly smile forming on his lips and saw a flicker of his thumb caressing the edge of his mouth.
He was wearing casual slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbow.
Effortless, but calculated. Like everything about him.
“You know why,” I said quietly and against my better judgement. I was tired and just wanted to retreat to bed. I’d had enough duplicity for one day.
He pretended not to hear me. “So, you got the deck, then?” he said, crossing his arms. He narrowed his eyes, studying me.
“Of course I got the deck,” I said, crossing my arms back.
“I didn’t doubt you. It’s just that the Council is known for being a bit . . . skeptical.”
“They didn’t give me any trouble,” I said, yawning. “I’m headed to bed; you can interrogate me tomorrow.”
“I was just going up myself.” He turned back to the reading room. “Let me just get these lights,” he said.
When he flicked the switch off, the entire House turned dark. My body tensed and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.
“You can hold my hand if you need help up the stairs,” Aspen mused, no doubt noticing my hesitation.
“I’m fine,” I said and started up without him. I blinked my eyes into focus and found the steps.
As we ascended the stairs, the sound of rushing water became audible. It sounded like someone was drawing a bath. At the top of the staircase, I flicked on the hallway lights as my Oxfords squished the carpet underneath.
Water was spreading in a slow, gleaming pool across the floor, seeping from beneath one of the doors. Sequoia’s bedroom.
“What the hell?” he said.
Aspen and I exchanged a glance, then moved in tandem toward Sequoia’s door. With each step, the sound of rushing water intensified, a low roar now pressing against the walls. I lifted my hand and knocked.
I tapped on the door, calling, “Sequoia?” No answer.
Aspen was right behind me. I kept him in my peripheral vision as I cracked the door even further. I called again. No answer.
“Sequoia, are you in there? You’re overflowing the tub,” I called again. There was a hitch of irritation in my voice. How could she be so careless?
“I’m coming in,” I said, ignoring the splashes of water against my socks.
I pushed the door open and strode into her room, calling her name again.
Strangely the bathroom door was locked, even though the threshold under the door was spewing water through it.
I wiggled the door handle again, but to no avail. I was going to have to pick the lock.
“Let me,” Aspen said. “It’ll take too long to pick,” he said. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder, gently moving me out of the way.
“No way, I can do it,” I said.
“It’ll take too long,” he echoed each word slowly, gritting through his teeth. He had lost any sense of his teasing self.
I stepped away from the door with my hands up in the air. He backed away as well, and the next thing I registered was him flying the length of the room and bolting straight through the bathroom door. He aimed with his shoulder, and the door burst open, sending a wave of water with it.
“I guess that was faster,” I admitted.
I treaded in after him, my feet soaked up to my ankles. When I saw Sequoia in the bath my heart lurched to my throat. She was completely submerged, the faucet running open by her feet.
Aspen dove for her, raising her head to break the surface of the water. The way her body limped made my dinner curdle in my stomach. While Aspen raised her out of the bath, I prepared room for her on the bathroom floor and laid down a towel.
“Bring her out here,” I said. My instincts kicked in and I immediately readied myself to resuscitate her.
“I can do it . . .” he trailed off as he groaned under the effort of picking her up from the tub. Her hair was completely drenched and matted to the side, her skin ghastly white. Aspen’s hands were shaking as he set her down.
“And break her ribcage in the process? Move out of the way,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. His tone was so faint that my animosity for him momentarily subsided.
Despite the trees’ tumultuous relationship, something in his tone and the way he gently laid her down by my knees made me believe he really cared for her.
His eyes knit together in a fear-stricken way that made my heart lurch.
I got to work immediately, brushing off Sequoia’s hair from her face. I stacked my two hands on top of one another, aiming at the center of her chest. I pushed, over and over again, until sweat beaded on my temples and I was panting.
When that wasn’t enough, I pinched her nose and pressed my lips to hers. They were cold—unnaturally so—and the chill sent a sharp twist through my gut.
I moved back to her chest and pushed down again, harder this time, willing her heart to remember how to beat.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Aspen. He was perched on the edge of the tub, his clothes drenched and clinging to him like a second skin. At some point, he must have turned off the faucet—the roar of water had stopped.
Now, there was only silence. And the relentless pounding of blood behind my ears.
After a few more desperate compressions, her body lurched—Sequoia coughed violently, water spilling from her lips. It was the most welcome sight I’d seen in months. A ragged breath tore through my chest, half relief, half disbelief. She was alive.
I guided her to her side, so she didn’t choke on any more of the water. She coughed and spat out more liquid, finally catching her breath. I held her hair, but most of it had slicked down her back.
She shivered and I finally noticed that she was naked. Her breasts swelled into teardrops as she hunched over, coughing up the rest of the water. I hesitated only a moment before reaching for the towel hanging up by the sink and handed it to her.
“You’re going to be okay,” I said, wrapping the towel around her. She shivered and nodded.
I stole a glance at Aspen. His hands were covering his face, his hair sticking out between his fingertips. He didn’t look up for a long time.
“What happened?” I asked once Sequoia caught her breath. Her eyes were big and wild, and she was staring off at a fixed point in space.
“It was beautiful, Dahlia. I saw her,” she croaked.
“Saw who? You almost died,” I said incredulously.
“I know. I was meant to,” she said. She got up to her knees. Aspen finally unshielded his face and looked at her.
“You promised you wouldn’t try it.” His grief was replaced with anger as he seethed the words behind his clenched jaw.
“I know . . . but I couldn’t help it. It was the only way I could tap into the Druidic power. Since you and the group didn’t think ritual hymns had anything to do with soul flight, I had to try it myself—Dahlia gave me the idea,” Sequoia said. My heart dropped at the assertion.
“I did what?”
“You said that the only good evidence for soul flight would have come from a Druid herself,” Sequoia said, wrapping the towel tighter. It took me a moment to recall the words from my first Research Circle.
“Yes but . . . I meant it metaphorically . . .” I said, exasperation fully claiming me.
“The only way to initiate soul flight is, well, to die. I sang underwater until my lungs burned, and then I don’t remember.
But I had a plan to revive myself,” she said, pointing to a string on the faucet.
“Once the tub was full, it was supposed to bring me up to the surface. But the knot must have gotten untied while I was down.”
“You idiot! You died,” Aspen said.
“I know, I’m sorry. But you two were here for me. The Fates must’ve decided it wasn’t my time yet.” She blinked her giant eyes at both of us and my anger softened.
She risked her life for a research paper? I couldn’t comprehend the absurdity of it.
Only the image of Julian behind my eyes coaxed me out of my stupor. Had he attempted soul flight as well?
“You could have asked one of us to help you,” I said. I could have tried to talk some sense into the girl.
“I did, but Aspen said no. I don’t think he would’ve liked me asking you . . .” she trailed off.
“If it meant keeping you alive, I don’t care what you have to ask of Dahlia,” he rumbled. “This was not what I meant when I said to be rigorous with your research.”
“Well, I said I’m sorry. But the good news is that I got the proof I needed for my paper,” Sequoia said, propping herself up to the edge of the tub next to Aspen. Her legs dangled long over the edge. She extended a hand to his knee, and his shoulders dropped just slightly, the tension easing.