Chapter Twenty-Nine
Consciousness returned like a cruel gift.
I lay on my stomach, shivering and bruised in my tattered shirt. Each breath was a sharp and sudden stab to the lungs as I twisted onto my back. Blood clung to me like a needy lover, and the branded flesh on my shoulder stung, sensitive to even the slightest brush.
I forced myself upright, head pounding, ears ringing. There was a cold weight on my ankle, and when I jostled it, I winced at the unmistakable clink of metal. They’d chained me.
Blinking back tears, I steadied my breath. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.
Pale daylight filtered through a high, unreachable window in the barn.
I strained against the chain, testing its strength, but it held firm.
A bottle of water lay nearby, enough to keep me alive for a couple of days.
The canisters in the corner were beyond my reach.
I clambered for the bottle with trembling hands, taking a few small sips to ease the dryness in my aching throat.
Three days. That’s all I had before the woods came for me.
I screamed until my voice gave out.
I didn’t know how much time had passed. Outside, it was cloudy and light, early morning or afternoon, I couldn’t tell.
I drank half the water from the bottle, then sat back, trying to piece together a plan.
Wasting energy trying to break free would be pointless.
I needed something more innovative. But what?
What would Mitch do if he were in my place?
After thoroughly scanning the area and stretching as far as the chain allowed, I found nothing.
A dark thought unfurled. There may be a way to end it all, get it all over with.
I shoved it away.
There would be no giving up, not yet. Not until the very end.
Time dragged on, and I sat there like a chained dog, alone, no rescue in sight, no hope.
At first, I thought I was imagining things again. I’d done it before—hallucinated sounds between my desperate screams. My brain conjured footsteps, whispers, anything to keep the silence from pulling me under.
But this time, it was different. These were voices, real and growing louder.
I stilled.
It could’ve been anything: Robert, his men, or something worse.
A familiar girl’s timbre seeped through the cracks in the wall. "It’s just weird, is all I’m saying," she said.
"Help!" I croaked, my voice hoarse. "It’s me!"
Fast, heavy steps rushed up to the locked door.
Then Mitchell’s voice, "Nellie?"
"Yes! I’m in here! Let me out!"
Mitchell’s heavy footsteps crunched outside. The lock creaked and jiggled, and Mitchell’s voice, low and authoritative, ordered, "Step back and to the side."
I gladly obeyed, covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut.
Still, I flinched at the deafening boom as he shot the lock; gunpowder stung my nose with its piercing metallic tang.
He kicked the door open and stepped inside, backlit by daylight, rifle in hand, like some movie hero.
I stumbled toward them, the chain on my ankle rattling.
Mitchell’s face was a picture of horror.
"Jesus," he muttered, taking in my torn, bloodied state. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Are you okay?" June looked like she wanted to reach for me, but didn’t. I guessed I was too beaten to risk touching.
"Can you take it off?" I pointed to the chain.
Mitchell crouched to examine it. "I’ll need a bolt cutter."
"Do you have one?"
"No."
"Can you shoot it off like you did with the door?" June asked.
"Of course not. She’ll lose her foot."
I was about to say I’d take the risk, but Mitch was already rummaging through his backpack.
"I could try picking it. It’s just a padlock."
"Hurry," I said. "I’m scared they’ll come back. They might still be close."
"They?" Mitchell looked up from the lock.
"Robert," I said. "Mister Whitman. Lucas’s dad! He’s the one who made your sister disappear!"
His jaw clenched, muscles flexing under his stubble. "We know," he said grimly. "We checked the sawmill. It’s empty. He doesn’t run it, doesn’t employ anyone. So, he lied. Someone else is paying him to do something else."
"There were other men," the truth tumbled out of me, jumbled and frantic, as if every second counted. "They wore masks. I couldn’t see their faces."
Mitchell didn’t lift his head from the padlock he was trying to pick. "Let’s get out of here first. We’ll sort it out when we’re in a safe place."
I closed my eyes. If only he knew—it was way worse than it looked.
The padlock snapped with a crack, and the chain fell to the floor with a final clank. I was free. I let out a slow, shaky exhale and tried to stand, but dizziness hit me instantly.
"Whoa, easy there," Mitch said, catching me before I could fall. Agony bit me, but I welcomed his aid. "Let’s get you out of here. June, give me a hand."
"Jesusfuckingchrist," June whispered, sucking in a sharp breath as she approached me, inspecting the area below my right shoulder blade.
Mitchell took off his rain jacket and handed it to me, his eyes avoiding mine as I pulled it around my shoulders to cover myself. My shirt was in pieces, and I wasn’t wearing a bra.
They each took an arm and walked me out of the barn. The first few steps were the hardest.
"Why did you come to the clearing? How did you even get in?" I asked when we got back to the trail.
"We tried yesterday," she said, "but kept circling. Even Mr. ‘I-can-read-a-paper-map’ here couldn’t figure it out. It got dark, so we came back in the morning. I just… did what Nick did." She pushed up her sleeve, revealing a bandaged forearm.
"Against my best advice," her brother muttered.
June shot him a look. "But it worked, didn’t it?"
"So you didn’t know I was there?"
"No. We thought you left."
"I came back. Mathilda tricked me. She answered your phone. And then Robert got me. I was so stupid."
"You’re not stupid," Mitchell said firmly. "They’re just too cunning."
The woods were deathly still until we crossed the bridge. All at once, birdsong filled my ears like a rush of water. The hum of insects warmed my cold heart as I stumbled through the mulch and mud. The world felt alive again. But my relief evaporated quickly.
"I’m going to die in three days. It’s coming for me next," I blurted.
Mitchell threw a cautious glance over his shoulder. "You don’t know that for sure. It’s just a story."
"It’s not," I replied. "At least they don’t think it is. And besides, it happened to Lucas. It happened to Amanda. And they’re looking for you. They think either you or Nick has the grimoire."
"The grimoire?" Mitchell echoed. "What the hell is this shit, and why’s everyone after it?"
I shrugged, then winced, forgetting how every movement hurt. In movies, the villain often reveals their evil plans to the victim before killing them. Robert didn’t waste time on that. He just made me talk.
"So, they’re after this grimoire, and that’s why they did this to you?" June asked quietly.
I shook my head. "No. At least, I don’t think so. They’re branding people. And then these people disappear. On the Harvest Moon. It’s like a ritual."
"What does the grimoire have to do with it?" Mitch asked, still skeptical.
"I don’t know."
I was spent; the words lead weights in my mouth. We still had a long way to go, and my body was on the verge of breaking.
"Maybe they need it for spells or hexes," June mused. "Do you think there’s something to reverse whatever they did to you?"
How had I not thought of that?
"Junie, this is not…" Mitch started, faltering, then his eyes met mine, and he said softly, "They’re a bunch of crazies. A cult."
"Don’t." I waved my hand in front of my face, swatting at a mosquito. "Just... please, call Nick."
"Where is he? We thought you guys left together."
"We didn’t leave together," I snapped, feeling irrationally angry. "I just gave him a lift to the airport. We need to contact him."
"Why?" His question wasn’t meant to provoke, but it sent me over the edge.
"Because Robert is after him, too! And since you don’t believe me, I need someone who does. Maybe there’s something we can do, because sitting around answering your questions isn’t helping."
Mitch fell silent, his face tinged with sadness as he looked at me. Was my state really that bad?
"Sure, we’ll call him. I have his number memorized."
Mitch had superpowers, and finally, they were coming in handy, albeit in a situation we’d rather not be in at all.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Anyway, what happened to you? Where are your phones?"
"Mathilda called us and warned us to get out of the house," Mitch explained. "Ordered us to ditch our phones so no one could track us."
"Can they actually do that?" I asked.
"I don’t know. She sounded convincing. Maybe she hypnotized us or something."
Mitch seemed frustrated with himself. He didn’t trust Mathilda, and then he suddenly obeyed her, like a soldier reacting to a command without question.
June snorted, "Now, who’s stupid?"
Mathilda hadn’t been at the ritual, and she had no way of knowing, aside from her self-proclaimed psychic powers, that I’d be heading to the cabin in the first place. It gave me hope she wasn’t one of them after all. She could help.
"Did she say anything else about the grimoire? Can you call her?" I asked.
Mitchell tried to reassure me. "Nellie, this is all just smoke and mirrors. We don’t know squat about that grimoire. Let’s get the hell outta here and get you to a hospital, where you can get some real help."
"Smoke and mirrors?" I snapped, ripping off the jacket he gave me and turning my back to him, forcing him to look at the burn. "Does that look like smoke and mirrors to you?"
His face went grim. "I... I didn’t mean..."
I angrily put the coat back on. "Then please, let’s do something instead of debating what’s real and what isn’t. And no hospital. We don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for that."