16. Freddie
Freddie
So far, I’d learned three things about the Witch Wood.
First, it was a miserable place to be at five in the morning.
Second, the ground was mostly cold mud and slick roots.
And third, Callum’s idea of getting an early start so we could “grab breakfast and call it a day” actually meant dragging me into the forest at dawn with no food and a cup of bitter, lukewarm coffee.
Jett trots right at my ankles, his fur wet from the tall weeds. On my shoulder, Twyla shifts her weight, digging her feet into my leather jacket just enough to let me know she’s miserable, too.
“What are we looking for again?” she asks with a huff. “Besides hypothermia?”
“Any sign of how they vanished,” Callum says from a few paces ahead. He doesn’t even turn around. “Sabine and the others. They were all in these woods right before they went missing. Three people in one place isn’t a coincidence. It’s a trail.”
I take a sip of the terrible coffee and grimace, my magic twitching under my skin. It’s hot, restless, and prickling like a limb that’s fallen asleep. The Wood knows we’re here.
On the surface, it looks like any other forest around here: Douglas firs, rotting logs, moss, and wet dirt.
But the Wood reacts to us differently. It actively seems to hate Callum.
A low pine branch whips down out of nowhere, catching him flat across the chest, and a second later, a trailing blackberry vine hooks the toe of his boot, sending him stumbling sideways into the mud.
“Son of a—” He catches himself against a tree, glaring at the foliage.
When I step forward, though, the forest parts. The brambles pull back against the dirt, and the wet ferns curl out of the way of my jeans, opening a clear path for Jett, Twyla, and me. An ancient recognition.
It hasn’t always felt this tense. When I was little, my mom used to bring me out here to gather solis bloom petals—a flower she’d crush to make pigment for her paints.
I’d trail behind her with a little wicker basket, collecting smooth river rocks, metallic beetle wings, crow feathers, and acorn caps.
I felt completely safe then because my mom’s magic was huge and protective.
Standing here now, I’m not so sure my own magic is going to be enough.
“Winifred, look,” Callum says softly. “Someone’s been here.”
He drops to one knee in the cold dirt. I stop beside him, and despite everything, my pulse gives a little jump. Seeing his detective skills come alive out here is surprisingly hot. He doesn’t have a drop of magic in him, but he notices things I would walk right past.
“How do you know?” I ask, leaning down with my hands on my knees. “It looks like dirt to me.”
“It’s not.” Callum doesn’t look up from the ground. He points a finger at the base of the root, his nail brushing a tiny smudge of dark gray in the damp earth. “Ashen clay. It doesn’t belong on this side of the ridge. Someone tracked it in on the tread of a flat boot. A small one.”
“Sabine,” I murmur, my chest tightening. “She wears these leather boots everywhere. They probably don’t have any grip on the bottom.”
“Right here.” He shifts his weight, his knee brushing against mine, sending an unexpected spark skittering up my spine.
He traces a broken impression in the mud where the moss is flattened.
“She stood here for a few seconds. Turned around fast—see how the mud lifted on the left edge?—and then took off toward the thicket.”
I stare at the tiny print, then look at his face. His messy red hair is practically glowing in the morning light, and his eyes are completely focused. It’s deeply unfair that he can be this grounded while my mind is running in fifty different directions.
“You’re ridiculously good at this,” I say as I think of them.
Callum stops for a second, his fingers pausing in the dirt. He clears his throat, standing up slowly and wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “It’s just tracking.”
“Right. Just tracking.” I roll my eyes, but my cheeks feel embarrassingly warm.
We start moving deeper into the trees, the air growing colder and denser with every step. We don’t even make it ten feet before the Wood decides it isn’t done with him.
A rotted branch that was perfectly stationary a second ago suddenly drops straight down from an overhead cedar, landing with a loud thwack right across Callum’s shoulders. He lets out a curse, stumbling forward into a patch of wet clover.
I burst out laughing before I can even cover my mouth, the sound ringing through the quiet trees.
Callum rights himself, pulling leaves out of his hair and glaring at me over his shoulder, his face flushed red under his freckles. “I’m glad my physical pain brings you so much joy.”
“Honestly, it’s been the highlight of my morning,” I say, stepping around a root that practically flattens itself to let me pass. “You’re the one who dragged me out of my warm bed at six in the morning, so it’s only fair the forest is taking my side.”
“I didn’t realize the forest would be this petty,” he grumbles, stepping carefully over a patch of moss.
I take a deep breath, cupping my hands around my mouth, and tilt my head up toward the dense canopy above us. “Hey! Witch Wood!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
Twyla covers her tiny ears on my shoulder, letting out an annoyed squeak.
“Be nice to Callum!” I shout into the trees, my voice bouncing off the timber. “He’s stubborn, but if you break him, I have to carry him back to the inn and he weighs a ton!”
Callum looks at me like I’ve entirely lost my mind. “Did you just insult me to a magical forest?”
“I’m establishing boundaries,” I say, flashing him a grin. “And for the record, it worked. Look! No flying branches.”
He shakes his head, a huff of laughter escaping him as he looks back at the trail ahead. “You’re absurd.”
“Maybe,” I say, falling into step beside him as the cold air stings my cheeks and the tip of my nose. “But at least I’m keeping you alive.”
“I hate these woods,” Twyla mutters from my shoulder, crossing her arms and shivering so hard her iridescent wings buzz. “They give me the heebie-jeebies.”
Down at my hip, Jett lets out a snort, his nose twitching against the freezing air. “Couldn’t agree more. And the bugs out here? Disgusting. Way too many legs on things that shouldn’t have legs.”
“You two are great morale boosters,” I say, taking another bitter swig of the lukewarm coffee.
Up ahead, Callum is busy wiping dirt off his hands, his heavy boots crunching against the damp soil.
But I’m barely watching him anymore. Something under my collarbone is tugging—a weird pressure pulling against my breastbone like a hooked fishing line.
It isn’t a vague feeling. It’s a physical pull, persistent and dragging my attention toward an overgrown ravine to our left.
“Hey,” I call out, nodding toward the dip in the trees. “Let’s head down that way.”
Callum stops, turning back to look at me with his brow furrowed. “I was hoping to stay on the ridge for another quarter-mile. The elevation gives us a better angle to spot any cleared land or old structures where Sabine might’ve been.”
“Yeah, well, my magic is telling me to go down there.”
“Your magic?” He looks at the tangle of briars choking the ravine, then back at me. “Based on what?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I say, rubbing a hand over the center of my chest where the heat is blooming. “It just…knows. It’s trying to take me somewhere.”
Twyla hovers an inch from my nose. “Well, why doesn’t mine do that? Mine just tells me that my feet are cold and I want a croissant.”
I hold out an index finger, gently stroking the top of her small head until her wings settle. “I don’t know, Twy. Maybe your magic has its priorities straight.”
Callum shakes his head, resting his hands on his hips as his eyes track the thick canopy above us. “I still can’t fathom how you were frolicking through these woods as a kid, Fred. It’s a miracle you made it to adulthood.”
I shrug, pulling my jacket tighter around my neck against the creeping chill. “I didn’t know to be afraid of them back then. My mom wasn’t. When you’re little, a forest is just a giant playground with extra dirt.”
“Are you scared of them now?” he asks, turning his head to look at me.
“Yes and no,” I admit. “I mean, you’re right, it’s scary as fuck obviously. But my magic recognizes something here. It feels like…”
Before the words fully leave my mouth, the air around us turns instantly ice-cold.
The fine hairs on my arms prick up, standing straight on end. The pull in my chest snaps tight, spinning into a nasty knot of pure adrenaline.
We’re being watched.
I reach out, slamming my forearm flat against Callum’s chest to haul him to a stop. I slap a finger over my lips.
Callum’s eyes go wide, his body instantly going rigid under my arm. “What?”
“Someone’s watching us,” I whisper, my gaze darting through the grey mist pooling between the pines.
“Who?!”
“How the hell would I know?” I hiss back, pivoting slowly on my heel.
We turn back-to-back. I can feel Twyla scrambling frantically through my hair, trying to burrow under the hood of my jacket to hide. At my side, the ridge of fur along Jett’s spine stands straight up, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a murderous snarl.
“She’s right,” Jett whispers. “Someone’s close by.”
“I don’t like this,” Twyla whimpers, her body trembling so hard against my neck I can feel it through my shirt. “I don’t like this one bit.”
Callum’s hand drops to grab his flashlight from his pocket, his knuckles turning white. “We should turn back. We’re getting out of this creepy ass—”
He turns around, and a unified shriek erupts from all three of us as a figure materializes out of thin air, standing two feet in front of his face.
I stumble back into a tree root, my heart pounding.
Great, I think, my brain firing on panic. A woman in a wedding dress floating in the woods. How original. Straight out of a damn horror movie.
Except…she isn’t some gory, decaying ghoul. She’s stunning.