Chapter 3
I wake up to the nutty, bitter smell of supermarket-brand coffee. Dad is pouring hot water onto instant granules. There are many things about Earth that he loves—Mother and me taking centre stage on that list—but he never did quite get used to the coffee machine, instead, we have to buy granules for his visits.
“Morning,” I say, and he hushes me, pointing at my still-sleeping mother—she must be very tired, she’s usually up at the crack of dawn.
Dad adds another cup to the fray and makes me a coffee, too. The air is thick with cloying sweetness, a testament to Dad’s heavy hand with the sugar.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
I shrug, taking a seat at the counter. “The same.” We keep our voices low. “A crick in my neck from sleeping on the sofa, but other than that…”
Dad puts his cup down and circles the table. Placing his hands on either side of my face, he surveys my eyes, my ears, checks my pulse, and says, “Say ah.” I do. “You seem to be fine.”
My heart jolts a little, and I shiver. He mutters an apology and releases me. I wave the apology away.
I ask, “What does that mean?”
He says, “I won’t say. I don’t want to jinx it.” I smile. Like Dae, Dad’s picked up so many little verbal nuances from his time on Earth.
“The reaping, the eighth turn, that happened at midnight, remember? It was as soon as I turned eight.”
“Don’t talk about that.” His eyes dart to where Mum lies sleeping. Mum took those deaths worse than he did, I guess because it was her boyfriend and his friends. Dad was… I don’t want to say happy, conflicted, I guess. Sad that the witch’s prophecy had proven true, again, sad at what that meant for the future, but glad Mum was single and scared enough to accept his gift of a nice, big house in the forest. We never did tell Mum that the whole thing was Dad’s idea.
“But yes, it happened at midnight. The witch dying happened at midnight, too.” He’s frowning—some people don’t like to let themselves be happy for fear they’ll be disappointed.
A smile tugs at my lips, but I bite it back. Dae... maybe I will get to see him again today. Maybe yesterday wasn’t goodbye after all. Hope flickers within me, a fragile flame in the darkness. I reach for my coffee, my hand trembling slightly as I bring the mug to my lips.
“Safaa,” Dad whisper-shouts. I guess Mum doesn’t need to sleep if there’s news like this to go around. “Wake up.”
He rounds the sofa, his footsteps quickening as he reaches Mum. But then he freezes mid-stride, his gaze fixed on the couch. His hands fall to his sides like lifeless weights, his shoulders slumping as if bearing an invisible burden. The grim mask he wears when trying to assess something important—the one he wore moments before—vanishes, leaving behind a mask of shock and dread.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, putting the mug down, my voice tight with fear.
Dad just stares, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What did you do?” he hisses, the words laced with an accusation that hangs in the air, sharp and cold, a blade directed straight at my mother.
“Mum.” My voice is barely a whisper.
Cold dread washes over me. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. I try to circle the sofa, but Dad’s arm shoots out, a barrier between me and my mother. “Let me go!” I shove him. Hard.
Mum is still snuggled up on the couch, her arms wrapped around a pillow, her skin pale. There is blood leaking from her nose, the corners of her eyes, and her ears.
“Mum,” I shout and fall to my knees beside her. “Mum, wake up.”
Mum groans, half rolling over before I catch her wrist. Her eyes fly open. She gives me a once-over, her bloodshot eyes scanning my body. I wipe the blood from her cheeks. “You’re okay,” she says, her voice is scratchy.
The adrenaline seems to leave her body when she realises I’m not dying. She slumps against the sofa, glancing at the blood on my fingers before running her fingertips along her cheeks. Staring at the blood on her own hands, a weak smile flits across her face. “It worked.”
“What worked?” Ice floods my veins.
“I made a deal,” she coughs, “with a hag.” She lets out a soft sigh, like she’s at peace. “My life for yours.”
“No.” I catch her hand in mine. “Take it back.”
“You’re my daughter.”
“Take it back!” The room is closing in. All the trees in the world are screaming.
She shakes her head weakly, her grip tightening on the pillow clutched to her chest. Her breaths are shallow and ragged, each one a struggle against the encroaching weakness. Her eyes, usually bright and full of life, are clouded with exhaustion.
I turn on Dad. “Fix this.” He’s shaking his head, but I can’t tell if it’s in refusal or helplessness. “I said fucking fix this,” I screech.
“Don’t swear,” Mum mutters. She’s so happy. Dying, and she’s fucking happy about it. I could kill her.
My sanity feels like a fragile thread, stretched taut, threatening to unravel. Shadows writhe in the corners of my vision. The trees won’t shut up, their branches twisting like skeletal fingers. A cord in my mind is on the brink of snapping.
“Fix. This.”
“I-I-I—’’ He stutters his way through the word. “I don’t know how.” A tear falls down his inhuman cheek, and it makes me wonder what’s so different about my Mum that, as a human, she could love such a strange being. She’s special, that’s what—full of love and life and laughter.
Mum says, “Aberith, how long have I got?”
“The rest of spring, I think,” he says, as though her death is inevitable.
A wave of nausea rolls over me. I clutch my stomach, bile rising in my throat. My vision blurs, the world tilting on its axis and I lash out, my palms connecting with my father’s chest in a desperate attempt to push away the pain, the helplessness, the sheer unfairness of it all.
It should be him, if swapping the death is a possibility, and magic is the way to do it, then if it’s anyone, it should be him. The last person it should be is my mother. He stumbles back, surprise flashing across his face as he struggles to regain his balance.
“Elly,” Mum admonishes. I shove him again. This time, he’s not just caught in the crossfire, instead, he lets me shove him, he leans into it, like he wants to feel my anger. I shove him a third time, and his back hits the thin, fluffy, grey walls. A little fake diamond—one Mum and I put up when we decided to bedazzle the house—falls to the ground.
“You fucking deadbeat,” I say. Shuffles sound behind me. I think Mum is trying to rise, but I can’t help how much I hate this failure. “Get the fuck out of this house, you useless piece of fucking shit.”
I shove him a fourth time, but this time, a jolt spreads from my fingers to his chest—like the jolts he sometimes gives me and Mum. I glance at my fingers, shaking.
He’s still shaking his head, but his eyes aren’t on me, they’re on Mum. That tremble in his hands is back. “Elly,” Mum’s voice is firmer now. “Stop it.”
I whirl around to face her, my rage a living thing inside me, coiling and striking like a viper. Mum is struggling to sit up, her face pale and drawn, her hand clutching at her chest as if trying to hold her heart inside.
The sight of her makes my heart crack, leaving a gaping wound where once anger burned. My fury melts away as I turn back to Dad, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding around me, the chaos I’m half responsible for. But all I find is despair. He stands frozen, his face etched with lines of grief so deep they seem to have aged him a thousand years.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, and then my feet are carrying me away before I can tell them to stop.
I need to get away. Out the front door and down the path—into the forest. I make it two meters into the tree line before collapsing, clawing my way deeper until I reach the ancient yew. Only then do I notice it’s raining. Droplets fall through the dark green, leathery leaves, the tree shielding me from the worst of the water.
I gaze up through the dense canopy. A rainbow splits across the sky. What a fucking joke.
I tear my eyes from the stupid, stupid rainbow back to the forest.
Dae .
Dae is here, standing across a small clearing.
My eyes narrow. When did he get so much…sharper?
The ground beneath me is quickly turning to mush, bowing under the smashing rainfall as the tree seems to curve in on itself. I bring my knees up, hugging them against my hammering chest.
There’s really nothing left of the boy I met all those years ago.
His cold eyes are nearly silver. His horns curve up and fall back down, and he’s taller. Impossibly tall. Too tall for a normal boy.
“You came back,” he says.
“Piss off, Dae.” I never did learn how to control my temper.
The rain lessens, and somehow, that’s worse. Now I’m left with nothing but the shame of having reacted so poorly. Mum’s sick, and I’ve just made it harder for her. I need to get home. There has to be a way to fix this. If a hag did this, a hag can take it back.
I stand, but as I do, Dae’s eyes catch mine. I’m caught in their snare.
Lily of the valley creeps up from the base of the ancient yew tree, its delicate white flowers and sweet fragrance surrounding me—beautiful and poisonous. That kind of fast growth is Dae’s magic at work. He must be thinking of death.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I want to tell him, I want to scream, Mum’s dying. Please, help me. But I’d bet everything I own that if he finds out what she did, he’d stand with her. He’d do anything to stop me from saving her if it meant trading my life back again. And Dae’s far more cunning than me. So instead of fighting a losing battle, I just stare.
Dae doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. His cold eyes trail me, calculating…something. The hairs on my arms lift, and I frown. The breeze dies down, the forest holds its breath. Even the birds have gone silent. It’s as if the whole world is waiting, watching, for something terrible to happen.
A shiver crawls down my spine, a prickle of unease that has nothing to do with the damp cold. His intense gaze feels like he’s peeling back layers of my mind. Like he’s a predator, a surgeon, coldly laying bare all the secrets I keep even from myself.
“I think I’m gonna go,” I say tentatively, a crease forming between my brow.
Resolve clears across his cold, beautiful face, and his assessing gaze is replaced with a warm, happy smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. My heart starts to hammer—that’s not good.
Reaching behind himself, he pulls out an apple. Vibrating air brushes against my arms, tickling my skin, crawling inside my bones.
My mouth salivates.
Tears dry.
And I forget.
I forget my mother is dying.
I forget the Hag’s deal.
I forget my father’s incompetence.
I lick my lips.
Dae reaches out his long arm in offering, a warm, inviting smile flickering across his delicious mouth.
I get up, and he backs away, letting me come to him. He enjoys this, I can see how much he enjoys it from the shape his trousers have taken. Something about that makes me flood with desire. My feet trail forward, walking all on their own towards that apple. My apple.
His signature scent mixes with something else now, something sweet and tart. My eyes dart hungrily between him and the apple. I’m not sure what I desire more.
The rain clears away, making space for a beaming sun that gleams, drawing out the bright silver in Dae’s eyes and the red, red apple. A red that outdoes all other reds. Sweet condensation drips to the floor.
An image of me bending over to lick the juice up flashes across my mind. My tongue tastes my lips again. Would he let me lick it up from the ground? Would he like it? Would he enjoy watching me crawl along the floor on my hands and knees.
From the way he bites his lip and glances at the drop with one eyebrow arched, I know he would.
My knees fall to the ground, and his sing-song laugh floods the air. I bend over, pressing my hands into the moss as I lick up the small droplet of juice that fell to the earth. An explosion of sharp, sweet, almost spicy flavour bursts through my mouth.
A single bead of condensation, yet I can taste every cloudberry that ever existed. Every pear that ever grew. I moan, my eyes rolling back as Dae’s laugh brushes against me. Coughing, I swallow the bits of soil that chase the droplet down my throat.
I keep moving—crawling, maybe—towards Dae and the apple until I’m standing, my nose almost touching his chest. Joy fills his mouthwatering lips as he lifts one gentle hand to cup my cheek and tilt my face. He brings the apple up and grazes it gently against my lips.
Darkness hovers at the edges of my vision, a storm brewing on the horizon, threatening the sun’s luscious beams as the trees whip their branches around. No matter. Dae will let me have a taste before the storm comes in. I’m sure of it.
My lips part on instinct, my tongue darting out to taste the fruit. Dae’s gaze consumes me as I lick.
And as my eyes slide slowly shut to take a full bite, the corners of Dae’s mouth curve up higher than humanly possible, his eyes flattening as a shadow eclipses his warm face. His gentle hand turns firm, gripping the back of my neck. He presses the apple against my lips. Hard.
I bite down, the sweetest, saltiest, most bitter taste flooding my body. Tart and metallic and warm.
Delicious.
Cloying.
Sickening.
I open my red-rimmed eyes. Where once there was warmth, now there is hard malice. His eyes dance with frosty glee. I shove as hard as I can, but it makes no difference. His fingers grip my neck tight enough to bruise as he plunges the half-eaten apple back inside my gasping mouth. Damp juice soaks my chin and neck. A shiver rips through my body as I try to shake off the sticky wetness crawling inside my veins.
The forest screams, urging me in a different direction. Any direction. I try and try to shove, but my arms won’t hear me. I try to run, but my heavy legs won’t budge.
The last sound pressing in on my sticky, wet ears is Dae whispering that he loves me as I fall into a deep sleep.