Chapter 14 Divination #2
She pulled a card with a woman holding scales and a sword. “Justice, reversed—your own vision of the truth, which may or may not be fair or just.” Viv gave a small shrug. “That doesn’t necessarily bother me. I’m more about the end than the means.”
She returned her attention to her deck. “And how will this whole thing turn out if I trust you?”
She pulled a card with the Grim Reaper riding a white horse over open graves. “Death. That’s excellent.” She smiled sunnily at me. “I couldn’t hope for more.”
“Are you satisfied?” I asked quietly, feeling uneasy to be pulled into this delusion. Especially since the delusion whispered truth back to me.
She nodded sharply. “Yes. Go ahead. Talk to my mom.” She pressed forward, her elbows on her knees. “But I have to warn you: it’s at your own risk.”
The fox cackled from the floor.
—
I’d promised I’d take Gibby out on a proper walk, and I thought I might be able to kill two birds with one stone.
I headed by the house to pick him up, then drove out toward the river, down the curvy roads into the forest, to the site where the Hag Stone kept watch.
It was still somehow fresh from my dream nights ago, and I couldn’t shake the hold it still had on me even in daylight.
I had dreamed of it, and my subconscious felt it was important.
Besides, I wanted to see if my camera had captured any activity here.
Gibby and I descended the trail into the ravine. Birdsong echoed around us, surrounding us in a stone aviary.
I walked on, down to the water. Cattails reached into the river where it curved around the oxbow from my dream. In the center island, birds’ nests had accumulated decades’ worth of debris. A sentry goose peered at me, but didn’t hiss. Maybe it sensed that I was also of the forest, and not a threat.
I frowned when I smelled fresh paint. I stood beneath the Hag Stone, seeing new graffiti painted on the ravine’s sandstone walls: the ouroboros, once more.
In the rocks below it, beside a fallen tree, there was a scorch mark in the dirt.
Like something had burned here. A circle was worn in the dirt around it, trodden by many pairs of feet.
They had been bare, leaving no shoe tread marks. A few of the prints belonged to women.
I exhaled. Were these Viv’s witches? It was one thing to think the Wicked Witch of Bayern County was a lone woman. It was entirely different to imagine that there were more of them…many more.
I found my tree cam, popped out the SD card, and replaced it with a fresh one. I was excited at the prospect of catching something on camera that would bring me close to the shadowy rumors of witches. I wondered if I’d see Viv on the video, raging against the moon.
I descended to the riverbank and stood among the cattails. My mother’s voice echoed in my head, the reverent way she’d uttered the word “Rusalka.” An incantation.
My father never said anything about a Rusalka to me. He had spoken of poisonous mushrooms and plants, certainly. But not of a woman lying at the bottom of dark waters, drowning children.
If there were such a creature…how could she move from a pond to a river, unless she had legs and was human? Jasper had searched the pond and found nothing. He’d found nothing in the river, too.
But Ross had described a goth-looking girl. Maybe…or maybe that was Dana…
I dipped my fingers into the cool water. It smelled like iron, and looked curiously sterile. No crawfish or tadpoles, or insects of any kind.
“Rusalka,” I whispered, “are you here?”
A breeze cast ripples on the water. No answer.
I looked east, listening to the breeze rattling in quaking aspen. Sun cascaded in a waterfall into this dark space.
I stilled, melting into the ground. Maybe it was a sort of trance, this sense of falling away from myself.
My breath synchronized with the river’s lapping on the shore, and my pulse slowed.
Sun heated my forehead and right cheek. As my muscles loosened, my spine and neck made dozens of tiny cracks and pops that sounded like the squirrel flinging acorns to the ground across the river.
A splash sounded to my left, and I turned to see a flash of scales before they receded into the water. Bluegill, I thought. Just bluegill.
But my trance was broken. Gibby went racing into the river, snapping at the fish.
I stood, calling him back. But Gibby searched for prey, splashing in the water.
I took my shoes off and waded out to retrieve him. I trod carefully; even though the river was slow, the rocks beneath my bare feet were sharp. I waded into water up to my knees, turned toward my dog…
…and saw a dead blue heron floating in the water, wings splayed. I reached toward it, seeing its dull feathers and milky eyes. I picked it up and turned it over, finding no wound. I cradled the bird in my arms and took it to shore.
I ordered Gibby to return to the bank. He sensed the sharp alarm in my tone, and obeyed.
I reached into my pocket for an unopened bottle of water. I dumped out the contents, then filled it with river water. I capped it and climbed out of the river, my toes squishing in the muddy bank.
Gibby regarded me with twitching eyebrows, a look of concern.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re a good boy.”
The tension in his stance dissipated, and he leaned against my leg. I patted his head and put on my shoes.
I held the bottle up to the sun. It was filthy. River water was always brown, full of debris. Maybe Nick could analyze this. Maybe he could find something to help Mason.
A tremendous splash echoed behind me.
I turned, seeing only ripples in the water.
Gibby’s fur stood up, and he growled.
“Hello?” I called.
The river didn’t answer me. At least, not in words.
I exhaled. My mind was playing tricks on me.
Something was here, though. My skin crawled.
A gunshot sounded behind me, echoing off the stone of the ravine.
Instinctively, I crouched to cover Gibby and drew my own weapon. My first thought was that maybe a hunter was here, that the shot was a mistake.
“Bayern County Sheriff’s Office!” I shouted. “Stand down!”
A second shot rang out, and splintered a nearby tree.
That was no mistake. That was almost murder.
I dragged Gibby away, behind a stand of cattails. Gibby’s chest vibrated lowly, without a sound. My fingers wound in his collar.
I scanned for the shooter. The forest was silent, birds stilled by the gunshots. Even the creaking cedars seemed to be holding their breath.
The river was at our backs, and wasn’t a good spot to retreat to. As near as I could determine, the source of those shots was between us and the dirt track leading to the car.
Our best chance would be to melt into the forest, to try to circle back and lose our pursuer. Get to the car, then call for help.
I tugged at Gibby’s collar, and he followed me into a stand of trees. I walked soundlessly, glancing over my shoulder, trying to detect the shooter in the trees over the sight of my gun. Our pursuer might be wearing camo, which would make him harder to spot but not impossible.
A shot echoed from across the river.
My gaze narrowed. Two shooters. Alone, I knew I wouldn’t have any issues locating and picking off one shooter in the woods.
Maybe two, if they were separated. Part of me relished the idea of hunting these asshats, of tracking each one of them down and shooting them.
It had been a long time since I had been responsible for a death, and part of me was horrified to contemplate it again.
The other part, buried deep in my chest, woke and seethed and demanded blood…
But I had Gibby with me, and he was not a dog built for stealth. With two shooters, I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk him.
I made eye contact with my dog, desperately hoping to communicate that he needed to follow me quietly. I placed my finger to my lips and released the collar.
He remained still, ears flattened and tail tucked between his legs. He didn’t like the gunfire. Didn’t blame him.
I tapped my leg.
He trotted forward, following me. Not in perfect silence, but I’d take it.
I picked my path through the forest through as little leaf debris as possible, sticking to the undergrowth of black raspberries.
Thorns clawed at my shirt and pants, staining the fabric black where berries burst. Gibby tried to bite the thorns, and I pushed the brambles out of his way with my shoe.
I heard rustling far behind us, at the river. The crash-crash of a two-legged animal.
I crept deeper into the woods, heading north, circling back around to the place where the dirt track led up. I broke into a light run parallel to it as the crashing neared. Behind us, disturbed mourning doves warbled as they took flight from the ground.
I exhaled when we reached the trailhead, but was startled to find no other cars there. That was for the best—if we were parked in, we’d have to jog to the road.
I opened the car door, shoveled Gibby in, and jumped in behind him. I cranked the ignition and reversed down the one-lane road.
I didn’t see another car the whole way down, and there was no one on the main road.
I sighed when we made it out onto the pavement.
I called in the cavalry to look for those assholes, like a good girl. But part of me wanted to make sure Gibby was safe…and then plunge back into the forest and bring them to ground myself, in the bloodiest way possible. They had crossed me, and they could have killed my dog.
I closed my eyes. No. I would follow the rules.
Without the rules, I feared what I might become.