Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Cassie
“M-my face?”
He's clearly surprised and, quite frankly, so am I. Mainly by the fact that I even asked such a thing. If he hasn’t taken the burlap sack covering his head off by now, there’s probably a reason.
But I can’t squash my want—desire—to see him.
His eyes are so intense and swimming with secrets I’m eager to explore. The way the burlap conforms to his jawline, with the rope wrapped around his neck, makes me think his features will resemble the way he looked before the curse.
Surely, the magic hasn't changed him that much?
Even if it has, I’m curious.
What does a cursed scarecrow look like after one hundred years in a cornfield?
I nod my reply.
“I’m a monster, Cassie,” he says, low and slow.
“The woman who cursed me… she made sure that no one would ever want to look at my face. Whatever is under this,” he grabs the edge of the burlap sack and tugs it for emphasis, “whatever I’ve become, isn’t human.
I dare say I’m probably the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen. ”
My heart breaks for him, his words tugging at my heartstrings. Not only has he suffered greatly over the last century, but he’s still suffering.
I might have cut him down from the stake, but I didn’t break his curse.
He might have a little more freedom now, but everything else remains the same.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” I put on my most sympathetic smile. “But if you don’t want to show me, it’s okay.”
A long moment of silence stretches between us, and his eyes bore into mine. I know he’s thinking, contemplating, and I’m almost certain he’s going to say no when he sighs.
“Alright,” he says finally. “But if you run screaming into the cornfield, I’m not coming to find you.”
Was that… a joke?
I choke on a laugh. “Deal.”
Atticus reaches for the rope around his neck, and my heart lurches into my throat. Luckily, it isn’t knotted, and it falls away easily. He doesn’t bother to sit up as he reaches for the burlap with one hand, hesitating as his gloved fingers grasp the material.
Then he pulls the sack off in a swift motion.
My breath catches as I drink in his features, trying to register what I’m looking at. He looks normal, at first, in the dim light making its way through the clouds overhead. But the longer I stare, the more his features seem to shift and change into something different.
Blond, strawlike hair covers his head, sticking out at odd angles, and his flesh is the same mottled gray I glanced above his collar. His skin is rough and leathery in places, probably from the burlap and the elements.
Where his eyebrows should be, bushy little vines curve over his intense eyes, and he runs his tongue over teeth that look suspiciously like corn kernels. There are also hints of what he might have looked like before the curse, like his sharp jawline and angular nose.
His lips press into a firm line, his jaw muscles flexing, and I can almost perfectly envision what he looked like a century ago.
“Oh, wow,” I whisper involuntarily as my eyes bounce around his features.
He looks strange, not exactly like I imagined, but he’s quite handsome despite the weirdness.
I can’t look away.
“I told you.” He scoffs and reaches for the burlap sack.
I grab his arm to stop him. “No, wait. Leave it off. Just for a bit.”
His viney eyebrows knit together, but he doesn’t move, the burlap still clutched in his hand.
“Please,” I beg softly.
“You want to look at me this way?” he asks, like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard.
I lift my shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m a monster. I’m—”
“You’re not ugly,” I cut him off sternly. “And you shouldn’t be ashamed of your face; I like it.”
The furrow between his brows deepens. “You like it?”
I nod and tentatively reach out to brush the backs of my fingers along his jaw. His skin is rough and chilled—too cold to belong to a living human.
He freezes at the contact, and I worry he’ll jerk away, but he doesn’t.
After a long, tense second, I drop my hand.
“You are a very confusing woman,” he says, and I burst into a fit of laughter that echoes through the clearing.
“Confusing?” I laugh again. “How so?”
“First, you come looking for the Watcher—not to harm or kill me like so many others—and now you aren’t even running in terror from this.” He gestures to his face. “Yes, confusing.”
With a smirk, I look back up at the sky. “Well, you aren’t the first person to tell me that. Probably won’t be the last. Besides, I never shy away from a bit of mystery.”
Flutters explode in my stomach when his fingers brush over my hand again, this time finally lacing with mine. His coldness seeps through the material, and I consider asking him to take off the gloves so I can feel his skin, but decide against it.
I’ve gotten several articles of clothing off the man already. I’m not trying to get him naked.
Am I?
“Maybe confusing isn’t the best word,” he says, his accent suddenly more twangy. “I just… I don’t understand why, of all places, you’d want to be here right now. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
When I look back over, Atticus is staring up at the sky. His expression is somewhere between confusion and disappointment, though I’m sure that can’t be right.
Why would he be disappointed?
I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Like you said earlier, I have my family… and now I have you. That’s a two-way street, you know? You have me too.”
His head lolls in my direction just as a gentle gust of wind blows through the cornfield, rustling the leaves and making the stalks sway. Lightning flickers in the distance, followed by the gentle rumble of thunder seconds later.
A storm is brewing in the distance, slowly making its way closer. I can’t believe I didn’t bother to check the weather before coming out here, but it’s been nothing but clear skies and sunshine since I arrived in Cold Springs.
Atticus opens his mouth, then closes it again, and I get the feeling he’s lost for words.
He hasn’t had anyone in his corner for a long time; I’d probably be overwhelmed if I was in his shoes.
Damn, there go my heartstrings again.
“So, Jeremy was the second oldest,” I say, changing the subject and hoping the awkward moment passes. “Who was the third?”
Relief flashes over his face before he smiles. “My brother, Eugene. Quite the little hothead, but no one could shovel hay like that boy.”
We lay there in the clearing as he tells me about each of his siblings and what he remembers about them. The names come with stories, some funny and some sad, and I nod along as I listen. There’s no way I’ll remember them all, but I don’t miss the way he perks up when he talks about them.
The lightning gets brighter and more close together, the rumbling thunder growing louder as the minutes tick by. The wind blows harder, rustling the stalks around us until they’re a near constant chorus of whispers, and a fat drop of rain lands on my forehead. I squeak and wipe it away.
“It’s probably time for you to get going,” Atticus says, sounding a little deflated.
Or maybe that’s me hearing what I want to hear.
A depression forms in my chest at the thought of leaving, but I definitely don’t want to be caught out here in the middle of a downpour. But the thought of Atticus out here alone, weathering the rain, doesn’t sit right with me either. Even though he’s done it for a hundred years.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “My aunt will probably be wondering where I am. I’ve had to come up with some creative lies to keep them from asking too many questions.”
“That’s wise.” Atticus swiftly pulls on his burlap sack and slings the rope around his neck, just like it was before. He hops to his feet and offers me a hand, pulling me up before bending to retrieve his coat.
When he takes my hands again, my stomach cartwheels, and I follow him out of the clearing. Every step toward the end of the cornfield makes my heart sink a little further, but I know there’s no avoiding it; I can’t stay here.
The exit comes far too soon for my liking, even quicker than last time, but Atticus doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Cassie,” he says, grabbing my attention.
He spins me around to face him, our bodies only inches from one another. I gaze up into his dark eyes beneath the burlap, warmth blooming in my stomach and sinking lower, and my lips part slightly. Words evade me, but I want to say something. Anything.
“The sensible part of me warns you to never return. To stay away from this field,” Atticus explains steadily, not breaking eye contact. “If the townspeople find out, it might not bode well for you. But the selfish part—”
He pulls me closer still until my chest brushes against his, and I blanch. The heat low in my stomach churns, growing stronger at his nearness. My fingers tingle, and a throb kickstarts between my thighs that has my cheeks heating.
There’s no way I’m turned on right now…
But even as I think the words, I know they’re a lie.
Atticus is mysterious and charming and—weirdly—fucking sexy.
When his words pick back up, my heart skips a tiny beat.
“The selfish part of me asks you to return,” he goes on, his tone heavy and weighed with despair. “Forever is even longer when you spend it alone, and your occasional company would be most appreciated. I’ll understand if you choose not to return though.”
Come back to see him? As if that was ever a question.
I don’t think I could stay away if I wanted to…
My thoughts are hazy, my pulse racing faster with every second that ticks by, and I nod automatically.
“I’ll come back, Atticus,” I assure him. “I promise.”
His eyes crinkle slightly, and I can only imagine him smiling beneath his burlap mask. “Then, until we meet again.”
He drops my hand and takes a step backward, watching me for a moment before turning and heading back into the field. I watch him go, a whisper of longing already forming in my chest.
When he’s finally out of sight, I turn and hurry to my car, my mind racing nearly as fast as my heart. And then I sit there, heart pounding, as I try to catch my breath.
It won’t be tomorrow, or maybe even the next day, but as I drive away from the haunted cornfield, I know one thing to be true.
It won’t be long before I see Atticus again.