Chapter 30
LACERATED
The next morning, I might have thought the whole thing a dream if not for the pain in my arm and my empty window sill.
The plant is gone.
Mistress Bramble torched it.
If she hadn’t, I might not be alive right now. Still, I can’t help but feel a deep pang in the depths of my stomach. The plant was our way into the Overlay, a window to my mother, and now, it’s ash.
I swing my legs around and plant my feet on the cold floor.
Before leaving Mistress Bramble’s cabin, she removed the poultice.
She applied a tacky salve that smelled like eucalyptus.
Then sent me home with more of it in a mason jar, fresh strips of linen, and instructions to change the dressings in the morning.
That was it.
Should something go wrong, like an infection, she didn’t invite me to return. I imagine showing up at the ER, trying to explain to the nurse what happened.
Funny thing. I was attacked by some inter-dimensional flora.
Very gingerly, I unwrap the linen. The wounds are deep and angry.
My skin, puffy and bruised. In the bathroom, I shower awkwardly, trying to keep the injury dry.
Then I apply the salve with gritted teeth and wrap my arm exactly as Mistress Bramble instructed.
I dress in a pair of leggings, a hoodie, a puffer vest, and my Converse All Stars, then head downstairs, where Dad cooks breakfast in the kitchen—Black Friday pancakes, his one culinary specialty.
“Hey kiddo,” he says, scooping a pancake onto a plate. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.” I grab a beanie hanging from a hook by the door and pull it on. “Naomi and Harper are almost here.”
“Are they hungry?”
“They want to get an early start at the market.”
Every Black Friday, Foggy Hollow hosts the Yuletide Market in town square.
Since Twig is always in Bedford, I go with Naomi and Harper.
In my opinion, it’s the only acceptable way to Christmas shop.
Last year, I found wool-lined work socks for Dad, an old-fashioned magnifying glass with a brass handle for Twig, a tea sampler for Maggie, a jam set for Mrs. Calloway, a gemstone bracelet for Naomi, and a berry-bliss candle for Harper.
It’s a one-stop shop for all things thoughtful, and whatever items are left on the list can be taken care of with an after-market visit to The Lucky Penny.
I smile. “But I’ll take travel cakes to go.”
“Coming right up!”
A honk sounds outside.
He quickly spreads raspberry preserves between two pancakes, wraps it in a paper towel, and joins me at the door.
Outside, the morning is sunny and crisp.
Dad waves at Naomi, who sits behind the wheel of her Honda Accord, and Harper in the passenger seat. She rolls down her window to say hi and wave back.
“Be safe,” Dad says as I climb into the backseat with my pancake sandwich. “And stick together.”
As soon as the door is closed and the window is rolled up, I launch into the story. I tell them about the glowing plant yesterday morning, Rafe talking inside the Calloway’s radio right before our Thanksgiving feast, and the plan I devised while still at Twig’s.
“You let him out?” Naomi asks.
“I was going to give it a try, but he never showed up.”
“Wait,” Harper says. “Didn’t Rafe try to kill Lainey?”
“Rafe manipulated Lainey to open a rift.”
“And you were going to let him out?”
“I was hoping that if I helped him, he would help us.”
“Selah,” Naomi says on a sigh.
I know what she’s thinking.
I was being naive.
A foolish, wishful thinker.
She’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter now anyway, because my foolish plan failed. And nearly killed me in the process. I set my pancake sandwich on my knee and tell them the rest while rolling up my sleeve and unraveling the bandage.
Naomi peeks in her rearview mirror while Harper twists in her seat. I expect them to gasp. Or at the very least, look concerned. But they just stare blankly at my mangled arm like they don’t see anything alarming at all.
“What are you showing us?” Harper asks. “Why was your arm wrapped?”
Naomi stops at a traffic light and turns around, too.
I look at them both in turn. “You don’t see this?”
“See what?” Naomi asks.
“The wounds,” I say back, lifting my arm higher.
The light turns green.
Naomi faces forward, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. Harper continues watching me, obviously concerned. I stare down at my arm. I am maimed, but they can’t see it. Mistress Bramble did, though. She treated my wounds. She gave me salve.
“It’s like a rift,” I mutter.
Naomi and Harper can’t see those either.
Nor could they see the pattern of glowing dots on Lainey or Griffin. Neither could Twig. No matter how hard he tried, only Jude and I could see them.
I rewrap my arm.
Naomi whips into a parking spot along the square. “Is there any chance we could forget about this for today? Do some Christmas shopping and pretend everything is normal?”
“I’m happy to try,” Harper says, peeking in my direction, looking a little conflicted, like she wants us both to be happy.
The three of us join the throng of shoppers in town square.
I finish my pancake sandwich as we peruse the Tinker’s Forge, a stall selling wind chimes made from silverware and crystal drops.
We pass a vendor offering protective charms—iron horseshoes, glass vials of salt, leather pouches of herbs, which reminds me of Mistress Bramble.
He tries to entice us with a creepy, “We don’t want anymore pretty girls going missing. ”
Which only chases us away.
I purchase a small book of epigrams by Oscar Wilde at the Evermore Book Cart for Jude.
Maggie grunts her approval.
And I spot him, walking through the square. He spots me, too, and the relief that comes over his face is transformative, like my mere existence sets his entire being at ease.
My insides squirm.
I’m about to take a baseball bat to that ease.
I tell Naomi and Harper I’ll be back and meet him in front of the statue of Amos Vandenberg, a town hero, and also, his great, great, great-something grandfather.
“Sorry I crashed last night,” he says, sliding his arm around my waist and kissing my temple.
I melt into the embrace.
He smells absurdly good.
“I guess I was more tired than I realized,” he continues.
“I have to show you something,” I blurt.
His attention falls to the shopping bag in my hand.
The innocent gesture kills me a little. If only I were showing him his Christmas gift.
Alas, I hand him the bag and tell him not to peek.
Then, using his body as cover, I lift the linen wrap and discreetly reveal what I showed to Naomi and Harper.
Only this time, there’s a reaction. A very significant reaction.
“What happened?”
“You can see it?”
“Of course I can see it.” His hand comes under mine in a gentle embrace.
“Before I explain, I need you to know three things. First, I’m really sorry. Second, I shouldn’t have done it. And third, the plant is gone. There’s nothing left of it, so you don’t have to worry about me trying again. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
The furrow in his brow goes from deep to deeper.
“I opened a rift last night.”
“You what?”
I tell him the story, starting with the crackling air yesterday morning. The look of hurt on his face is a hard pill to swallow. If this happened yesterday morning, why didn’t I tell him yesterday evening, when we spent several hours together?
It’s a fair question.
Not too far away, in between a booth selling quilted blankets and a cart hung with freshly-cut wreaths, Isabel eyes Jude.
I can tell she wants his attention as she chats with a couple I don’t recognize.
I hurry onward, eager to tell him the rest now that I’ve started.
I can’t bring myself to say Rafe’s name, so I omit the part about the Calloway’s radio and my invitation in their bathroom afterward. Which makes me a coward, I know.
“I didn’t think I would be in any danger. I just wanted to take a peek inside and see what I could see, but the plant attacked, and Mistress Bramble lit it on fire.”
“Mistress Bramble?”
“She was there—at St. Fortuna’s.”
“Jude,” Isabel calls as she approaches.
He shuts his eyes, his jaw ticking with annoyance.
I quickly pull the sleeve of my hoodie over my wrist.
“Darling,” she says, taking his elbow. “I want to introduce you to someone.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks harder—at the term of endearment, I’m sure.
He is not her darling.
But Jude is polite and long-suffering, so he hands me my shopping bag and promises to find me when he’s done. I join Harper and Naomi at the soap and candle stall, courtesy of Flicker and Foam Emporium.
Despite Naomi’s request in the car upon our arrival, she lifts a bar of soap to her nose and asks, “Could he see it?”
Nodding, I lift a candle to mine. “I didn’t tell him about Rafe, so if we could keep that part on the DL, I would appreciate it.”
A police officer nearby nods at Harper.
She nods back.
His presence is another reminder that today isn’t a normal day no matter how much Naomi might want to pretend otherwise. There aren’t typically police officers at the Yuletide Market. So far, I have counted three.
“Jake’s been insufferable,” Harper says, sifting through a bowl of bath bombs. “Nobody wanted to talk about Emma or Sienna yesterday, but he kept going on and on about how irresponsible the media has been. Sloane and Cody finally told him to give it a rest.”
Sloane and Cody are the oldest of the Mahoney brood. There are six of them altogether, ranging in age from twenty-five to fourteen. Jake has always been the insufferable one, even before he became Foggy Hollow’s youngest police officer.
I exchange the candle I’m holding for another while keeping an eye on Jude. He stands stiffly beside Isabel, who has her arm wrapped around his elbow like an affectionate mother. It makes me angry on his behalf. She is the world’s biggest poser.
Naomi purchases a collection of artisanal soaps for her mom, and we meander to the Jam Jar, where Brynn Alcott and her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Caleb Briggs, talk in dulcet tones.
“I can’t believe he’s back,” she says, smearing a gingerbread cookie with apple butter. “Lainey is going to freak.”
“More like Griffin is going to freak,” Caleb replies.
Curious, I follow their gaze and nearly drop my shopping bag.
Upon seeing what I have seen, Harper grabs my injured arm.
I suck in a sharp breath.
“Oh my gosh, Selah, I’m sorry!” she says. “I totally forgot.”
I can hardly hear her apology over the ringing in my ears.
“I thought you said he was a no show,” Naomi hisses.
“He was,” I hiss back.
And yet, here he is, looking perfectly in order while he chats with the mayor.
Rafe Vandenberg, in the flesh.