Chapter 46
AN UNCANNY ENCOUNTER
My boots crunch over snow as I walk away from the parked Bronco toward the footpath, Lily’s sketchpad tucked under my arm. Up ahead, water babbles over stone, too fast to freeze, and somewhere in the trees, a crow caws just once.
Behind me, tires pop over frozen gravel.
I turn around and spot Rafe—not in his ostentatious blood red Gullwing, but in a slightly less ostentatious midnight blue Porsche. I really shouldn’t be surprised. Still, my muscles pull tight as he pulls off the road, his elbow draped over the ledge of his open window.
The car idles in a low, steady purr.
“Good morning,” he says, tipping his sunglasses down, his breath clouding in the cold. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”
I glare at him.
He clucks his tongue. “Traipsing into the woods all by your lonesome when the young women of Foggy Hollow are in such peril? You do insist on being reckless.”
“I insist on getting answers.”
“And you think the witchy Bramble woman will give them to you?” He gives his fingers a drum and casts his attention toward the trees. “What discovery did you make the other night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Selah. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Not even close,” I mutter.
He smiles thinly. “You expect me to believe that you and your little friend group were really that eager to see a plant in the conservatory?” His gaze drops to the sketchpad under my arm. “What is it you were so eager to discuss?”
I press my lips together.
Rafe turns off the car. He slides out of the Porsche as smooth as silk. “I thought we were on the same team.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?”
“I helped you break into the crypt. Before that, I spent multiple days trying to get back into Lainey’s good graces, which was no walk in the park, I can assure you.
She may be Dr. Psycho’s minion now, but she is every bit as insufferable as she ever was.
Not to mention, I saved your life. Twice.
It’s pretty poor repayment to keep me in the dark. ”
“Why do you care to be in the know? While we’re at it, why are you still here in Foggy Hollow? And please spare the lies. We both know you don’t really care what happens to me.”
He leans against the car door and crosses one ankle over the other. “You don’t think me capable of caring?”
“About yourself, sure. About others? Not so much.”
“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf, Selah.
Facing death changes a man. Especially one who hasn’t had to face death in, well, a very long time.
” He folds his arms. “I did a lot of reflecting while trapped in the Overlay, and I realized—Jude may be tediously brooding and mind-numbingly serious, but he’s my last remaining relative.
All I have left in the world. I don’t want a ruby sucking his life away. ”
The mere mention of the ruby makes my stomach twist. “I don’t believe you care about Jude.”
“That’s the beautiful thing about the truth, my dear. It’s not dependent upon your belief.”
I narrow my eyes at him, leaning against his fancy car looking as gorgeous and unflappable as ever. I would be a fool to believe anything Rafe has to say. I’m not a fool. But I’m also not keen on wasting time either.
“Fine.” The word escapes in a frozen huff.
I tell him the condensed version. Lily was drawing the future. Now Vorat is marking teens with the past. A very specific past. “Mother Bramble told Lily she would be plagued with second sight. Meanwhile, her own daughter has sight of her own. Maybe Mistress Bramble knows something.”
“You’re going to show her the sketchpad?”
“I don’t know what else to do at this point. Now if you’ll excuse me,” I say, lifting the sketchpad in question, “I’d really like to get going.”
Rafe gestures toward the footpath. “By all means.”
When I turn to go, he follows.
I round on him. “What are you doing?”
“Coming with. It’s been awhile since I paid the Bramble cabin a visit.”
“Does she know you?”
“You mean like, in the way Opal Bogaard knows me?”
“Seriously Rafe.”
“No, Selah. I’ve never officially met Mistress Bramble, but today feels like a good day.”
“Is there any chance I can talk you out of it?”
“None at all.”
With a frustrated growl, I march into the woods. I give him the cold shoulder all the way to the cabin. When we arrive, the big, black rooster is waiting.
“He’s quite large,” Rafe says.
“Zuul is harmless,” I reply, not even pausing on my way to the porch.
“You named the rooster?”
“After a supernatural minion tasked with opening a gateway for Gozer.” I climb the stairs and turn around. “It’s from Ghostbusters.”
But Rafe isn’t listening.
He’s having a face-off with the rooster. I watch, amused, as he makes a wide birth. The bird puffs its feathers and flaps its wings and Rafe sprints for the porch like it is base in a high-stakes game of tag.
I stare at him drolly. “Seriously?”
“What?” he says, running his hand through his hair.
“You’re afraid of chickens?”
“You could say I’ve had a few bad encounters.”
“You have a history with roosters?”
“My uncle had some very aggressive hens when I was a boy.”
I peer at him, trying to imagine Rafe with an uncle. Rafe as a child. But my brain is incapable of conjuring the image. I turn to Mistress Bramble’s door and knock.
Nobody answers.
Behind me, Rafe fiddles with the wind chime, which is mostly made of small bones. “This isn’t creepy or anything.”
I try looking into the grimy windows, but the curtains are drawn.
There’s no smoke stack coming from the chimney, either.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
It’s not like I’ve ever reached Mistress Bramble on a whim.
Still, my shoulders slump.
A frigid breeze curls through the yard.
The bones on the wind chime clack.
And somewhere in the distance, comes the faint sound of whistling.
I cock my head as another breeze sweeps through the trees, bringing with it the whisper of my name.
“Selah?” Rafe inquires, for I have stepped past him, off the porch. I keep going to the tree line, where I peer down a snow-covered path.
“It’s her,” I say.
Mistress Bramble.
She’s here, with her back to us, foraging in the undergrowth. What she could possibly find in the dead of winter, I have no idea. Nor do I much care.
“Selah, wait,” Rafe says.
But I don’t listen.
I’m too relieved to wait. Too eager. With the sketchpad clutched between both hands, I hurry down the path, briars snagging at my jeans. “Mistress Bramble?” I call.
She stops foraging.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you like this, but some things have happened and I was wondering if you—”
Rafe pulls me to a stop.
Mistress Bramble straightens and slowly turns around.
Something is off.
It’s her, but she looks funny.
The lacerations on my arm tingle as she tilts her head, looking from me to Rafe. I kick myself for letting him come. They might not have met, but Mistress Bramble is no ordinary woman. She has second sight. Of course she would sense who he is, what he is.
Her body convulses.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping forward.
Rafe holds out his arm like a barrier.
I push it aside.
“Selah, that’s not—”
Mistress Bramble stumbles forward, clutching her middle. Alarm shoots through my extremities. I think she might throw up. Or maybe she’s choking. She opens her mouth in a scream, but instead of sound, a whorl of shadow escapes. It twists and turns in the air like a terrifying storm cloud.
No, not a cloud.
A swarm.
“Run!” Rafe shouts.
I don’t argue.
With terror clawing up my throat, I turn on my heel and do exactly what Rafe says. I run. I sprint as fast as I can. My foot catches on a root. I land so hard on the ground, the wind is knocked out of me and the sketchpad goes flying.
Rafe pulls me to my feet and urges me forward.
We burst out of the trees, into the open yard, and the black roiling swarm can’t get through. It recoils from the winter sunlight, sweeping along the tree line as though trying to find a workaround. All the while, hair-raising voices hiss my name, each one sounding exactly like Mistress Bramble.
“Go,” Rafe says, backing away.
I don’t have to be told twice.
I run along the narrow footpath, all the way back to the road, where our cars are parked in the snow.
All is calm and quiet except for our panting.
“What were you thinking?” Rafe breathes. “Common Sense 101, Selah. If you hear your name called in the woods, you don’t go investigating.”
“What was that?” I ask, clutching a stitch in my side.
“A mimic.”
I gape. Mimics are spirits that take on corporeal form, mimicking—as its name suggests—humans to lure in prey and deceive the unwitting. “How did you know?”
“Experience.” Rafe grabs me by the arm and ushers me to my father’s Bronco.
“Why was it there?”
“If I had to guess—” He opens the driver side door. “—I’d say it was there to dispose of you.”
“Me?”
“You’re not welcome, Selah, remember? Every monster over there that wants to protect its territory—including mimics, including those birds—sees you as a threat.”
“It came from the Overlay.” I crane my neck as though I might get another look while Rafe all but shoves me behind the wheel. “Through a rift. Which means there has to be a rift somewhere near—”
“Selah.”
“What?”
“You need to get out of here.” He shuts my door.
My arm tingles, tiny pinpricks snaking around my wrist. I rub the lacerations. Somehow, they responded. Somehow, my wounds knew that creature wasn’t Mistress Bramble, but a monster from the Overlay.
And the sketchpad.
I dropped the sketchpad.
Rafe raps loud on the window.
I jump in my seat.
“Go home,” he says.
While I don’t appreciate taking orders, especially not from the likes of him, I start the car with shaking hands and drive to the estate.
Rafe follows me the entire way.