Hidden in the Heartwood {sapphic paranormal}

CHAPTER ELEVEN

11. || wings upon your horns.

Finley didn't question River when they cut left onto a muddy overgrown road instead of keeping right on the main route that winds through the hollow. The old logging roads could get them to the mine entrance just as well, faster even, for they were the veins that led to the heart of the mountain. But as River slowed to a stop and hopped out their jeep in the middle of old growth pines and hardwoods, doubt began to erode Finley's mind.

"It's just up ahead a ways, but stay close." River swung Finley's door open and helped her down from the sheepskin covered seat, reaching behind it to loop a duffle bag onto their shoulder. Sheathed in their buckskin belt, the bone handle of the hunting knife stuck up next to the steel head of a hatchet. River stood there a moment, staring out into the woods, waiting and listening, before finally opening the tailgate to grab their rifle. As they loaded the magazine, the cold metal slap of the bolt closing cracked with an echo against the woods and a lone crow returned its call.

"What exactly did you mean by you got demons hanging around up here?" Finley asked, weaving through stalks of goldenrod and queen anne's lace along what was left of the road. Trying to keep up with River's long-legged strides, she pert near ran flat smack into the back of their suede jacket and rifle when they stopped abruptly before a pair of hemlocks that seemed to mirror one another.

"Exactly what I said, so stay sharp."

Now, Finley knew demons came in all shapes and sizes, from every walk of life. Sometimes their presence was obvious like the beasts that blur the boundaries of sleep and wake, the ones that call out at night to lure you from bed, coax you into the woods during the in-between. But others could disguise themselves in far more subtle ways, a kind gesture, a face in a photograph, a warm hand held just a bit too tight. All they needed was a fissure in your skin, a crack in your life, to seep into your core and spread their disease.

And seven years ago, unbeknownst to her at the time, Finley had met such a demon. It had neither fang nor scale, no hooved feet nor horns. Its voice didn't bang through her head like mountain thunder. Instead, it startled her like the velvet flutter of moth wings.

"Do you need help with that?" the Demon asked, stepping into the frame of Finley's selfie. "I can take the picture for you."

"Oh, thanks, but—" As she lowered her phone, it slipped from her hands and clattered against the limestone floor of the overlook. She squatted down to grab it, as did the Demon, meeting her face to face. Beneath a green ball cap, its eyes sparkled blue like a reflection of the dam that stretched before them.

Picking up her phone, the Demon stared at the screen. "You're very photogenic."

"I'm uh, much more comfortable on the other side of the lens, a camera lens, usually." Finley smiled as she held out her hand for the phone. "Just wanted to send my sister a selfie to let her know I haven't been kidnapped by some deranged mountain man."

The Demon chuckled softly as it took aholt Finley's hand, pulling her up to stand. "Why don't you let me take it for you? I can get the whole dam in the background."

"Oh, you don't have to. I can just text her, really."

But as she held out her hand once more for the phone, the Demon simply smiled again, stepping back to line up the shot. Pursing her lips, Finley gave in and leaned against the rock overlook, studying the Demon that looked nothing like a demon from Grandad's stories. Dressed in brand-name athleisure, all tight where it needed to be, the Demon looked just like any other well-off city flatlander visiting the mountains in the summer.

"Perfect," it murmured, eyes flashing over the edge of the phone. "But take a look and let me know if you want another."

"It's fine, thank you." Finley didn't even pretend to glance at the screen as the Demon returned her phone. Her eyes were solely locked to its blues. "Do you uh, want one of yourself?"