Hidden in the Heartwood {sapphic paranormal}

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

18. || ghost of a lie.

"I think when I prayed to the hemlocks," the strange, cursed woman said without turning around, "they sent me to you."

It was a cruel irony that River didn't wish to be reminded of; that the roots beneath their feet hungered for her. That they'd have to deliver her to the hemlock themself. That only her blood could end the curse that has bound them to this mountain for over a century.

River lowered the coyote cowl to their shoulders with some kinda half-confession readied on their tongue, but a force caught their jaw from behind, wrapping its coarse fibers around their mouth, around their neck, their waist, then their ankles. Iron-rich filth gagged River into silence as it yanked their feet out from under them and they hit the ground.

Roots.

Through pine needles and cones, the roots dragged River along the edge of the crick up the ridge. Sticks stabbed and scraped their back as they tried to dig their heels into the ground, gouging the skin of the mountain, but the root only tightened around them and pulled faster. River clawed at the rigid bark in vain, finding no mercy in its constriction. In and around trees it weaved, whipping them against trunks and through brambles and they could only cover their head in defense.

Then as suddenly as it had snatched them up, the root came to a stop. The putrid stench of decay filled River's nose as they uncovered their head. The shadow of the blighted hemlock against the midnight sky loomed directly overhead and Brian or Brad or everwhat the hell that jagoff's name was, laid beside them. Moonlight caught the bulging whites of his eyes and his body had already started to bloat, all covered in ants and beetles and thousand leggers.

The root loosened around their mouth as a pointed boot swung in the air above them. Sitting atop the dip in the hemlock with one leg hitched up the trunk was Vera once again, a smile on her face, clearly amused. "Ya look bumbazed tae see me a'gin, love."

River laughed and spat out a mouthful of rotten bark; its acrid pine sap soured their words. "Well, wasn't expectin' ya without a full moon. Or some other dark force to conjure ya up." The root tightened around them, squeezing out their breath. "If ya wanted my attention, Vera," they wheezed, "ya coulda just hollered. This was one of my good shirts."

The coy curve of Vera's lips pressed into something more insidious. "And here I thought ya got all gussied up for me." She twirled her finger in the air and the roots slid away by her command. River pushed to their feet, inspecting the tears in their button-up while keeping Vera in the corner of their eye. "Such a fool am I tae think ya wouldn't fall for the wee doe-eyed demon. Chasin' her round the woods like two sprites in rut. Aye, a clean shirt'll dae ya."

Dusting themself off, River looked up with a grin. "You are gonna pickle yourself green in that jealousy."

"She's suckin' the spring dry, River. We're gonna run outta time 'fore she finds the talismans." Vera smoothed out the pleats in her skirt, keeping her eyes hidden. "But if ya just bring her tae me, then I'll be free tae help ya."

"That spring's a'flowin' just fine. And she already found one of 'em."

"Oh, did she now?"

River stepped towards the trunk of the hemlock and slipped between Vera's legs. Her swinging foot stilled, her blue eyes darkened, lips parted as she looked up. River slid their hand beneath the thick folds of her skirt, pushing the fabric up over her bent knee. "In fact," they reached into their breast pocket, "a little yeller bird led her to it."

They trailed the canary feather up her bare leg, tracing it over the buttons on her skirt and up her blouse to her neck. Catching River by their wrist, Vera sunk her fingernails into their skin with that old volatile smile.