Hidden in the Heartwood {sapphic paranormal}

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

28. || devil's backbone.

Finley tore off her flannel and wrapped it around River's abdomen, tying it tight against both wounds. Blood soaked through the fabric, staining her hands a deep shade of red as she continued to hold pressure while searching for anything to help stop the bleeding. Along the edge of the woods, the lone coyote stalked the shadows like a silver ghost, weaving between the slender pines.

Rancid decay surrounded them, both pungent and sweetly sickening. The one boy's head had been hollowed out by the bullet, brain splattered against the little thornberry; the othern's still laid near the hemlock, severed from its body. And Jedidiah's split right up the middle with the axe stuck in it like a stubborn maple log. All three bodies laid dead still. It was no surprise they were attracting predators, but it wasn't the four legged ones Finley was concerned about. The coyote circled wide, careful not to breach the hemlock's clearing as she watched Finley's every move.

"I can't tell if you're pacing 'cause you're worried about River," Finley said to her, voice trembling with panic as River's blood seeped between her fingers. "Or if you're just hungry." The coyote seemed to be listening as she slowed and hopped on a rotted moss-covered log up the crick to observe.

Moss.

Even with only the waning moon's light, she could tell from the fullness of its starry green blanket it was a type of sphagnum. She'd used the same to pack the bullet hole in her foot a year ago. Glancing around, she searched for any within reach, but the closest clung to the wet bark beneath the coyote's paws. As fast as she dared, she released her pressure on River and cautiously stepped towards the wild animal.

"If it's all right with you," she spoke to her softly like River might, kneeling down next to the fallen tree, "I'd like to borrow some of that moss."

The coyote's ears and nose twitched, her head dipped, eyes skittish, but she didn't run.

Slowly reaching out, Finley slid her fingers beneath the layer of moss and carefully skinned it away from the rotten log, revealing hollow arteries of insect tunnels and larvae beneath its green carpet. As she went to peel off another layer, the coyote curled her lip. Her teeth gnashed above, but her dark eyes stared beyond. Twisting her neck, Finley looked over her shoulder. Nothing moved against the hemlock or near the bank where River laid. But someone or something—or both was definitely watching. As she turned back around, the coyote was gone.

She tore the rest of the moss free from the log and then hurried back to River's side. Squeezing out what moisture she could, she packed layers of the leafy sponge into each wound. Had she time to boil it, it would've been more effective as an antiseptic, Gram had taught her that much, but she would worry about infection later once she got River stable and safe at home in the cabin. Their eyes remained shut, their breaths shallow and labored, but their fingers tapped to find hers.

<You're wasting your time, Finley.> Buckmouse appeared across the crickbed. Behind him, a herd of thirty-some deer moved in strange, orbital patterns, circling the springhouse. <We have everything we need now. Use the knife to mark River and end the curse for good.>

"Everything?" Beside her, the blade of the knife still laid covered in River's blood. She picked it up to study the handle. Carved into the bone, another rune matched the design of the antler and deerjaw. It was the third talisman. River had it in their possession this whole time. "What happens to River?"

<They will return to the Otherworld with the souls of the dead.>

"And you?" Finley asked. "What happens to you?"

The white stag snorted and shook his crown of antlers as he wobbled on his hindlegs.

"He'd be free tae click them bloody hooves beyond this mountain, love."