Chapter Four - Tammy
“You should never have come here.”
The words were soft even as they shattered the silence and stillness. I fell to the ground the second my muscles unlocked, the creeping dread crawling up the back of my throat too much to handle.
It had happened so fast. I’d tried to answer. The Fae did…all of that. Then Teresa’s eyes flashed and she ran and she…
She fell through the ground?
I’d watched it all. But I hadn’t been able to move or say anything. I hadn’t helped her. And now, I realized, all the Fae but one were gone. I hadn’t seen them leave, or noticed the ash settling atop the ritual circle. Something about the light had shifted, too, and our footprints were gone.
How long had I been standing here?
“You were not prepared. You were stupid. You had no watcher, no protector, no wards. You stepped into the Wood without an offering worth your passage. You said the words without a hint of understanding. To call on things as you did was a fool’s errand – you children are not the Grower.”
She was sitting on a scorched stump beside the creek. A charcoal throne rose from the wood, molded to her body. A black knife was in her hands, gleaming in the sourceless light pouring out of the world. As she spoke, it peeled slivers from a lump of auburn wood in her lap.
“Wha…”
She waved her hand, and suddenly the ash cleared around me in a circle. A cloud blew it all from my hair and clothes, piling on the edges in a physics-defying web of woven branches that solidified into charred wood.
“Do not speak, child. Your words have done enough harm. Sit, and listen. The Grower clearly failed to teach you. A rare mistake, and one of his last.”
I pulled myself up to a crouch, then flopped bonelessly back onto the ground as I tried not to throw up when it hit me all over again.
My sister was gone.
She hadn’t made it to the portal. She hadn’t even wanted to come here to try this, but I’d talked her into it. Said it would be ok, that we’d handle it together. And then I’d opened my big mouth. I’d said I’m. I am. To a question from the Fae. This was my fault.
They’d taken it as an answer. And now…
“Calm. Calm. Guilt will not undo what foolish things you wrought. You tried to stall, tried to justify, but your thoughts shone through in every breath. Had you spoken a lie, you would have suffered. Yet your words rang of a conviction clear enough to be truth – you were the better. You found the path, you led the ritual. Surely you were the intended heir, if there was but one. For an oath as we afforded the Grower, such belief alone may tip the scale.”
The pile of flakes beneath her grew in the silence that followed. It was already far, far too big to have come from the piece of wood in her hand. Each movement was smooth, not a single second without a finger guiding the knife even as the rest of her might as well have been a statue. It was something to focus on, nearly hypnotizing, as a human shape materialized in the block.
"Two heirs, with equal claims? Untouchable, even in trespass. Shift the balance, one discredits the other with deep conviction. Both bear claims, yet no longer are they equal. Oaths still bind, though now the protection is by degrees. One becomes safe, a debt made and promptly repaid in full. The other is claimed herself, a favor for a favor. She cannot be harmed – not directly – but they will not let her go even should you return your…gift.”
On my wrist, a bracelet writhed. Faint, fetid heat pulsed out from a moth-shaped silver-and-crystal charm. It hadn’t been there before – but the Lady’s hands tore my eyes from it. In between them, a body was taking shape. A woman, sprawled on the ground. The head was unformed, but I had a feeling at what the knife would carve next. The wood shuddered and shifted even without her touch.
As if it was crawling between blinks.
“The Grower’s pact bought safety, not support. A year and a day from his death. Nine months remain – a pittance, even for children such as they. A life like hers – the value is more than you can give. For now.”
The blade wove between grasping limbs. Each flick separated out pale, blonde strands of wood in a wide halo of hair. The lost shards were less wood now, more liquid, wobbling in the air like spraying blood that never hit the ground.
“Learn, child. With a terribly cruel mistake, you bought the favor of the Lowborn Fae. Out of respect for your kin, I offer that of the Highborn.”
The knife blurred, faster and faster, as it moved to the face. Her eyes never left mine.
“It is an even crueler thing I offer. Should you take it of your own will, you will be bound to Ash and fated to make a choice. You will be marked, your pain and sin bared for all to see. Regardless of where you tread it will shape you. Consider it…a finger on the scales, when the moment matters. It is all I will offer, and it is perhaps more than you deserve.”
The knife stilled. It left her hand and left reality before it could touch the ground. She enveloped the finished statuette with her sleeves and tilted her head to look at me. Then, softly, she sighed.
“Still, your line has yet been true and even mortals may surprise. For good or ill, it all rests atop your shoulders, child. May you bear it well.”
There were so many questions I wanted to ask. Needed to ask. But in the same blink of an eye where I regained my words, she disappeared. The charcoal throne cradled the figurine. A woman – no, a girl. Splayed out as if fallen, clothes torn and ankle twisted. The face looked into the distance, deeper into the woods. Turning, ever so slowly.
I found myself crawling over. Her warning and her offer played over and over in my head, but it wasn’t really a choice. I’d fucked up. I’d fucked up bad. If she was offering any help, I would take it. I had to.
For Teresa.
There was no wind, but the branches all around me stirred anyway into a sighing chorus as I seized the figure. It was scorching, as if pulled fresh from a fire. My palm sizzled, but I wouldn’t let go. It was just barely light enough to lift, to turn over.
The branches howled. The ash sighed. Even my sobs echoed it – a word without pronunciation, an innate meaning I couldn’t have missed if I tried.
“Betrayer.”
Teresa’s face stared back at me from the wood, like a mirror. Sooty streaks of tears trailing down her cheeks.
She was screaming.
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I awoke to throbbing heat in my left hand and light that felt like someone was stabbing a spoon behind my left eye.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Rolling over only fixed one problem. It caused three more.
First, I smacked my elbow into something hard. Wood. The house’s front porch?
Second, my nose must’ve been bleeding. A cold, sticky puddle of red flashed into sight and then vanished as I rolled over, fighting the sudden urge to sneeze that I knew would smash my aching head into the boards.
Third, I saw the statue. Sitting on the porch right in front of my suddenly-crossed eyes, Teresa’s desperate face staring right into me looking more like flesh than wood. The dreams flooded back – too big teeth, matted fur, swishing blonde hair, and a slope of too-slick gravel. Before I could stop myself, I’d smashed it away with my hurting arm. It went flying into the side of the house as I started swearing and felt a spreading warmth in my pants.
I processed the flare of pain that hitting the small piece of wood sent through my hand just in time to hear the sharp, short, echoing crack that it made on impact. Then the bang. Dumbfounded, I watched it rocket out and crash through a tree in a spray of sap and splinters.
Magic. It had to be. Just like the whispering thoughts in my head as I picked myself up, telling me exactly how much time I had left to save Teresa. Telling me that the dream was about her. The sigil burned into my hand still hurt, but the edge of…something around it was quiet. Neither it nor I could bear the thought of lying here in my own filth to mope.
I staggered over to the wall, leaning heavily on the door as my head spun.
This – it was all intimidating. I knew I was either still in shock or starting to spiral at the overwhelming nature of all of this – but that wasn’t a new feeling. I didn’t need to climb that hill of thinking about where to even start helping Teresa – I just had to start small. Get up, take my medicine. Then a shower and clean pants. Dump water and food into the aching void in my stomach. One thing after the next, and eventually I’d be rescuing her. That was what had worked all through life, and the small mantra was enough to get me back to my feet.
Of course, the minute I opened the door there was another, highly improbable, obstacle that reared up: a pair of figures at the bottom of the grand staircase. A skeletal bird – each bone separated from the others even while they moved in sync – stood on the lowest step. There was a stylus clutched in its beak and a scratched-up tablet leaning against the wall. On the long mirror behind it that stretched all the way up to the second floor, a winged woman in a grey dress floated in a sea of mist.
I took a deep breath and blocked out the mirror-lady, talking over it. “Medicine first, then shower. Clean pants. Food. Then you can deal with the bird and the bloody-fucking-Mary.”
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I didn’t realize the bracelet had vanished until after my shower. No matter how hot I ran the water or how pink the rest of me got, it barely even felt warm on my hand. And eventually – once the mess of ash and blood finished sluicing off onto the garishly green tiles – I left and got out. Only to realize my hair, despite having been right in the stream, was dry. And, seemingly, had gotten several inches longer to fall into a braid that didn’t make sense.
Once I wiped the fog off the blessedly-empty mirror, I wasn’t surprised to see the moth tied into the base of it.
It hurt to rip it out. And then the pain dropped off to nothing as it flew into the trash and suddenly my undercut was back, soaking wet and dripping all over the tiles.
When I pushed open the bathroom door the statue was on my bed, staring out the window.
“Shower’s done. Clothes, food, freaky skeleton that looks way too familiar. Then the lady in the mirror, since apparently one of those being here my whole life wouldn’t be any weirder than the rest of this shit. The cursed things can wait – can’t save Teresa if I’m having another breakdown.”
Talking to myself might not have been the best habit. But well – who knew what else was listening with all this going on?
The scratching at my door as I threw on sweatpants and a shirt turned out to be the bird. Which immediately pecked at my foot as I came out, and dodged the reflexive kick I sent its way.
“Not. Now.”
That was what I said to it, and to the lady when she popped up in the handful of mirrors we hadn’t taken down after moving in. Each time, she was staring. Silently. Even from the microwave’s glass as I made macaroni while dodging the bird’s beak and still, somehow, failing to kick it away.
By the time that was done and I had a full stomach that made me feel just a little bit less empty, it had dragged its electronics into the kitchen. I nearly choked as it, somehow, grabbed the thing and carried it up to the tabletop with a single jump.
“Ok, fine. Your turn. What’s up with the tablet?”
It tapped the power button. The thing started to turn on, then died halfway through.
“Charger, got it. Guess plugging one in would be hard with a beak, eh?”
It pecked at my finger. It was audibly scratching at the tabletop as I rifled through the junk drawer, eventually pulling out a charger that probably wouldn’t catch fire the minute I plugged it in.
“What even are you, anyway? I mean, you’re obviously something Grandpa had. But, y’know, why?” I dodged another peck and moved the tablet up to the counter by an outlet. “Are you one of those taxidermy things or whatever you call the bone versions from the study?”
No answer. I was actually a little disappointed – Grandpa was supposed to be good at this stuff. Maybe this thing could’ve helped. “If he just kept you as a pet and you’re barely even magical, I swear I’m going to scream.”
We’d taken the kitchen mirrors down first when we moved in. And whatever she was – the lady didn’t seem satisfied with the microwave and the fridge’s reflections. The window behind the sink turned glassy, the pre-dawn woods outside vanishing, the moment I glanced at it. A sheet of vaguely roiling grey mist blocked out everything, first, and then the woman faded in. Her wings and the dress were the same matte grey, just a few shades darker than the background. The dress itself was…just a sheet of fabric dangling from her shoulders? It trailed off, along with the rest of her, without any distinction. It barely even looked like there was anything under it.
The eyes didn’t have any kind of distinct pupil or iris. Just stunningly silver circles set into an expressionless face, framed by a limp curtain of hair that faded in and out of the mist. The only deviation from the monochromatic grey was a black stain on her hands – when they were visible, that is.
“So, can you talk at least? Or like, what? Sign language? Need me to breathe on the mirror so you can trace things out? Maybe I say your name three times and you come out and kill me?”
She opened her mouth, and my ears started to ring. There were no teeth inside – just washed-out mist. As her lips moved in isolation, I realized something. Sight wasn’t the only thing the ritual was supposed to have changed – one push at the new mental levers, and the ringing died. Instead, there was a dull, vaguely feminine voice.
“I can speak, yes. Lady Blackleaf, multiple critical notices regarding the Archive and the greater ward scheme remain unaddressed. Your input is required.”
“…what?”
Her face twisted. For a fraction of a second, there was a frown there, dark lines etched into her face. Then I blinked and the blank mask was back.
“Archival transfers are suspended following Lord Blackleaf’s abdication. Scrying and exterior communications remain suspended within all managed grounds, pending reconfiguration. Current information is three months, twelve days, six hours, thirty-seven minutes, and three seconds outdated. All attempted notifications and rectifications have been denied through inaction by the Ladies Blackleaf.”
Her face screwed up again. The featureless eyes shifted. “Two additional major alerts have been triggered. The Lady Blackleaf is under the effect of a geas. Two unregistered Faerie artefacts are bound to her person and thus within the security perimeter.”
This…she wasn’t acting like a person. Spirit? Demon? I had no idea. But that…
“Lady Blackleaf?”
“Your title as current mistress of Blackleaf Manor. Ownership of the Blackleaf Archive, as well as Lord Blackleaf’s outer holdings and hereditary titles, are carried with it.” This time, her frown stuck. Just the slightest downturn to her lips, and a pressure in the air. “Again. Archival business cannot be conducted without the Lady Blackleaf’s intervention.”
I could unpack that later. I had the feeling, especially with how the background behind her was starting to shift much more violently, that ignoring that was not a smart idea.
“What do I need to do?”
“Minor alerts cleared and relegated to records. Standard operations may resume upon reconfiguration of the primary warding and communication arrays to the Lady Blackwell’s mana signature, thus lifting lockdown protocols.”
“Alright. How do I do that?”
“The keystone and relevant matrices are located, respectively, in the primary and secondary artifice zones within the Archives. Workroom and Orrery access status remains unknown – secondary translocation is offline while the lockdown continues. Tertiary physical access within the manner is confirmed active. Please proceed.”
That was…a lot of words I didn’t understand.
“How?”
The frown twitched deeper. “Make firm contact with the main banister. Await activation.”
The bird was doing…something. I didn’t think I had time to stop and watch with the feeling of eyes literally drilling holes into my back. And then my front, when they moved to the original mirror as I left the kitchen. She pointed with one stained finger.
The first thing that happened was my hand starting to tingle the moment I laid it on the post. Then it lit up with a network of glowing runes. With a lurch like when we’d passed into the Roads, the entry hall vanished into a smear of colors spread across a formless black. When they snapped back into place, everything had changed.
I was standing on a platform, my hand resting on a pedestal of silvery wood that was ominously close to what the Fae had held. It glowed, faintly, but the darkness around me pressed in and swallowed the light as I looked around and realized, for the third time today, that I was in way, way over my head.