Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Metamorphosis

It is cold and dark where I am stuck. When I try to move, I hear sounds resembling the groaning and cracking of wood being stretched. Rough surfaces scratch my skin and prickly thorns poke into my scalp and palms. My eyes struggle to open. When they do, there is only black night and bright stars above me. Trees of the Ipswich forest loom tall against the sky, both the ones that thrive and give me sustenance throughout the year, and the brittle dead ones that shatter under my touch. They are mixed together, right on top of one another, shifting back and forth, undecided in their own fate.

Again, I try to move my arms, but I’m held down, tangled within a cradle of branches in one of the trees. The symphony of creaking wood starts up again and the skin on my hands is stretched painfully when I try to lift them. I hiss with pain and settle back down.

My body is covered in twisted vines and branches. I can’t tell where wood ends and bone and skin begin. The green tendrils of the plant wrap around me tightly, digging into my flesh.

There is movement in the trees, I strain my eyes and lift my head from the crown of leaves that is trying to pin me down further into the canopy. A lone dark figure sits on a mound in a clearing beyond my tree. The shadow creature plays with something orange and glowing in its hands. My mother’s crystal pumpkin.

I start to writhe, the leaves of my tree shaking from the movement. I need to get out and tell the creature to be careful. It’s delicate. Beg him not to break it.

The creature’s head snaps up and stares in my direction. I go deathly still, suddenly acutely aware that I do not want to draw attention to myself. The tingling of fear spreads up my neck. The figure stands and begins to slowly walk down the mound it had been perched on. A long inky-blue cloak billows in the starlight as he walks toward me. I close my eyes and sink into the safety of my tree. There is no escape. I can’t run. All I can do is pray I remain unseen.

“Oh, but I always know where you are.” His voice, like the rasp of death, caresses my ear. The cold breath that hits my cheek is biting and bitter. I only barely suppress a shriek of surprise. A moist hand and long, thin fingers wrap around my neck. My eyes flash open and I am staring into the blackest irises I have ever seen. A man of indeterminable age, with sunken eyes, and pale, icy skin is staring down at me. His white fingers squeeze around my throat, and he breathes heavily. His dark blue cloak falls over my body, slimy to the touch on the places where it brushes against my skin. Underneath his cloak he is in a full black suit. A glittering chromatic key on a long silver chain hangs from his neck.

The man pulls our faces closer. I wrench my head, turning away from him, and close my eyes, but he doesn’t care. He presses his lips down near my ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” he whispers before biting on my lobe ever so slightly. I writhe in disgust, trying to pull away, praying this nightmare will end and I will wake up.

“Our bond is eternal, Hecate Goodwin. Dream or not, you belong right here with me. Admit it, how nice it would be to stay here—forever.” His damp fingers make their way down my throat. I recoil at the sensation of their caress.

“Answer me,” he hisses, and suddenly clawlike fingers dig into my neck.

“No!” I cry in pain, and lash out my legs, kicking hard at the cloaked man. He falls from the tree in a flash of silver and indigo before disappearing into a swirl of shadows. The forest grows silent for half a heartbeat before a long tolling rings out, the striking of a grandfather clock, and a guttural laughter echoes on the wind as a voice slithers over me like damp, shedding snake skin.

“Whatever you believe, you will come home to me soon enough, my darling. When the clock strikes and the sun sets, I shall take you. And finally, I will be free.”