Chapter 7

Evie

Barataria Preserve, Marrero, Louisiana

E vie jolted awake for the second time in as many days, her heart racing. Above her, the new moon shone through the parted branches. Her breath came fast, labored. Something woke her. What was it?

Out of the silence, she heard the low, baritone voice bark right next to her ear, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She screeched and fell from her bed, scrambling away from the unexpected noise. Around her, the crickets maintained their high-pitched song. No one stirred, save for the members quietly conducting their séance below, far from her tree. Nothing indicated that this was anything other than her standard experience of the voice. No one else could hear him.

But she knew he was real. Knew it the same way she knew that her hair was red, that she was too short, and that her source of magic was the moon. She rubbed her eyes, desperately trying to remember what woke her. It wasn’t his shout; she was awake when she heard that. It was a dream. A dream of a man... she struggled to capture the memory, but it eluded her. Clenching her fists, she stared at the moon, restless even thought her heart rate began to slow.

Since she couldn’t remember her dream, she turned back to the odd noises she and Sandrine had heard beyond the trees earlier in the day. At the time, she had Sandrine with her, and there was no way she would risk her young sister by investigating the sounds. Now, though, she wanted to see what they were. She had never heard anything like that. The forest wasn’t quiet by any stretch of the imagination, but the cacophony from the other side of the trees was… different. Angry, almost. She had so many questions, was so intrigued by the mystery it presented. The more she thought about it, poked at the memory, the more restless she became until her legs were twitching with the need to stand up and move.

This wasn’t like her. Yes, she liked adventure, loved to explore the forest, but she never felt that she had to leave, to escape her beloved home. Even as she told herself this, she bolted to her feet, grabbing her discarded dress from the floor and pulling it over her head as she crossed to the entry. I shouldn’t do this , she thought as she summoned the tree limbs to take her to the forest floor. This is reckless , she admonished herself as she descended, her short gown flapping around her thighs at the speed with which she was lighting from limb to limb. Something could happen, and then who would care for the coven , she scolded as she found her feet firmly on the ground. Of all her rogue considerations, this last one was the only one that caused her to pause.

Without sounding boastful, she knew her magic source made her the strongest among the coven, despite her own insecurity aout her powers. Even the elders admitted it, while also murmuring that she lacked control over her abilities and her temperament. If something happened to her, if she were unable to return, the coven may be unsafe. She and the other members were raised on stories of the death dealers, odd, dark shadowy figures who hunted witches. She was fairly certain that the stories were just myths to scare young witches, and her sisters weren't in danger, but it worried her even still.

She shook her head, dismissing panicked thoughts of dangerous people descending upon the clearing. It seemed extremely unlikely, bordering on ridiculous, that danger was waiting around the corner. She was jumping at shadows, scared of a boogeyman that probably didn’t even exist. With an enthusiastic nod, she strode past the wards and, laughing, ran into the forest.

The moon lit her way, igniting her with happiness as she darted through the trees towards where she and Sandrine had traveled. Spanish moss drifted toward her, drawn by her magic, while the withered leaves, shriveled and dead from the dry winter, burst into vibrant green life as she dashed over them. Without Sandrine, she made the trip much more quickly—even after a detour to resurrect a field of dead giant blue irises—and it wasn’t long before she came upon the tree line.

Evie came to a screeching halt less than twenty feet from the trees. Unlike before, it was deceptively quiet with only a dull hum indicating that anything might be amiss. Forcing herself to breathe, knowing she was probably being overly curious or dramatic, she crept towards the trees. She was light on her feet, barely making a sound as edged closer to where the noise had come from. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute, Evie reached the tree line and rested her hand on the live oak nearest her. Through her touch, she felt the tree’s unease, sensed the wrongness of this whole place. She peeked her head around her arboreal sentinel, and her heart froze in her chest. What happened??? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t begin to fathom the sight before her.

The forest was just... gone. Trees were uprooted; the ground was violently overturned as far as she could see. Probably the work of the yellow machines that dotted the area. Blood pounded in her ears as she snapped her head from side to side, horrified and overwhelmed. She stepped into the clearing, further away from the healthy trees and into the valley of the death before her. Tree roots slithered along the ground towards her, drawn by her magic.

She wandered through the ruins of the forest; not even in her wildest nightmares could she have imagined this devastation. Dazed, she stared at the apocalyptic scene before her. “What happened?” she murmured, barely aware that she was speaking.

Although she couldn’t hear her own voice over her shock, she could pinpoint the exact moment her blood began to hum, almost purring beneath her skin. Goosebumps dimpled her flesh, and her body practically vibrated, her nipples pebbling under her short dress. Confused, she looked around. There was no reason for her body to be reacting to a mass casualty in this way, but she couldn’t deny that she was more aroused than she had ever been in her life.

While she was spontaneous—the coven elders preferred to describe her as impulsive—even she didn’t feel comfortable giving herself some much-needed relief in a wide-open clearing where any layperson could see her. She grumbled, knowing there was nothing she could do to help these poor felled trees, and pivoted, intending to race to the tree line. There, she could lift herself into the canopy and slide a hand between her legs, so she could quickly give herself a release. Halfway to the tree line, she heard a heartbeat. Not her own. Another person’s.

She paused. Turned slowly. Not far from her stood a man with dark hair and eyes that were such a piercing green she could see it even in the darkness and from a distance. She knew those eyes. Almost before she could give her feet permission, she sauntered toward him, her body still on fire, until she was only a few feet away. Definitely closer than she should be. But , she couldn’t help musing, not nearly close enough.

The man reached a hand out. Those intense eyes, emeralds shining under the light of her beloved moon, searched her face, and, without a single doubt in her mind, she knew this was the man who haunted her. She needed to hear him talk, more badly than she had ever needed anything, but she couldn’t convince her mouth to open, to say words. Fortunately, her mystery man didn’t seem to have that problem.

He twined a strand of her hair around his finger before opening his mouth. In a rolling baritone that nearly knocked her off her feet, he said one word. “Evangeline?”