Chapter 15

Kate

There's no Brooks. For so long, there's no fucking Brooks.

Who cares? I'm home. He doesn't mean anything to me. I don't even like him.

I shove up to my feet, sprinting past Marlowe and Tanner. I throw my body at the hole, managing to get both arms in before Tanner snags me around the waist.

"Oh no you don't," he warns me, but then I feel Brooks' hand and I'm pulling, tugging, widening the hole from our end with my body. He drags himself through the narrow space and, when Tanner yanks me backward to free me, Brooks comes with us.

We fall together in a jumble of arms and legs and blood. Brooks is bleeding all the fuck over me.

" What the fuck is that? What's happening to me? I want to go home!" the Hag screams in the voice of a young girl, its massive head pushing through the narrow hole in the tree. It's bulbous and misshapen, like an egg trying to pass through a straw.

With a curse, Marlowe is on his feet and using a knife to slice through one of the scars on his arm. He throws the blood into the Hag's face, and she screeches like a bird. Her head twists back and forth, mouth and beak both snapping at him.

I'm up first, stumbling to his side and grabbing his arm in tight fingers. He doesn't look at me, but as soon as I touch him, he yanks a charm from his hat and tosses it at her. The Hag is knocked back again. Deeper into the hole. Disappearing in the shadows.

It's like whatever gate we just opened is closing, and she's not quite fitting through.

Tanner and Brooks step up beside us, and Marlowe adds another charm from his hat. Then he spits. Tanner and Brooks do it. I don't even think about it. We all slam our palms on the trunk of the tree, and I catch the final scream from the Hag's mouth, her victim's agony pouring out.

" It hurts so bad. It fucking hurts. Don't leave me!"

And then she's gone, and the woods are quiet. Nothing glows here ... except for us.

We are glowing.

"Holy fucking shit!" a voice exclaims from behind me, and a skeleton of dread climbs my spine.

I whirl around and there's a woman in a flannel shirt pointing her phone at me.

"Okay, hi," I say, putting out my hands to try to diffuse the situation. Yeah, there is no coming back from this. We are screwed. The Witchwood Boys are going to trend.

I wish I could throw up right now.

"The Witchwoods legend is real ?" she shrieks, and then she looks down at her phone and curses. "I forgot to record?!" The girl clears her throat and then a bunch of words just start cascading from her lips. I recognize her. She's a ghost story and legends YouTuber. Big on TikTok, too. Big everywhere. "Guys, get over here now. That missing chick we were supposed to be covering, she's right fucking here!"

Brooks stalks forward, and I choke on a gasp as he spatters blood across the forest floor. The only reason I can see him at all is because one, he's glowing. And two, he's just walked into the light from the woman's phone.

He snatches it from her hand, stares at it. Turns it around. His brow furrows.

Oh. He's from 1955. This should be interesting.

Brooks though, he's ... a unique character.

He snaps the phone in his hand, drops it to the ground, and crushes it with his boot. Probably all while being live-streamed. That's ... not going to help our cause.

Another three people stumble out of the woods, all of them wielding phones of their own.

"You are that Katelynn girl, aren't you?" one of them says before turning to the others. "Aren't you glad we came here instead of her house? I told you that this was the better story. The fucking Witchwoods are the real deal?"

"We weren't in the Witchwoods," I shout randomly, pausing Brooks in his tracks. I'm not certain, but it is possible that these men would kill to keep the Witchwoods secret.

We're going to have to come up with an alternate plan because these people are probably live-streaming, too. Everything that's happening now is being broadcast to a large audience.

Wonderful.

"We were just ... camping," I continue, aware that I'm dressed in a witch hat covered in bones, handmade leather pants with sinew ties, combat boots with dried flowers dangling from the laces, and no bra. Just a necklace of yeah, more bones and dried flowers.

Brooks is covered in blood. Tanner has a six-eyed crow on his shoulder. Marlowe's hat is growing ferns as we speak.

A giant owl monster with two mouths almost came out of a hole in a tree.

This is ... this is so fucked.

If any of these people put their hands in this tree tonight, they'll end up in the Witchwoods. They'll be eaten. Or end up in the Hag's pit. Best case scenario is that they make it out without talking, and then tell all their friends about the beautiful, magical experience they just had, the way my grandma did.

"We were backpacking," I correct, laughing a little as I straighten out my hat. "At a renaissance fair." It's straight-up the dumbest thing I've ever said in my life, but I need to cast doubt in these people. I need them to think I'm absolutely insane. "Glow-paint and crazy costumes."

"Who are these guys then?" one of the men asks, and then he's flicking through his phone, eyes widening. He looks up and then turns his phone to his face. "The other three, I knew I recognized them. Brooks McDowell. Tanner Skye. Marlowe Waverley."

"They're my cousins," I bite out, grabbing Marlowe by the arm and yanking him along. We have to leave and try not to draw attention to the Witch's Tree. Staying here and trying to defend it only makes it more enticing. "And we're calling the ranger. You can't be in these woods at night without a permit."

I start walking when I hear a baying bark from behind me. Spinning around, I find Flick racing toward me, tail wagging. He's a bit skinnier, but not much. I spot a pair of metal dog bowls by the base of the tree, and I know that someone's been feeding him. Georgia.

"Flick!" I catch him when he leaps into my arms, spinning around like we do before an agility run. It gets him more excited, makes him run faster. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit." I kiss all over him as he pants in my arms, quivering with energy.

When Marlowe steps too close, Flick bares his teeth at him as I struggle not to get teary-eyed.

"Good boy," I whisper, forcing myself to keep walking when all I want to do is sag to the ground and hug my dog. I reluctantly set him down, and he taps his paws against the ground, butt in the air. He's inviting me for play, but I don't have any toys and we really need to get the fuck out of here.

"Were they recording us?" Marlowe asks as he follows after me. I snag Brooks by the arm next and steer him away from the gaping influencers while Tanner jogs to catch up. He starts to take point, like he did in the woods, and then thinks twice about heading off the group.

He has no idea where we're going—none of them do.

My lips curve, despite the situation.

All of a sudden, our power dynamics have changed, and I stop.

I release Brooks' arm. Where is he bleeding from? I wonder, and then I remind myself that I'm not supposed to care. Fuck these guys.

"Yes, they're recording us," I say, glancing over at Brooks to see if he understands. Marlowe was in the early era of phones and webcams, so he kind of gets it. Tanner was around for camcorders, so he probably does, too. Brooks ... I'm not sure what he's learned about changing times from the other two. "Videotaping us. And the videotape they're making, it's being watched all over the country, like a live news report."

Nobody responds, so I continue, like I'm getting at something.

"If they touch the tree tonight, they'll cross over."

"So what?" Marlowe growls out, teeth clenched. There's a desperation in his face, a desire to take off and start walking. So, why doesn't he? Isn't coming home the only thing he's ever wanted? "Not our problem. Warn them off it, and let them make their own choices."

I furrow my brows and skirt around Tanner, marching to the edge of the trees and ... the street beyond it. Tears prick my eyes as I spot the row of pastel-colored houses with their azaleas and rhododendrons much further through the season than I left them.

It's July now, not June.

I rush forward, snatch a large stone from one of the yards, and then smash in a car window. The alarm goes off, and I toss the rock aside, sending up a silent apology to the owner. I cannot let those influencers get ahold of footage of themselves entering the Witch's Tree. Flick starts barking, and I let him, hoping to draw attention to the woods.

If I can just chase them off tonight, they'll come back tomorrow and see for themselves that it doesn't work.

I wait until I see the house's front door open, and then I take off running with Flick by my side.

If that doesn't help bring the cops and scare off the crew of influencers, there isn't much more that I can do about it. I don't have a phone. These men truly don't care. All I can do is get them out of here before they're recorded doing something else that's off-kilter.

I have to take them with me, at least for now.

The thought is simultaneously sobering and horrifying.

"Shit." I bite my thumbnail, tap it against my teeth. I stop running when we're a few blocks away, turning to see that all three guys are right behind me. Just like I knew they would be. Oh, yeah, the power dynamics are absolutely different. "I should leave you three outside to starve and freeze to death, but I'm worried you'll get caught by a pack of thirsty influencers."

The meaning is lost on everyone but Marlowe. I'm not sure he knows exactly what an influencer is, but he gets the gist of it.

"We're going viral, aren't we?" he asks, and I remember the Numa Numa video again. Right. He does get it.

"Yeah, probably," I respond, and he closes his eyes like he's in pain.

"You aren't the sort of woman who leaves her man outside to starve," Tanner replies, working his jaw. He shrugs his shoulders, rolls his head around on his neck, and visibly relaxes. Ebon circles above us, catching Flick's attention. "I feel as lost here as I ever did in the Witchwoods."

I just stand there, and I'm not a heartless bitch. Wish that I were. But I'm not. It's why my heart hurts so much when people leave me, why I struggle to bring new people close. Too soft and squishy but also too reclusive and prickly.

I want to be seen, and these three men are looking right at me. My hand falls to Flick's head, scratching him behind the ears as he whines at me.

"You can stay for one night," I say, and I really mean it. At that moment, I swear to myself that I do. They can stay a night ... or two. Just to get acclimated to the awful reality that is modern-day life. They'll need a guide here, someone to help them reintegrate into society. "Brooks?"

I'm staring at him, but he's looking around like he can't believe what he's seeing.

"This looks nothing like the place I left," he breathes, his eyes on the newer model cars in nearby driveways. On a satellite dish. On a man playing VR inside the window of a house with the curtains wide open. Wait until I tell him about AI and self-driving cars. I snap my fingers, and he cants me a dry, derisive look, like he's annoyed. "Eureka is a big city now."

"It's more like what constitutes a town nowadays," I add with a little cringe. Um. When Brooks went missing, the world's population was only two-point-seven billion. Yikes. Isn't he going to be surprised when he sees some of the new apartment complexes?

I turn away and keep walking, knowing that they'll follow. I think of myself in the Witchwoods and how I had zero choice but to do as they said. Same goes here. Who's the boss now, Brooks? I don't look back at him, satisfied that he's freaked out enough to behave.

I notice a few minutes later that Marlowe's footsteps are slowing, skipping, faltering. When I turn to him, I see that he's poised at the bottom of a wide staircase. It belongs to a beautiful Craftsman-era home with a wide porch and comfy-looking rocking chairs.

There are posters in the yard with Marlowe's face on them.

I know this house from my research: this is his parents' place. They never moved, just in case their son came home someday.

I choke on a surprised sound, my hand covering my mouth. He's staring up at the front door, metal mask hanging from his chin, witch hat tilted back. The porch lights carve his beautiful face into shards of pain and loss. Damn it. Don't humanize yourself like that, you dick.

The ferns on his hat die, replaced by orange chrysanthemums. His shadow crumbles to the ground in a mess of wings and sorrow.

"Who am I fucking kidding?" Lo murmurs, turning away. I almost think for a second that I see a glaze of tears in his eyes, but then he looks up at me and purses his lips into a neutral, unfeeling line. "I'm not home," he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I don't have a home. Not anymore."

He continues on, and I notice another sign as he passes, one with an age-progression photo on it. If Marlowe hadn't gone missing, he'd be forty-three instead of twenty-three right now. It's not like time passed the same for him, and he simply didn't age. That might be a blessing. This, knowing that you slept and time passed without you, that's hurtful.

That's the worst.

I'm nervous as hell about having been gone thirty days. I don't exactly know what that means to me, but I'm pretty sure I can dig myself out of it. I haven't really lost much. These guys? They've lost everything.

I try to remind myself of that, so that I don't hate them as much, but the resentment is there. They used me, even knowing that so many things could go wrong from the moment they made me talk to right now. Yes, I made it, but it was a stroke of luck.

We cross mostly empty streets, marching through the dark in clothes that I hope a police officer doesn't see. If they pass by and catch sight of us, they're definitely pulling over. Brooks is covered in blood, and my tits are hanging out.

"Where are you bleeding?" I ask him finally, but he just pulls out the jar of salve from his bag and flashes it at me. I raise my brows. "That stuff still works on this side of the ... gate or whatever it is?"

"Of course it does," Brooks explains, and I realize he doesn't sound or look freaked out. At all. Not by a single damn thing. I know for a fact that back in his day, this entire neighborhood was old-growth redwoods instead of houses with much smaller trees in their yards. "Magic works here. Anything we could do in the Witchwoods, we can do here. Were you unclear about that?"

"Was I ..." My voice trails off, and I want to strangle this man. He thinks I should just explicitly understand things that were never explained? Take him to the nearest tent city, and leave him there to fend for himself. In the morning, if there was only one man standing, it'd be him. I know that. I shiver at the idea of taking him into my house.

I ignore all three of them and keep walking, leading them to the front steps of my grandmother's house. My throat closes up when I see all the signs stuck in the lawn, my face with the words Another Missing Witchwoods Victim printed across the top or bottom. Shit.

Flick ventures into the grass and lifts his leg on one of the signs as I close my eyes.

One step at a time, Katelynn. I open them and jog up the steps, entering my pin code at the door. Pretty sure all three guys curse behind me as it beeps, and I let us in. I lock the deadbolt behind us.

The house is exactly as I left it, as if no time at all has passed, as if nobody has been here. My cat lies in the middle of the entryway, one glassy eye fixed on us. She hurt herself as a kitten by running into one of the branches on my Christmas tree. One ER vet visit later, and she was fine, but left with a permanently cloudy eye.

I believe that she can see the dead. That, and straight through my bullshit.

Stix yawns, flashing sharp teeth, but she doesn't get up. I pat her on the head, and she bites me. I step right over her and make my way into the kitchen with Flick on my heels. When I open the fridge door, most of the food is missing, like someone cleaned it out for me while I was gone.

The three massive witch men that I just brought home with me are standing in the kitchen, too. My brain short-circuits with the idea of it. Now that I'm standing here, the Witchwoods feel very far away. When I spot my red kettle on the stove, it's like it's my birthday night all over again.

How did I get from there all the way to here?

Flick barks at me, so I go through the motions of opening the bag of freeze-dried raw food I keep on-hand for him. Never goes bad. I pour a bowl, and he laps it up while occasionally baring his teeth at the men. If I let him, he'd bite them in the balls.

"So, what are your guys' plans?" I ask, standing there awkwardly as I try to figure out where to go from here. I lost my phone somewhere in the Witchwoods, and I'll tell you this. Once you've been hunted by a lullaby-singing soul-eater owl, you realize your phone isn't as important as you once thought.

I start a mental list in my head.

Buy a new phone

Call Georgia and Fernanda and Tacy

Phone the police and call off the search

Check social media to see if we've gone viral

Call my dad and his new wife

Marlowe opens my cabinets and begins to search through my dry goods. He snags a box of Cheez-Its that's unopened and stares at the packaging.

I wonder if he's staring because it's completely different or exactly the same? Which would be worse? He opens it and begins to eat as Brooks makes a sound from behind him.

"If you stuff yourself with junk food, you'll throw up." It's such a dry, boring thing to say that I almost scoff. I don't want Marlowe to think I'm on his side, so I don't. Brooks seems smug about it, like he's just sharing facts.

Marlowe says nothing, continuing his search through my cupboards.

"Did you just ask what our plans are?" Tanner clarifies, taking a seat at the cute little table my grandma and I used to share. It's old and delicate and barely fits four people let alone whatever that beast-man is that's sitting there now. If I thought these guys looked huge in the Witchwoods, they're almost absurd here.

Their hair is too much, and their eyes are too much, and their ink still seems to shift underneath their skin. Yes, they're obviously human. Sure, they could pass okay in public. But people will stare. They'll wonder. They'll gawk.

Women will throw themselves at these guys. I don't think about that.

"Yes, your plans," I clarify, and Tanner shakes his head, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"Our plans are to stay together as a coven. Utilize our magic. Build a family." He smiles again. "At least on my end. I want kids. I don't know about them."

I turn to Marlowe.

"You don't even like me. Would you stay here and have kids with me?" I expect him to back me up by refusing, but he says nothing, putting a handful of crackers into his mouth. He moves away from me, like he might look around the house. Brooks does the same, but just as I'm about to confront Tanner again, someone knocks on the front door.

"Don't open—" I start, but Brooks is already opening it.

Georgia stands on the porch, hand still raised to knock, mouth hanging open.

She sees Brooks, and to her credit, she doesn't scream. Instead, she whips out her keychain and lifts the lipstick-shaped pepper spray toward Brooks. He easily bats the item out of her hand, and she retaliates like the martial arts expert that she is.

They spar for a few seconds there—they fucking spar.

But as good as Georgia is, she's no match for whatever this antlered thing is that I dragged out of the Witchwoods. Brooks has her subdued before I can get my stunned mouth to move, both of Georgia's arms twisted behind her back.

"Don't touch her!" I yell at him, and a vine wraps around his wrist. Where it came from, I don't know, but it launched itself from outside and curled around the doorjamb. Brooks releases her, and the vine tumbles to the ground.

"This is a friend of yours, North?" Brooks' voice is dry, unamused.

I feel myself growing faint on my feet as Georgia looks past Brooks to Marlowe, and then to Tanner.

To me.

"Stupid fucker," she growls as she pushes her way in the door and flashes me her phone screen, held surreptitiously near her thigh. Her finger hovers over the button for emergency calls. I shake my head and reach out, touching her wrist with two fingers.

"It's alright, they're with me," I say, and I almost get the words out without choking on them. "Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No." The word is curt, dribbling with disgust. She softens her tone for me. "One of your neighbors called me to say that the lights were on; I came to check on the house. I didn't really let myself hope that you'd be here." Georgia looks down to see Flick sitting beside me, and then her eyes lift, and I think that's when she really registers what it is that I'm wearing.

No bra. Bone necklace. Witch hat. Metal mask on a chain.

Tattoos that I didn't have last month. Hair that I didn't have last month. Brighter eyes.

Boyfriends.

They're not boyfriends, I tell myself, but when I left, Georgia knew I'd only ever slept with Nathan. And now ... things are different.

"I went backpacking last month ..." I start, but Brooks interrupts once again. He's like an unshakeable mountain full of wisdom and primal dickery. He just knows that he's an alpha male, and expects everyone else to know that, too. It's annoying.

"Tell her the truth, and if she doesn't believe you, that's her problem. Keeping track of lies is exhausting." He opens one of my cabinet doors and searches around, grabbing a Stanley cup off the shelf and peering at it like he finds it amusing. He tosses the lid and straw aside and manages to get himself a glass of water.

But I mean, they had cups and sinks in 1955, right? I don't know anything about 1955, not really.

Georgia just stares at me with big, brown eyes. Waiting. Looking at my boobs. Studying Brooks' hat (thankfully all of the eyes are closed). Turning to Tanner and frowning at the bird on his shoulder. Glancing back at Marlowe and raising a brow.

"Huh." That's what she says. All that she says.

"I went to the Witchwoods," I whisper, and Georgia nods.

"Yeah, I know, you told me that. But then you stopped texting me, and I called the fucking cops because you told me to. I thought you'd been ... Holy shit, Kate, where the hell have you been?!" She's shouting now, but I deserve that.

Actually, Marlowe deserves that, doesn't he?

"I was trapped there, Georgia. I couldn't get out until just now." I gesture at the guys. "Recognize any of them? This is Marlowe Waverley, Tanner Skye, and Brooks McDowell." I pause, waiting for her to get it. She's as into the mystery of the Witchwoods legend as I am. "As in, the Witchwoods victims."

"What the fuck?" Georgia breathes, pulling up pictures on her phone. Looking at the guys. At her phone. At me. "What are you trying to say to me, Kate? Am I supposed to believe this shit?"

"Do or don't," Brooks says, leaning back against the counter. "It's the truth."

Georgia looks at me again, but I don't really know what to say. I wouldn't believe me either.

"I hate him," she tells me, and I nod in agreement. You don't know the half of it. We could use some private time to talk shit about these men, but not right now.

"The legend is wrong. It doesn't work on a full moon night, but on a moonless one." I swallow hard against the truth. It feels obscene to say it out loud. My grandmother would not be happy that I'm sharing the secret, and even though I know I shouldn't, I really want Georgia to believe me.

I want at least one person in my life who knows the truth.

"You've been ... living in the woods for a month?" she asks, and then it dawns on her and her head snaps up. "Wait. Are you trying to say you ...?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm trying to say that the Witchwoods legend is real. " I swallow down my anxiety, my hands reaching around for something to fiddle with. The only thing I end up with is the bone necklace, and then I remember my breasts are exposed, and—

Tanner appears, tossing a jacket over my shoulders. He must've grabbed it from the hook near the front door.

He leans back against the counter, kicking out his booted feet and crossing them at the ankle. Shirtless. Dirty. A little bloody, too. Ebon trills happily at me from his shoulder, and Flick barks in response. Stix appears, leaping onto the counter and then the fridge to survey her kingdom.

"My tits, my eyes only," is what Tanner says, and Georgia's eyes fly wide. Her lash extensions make her look like a doll, and her lips are smeared in a bright ruby red that only adds to the illusion. The thing is, Georgia is anything but a doll. She teaches women's self-defense classes at her university for fun.

" Your tits? " Georgia repeats, choking on the words. Her eyes flash to mine, and I get the feeling that she might call the cops whether I want her to or not. "Who the fuck is this guy and why are you letting him beat his chest and act like a caveman inside your house?"

Georgia takes a step back, but ends up bumping into Marlowe. She whirls around and finds this massive dude with a Cheez-It box clutched against his chest with one heaving, muscular arm. He takes another handful of crackers and pushes them into his mouth, but his dark eyes are severe and threatening.

I march forward and grab Georgia by the arm, forcing her to look at me.

"Yes, he's a caveman and an entitled jerk, but don't worry about him. He isn't staying for long." I look around at Brooks and Tanner, back to Marlowe again who says nothing at all.

" Who am I fucking kidding? I'm not home. I don't have a home. Not anymore."

"None of them are staying. They're not staying." It sounds like I'm trying to convince myself more than Georgia.

The men say nothing at all, and I wonder if it's weird for them to be in the presence of another person after so long alone in the woods. I wonder if it's even weirder to see another woman. Georgia is beautiful, too. Sloe-eyed and ink-haired with porcelain skin and perfect makeup.

I look up at Marlowe again, but I don't think he's all there.

Knowing that twenty years has gone by and experiencing that time shift for yourself ... I think seeing his parents' house changed something inside of him. For the last eight months, he's been working toward a singular goal. That goal has come to fruition and now ... now what?

That's the look he has on his face.

"Where have you really been, Kate?" Georgia asks again, almost a plea. She doesn't understand, and I don't blame her.

"In the Witchwoods," I repeat, and she rolls her eyes at me. Everyone in Humboldt County refers to the McKay Community Forest as the Witchwoods, so I don't blame her for being confused. "Not the park," I correct, pulling her toward me and taking both of her arms into my hands, squeezing her forearms gently. " Inside the Witch's Tree. It worked, Georgia. I put my hand inside, something touched me, and then I was somewhere else."

She's just staring at me, like she wants to believe but like she knows that she can't or shouldn't.

"I was trapped there, in the honest-to-God Witchwoods," I add as Brooks sighs and shakes his head. Georgia casts him an evil glare and then returns her attention to me. His skepticism is making her want to believe even harder.

"You're telling me that you've spent the last month in ... the actual Witchwoods?" she asks, and then she looks at the guys again, studying their faces carefully before pulling out her phone and searching their names a second time. She lifts her head to stare at me again. "You ..." Her eyes widen and then narrow. "You talked ? Kate, what the hell? Legend says that you do not speak in the Witchwoods." I'm not sure that Georgia fully believes me yet, but it's clear she's annoyed at even the mere idea that I'd speak there.

"It wasn't my fault," I explain, but I also really don't want to talk about it. Marlowe's eyes meet mine, and he turns away, wandering off into the house in a way that makes me nervous. He doesn't get to just look around so casually. This isn't his house. This isn't even his world anymore. It's mine, and I'm in charge here. "My point is ... you know that I would never just take off, right? That if I could've called, I would've?"

Georgia moves her arms so that she can take my hands, the long sleeves of her sweater falling to cover her fingers.

"Flick was in the woods, and he wouldn't come out. That's how I knew you were in there somewhere. I've been feeding him, but ..." She trails off and then sighs, looking at Brooks again. At Tanner. Her lip curls. "Maybe I should stay the night? Maybe I should call the girls and we should all stay the night?" Her voice catches as she looks back at me. "I missed you, Kate. You know that, right?"

My own throat gets tight when she says that. I feel so alone sometimes because I have no family left. But here's Georgia, on a night when I need her most.

"Let me have the night to process, to figure things out." I give Tanner a look, and he smiles at me. His expression is tight, strained. He is struggling in Georgia's presence, and I don't think he's the only one. "Get the girls together for breakfast in the morning at our usual spot. Don't tell them until you're in the car."

"Are you sure about this?" Georgia asks, looking once again at Brooks. She doesn't like him, but that's understandable. I don't like him either. "Leaving you here with three men that I don't even know, who treat you the way they do ..."

"And how's that?" Tanner asks, arms crossed, expression dark. "I'm going to treat her like a fucking goddess. I'll give my life for her. I'll give her whatever she wants."

"In exchange for what, sex?" Georgia asks dryly, and then under her breath, I think she mumbles something like, "and this is why women choose the bear."

Tanner thinks about that for a minute, working his jaw and looking up at the ceiling in thought.

"Sex is a good place to start," he says, and I get chills over my entire body. "But in sickness and in health, am I right?" Tanner drops his gaze to mine, and I feel like I'm trapped beneath his stare. I haven't agreed to a relationship with this man, and here he is quoting my words back to me. " Exchange isn't the right word, I don't think."

"He isn't staying," I whisper to Georgia, trying to guide her to the front door. I wish she could stay, but there's a lot to unpack here. "Don't worry about him, he's harmless."

She stops dead and turns to look over her shoulder at six-foot-five muscle and ink and bullshit.

"Um." Georgia turns to me, a pleading look in her eyes. "Just come out front with me, okay?"

I almost protest, but the look of fear on her face convinces me otherwise. We head out to the front porch and down the steps, pausing next to her car. It's parked on my driveway, right next to my truck.

"Are you sure you're safe?" she whispers, looking back up at the house. When the front door opens and all three witch men appear—still wearing their hats—Georgia's expression darkens further. "What it looks like to me is that you were held captive, and now you're experiencing Stockholm syndrome."

I almost laugh, but the look on her face is far too serious for that.

"Georgia, I—" The words fail when I try to defend the men. Marlowe forced me to speak by violating me with his fingers. Brooks didn't explain that sex with all three of them was a part of the spell that first night. Tanner is acting like we have a relationship that we do not have.

This is bad, isn't it? Maybe I should ask Georgia to take me home with her, let the guys camp here for a few days until they figure out where to go next? Right. With no identification. No money. No idea how to navigate the modern world. Who am I kidding? Just myself, I suppose.

They're not going anywhere anytime soon, not unless I help them out.

I could use some more painters. Muscle on the job is never a bad thing. I wouldn't trust any of them with detail work, but it sure would be nice to have extra hands to help with the scaffolding, picking up supplies, painting siding or porches or trim.

I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek in thought.

"Kate, you're scaring me," she murmurs, looking up at the porch again. "They can't even let us have a minute alone to talk? That's serious red flag behavior."

It is. I know that. I also realize that there's something different going on here.

Coven. The word is a whisper in my mind, a reminder that I entered into a commitment in those night-drenched woods. A dark union, a primal wedding ceremony. I swallow again to clear my throat, reaching down subconsciously to check for Flick. I'm not letting him out of my sight ever again, and I think the feeling is mutual.

"The Pink Lady project," I start, voice faltering. I'm not sure exactly what day it is, but I don't think I've missed the start date for my next job just yet. "Have you heard anything about it?"

Georgia's parents know the owner so ...

"I haven't, but I'll ask my mom to call over in the morning, okay?" she says, voice softening as she sighs and looks me over again. "You seem ... different. Your hair, your eyes, even your ... when did you find time to get tattoos, Kate?"

And that ... is a question I'm not ready to answer.

"I don't have a phone, but I'll meet you guys at the cafe tomorrow."

"I can't leave you here," Georgia protests, but she will. She has to. I'm going to make her. "Katelynn, you were missing for a month with no word. Not a single phone call. Not a text. No social media updates."

"I was in the Witchwoods, Georgia. And so were these men. I don't like them either, but they're not going to hurt me. They need my help. If anything, I'm the one with the power here." I don't look over my shoulder, but I can feel them there, watching me from the porch.

Georgia takes out her phone and starts recording, putting us both in the frame.

"I found Katelynn Poppy. She's alive. We're at her house and there are three men here. If something happens to her then one of them did it." She turns the camera to capture the guys, zooms in on their shadowed faces, and then uploads the video to her cloud drive so that it's time-stamped. Georgia passes her phone to me. "You know my passcode. Use it. Keep it until you get a new one. I'll borrow one of my sister's phones for now."

"They'll kill you if you try," I remind her, and she laughs softly.

"Fucking iPad kids," she says with a snort and a shake of her head. Georgia takes my hand and gives it another squeeze. "I'm really glad you're back and, just for the record, I think leaving you here is a really bad idea."

"I've spent the last month with them," I tell her, and it's only sort of a lie. I've known them for precisely two days. But it has been a month in terms of real-world time. "They look worse than they are." That's a lie. "I'll be fine."

Georgia throws her arms around me and hugs me so tight that I can't breathe. When she pulls away it's with great reluctance and skepticism. I have a feeling that she's going to immediately call Fernanda and Tacy and tell them that I'm back.

"If I call the police and let them know I'm home, would that help?" I ask and Georgia nods.

"Immensely."

"Consider it done." I blow her a kiss goodbye, and then turn away, clucking my tongue for Flick to follow. Not that he needs it; he's got my back. We pause together in the grass as Georgia gets in her car, starts it, and then waits for me to wave one final time before she leaves.

I'm in the process of searching for the non-emergency number when I make the mistake of looking up.