Chapter Twelve

  Henry crawled out of the Tree first, and Tad did his best to follow, though he hadn’t expected to exit from the middle of the trunk. To be honest, he didn’t know what he expected, but pitching head-first onto the ground wasn’t it. It took him a second to orient himself, and when he did, the unsettling feeling of unease that had been building inside him increased tenfold. Tad blinked as he surveyed his surroundings. Henry had already stumbled forward unsteadily without his crutch and seemed to be surveying the area with interest, but Tad had more of a sense of impending doom as he inched forward. His gaze darted around, taking in the suddenly dark violet sky and the eerie quiet. He felt like he was in a weird dreamscape that he couldn’t wake up from.

  The ground beneath his feet felt spongy and slightly damp, and he could make out odd shapes in the darkness that he had to squint to make out. The grass was littered with teardrop-shaped balls. Fruit, Tad realized as he turned his gaze upward and saw dozens more of the glowing teardrops hanging from the branches above him. Narrow, blade-like leaves were scattered across the top of the Tree, creating a glowing canopy of golden orange.

  Suddenly, a scream to his left caused him to stumble sideways, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a Hunter’s black claws. He backpedaled, his heart beating frantically in his chest, but as his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw the Hunter was pinned against the Tree. Scales of bark clung to the monster’s sides, fusing them to the massive, twisted trunk.

  “Watch out!” a voice called out from above.

  Tad turned, but this time he wasn’t fast enough. Henry’s thin body rammed into him for the second time that day, and he found himself flung onto his back in the damp grass. The older man pulled back a fist and, before Tad could react, landed a solid punch against Tad’s jaw, sending sparks of pain through his skull.

  Henry winced, shaking his hand as if startled by the pain.

  Tad pushed against Henry’s thin chest with one hand, his other cupping his throbbing jaw, and glared at Henry. “What the hell, man!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the eerie twilight.

  Henry grinned, his eyes wild and unhinged. “I’m just keeping my end of the deal,” he said, his voice low and almost gleeful. “I feed it, and it feeds me.”

  Tad’s stomach dropped, dread twisting through him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look around!” Henry gestured wildly to the Tree behind him. The Hunter was pinned against the massive trunk, its legs encased in bark, barely recognizable as limbs anymore. All around, there were other misshapen lumps fused into the Tree’s surface. “This Tree—it’s alive, and it’s starving. Do you know what it took to make it grow? To wake it up?” His grin stretched wider, his expression feverish. “It wants more, Tad. It needs more.”

  Tad stared, his blood running cold. “You’re insane,” he muttered, taking a step back.

  Henry lunged, grabbing Tad’s arm with surprising strength. “Not insane,” he hissed. “It’s power, Tad. Real power. You just don’t understand it yet.”

  He grabbed Tad’s bad arm, but Kenny’s work had been faultless, and if Henry expected to subdue Tad with pain, he was mistaken.

  Tad yanked his arm out of Henry’s grip, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no idea what was happening or why, but he knew one thing for sure: he needed to get the hell out of there.

  Just then, a rustling in the branches caught his attention. A man was climbing down; his eyes focused on Henry.

  “Run!” Tad shouted. “Get away from him!”

  Henry was startled and looked behind him, but it was too late. The other man was on top of him and knocked the older man easily to the ground.

  “I should’ve known you’d have something to do with this,” the man snarled.

  Henry howled. “You don’t understand! The Tree wants him! I have to give him to it!”

  Tad pushed himself to his feet and took a step forward, but the other man had things under control.

  “What did you do, Fowler?” the man asked. His face was furious.

  But Henry only smiled in the face of his anger. “It was here the whole time,” he crowed with a bloody grin. “You and your grandfather never even noticed!”

  The man slammed Henry’s head into the ground. “What did you do?” he roared.

  Henry looked dazed. “I grew a Tree,” he said, unable to keep the maniacal glee from his voice. “And there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

  The man growled in frustration and stood up, making a disgusted noise. Behind them, the Tree groaned, and its branches waved in the air, swimming in some unseen eddy of air.

  “Who are you?” Tad asked.

  The man faced Tad for the first time. His hair was ferociously messy, with bits of leaves stuck in the copper blond curls. His gray tee shirt had a tear along one sleeve, and mud streaked his jeans and work boots. Tad’s gaze lingered on his eyes—steady but strangely bright, as if he were running on adrenaline alone.

  “I’m Chris,” he said at last. He gestured toward the forest. “I live up that way.”

  Tad followed his hand and frowned. “How did you get in the Under?”

  On the ground, Henry coughed and rolled over. “Christoph, here is a witch hunter.”

  “Shut up,” Chris snapped at Henry. “No one was talking to you.”

  Tad took an involuntary step backward. “Witch hunter?” He tried to remember what the others had said about the witch hunters, but all his brain could focus on was the dead look in the men’s eyes who had chased them downtown earlier that morning.

  Behind them, someone laughed, a wet sound.

  Chris’s face was closeted. “Ignore her,” he said to Tad, but the unseen woman was already speaking.

  “Looks like things aren’t going your way, Henry.”

  Tad stepped sideways, doing his best to keep an eye on Henry and the Hunter. As he moved, the woman came into view, fused the same as the Hunter but in a more serious state of decay. She eyed him, her oddly colored eyes burning in the dim light. “And just who might you be?” she asked sharply.

  “Tad Shannon,” he answered automatically. Something in her gaze made him not want to disobey a direct question, plastered to the Tree or not.

  “Ah,” she said, the word clipped. “The sheriff’s son.”

  Jesus, would he never get away from that?

  Chris pulled him away from her. “Ignore her,” he said again. “She spouts nothing but lies.”

  “I can still hear you, Christoph Mueller,” her sharp voice rang out. “I might be a bit immobilized, but my ears work just fine!” Not waiting for an answer, the woman laughed. “How’s that curse working out for you, Henry?”

  Tad’s gaze swung to the older man, still on the grass. His face was pale, and his breathing was labored, but he saw the older man wince at the woman’s words.

  “What curse?” Tad couldn’t help but ask.

  “This fucker tried to murder me and sacrifice me to his Tree,” the woman called. “But he wasn’t fast enough.” Tad could practically hear the delight in her voice. “I cursed him to die a horrible death,” she paused, then added, “pity I didn’t remember to specify it should be painful too.”

  “Trust me, you old hag,” Henry wheezed. “It’s painful enough.”

  “It will never be enough,” she spat. “You should have to rot inside this Tree with me!”

  Chris, having had enough of their bickering, drew Tad aside. “Where did you come from?” he asked, pitching his voice so that only Tad could hear.

  Tad stared at him for a long moment, unsure how to go about explaining things. “Well,” he started, “we fell into a pit and...”

  “No, I mean where. Like physically.”

  “Oh.” That was easy enough to answer. “We were over on Blackriver Road.”

  Chris made a noise of frustration and ran a hand through his wild, unkempt hair.

  “What’s wrong?” Tad asked cautiously.

  But Chris just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. “I need to figure out a way to get back,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ve got someone on the other side who needs my help.”

  “You keep your hands off her,” the woman spat. “Half-breed or not, I won’t have the likes of you messing around with my granddaughter.”

  “Well, at least you and Wilhelm agree on something,” Chris retorted sarcastically, his face set into harsh lines. Then he looked around, confusion drawing his thick brows down as he surveyed their surroundings. “Where’s Henry?”

  Shock ran through Tad like an electric current, and he quickly spun around, but the spot on the grass where the older man had lain just moments before was empty.

  Henry had disappeared.

  ---

  Greer turned the radio’s dial, and static floated over the silence of the garage, occasionally picking up a strange stray signal but losing it almost immediately.

  “Mom?” she called. “Are you there?”

  “Lay off it, girl,” Wilhelm groused, scrabbling against the line of his leather belt with his gnarled fingers.

  “No,” Greer said, shaking her head, refusing to believe that she should just abandon her mother now that she’d found her again.

  “We ain’t got the time,” he huffed, pulling a pouch free from his belt, the kind she’d seen hikers wear. He opened the pouch and pulled out folded scraps of paper. Each small square of paper had a symbol drawn on it with black ink and seemed to emanate a subtle vibration that she could feel all the way across the garage, the same sensation she’d felt from his other amulet. He took one of the papers and lifted up his shirt, revealing the small exit hole from where the tree had stabbed him. With a steady hand, he placed it against the wound. His face twisted with pain, and he hissed through his teeth, but soon his face softened as the ink on the paper was absorbed by his body, fading from view. When the paper was blank, he crumpled it up and dropped it onto the concrete floor, then grabbed another from the pouch before pressing it against his skin. After several moments, Wilhelm’s body relaxed, and he let out a slow breath of relief.

  “What are those?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking, eyeing the blank scraps of paper.

  The radio sighed wordlessly.

  Wilhelm cracked open one eye. “What? You’ve never seen a healing rune before?”

  She shook her head mutely, and he sighed. “I don’t have time for this shit,” he mumbled, starting to stuff the papers back into the pouch with a shaking hand.

  Greer looked down at her leg. The blood had started to crust over, but it still burned like he’d pressed a hot poker to her. “Can I use one?”

  He paused and looked down at her leg as well, consternation crossing his craggy face. “Fine,” he bit out, pulling one of the papers from the pouch and passing it to her.

  “How do I make it work?” she asked, reaching for it, but as her fingers closed around the paper, she felt a tug at her navel, then a streak of electricity seemed to run up her arm, burrowing deep inside her chest. She gasped and released the scrap of paper, but it was too late. It crumpled in on itself, turning gray, and floated down to the dirty floor. It dissolved into ash before it could land, fading into nothing in mid-air.

  Wilhelm stared at the spot where it had been, then looked at her. A deep frown cut through the lines of his face. “What the hell kind of dark witch are you?” he asked. “I ain’t never seen a witch that could do that.”

  “I’m not a witch,” she said automatically, her mouth forming the words before she could think about them.

  “So you say,” he said, eyeing her warily. He stabbed one arthritic finger toward where the spell paper had been. “But normal folk don’t do that.”

  She didn’t want to talk about what she may or may not be. “Why didn’t your amulets protect you from the tree?” she asked, pushing herself up. Her thigh burned with the movement, and she had to grit her teeth against the pain.

  He glared at her again. “It’s a strength charm,” he said. “Not some all-powerful protection charm. I’m a poor man, witchling. I ain’t got piles of money laying around to waste on fancy charms.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about.

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  “It just makes you strong?”

  He nodded. “For a while at least,” he amended.

  “Could it make me strong?” she asked, thinking of the work ahead of her. The ax was feeling heavier by the second, and she doubted she would be able to swing it for long.

  “And just what good would that do?” Wilhelm snapped. “I don’t know what breed of witch you are, but I ain’t wasting any more of my charms on you.”

  The radio crackled, the sound stoking her anger, and she set her jaw. She didn’t need his judgment. Didn’t need him. “Go home,” she spat. “I don’t need your help.”

  He laughed mockingly. “Oh really,” he said. He made a sound as he stood up, propping himself against the workbench behind him, looking every inch of his age. “Because it looks to me like you’re out of your depth.” His hair stood up on end, and the undershirt he wore was stained with blood. From the looks of him, the only thing that was keeping him on his feet was the amulet around his neck.

  The static seemed to breathe, waiting for her reply.

  She wanted to rush him, to wrap her hands around his amulet, to watch it implode on itself and drop him back to the ground on his ass. She wanted to own him. She wanted to show him that she didn’t fucking need him, that she could do it without his help.

  She took one step forward, and the static paused, holding its breath. Wilhelm seemed to read the chaos in her eyes, and he took a step backward, grabbing for his amulet.

  “Greer.”

  Maggie’s disembodied voice cut through the garage like a whip, breaking whatever spell had fallen over her. Greer shook her head and stepped back, her fingers reaching behind her. They closed around the handle of the ax, leaning against the wall, and a sense of security washed over her.

  She swallowed thickly, then shouldered the ax and walked out of the safety of the garage. In the sunshine, the irrational anger that had built up inside her bled away. She closed her eyes. What was happening to her?

  Wilhelm joined her a minute later. “So how do you want to do this?” he asked, his tone boarding belligerent but making no move to question her about what had just almost happened.

  She swallowed again. “Can you shoot the branches if they try to come for me?”

  He nodded, looking resolute. “It ain’t the best plan, but I can do that.”

  She clenched the ax. “Do you have a better one?”

  He barked out a laugh, and it was a self-deprecating sound. “Fuck me; I don’t.”

  The sounds of a creature’s scream echoed through the forest, and Greer’s head snapped up as she stared wide-eyed at the line of trees at the edge of Henry’s lawn. Wilhelm, too froze, and together they waited and listened.

  “Looks like we’re not on our own,” he said unnecessarily.

  “How many bullets do you have?” she asked.

  He glared at her. “You let me worry about those creatures.” He glanced at the tree, then back at her. “You sure you can do this?”

  She wasn’t, but it wasn’t like she had any other choice. She nodded and tightened her grip on the ax.

  He looked grim. “Then you do your thing. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She looked up at the tree branches, waving in the summer breeze, and thought of Chris and the look of panic on his face the last time she’d seen him. She pressed her lips together and gripped the ax hard.

  With a deep breath, she plunged across the yard, expecting to hear the creaking of wood overhead, but the backyard was silent except for the hum of the wind through the pines at the back of the lot. She paused and looked up, tracking the branches, but they didn’t move. She took a cautious step forward, but they still didn’t strike.

  Greer swung the ax, and it connected to the tree with a resounding thump that she could feel all the way up in her elbows. The edge of the blade stuck to the wood, and she had to wiggle it free. Then she swung the ax again. And again.

  With each swing of the ax, a sort of buzz built up in her arms until it felt like a hive of angry bees was under her skin. It crawled up her arms to her shoulders, worming its way into her joints until they ached. Her hands trembled from both exhaustion and the weird energy as she chipped away at the bark around the knot. From inside the garage, the radio crackled loud enough for her to hear a high-pitched whine that made her brain hurt.

  As she hacked at the tree, she became aware of a strange smell emanating from deep within the tree. It was an acrid, almost metallic odor that made her nose wrinkle in disgust. The blade of the ax bit into wood, but this time, when she pulled it out, instead of pale wood, there was a small hole.

  She wiped the sweat off her forehead and took another swing, aiming this time for the spot of darkness. As she began to chip away at it, she was hit with the stench of rotting flesh. The blade of the ax suddenly cut through the front of the tree, creating a large hole and releasing a putrid odor.

  Greer gagged and nearly dropped the ax. She quickly covered her nose and mouth, trying to avoid the foul-smelling stink, but it got in between her fingers, burning her nose. The tree seemed to groan above her, and there was an answering cry from the forest.

  “Hurry up!” Wilhelm called from the edge of the garage, sighting down his rifle. “We ain’t got much time left!”

  Gritting her teeth, Greer picked up the ax again and began chopping wildly at the trunk of the tree until the hole had widened enough for her to see the remains of the creature inside and beyond it, tips of a set of antlers. She gagged again, and she pulled her tee shirt over her nose, but it did little to help against the awful smell.

  The inside of the tree was wet with bodily fluids. She abandoned the ax and began frantically pulling bits of wood away from the opening, cutting her fingers on the sharp edges.

  A creature screamed, this time much louder, and she looked up to see a dark shape burst from the tree line. It made its way straight toward her, but then a bark burst through the backyard, and the creature stopped moving, sliding through the grass as the momentum of the bullet forced it sideways.

  A second monster sped out of the trees. Wilhelm’s second bullet was wild, and the creature ran down the slope, but instead of heading toward Wilhelm as she’d expected, it made a beeline for her.

  Wilhelm’s rifle barked, but still, the creature came. Its maw was open; its claws outstretched like a bird of prey rushing for the kill. Greer turned, but not fast enough. The monster crashed into her, and they fell onto the grass in a tangle of limbs.

  The buzzing pressure inside her was suddenly ten times what it had been. Her joints ached, feeling like they were going to explode. The creature snapped its jaws, leaning down toward her, teeth inches from her neck. She cried out and put her hands on it, pushing its jaw away, and felt something inside her push, too, only to be met with resistance.

  Greer pushed harder, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest as whatever was inside her cracked. Then, like a single pebble popping free from a dam, it burst. A sensation like rushing water flooded down her arms and up into her hands like a rising wave. It crashed into the creature, pouring over it.

  But then, instead of drowning the creature as she expected, the wave reversed and started pulling it apart, piece by piece, dragging it back into Greer, up her arms, into her chest.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt like it was going to burst apart as pressure built up inside her painfully as more and more of the creature came undone and poured into her body. Pain eroded all other sensations. Her nerve endings burned with fire, and her vision buzzed with angry black specks. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Then, just when she felt like she couldn’t possibly stand it a second longer, the pain evaporated like dew on a summer’s day, and she was left in the grass, panting and dizzy.

  The creature was nowhere to be seen.

  The buzzing in her hands hadn’t stopped—it had only changed. The energy, once unbearable, now curled quietly under her skin like a sleeping serpent. Greer stumbled backward, staring at the patch of grass where the creature had been, the phantom weight of its body still heavy on her. Her legs wobbled, and she fell to her knees.

  “Where—” she whispered hoarsely. The words caught in her throat, tangling with the bile rising from her stomach. “Where did it go?”

  Her hands trembled violently as she turned them over, palm up. The skin was unmarred, but she could feel it—something—humming beneath the surface, alive and wrong.

  She retched, bile burning the back of her throat. The taste of it mingled with the phantom tang of metal, like she’d licked the edge of a blade. The nausea came in waves, each one cresting higher than the last until she bent forward, dry-heaving into the dirt.

  It was inside her. The creature was inside her.

  A low whine escaped her lips, raw and desperate. She clawed at her arms as though she could scrape it away, dig it out, anything to purge the grotesque wrongness. Her nails bit into her skin, leaving angry red welts that didn’t soothe the crawling sensation underneath.

  Wilhelm was staring at her, his eyes wide with fear and his hands shaking. Slowly, he raised his gun, pointing it at her. He said something she couldn’t hear over the ringing in her ears.

  “What?”

  “What are you?” he roared, his voice shaking.

  She looked down at her hands, remembering the feel of the creature’s flesh. She remembered the feeling of it inside her. It was still there, itching under the surface of her skin. Nausea surged up her throat. She rolled over and vomited in the grass.

  “I—I don’t know!” she choked out, her voice raw and breaking. Her fingers curled into fists against the dirt as she fought to keep herself from collapsing completely. “I don’t know!”

  “You’re not a witch,” he hissed. His lip curled in disgust, his gaze darting to the empty patch of ground where the creature had been. “Ain’t no witch can do what you just did.”

  Her chest heaved, and she shook her head desperately. “I didn’t mean to—” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, her own instincts whispering otherwise: Yes, you did. You wanted it gone.

  “Don’t lie to me!” Wilhelm’s bark cut through the ringing in her ears. He took a step closer, the rifle aimed squarely at her heart. Wilhelm’s voice didn’t waver, but his hands betrayed him, the rifle shaking as it pointed at her. “You’re a fucking abomination is what you are!”

  Another cry echoed from the forest, piercing and mournful. The sound splintered through the tension between them. Wilhelm’s grip on the rifle tightened as he turned his head, scanning the treeline.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Greer said hoarsely, forcing herself to stand. Her knees wobbled, her muscles screaming in protest, but she gritted her teeth and picked up the ax. She clutched it like a lifeline, trying to focus on the cool, solid weight in her hands.

  “I need to get Chris,” she croaked, grasping for the only thing that mattered, the only reason she’d swung that ax or stepped into this nightmare.

  “Keep your distance,” Wilhelm snapped, his rifle never lowering. His eyes burned with hatred, but the desperation and disgust beneath it were impossible to miss. “You keep away from me, witch. You hear?”

  “I hear,” she said flatly, her voice hollow. The nausea swelled again, but she swallowed it down. The wrongness still itched under her skin, but she tried to forget that too.

  The forest screamed again, and somewhere in the chaos, she thought she heard Chris’s voice—desperate, terrified. Her chest clenched, and she tightened her grip on the ax.

  Greer staggered toward the tree, dragging her ax. She hefted it, feeling the burn of her muscles, and let it fall against the hole. With a groan, the wood gave way, and Greer lurched backward, unable to take her eyes off her accomplishment. Wilhelm’s gun went off a second time, and before she could debate the craziness of her plan with herself, she tightened her grip on the ax and flung herself headlong at the opening.

  ---

  “He was here just a second ago,” Tad said, pacing in front of the Tree. He eyed the house behind them, knowing the older man must’ve run for cover when their backs were turned.

  Chris threw up his hands. “You know what? I don’t care where that creepy asshole went. We need to figure out a way to get back home.”

  “Can’t you do something?” Tad asked.

  Chris shot him a glare. “Don’t you think if I could, I would’ve already? What about you? You said you came in some kind of pit?” He sounded skeptical. “Can we get back out that way?”

  Tad looked at the Tree. Whatever hole they’d climbed out of had long since closed, and he shook his head. “Even if we could get the Tree to open again, the hole we came in closed up after us.”

  Chris cursed and ran his dirty, sap-covered hands through his hair, making it stand on end.

  “So we’re stuck here then,” the other man said, notes of sarcasm and desperation creeping into his voice. He threw his hands up in defeat. “Just great.”

  Tad froze as the reality of their situation suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. There was no help coming. Even if Simone and the rest of the witches went down into the pit, the path had closed up around Tad and Henry.

  They were on their own.

  Kat cackled from her place on the Tree’s trunk. “Join the club, boys. But at least you won’t have to spend eternity being slowly digested by a fucking tree!”

  Tad shuddered at the thought and shook his head. “We have to find a way out of here,” he said, looking at Chris with determination.

  Chris came to stand in front of Tad, his eyes hard but hopeful. “How?” He demanded.

  Tad suddenly wanted to laugh. How was he supposed to know? Instead, he shrugged. “We gotta think outside the box,” he said. “You’re a witch hunter, right?”

  Chris nodded.

  “Okay,” Tad said, “so let’s use that. Is there anything we can use at your house to get us out of this mess? Anything you use to hunt witches?” He suddenly thought of his dad. “Or anything you kept as a souvenir?”

  Chris thought about that, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “But Greer and I found a bunch of books at her house—”

  “My house!” The old woman screeched. “You keep your filthy hands off my books.”

  Suddenly, Chris grabbed Tad’s forearm, tugging him forward. “What the fuck?” Tad stumbled and then, because he was stupid, turned his head to look over his shoulder. A shovel was in Henry’s hand, and Tad caught the glint of its blade as it sliced through the dim twilight. The blade caught him in the cheek, cutting into his flesh until he tasted dirt and iron. Chris yanked Tad off his feet, and Tad fell into the grass, landing on outstretched hands. His palms skidded across the wet grass, and the smell of green things burst under his nose. He gasped, immediately rolling onto his back in time to see Chris grapple with Henry for control of the tool. With a hard yank, Chris jerked the handle free from Henry’s hand, and the older man fell back with a wordless shout. Henry landed in the grass ignominiously, his face twisted and dark.

  “You think you know it all,” he cried, and Tad felt a twinge of pity for the older man. His face was dirty and bruised, and he shoved his yellowing glasses back up his nose with one finger. “But you don’t know everything,” he bit out. Henry turned around and started crawling toward the Tree. Chris followed him, the shovel gripped firmly in his hands, and was watching him warily. Henry stopped in front of one of the many golden fruits that lay on the ground and twisted until he was sitting up. He grabbed the biggest of the fruits. It was almost the size of Tad’s head, swollen and globular, and Henry needed two hands to lift it. With a defiant glare, the older man bit into it.

  The sticky juices inside instantly coated his nose and chin, and the air was immediately filled with the stench of rot, but Henry chewed its flesh resolutely and swallowed it down. He smiled mirthlessly at Tad and Chris. Tad sat up, watching the scene in front of him play out. His face was beginning to throb hotly as the shock slowly wore off.

  “You want to find a way back?” Henry asked. He licked his lips. “The only way back is to die.”

  The words were sharp and cutting, and Chris backpedaled away from the older man. “You’re insane,” he stated.

  Tad pushed himself to his feet, clapping one hand to the side of his face. He tried not to tongue the wound, fear keeping his curiosity at bay. He knew it was bad, but knowing it in his head was a lot different than knowing it for real. He was afraid that if he knew the true extent of the damage done to his face, he would shut down. So he did the next best thing he could: he ignored it.

  “No!” Henry argued. “For the first time in my life, I’m seeing clearly! Dying is the only way to make it back to the real world, to escape!” He took another gigantic bite from the fruit, this time swallowing it quickly without taking the time to savor it. His skin glistened in the dim light, and his eyes were bright and feverish. If Tad looked closely, he could see dark tendrils under the other man’s skin, reaching out of Henry’s sweatshirt and twisting up his neck. Tad wavered on his feet, feeling cold and dizzy. He tried to remember what color Henry’s eyes were; he was sure that they hadn’t always been as dark as the ones that stared at them now.

  “What are you doing?” he mumbled, then stopped himself as a fresh wave of dizziness washed over him. Fuck, talking hurt. It was like having a crowbar crammed into his cheek. He pressed his hand against his wound hard enough to take his mind off the worst of the pain, but it was like trying to fix a cracked dam with just a band-aid. From the sensation of ice that was running up his scalp and his freezing, shaking hands, he knew his blood pressure must have plummeted. But it was dim knowledge, a whisper in the back of his brain that he had a hard time hearing.

  Maybe it was his tanking blood pressure, or maybe it was just his fucked up brain, but as Tad watched, he could’ve sworn the dark tendrils were moving, climbing every higher up Henry’s neck, crawling over his thin jaw, and worming their way into his cheeks. Tad shook his head, but that was a mistake. It only made the world spin, and he stumbled, dropping to his knees as he tried to stop the ground from moving.

  Chris flicked a glance at him, still holding the shovel and trying to keep an eye on Henry at the same time. “You okay?” he asked, but Tad had no way of answering.

  A pop of bursting joints grabbed both their attention, and Tad watched, transfixed and horrified, as Henry’s shoulders seemed to rearrange themselves, changing the angle of his arms. Somehow his skin looked darker now. Henry smiled and gobbled up the rest of the fruit, seed, and all. His teeth shone wicked sharp in the low light.

  Chris took another step backward, hefting the shovel in his hand. Tad could see his own blood along the edge, a dark stain against the dirty steel.

  “What have you done?” Chris asked, his face set in shades of horror.