I hesitate, because as terrible as my last experience was, I feel connected to Wormsloe, drawn to the creatures who live there. According to her tale, my ability is tied to the Barrow andthe Barrow-Man. He might be the only one who can explain my summoning power. Perhaps he could even take it away. What a gift that would be, to be normal. Would he ask for something in exchange?
“Sybil.” Mama’s voice is sharp. “Promise you won’t go in there again. Not even to look for answers. It’s not worth the risk. Do you understand? You are beginning to love Beresford, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure. And you have misgivings about him, anyway.”
“Yes, but I acknowledge that I could be wrong. He could be a good man who would devote himself to your happiness, in which case you shouldn’t risk your future by delving into the dark bargain your father made.”
“What about Grandmother Riquet?” I counter. “She’s ailing. She might need our help. How can I abandon her?”
Conflict tightens my mother’s features. “You’re my daughter. Maybe it’s terrible of me to say this, but I care far more about you than I do about her. If she is nearing death, and her influence can no longer help you or protect you, then yes, I do need your promise not to visit her again.”
“And you won’t visit her either.”
“I won’t.” But her eyes flick down for the barest of seconds.
She’s lying. Her own kindness and good nature won’t allow her to leave Grandmother Riquet to her fate and to the mercy of the forest. I wouldn’t put it past her to march into Wormsloe tomorrow and try to bring Grandmother back out with her.
Why do I have the feeling that neither of them would emerge from those trees, ever again?
“Mama.” I seize her other hand as well. “Promise me truthfully this time. Don’t go after her. At least wait until my ankle is healed, and then the three of us can go together. Strength in numbers. We can even take Beresford along. Or better yet… we can ask him to go check on her with a couple of his men. They can bring her to our house. I’m not sure how we’ll feed her this winter, but it’ll be better than her staying there alone.”
Even as I offer the options, a sickening dread clutches my chest, because what if Beresford goes into the woods and comes out changed? He was in there with me on Thursday, and he emerged unscathed, but if he enters Wormsloe again, will he have the same good luck? Maybe if he goes quickly to the cottage and returns immediately, he won’t suffer any harm.
Mama pulls her hands gently from mine and places a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s very late. I don’t think we should make decisions or plans at this hour. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
I recognize the wisdom in waiting, but the restlessness in me wants to resolve everythingnow. Long after she goes upstairs, I lie on the couch, staring into the darkness, wondering how it all fits together.
Who is Grandmother Riquet? Why did she move into the cottage, and when did she offer to help my mother with me? What exactly is this “influence” that she wields, and what will happen once it vanishes entirely?
More frightening still is the question of the Barrow-Man. Why did my father’s failed bargain with him result in my summoning power? Could the Barrow-Man put a stop to my ability, or would interacting with him make everything worse?
When a troubled sleep finally descends upon me, I am prey to restless dreams. Wolves as tall as watchtowers stalk the open fields, hillsides crack open to reveal a red glow within, and squirrels with scorpion tails crawl over my body while Herron chants “Tell them I’m dead” over and over.
In the midst of it all, a figure with limbs the color of old bones unfolds from the bowels of the earth, rising tall and threatening over my prone body. He bends down, unintelligible words issuing from his mouth like dark smoke, and he presses one cold finger between my eyes.
In the morning, Mama and I speak of Grandmother again briefly, and I tell her that the old lady still seems spry enough, that the need to get her out of the forest isn’t urgent, that we can wait a while. I settle her mind with half-truths, and she seems to believe me. When guilt bites at my heart, I tell myself that the mild deception is for her own good, that I’m protecting my family.
But I’m not sure what family means anymore. Grandmother and Beresford are not my blood, yet they are both important to me, and I don’t want to lose either of them. Beneath that worry, my bones ache with the knowledge that my own father despised me so much that he left me by the Barrow to die.
I don’t blame my mother for not telling me sooner. It’s a difficult enough truth to cope with at age twenty-two. I’m not sure if I could have handled it before now.
Around noon, there’s a commotion on the road outside our house, and Anne runs indoors to tell me that a search party is preparing to enter Wormsloe. I hop out with my crutches, accompanied by my mother and sister, and we watch from our front gate as two dozen men and dogs enter the forest by the path that leads to Grandmother’s house.
I want to shout at them to turn back, to let it be. But they would want to know the reason for my warning, and there’s no way I can tell them about seeing Herron in the forest. They’re already cautious of me because of the little demons I summon, and if I’m the last one to see Herron alive, and in a state of borderline madness, I don’t know how they’ll react. People arehorribly pliant, terrifyingly volatile. They can be kind and tolerant one week and viciously hateful the next. We’ve been safe in this area for a long time, and I’m not about to jeopardize that, not when Beresford and I are growing closer.
It’s not as if the villagers would listen, anyway. At best they would be more suspicious of me than ever and still go in after Herron. At worst, they would blame me for his demise.
So I stand there in silence, with the crutches digging into my armpits, and I watch Marduc and the others forge into the treeline. Mama’s head turns toward me, and I catch her eye briefly, but neither of us speak.
“The forest is huge,” Anne comments. “It would take weeks to search it thoroughly. And if they were going to search, why did they wait so long to begin? He’s been gone for days.”
“They were putting it off because they’re afraid,” I reply. “But not afraid enough.”
My sister glances at me. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.” I lean on one crutch and swivel around so I can head back to the house. “They’ll be in there until dark. No use standing here and waiting.”
For the rest of the day, I do my best to stay useful. I limp around the house, doing some light chores, but every time Mama or Anne catch me overexerting myself, they yell at me to go put my foot up. I suppose they’re right. My ankle needs rest in order to heal properly. If I continue putting weight on it, the recovery will only take longer.
