It’s his eyes.
Something about them tugs at my memory. Before I can place it, he speaks again.
“Did I give you a scare then? Dinnae be angry.”
Maybe it’s not his eyes. Maybe it’s his expression that’s familiar.
Weathered. Hard-lived. Poppa has that look, but this man isn’t grandfatherly at all. He’s younger, just the barest silver at his temples.
I press my back more firmly against the tree. It no longer reassures me. Now it’s just hard and cold, leaching warmth from my body.
“Who are you?”
“I’m no threat.” He steps closer. “You’re safe here. You came up the forest path. It’s a winding one, aye?”
My pulse kicks up. I dart quick looks around the clearing. He’s waiting for an answer. I shrug, noncommittal.
Will I have to run? Poppa sent me to a weekend self-defense class before my ninth-grade trip to New York City, and I mentally cycle through the moves. I brace for him to act, but he just watches me.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “The trail had a couple switchbacks. So?”
“Then you’re safe.”
He waits for me to get it. I don’t.
“Because the path winds?” I keep my tone even. That’s one thing I learned from living with an erratic woman for nineteen years.Keep it calm.
He clicks his tongue. “Dinnae understand a thing, do you?” His gaze drags over me, head to toe. “You’re not from here.”
My stomach churns, a queasy mix of outrage and adrenaline. “I guess the accent’s a giveaway.”
He just stands there. Silent.
I’m starting to feel over it. My fear is fading, leaving irritation in its place.
“Well, bye then.” I move, veering away without turning my back.
He steps in front of me.
I stop short. My heart pounds, hard enough that my vision starts to tunnel.
“I believe you are from here.” His voice is thoughtful. “That bonnie hair of yours. I seen it and thought…well. Never you mind what I thought.”
My chest tightens. I shift back, slow and careful. I’m in the middle of the clearing now, completely exposed. I could run, but that might set off something predatory in him. I’m quick. I might make it.
But if he caught me?—
Nope.
I keep my voice measured, deliberate. Buying time. “I’m American. Definitely not from here.”
He presses his lips together, considering me. Like he has something to say, but maybe I’m not bright enough to get it.
“Look,” I say evenly. “Can I help you with something?Because I really need to get back. People are expecting me. They know where I am and stuff.”
His laugh is sudden, sharp.
“Ah!I’mno danger to you. And this here? This is a safe place. Safe from spirits. They travel in straight lines.” His eyes lock onto mine, sparking with intensity. “But the path from here curves, back and forth, till the spirits cannae find their way. It’s how the dead stay in their place. But they want to speak.”
