The ground beneath them seemed to groan, forcing Isobel to grabthe dashboard. Outside, the trees shook, their branches swaying. A loud ripping sounded from their left, where the old aspen stood. Only when the dirt cracked and large, fibrous arms rolled out from its base did Isobel realize the ripping sound was roots.
She kicked the car door open.
“Wait!” Dane shouted. But Isobel didn’t wait, stumbling out. Her vision swam, but adrenaline cleared her thoughts to a pinpoint, and she dodged one of the swaying roots, dirt spraying her square in the face. She spat, and the wind blew it back onto her cheek.
Disgusting.She wiped her face and stumbled forward.
“Isobel, stop—” Dane caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm. He looked panicked. “You can’t go in there!”
The dark made everything far more disorienting. The aspen groaned behind Isobel, and she pushed against Dane’s chest, panic collecting inside her. “My dad is inside!”
Dane’s face paled. He looked from her to the cottage. Isobel pushed past him. The door didn’t open at first, as though the shifting ground had thrown the frame out of alignment. Isobel threw her weight against it, her feet slipping over the ruined porch, until at last the door popped free.
She spilled inside and fell against a wall ribbed once more in turkey tail mushrooms. The spongy give of the fruiting bodies under her palm made her shudder, and she righted herself. The darkness felt thicker here without the moon, the ruptures in the ground seeming to have cut off the house’s electricity.
Where are you, Dad?
Fighting a dizzy spell, Isobel lumbered to the kitchen, which appeared to be empty. Beneath her, the rust-orange tiles had cracked, and dark, loamy earth spilled from the fissures.
This wasn’t like Eva’s magic. Instead of sprouting flowers, therewas only soil and the muscle of roots pulling down the bones of their home.
“Dad?” Isobel called out, her voice rough. The alcohol still swimming in her veins made everything about this strange and frightening scene a little harder to sort through. At the sound of a cough, her gaze snapped to the stairs leading up to the little attic.
He was in Eva’s room.
Isobel hurried up the narrow staircase, her foot slipping once on the trick step. Dane caught her before her knee could slam down onto the wood and hoisted her back up just as her father’s silhouette filled the doorframe.
“Dad!” A shock of relief went through her. “What are you doing up here?”
“Eva should’ve come home by now.” Worry was evident in his voice. “Where is she?”
Isobel’s mouth went chalky.
“She’s gone, Jack,” Dane cut in, urging her father back into the cramped little room at the top of the stairs.
“Gone? What—”
The whine of strained glass rang from downstairs, and Isobel looked back just in time to see a kitchen window burst in, spilling soil into the sink.
They were trapped up here.
“No time to explain,” Dane grunted as the house shuddered, the whole stone entity sinking another foot into the ground. “We have to get out, now!” He made straight for the casement window, their only exit still available.
In the dark, Isobel could barely see the swirls of greenery Eva had painted on the wall, to match her view of the gardens outside.
“The lower level is too sunk to get out safely. We’ll have to jump,” Dane said.
“Jack, you first.” He guided her father to the window. Dad looked more than a little disheveled with his hair mussed and his glasses askew.
When the house shook again, Isobel’s vision swam, and the rime of fungi coating the walls seemed to swirl around them. This was the absolute worst time to be a little bit drunk.
Dane gritted his teeth, bracing his weight to help balance her father as the floor began to tilt. Isobel slid against the wall with a grunt. Her stomach didn’t like this. A sharp pang of nausea rolled up her gullet, and she grasped the nearby windowsill, retching out onto the lawn. Her whole body shuddered, and a wave of fresh shame rolled over her.
She hated feeling so out of control.
When she pulled back, Dane touched her elbow in support. His eyes were as firm as his comforting grip. Isobel squinted at his shirtsleeve, where a bit of blood had seeped through from the nick in his arm. She must be seeing things, because in the light of the moon, it looked almost… green.
“Dad. You go first.”
