Aspen knelt by the ravine and ran her hands through the cold water, making the surface ripple as she scrubbed off the dirt beneath her fingernails. She stared at her reflection in the muddied water, trying to see Bryony in her own reddish-brown features. Four years separated them, but the sisters looked quite similar: the same deep-set, dark eyes flecked with golds and greens, framed by thick lashes and strong brows; the same shade of black hair, though Bryony’s was lustrous and straight where Aspen’s was curly on good days, frizzy on any other.
The rippling water became hypnotic as Aspen felt the tug ofher scrying power.
Her magic was an anomaly, in that it was not connectedonlyto the earth. She would often lose herself in a trance while watching the rhythmic dropping of rain in a puddle, or as she listened to the crackling of flames in a hearth or felt the wind dance around her. Her inner eye would awaken at these entrancing elements, often without her meaning to, and let her see through other people’s eyes—animals, too.
It was a rare scrying gift, and harmless for the most part. But the vessels whose consciousness Aspen flitted into had no sense of her being there, which posed somewhat of a moral conundrum. She not only saw through their eyes butfelteverything they did: the five senses their bodies experienced, and more intimate things too—old hurts and pleasures and memories imprinted on their muscles and bones and sinews.
Aspen took great care not to overstep boundaries, but her curiosity could not be helped. She loved experiencing the world as others did. It was her way of escaping the life she was bound to, the woods she was sworn to. A way to sate her ever-growing desire to see what lay beyond the coven.
Her mother, on the other hand, thought it immoral and had all but forbidden Aspen to scry in such ways. But Bryony had begged Aspen.Promise you’ll be with me. An invitation for Aspen to see through her sister’s eyes as her world went dark and quiet and scary. To have someone hold her hand—metaphorically speaking—as the air left her lungs.
Aspen remembered her own burial all too well, that suffocating, agonizing, endless moment where she waited for death to come and the Sculptress to break her bones, bending andcracking her body to shape her into a proper witch. She would have given anything to have someone hold her hand then.
If she could bring her sister this small comfort, then she would.
Aspen let her mind sink into the pull of her magic, her face inching closer to the still-rippling water—
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Her mother had her arm in a vise grip, pulling a dazed Aspen up and away from the ravine. Her seething words cut through her like a lash. “First that outburst at your sister’s grave, and now this?”
“I was just—”
“Don’t start with your excuses. I know very well what you were about to do. How could you interfere with your sister’s ascension this way?”
“I didn’t, I swear.”
“And if I hadn’t stopped you? Your presence in Bryony’s mind might have altered the Sculptress’s work or called on the demons.”
Guilt churned in Aspen’s stomach. She hadn’t thought of it—had been too emotional, swayed by her sister’s pleas. Aspen hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mother.” She should have known better.
“Foolish girl.” Her mother let go of her with a sigh. “I expect better of you, Aspen. You are the Sculptress’schosen, and you must act accordingly.”
Aspen stayed quiet despite wanting to grumble at those words. She didn’t need the reminder.
To be chosen was to be blessed, according to her mother, butAspen always thoughtcursedfelt more appropriate a term. To bear the mark of the Sculptress meant becoming the next High Matriarch, tasked with the safekeeping of the woods and the protection of the coven. Never allowed to leave because of it.
At least such a burden would not fall on her sister. Only one witch per generation bore the Sculptress’s favor, meaning Bryony could be free of the woods if she wanted.
But not Aspen. The woods had roots in her that she could never sever, tying her to these parts until the day she died and her body returned to the earth.
“What is that?”
Her mother was staring at the ravine, brow furrowed. Aspen followed her gaze and stilled. She hadn’t noticed it before, how the leaves grazing the water’s surface were black. Not the ordinary sort of decay that autumn brought about, but wrong. An unpleasant smell hung heavy in the air, thick and sickeningly sweet.
Rot.
Some of the trees along the ravine wererotting, blackened by some sort of sickness. How had Aspen not felt it? Her connection to the woods should have alerted her, but she’d been so focused on Bryony, she must have missed it.
Her mother moved closer to the blighted trees, and Aspen followed, eyes tracking the rot all the way to the murky water’s edge farther down.
Where two bodies hid beneath moldering willow leaves near the waterfall.
Two girls, from the looks of them. Half-submerged in the ravine, the rest of them draped lifelessly on the mossy bank.
Aspen’s mother stopped dead in her tracks. When Aspen tried to step past her, the High Matriarch gripped her wrist. “Don’t,” she said with inexplicable terror in her voice, her eyes.
“We have to help them,” Aspen urged, prying herself from her mother’s grasp.
