Their sister stuck her tongue out but did as she was told, to Charlotte’s relief.
The dead girl was yards from Shiftleaf’s edge. The trees shivered in the breeze off the sea. The first raindrops plopped onto Charlotte’s nose. She clutched the children’s hands tighter. Thunder rumbled, low and much closer than it had been before.
Charlotte’s stomach turned.
Brigid Tierney.
She lay supine on the ground, like she was sleeping: arms neatly at her sides, eyes closed peacefully, long lashes sweeping over pallid cheeks, dark hair fanned out around her.
But there was the growth.
Moss and heather carpeted her legs, her arms, her belly. Not merely covering her, but growing from her skin and clothes. White flowers dotted her hair like stars. Only her face, neck, and half her collarbone were bare of greenery.
Charlotte’s skin crawled. Wood sickness was bad enough. This was worse. This, Charlotte had never seen.
She stumbled back, her chest tight with fear. Breathing came hard. Clutching her heart, she sucked down air until the tightness went away.
“Mama?” Jonas said. Cautiously, like they expected her to snap again.
Charlotte swallowed. “I’m all right, my love.”
Tiny toadstools sprouted in a ring around the girl. Sasha reached for one, but Jonas jerked her away.
Gritting her teeth, Charlotte knelt at Brigid’s side to check for a pulse. The neck, not the wrist. She didn’t want to touch the wrist, with that greenery sprouting from it.
No pulse. Of course not. Not with that growth. Charlotte’slips thinned, but she checked Brigid’s nostrils, too, to see if there was any breath.
“Sasha, run get me a spoon.”
Sasha did so. Charlotte held the spoon to Brigid’s nose. Nothing.
Slowly, Charlotte sat back on her haunches and gazed into the forest’s depths. She didn’t know what had happened to Brigid—but she knew it had happened in Shiftleaf. It was as if the forest, after swallowing her, had spat her back out.
“What do we do?” Jonas whispered.
What indeed. Charlotte liked to think herself mistress of most medical situations—which this wasn’t, admittedly. Mortuary rather than medical. Dead bodies rarely discomfited her. This one, however...
Thunder cracked overhead. Jonas jumped like a cannon had gone off. The sky broke open, drenching them all.
Charlotte stood with difficulty, her joints groaning. She’d pay for being out in the rain later, but for now she had to get word to the Tierneys, one way or another.
“Come along, children.” Her voice wobbled. Silly. “Let’s get out of this wet.”
Jonas bit their lip, eyes fixed on Brigid. “What about...?”
Charlotte’s stomach twisted.
“She’ll keep.” She hoped she was right. Perhaps Shiftleaf would swallow Brigid back up. “Come along.”
The children sprinted into the cottage. Charlotte staggered after them, wishing she’d thought to grab her cane until Jonas doubled back with it. She took it gratefully and pressed their hand. Water matted their curls.
Charlotte’s fringe plastered to her forehead, dripping water into her eyes. She sent the children to the washroom to change into dry clothes, then sat alone in the kitchen, cold, wet, and in pain, with dread creeping through her.
Arthur was in the forest somewhere. Charlotte had worried enough about him going. Wood sickness, the eldritch beings said to live there—for heaven’s sake, the idea of Arthur in a forest! Charlotte loved her brother, but he was no woodsman. Had this been a perfectly ordinary forest, she would’ve worried about him traversing its depths. Everything that made Shiftleaf what it was had honed that worry to a sharp point.
Now this. Whatever had happened to Brigid might well happen to Arthur, and Charlotte didn’t even know what that was.
She ought to have told him not to go. He’d practically begged her to, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to urge him, afraid it would be her own fault if he didn’t come back—but she hadn’t wanted to forbid him, either. The money had been too good to pass up. Now...
