“Maggie,” Elspeth called. “Christ. Couldn’t’ve come home and eased us afore you come back out here?”
“Elspeth,” Charlotte said, “I don’t think that’s Maggie.”
“’Course it is. Always did like to wander the forest, never mind how dangerous it’s got.”
Elspeth urged the mule faster. Charlotte shrank into her seat. Facial features failed to materialize as they approached.
Here I am, a voice seemed to say, but the figure had no mouth with which to say it. The voice was layered; Charlotte jolted upright, certain she’d heard Arthur’s tones.
The trees were too tight for the gig. Impatient, Elspethyanked the mule to a stop, vaulted from her seat, and sprinted toward the figure.
“Maggie!”
“Elspeth, don’t.”
Charlotte shrugged off the cloak and clambered down. She slipped, feet hitting the ground too hard. Pain spiked up her shins and jolted her knees.
The figure vanished.
Elspeth skidded to a stop. “Maggie?”
An unseen bird called overhead.
“Elspeth,” Charlotte said through gritted teeth. “Come back to the gig.”
“But—” Elspeth’s fingers twisted in her shirt. “I saw Maggie. I swear I saw her.”
“It was a trick. The forest trying to take you. Come back to the gig before it succeeds.”
Elspeth let out a breath, but when she tried to turn back, she didn’t move.
“Lottie?”
Charlotte retrieved her cane and limped as fast as she could toward Elspeth, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw ached.
“Lottie!”
“I’m coming.” Charlotte meant to sound soothing but didn’t manage it. “Hold on. What’s—”
Through the undergrowth, she saw: Mud had Elspeth ankle-deep. It dragged her deeper before Charlotte’s eyes. It was up to her shins. Her knees. The muddy pit bubbled like boiling water. The harder she struggled, the faster she sank.
Fingers crept from the mud, all in different states of decay. Mummified, some of them, others half rotted or skeletal.
Elspeth lunged for a nearby branch, but it broke under her weight. She thrashed, grasping for any vine, bough, or stone she could see, all out of reach.
“Lottie,” she said, sounding panicked.
Charlotte had never expected her to panic, but those fingers, dozens of them, grasped at her, pulling her deeper. She was up to her hips in mud, twisting away from the fingers all around.
Charlotte swallowed but said firmly, “Stop struggling. You’re making it worse.”
“Sure, it was a picnic before,” Elspeth ground out, but she did as she was told. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. The fingers curled around her wrists. She wrenched away. “Help me!”
Charlotte nodded, hoping she could pull Elspeth free despite the sucking mud, the dead fingers, though every movement ached.
She held her cane out but hunched, almost dropping it, before it had gone far from the ground. All right. Not her cane. A branch—there were fallen branches all around. She picked one up, but it was so heavy she could barely lift it.
She wanted to cry. Six months ago, she might’ve been able to do something about this. She blinked back angry tears.
