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The trees still, the wind stops howling. We breathe a sigh of relief as our bubble disappears and we stumble together out of the shade of the Woods and onto a large grassy field bordering the prettiest overgrown cottage garden I have ever seen. It is a riot of colour and petals and smells. Even from a distance, I can hear the hum of the bees as they work in the sun.
Edged by a stone fence, the garden circles a squat stone cottage with a sloping slate stone roof. It is surely no bigger than two or three rooms, with a lopsided chimney curling with smoke and oddly misshapen windows filled with coloured glass. And even though it looks as if a gentle breeze could topple it to the ground, it is, without a doubt, the very definition of the wordcharming.
But everything, from the sun warming the clear blue sky to the riot of butterflies dancing in the towering, overly large hollyhocks, fills my guts with dread. This little slice of paradise is a very,verybad place.
Caelan warily glances at the map in his hands, our little glowing dots now sitting right at the space marked by Theo.
“So. I think we’re here.” His voice is gravelly, and he coughs to clear his throat, but doesn’t speak again, just silently slips his hand into mine.
Edith breathes deeply on my other side. “Yup.” She pops the “p” on the word, but she can’t put the bravado into her words. “We sure are."
Caelan
"I think we shouldsplit up and look around. See if we can find… anyone.” Theo. Tor one hundred percent means Theo, but he just doesn’t want to say it. Which I completely understand.
We have been watching the cottage for a short while, as if its secrets would spontaneously reveal themselves to us. Unfortunately, they haven’t, and we’re left with no choice but to try to enter the grounds. I have never been somewhere so beautiful, with such a heavy sense of malevolent foreboding. This place is the very essence ofwrong.
Edith snorts on Tor’s other side, picking at the torn lace of her sleeve. “Personally, I think we should haul ass back to Black Stump and have a pint or six. But I guess it’s a bit late for that.”
I peer around Tor’s back to see her fingering the little bundle of flowers and roots she had “armed” us with this morning.
Was that only this morning? Gods, with the way the sun is high above us, it can only just be noon, but it feels like days ago that we left the cave. On top of the exhaustion from walking through a veritable hurricane, time seems like an illusion in the Woods. What should have taken days has taken well over a week.
I still have hold of Tor’s hand, and my knife in the other. I am loath to drop either, but he is right. The sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the sooner we can plan. Or better yet, go for those beers. So, with great reluctance, I drop Tor’s hand—but only after giving it one more reaffirming squeeze—and scrub my handover my face.
Warily, I survey the charming little cottage from our position across the clover filled field. My stomach twists into yet another knot. It’s basically a balloon animal in there by now.
“Do you really think we should split up? That honestly sounds like every bad horror movie I’ve seen.” I sound petulant, but honestly, who gives a fuck at this point? In movies they are always so brave and tough when it comes to facing the Big Bad, but I am man enough to admit that I am shitting myself.
Well, not literally. But my palms are sweaty, my heart is racing and every cell in my body, every supernatural and human instinct in my body, is screaming at me to flee.
“Fine, I get it. But all this team bonding shit is killing my vibe. I will take the other side of the cottage. You guys scurry around here. Just leave your backpacks because they aren’t exactly designed for stealth.”
I say a quick thanks to the Gods that we happened upon Edith and that she is more than capable of taking charge of the mission here. This feels… well above my pay grade. Tor nods his agreement and we quickly drop our bags on the border where the Woods meet… wherever we are. But my hands are trembling and I knick my palm on the knife, smearing my blood onto Tor’s backpack as I stack them. I huff a curse and quickly wipe my blood off on my sweater. Thankfully, it’s not deep, just a pain in the ass.
Together we cross the grass with a careful eye out for anyone watching us back. As we reach the borders of the garden, where there is a small gap in the stone border, we wave Edith off and she sneaks around to the other side of the cottage to try to find a way through the maze of a garden to find an entrance. She is trying to be subtle, but with her frizzy white mane, deathly pale skin and masses of black lace and velvet, she isn’tmadeto be subtle.
I extend my hand, my non-bleeding hand, to Tor, who smiles softly and grasps it tightly and we softly walk between the towering flowers into the garden. The floral smell soon becomes overwhelming, suffocating our senses as we pass overly large lavender hedges, tangles of roses and a waterfall of wisteria. A pebble stone path winds its way through the flower garden, leading us in seemingly noparticular direction. The constant and seemingly nonsense turns mixed with the overwhelming pungent scent are beginning to make me sick.
“I swear to the Gods, I never want to smell another flower again after this,” I murmur to Tor as the path turns yet another corner, edged by grotesquely large foxgloves. The smell in the maze is overpowering, but beneath the floral bouquet is a lingering aftertaste of something musty and rotten. Like decay and death.
“Good thing you only have an entire garden full of them, that you use to, you know, live.” He pulls me close and kisses my cheek. “I think we’re almost at the house.” He’s right. The path is widening slightly and the stone wall of the cottage is almost right in front of us. It seems that we have ended up in the backyard.
There is a small paved courtyard, with a little pond and water feature. The garden envelopes the courtyard, as if this were the end, or more accurately the middle, of a maze. There is only one other exit to the courtyard itself, a path behind the pond, but, considering the magnitude of the garden, the courtyard is suspiciously empty of, well, anything.
The cottage itself is taller than it appeared from the woods, but that is because it is raised slightly above ground level. There is a small wooden door and steps leading down, with a besom standing upside down against the handrail. At the base of the house there are windows. They are only a few inches tall, just above ground level. Probably for the basement.
We are tentative as we enter the courtyard, but it doesn’t look like anyone is about.
“Well, what do we do now? Do we break in?” Tor whispers in frustration as he glances around furiously, shoving his hand through his silvery white curls.
I am at a loss too. Do we follow the path around further or try our luck inside? Once again, I wish I had the decisive skills of the TV heroes, but I am just a simple man, well out of his depth and anxious as fuck. I can feel every beat of my heart in my chest, the pounding of blood in my ears, Tor’s apprehension funnelling through our bond. Thankfully, we are saved from having to decide when there is a knocking at one of the basement windows.
“Theo!” Tor’s anguished cry rips through my heart as he flings himself down to the grimy window his brother is peeping out of.
He is struggling to see, which is understandable, considering he is as short as Tor is tall. His face is gaunt, like he hasn’t seen the sun in too long, or had a good meal in just as long, and his ginger curls are an unruly matted mess. Dirt streaks his face, his eyes large with terror. He looks like he is shouting at us, but we can’t hear his voice. His white face reddens in frustration when Tor presses himself as tight as he can against the window, chanting Theo’s name under his breath.
Well, shit. It definitely appears that Theo is not here of his own volition. I run my hands through my hair, pulling at the strands. The window is far too small to break and try to pull him out, which only leaves going in and getting him, which is undeniably a terrible idea.
