“Thanks, Mom.”
I take the stairs like a ninety-year-old, slow and steady. I’m proud of my performance—I haven’t faked an illness since the fifth grade, and I wasn’t certain I’d be able to pull it off. But Mom doesn’t get too many opportunities to baby me these days, and she’s probably just thrilled I consulted her on my decision to stay home at all, instead of toughing it out at school like I normally would. I text Mer to let her know I’m staying home sick and won’t be able to pick her up. She responds with: NOOOOO. You can’t be sick!!! The football game’s tonight and Trevor WILL BE THERE.
Of course he’ll be there. He’s on the football team. I fight back a grin as I text back: I’m pretty sick. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.
Mer: BOO.
Me: Sorry.
Mer: U should at least try to make it to the bonfire since it’s going to be right next door.
Me: What do you mean?
Mer: Brian Ferris is having a bonfire in his backyard. He’s ur neighbor, right?
I frown. Brian Ferris is even more of a loner than I am. I would have never guessed he’d invite the whole school over to his house for a bonfire. I’ll have to keep an eye on it. Make sure no one goes near my backyard.
Me: Yeah, he’s my neighbor. I don’t know if I’ll make it, though.
Mer: Well, TRY. This may be your only shot at a date to homecoming.
Me: Ouch. Was that necessary?
Mer: The truth hurts.
Mom leaves at seven thirty. I wipe the powder off my face and change quickly for my morning patrol. I show Henry to Dad’s study, reminding him to put everything back where he finds it. I bring him a cup of coffee and a strawberry Pop-Tart, which he claims is the greatest thing he’s ever eaten.
I grab my jacket from the mudroom on the off chance that it’ll finally feel like October outside, but no such luck. The air is already reminiscent of an August morning, despite it being only two weeks until Halloween, and humidity slicks my skin as I head into the wood.
*
Whatever’s causing the black leaves to spread from tree to tree, stinking of rot and pumping black ichor from seams in the bark like blood from an artery, it’s getting worse.
I feel no travelers in my sector, but I walk the paths anyway, counting the infected trees. There’s no way this is a coincidence; the timing is too perfect. It must be connected to Augustus and Celia’s disappearance, and maybe even to Dad’s disappearance as well, although that last one is admittedly a stretch, considering he disappeared nearly two years ago. But hope doesn’t let me give up on the possibility, not when Henry found my father’s name among his parents’ things.
A clue. A connection. A possibility. It is all I need to spur me on. To believe.
I stop at a tree that is nothing but black leaves, its shape hunched and curled like an old woman’s spine.
Uncle Joe appears next to my shoulder, silent as a ghost.
“It’s dying, isn’t it?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the tree.
“Yes.”
“What is this? What’s happening to it?”
“It appears to be the effects of dragon’s bane,” he replies, “an ancient, parasitic plant that used to grow in the wood. It would attach itself to a tree and suck the life out of it in order to grow. But this…” He shakes his head. “This is different. I’ve never seen such a widespread invasion without any visible dragon’s bane nearby.”
“You said, ‘used to grow in the wood.’ As in, it doesn’t anymore?”
“It’s not supposed to. Dragon’s bane was the only known effective poison against our immortality. Most of our people just stayed away from it, but then, nearly five hundred years ago, an Old One named Varo used the plant as a weapon in an attempt to depose the council. Luckily, his plan was discovered before he could hurt anyone, and the council decreed all dragon’s bane be destroyed, so no one could use it as a weapon again.”
“But if it was all destroyed, how could it be back?”
“I don’t know.”
They overheard a conversation they were not meant to hear. They couldn’t be certain exactly who was speaking as they could not see their faces, but it became clear a plot to overthrow the council was brewing.
It can’t be a coincidence.
I try to make it sound like this isn’t something I’ve been thinking about since last night as I ask, “But why would anyone want to depose the council?”
He sighs. “To understand that, you need to understand Varo. He was different from the rest of the council. The wood enraptured him. He spoke of nothing else, thought of nothing else. He would spend days, weeks, walking the paths. There was potential here, he said. Magic. Power beyond our wildest imaginings. All we had to do was reach out and take it.”
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“The council was afraid of him. They said no one person should have power over the wood. It controls itself. To try to change that would be to throw the natural equilibrium of the world out of balance. But he refused to listen. He drew power from the wood. More magic than any council member should possess. He became addicted. He got it into his head that he could use his new power for good. Go back in time and right wrongs committed by others.”
“But that’s ridiculous. He’d be changing time based on his own bias and putting the entire human race in jeopardy.”
He nods. “The council agreed with you, and they did the only thing they could. They kicked him out, stripped him of his title as a member of the council in an ancient ritual, and sent him through a threshold to a time and place where he could make little difference.”
“Is it possible the same thing’s happening again?”
He studies me, his eyes narrowed in that way he always gets when he thinks I’m up to something. My throat goes dry under his gaze but I refuse to swallow, lest he take it for the sign of guilt it so obviously would be.
“I suppose it’s possible,” he says, finally breaking eye contact. “Varo’s supporters were never found.” He stares at the tree a moment longer. “I’ll take this information to the council, but we must be very careful whom we trust right now. If Varo’s supporters really are up to their old tricks, anyone could be an enemy in disguise.” He snaps his gaze to me. “Anyone.”
I ball my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He doesn’t know about Henry. There’s no way he could. Don’t. Look. Guilty.
“I understand.”
He stares at me a moment longer, then nods as if the matter has been settled.
“By the way,” I say before he can leave, “if Mom asks, you took over my patrol this morning.”
“Why would I tell her such a thing?”
“Because I stayed home sick.”
“You look fine to me.”
I say the first lie that comes to mind. “I needed a break after what happened the other night.”
His features soften at the reminder. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess. Had a nightmare about Dad.”
“Are you sure that’s all that’s wrong?”