But this wasn't schizophrenia or any other kind of madness. This was magic, and like most of life it gave back what you brought to it. Daddy had brought hatred and domination and cruelty to the magic, and it gave back death.
The land had shown her that, and once she understood, Jo felt the guilt start to loosen in her chest. Maybe she'd killed him, but blaming her would be like blaming the ground for a plane crash.
Maureen brought a love of trees and wild things and solitude to the magic, and those things loved her and protected her and gave her balance in return. The magic gave back what she brought to it.
And Jo brought a wish to heal and soothe and nurture and protect. She'd seen enough fucking pain in her life -- now she could do something about it. Damned if she knew or cared where the power came from, but those people in the castle . . . their need for healing and safety bordered on ferocity. And she could help them.
She had to stay.
David must have some kind of place in this land. But would he want her back? Would he want to come here? She'd hurt him. On purpose. And scared the shit out of him, too; she'd seen it in his face. Jo felt tears running hot down her cheeks, and she wiped the blur out of her eyes.
A body lay in front of her, sprawled face-down near the edge of the forest. The slim build and dark hair reminded her of Sean, but surface and detail and edge seemed vague as if seen through a shimmer of mirage. The land showed her more than her eyes could see. Illusions.
She knelt by the figure and touched her fingers to the back of its neck, wondering if this was a refugee who'd died before reaching the castle. Jo let her senses sink into the skin, finding a woman, alive, skin warm and pulse beating strong, felled by a blow to the back of the head. No permanent damage. Nothing here of the images of terror and fire and blood she'd found in the refugees. Instead, she found the same twisting coils of magic that had bound the man she'd healed in the tower.
Jo growled deep in her throat, feral rage at what she found and felt. Fucking bastards . . .
The Old Ones kept slaves. People, trees and grass, the dragons and the cats, even the stones of the castle on the hill -- slaves bound to the wills of the Old Ones. Like Daddy had bound his family.
She had the Power to stop that shit.
Jo gathered the strands of binding in her hands, tearing them loose from the woman and ripping them into shreds with her anger. She tugged on the magic cord that had connected them and found the way it led, downhill and into the forest. A quick jerk brought fear and deep exhaustion pulsing back, and she followed them. Strength flowed into Jo, welling up from the soil beneath her feet.
The forest had changed since she walked it last. Now it welcomed her and supported her, offering a soft smooth trail underfoot and a clean smell of leaves and soil and water. The hate and fear and sense of danger had vanished. This was the other face of the Enchanted Forest, enchantment as love and joy.
Now this felt like Maureen's forest -- Maureen climbing high in a limber sapling birch and swinging it down like the boy in Frost's poem. Maureen turning over rocks in the stream and squealing with delight as she captured a tail-snapping crawfish for inspection. Maureen flat on her belly peering into a chipmunk's hollow log and reaching in and pulling out a handful of beechnuts and cracking one to eat but putting the rest back because the furball needed a good stash to survive the winter.
{You are indeed our sister.}
A red fox stretched sphinx-like on the trail, pink tongue lolling out of open jaws as if the animal was laughing. So the Land of Faery had a lighter face?
{Faery, like magic, can resemble what you bring to it.}
The fox stood by halves, rear and front, and stretched like a cat and then turned, trotting daintily along the trail ahead of her with the bushy tail and white fur tip as a beacon whispering for Jo to come that way. Maureen loved foxes. If her forest offered one as a guide, it was safe to follow.
The vixen froze in mid-stride, cocking her ears. She bounced sideways, stiff-legged, and then snapped at something between her paws. Jo heard bones crunching. The fox swallowed, shook herself, and then trotted along the trail as if nothing had happened.
Jo shivered. No, the forest was not safe. This land was not safe. Death lurked behind that rock over there, a grin on his skull and scythe at the ready, waiting for her to make a mistake. But somehow, knowing that made her feel more alive than ever. Her skin tingled.
Golden light outlined the leaves, and she heard voices in the breeze rustling overhead. Maureen's trees guarded Jo, guarded this trail. And a truck could have splattered her any time she crossed a street in Naskeag Falls. Life was dangerous. Invariably fatal.
Jo glanced back over her shoulder. The trail vanished behind her as she walked, turning back into tangled wilderness. She knew that was the face the forest would show to a stranger or an enemy. Which face would David see?
{The Singer opens his own path.}
Yeah. But does that path come anywhere close to me?
And that thought brought her into a clearing, grass leading
