Maybe the problem was her. If her chest didn’t hurt so bad, she’d stop taking the salve, if only to hear the one consistent, kind voice in her life. She wondered if this was what it was like for everyone else, to be deaf but for the sounds of birds and wind gently rattling the leaves. Everyone missed so much. there were so many interlacing sounds, the croons and hums and anthems that made up the chorale of her woods.
She missed it. So much.
Cleo got up on creaking legs, feeling the ache in the muscles of her legs. This was absurd. She reached out an unsteady hand and felt the rough paper of the birch bark. Normally, she’d also feel the gentle push-pull of energy, the give-take of her woods. Now, it felt inert, dead.
Her eyes shot up. The tree’s branches were drooping a little. She cocked her head to the side, considering. It looked… thirsty. It shouldn’t look thirsty. There had been average rains. She knew there wasn’t any disease in this birch, she wouldn’t allow that in any of the trees in her woods.
Cleo made her way slowly through her woods, stopping occasionally to rest or to rub some more salve on her chest. She sipped tea throughout and tried to not think about her bladder. The problem wasn’t just the song of her woods. The trees themselves were suffering. The small spiky hedges and shrubs were starting to turn brown at the tips. It didn’t just look darker in here, it was actually darker. Things were changing.
The tiny green wood anemone had died.
Cleo stood before the formerly thick mat of tangled green. Wood anemone grew lush in her woods. It covered the ground with green, low and sweet. It didn’t like to flower, and Cleo was careful not to push it too far. She was careful with her woods. She’d taken the time to get to know it, and in return, it accepted her. It cared for her. And more than anything, her woods had thrived.
The dead patch in front of her begged to differ. The thorns in her chest started their inexorable dig, winding their way through the layers of her skin. Cleo gasped, taken off guard. She’d just put on the salve minutes ago. It shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t hurt yet. Not like this, she thought desperately. It wasn’t supposed to be this bad yet.
That was the issue, wasn’t it? Nothing should feel like this. She shouldn’t feel alienated from her woods. She shouldn’t miss Ian. She shouldn’t have this constant grind of pain against her ribs.
Cleo watched the slow shimmy of the pine branches for a moment. She didn’t know what to do about the curse. She wasn’t sure what to do about Ian. But she did have an idea how to help her woods. She was a green witch, however fucked up that was right now. But she had a coven. Siobhan was right. Cleo had resources, she just needed to use them. She could do something for her woods.
She could heal her woods.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cleo wasn’t sure what she expected when she called her coven together to meet to discuss the possibility of a ritual in her woods. Maybe some sniffling distance from Sophie. Maybe some hurt in Grant’s eyes. Disdain that hid bruised feelings from Mari definitely. Agnes was a wild card, so it was better to not wonder.
She was unprepared for fierce, protective acceptance. Cleo had the sneaking suspicion that she may have chronically underestimated what her coven could handle. She was also willing to admit that she might have overestimated her own abilities.
They had all hugged her on their way in. All of them, even Mari, who Cleo knew had a very short ‘Approved for Hugs’ list. Cleo’s skin felt stretched thin, fragile under the chafing of her clothes. She tried to subtly check her tank top to see if she was bleeding from the thorns of the curse on her chest. Not yet, but it felt like any moment the blood would start weeping. She bore their affection without complaint. It felt good emotionally, even as it physically hurt her. The curse was getting worse.
Grant had brought bread again. He was busy protesting to Sophie, “No, really. It’s not a big deal.” Sophie shot him a dry look. “Anyone could make an oatmeal honey loaf. It’s seriously not hard.” Sophie crammed a huge slice into her mouth and spoke around the crumbs.
“Give it up, Grant. We think you’re awesome. I don’t care what you say,” Sophie said, spilling a few crumbs in the process. She noticed, shrugged, and scooped them off her shirt and ate those too.
Agnes clapped her hands together briskly. “We should start. Cleo, you told us a bit in your text about ‘your woods,’” she made air quotes, “but what I really want to know is how are you doing? How do you feel?”
Mari interjected, “I’m more interested in you than ‘your woods,’” she made air quotes too. Comedians, all of them. “Sorry not sorry.”
Cleo bought some time by taking another sip of tea. She ignored her shaking hands as she brought it to her mouth and hoped the others did the same. She brewed it so dark now, it was almost sludgy. Pretty soon she was going to have to start drinking the leaves. She wouldn’t complain if it held off the curse. Maybe she’d complain a little. It was disgusting, after all.
“You know I’m a green witch.”
Agnes made a little rolling ‘get on with it’ gesture.
“Terribly sorry to bore you, Agnes,” Cleo smiled at Agnes to soften the joke. Agnes returned the grin, surprised and pleased. Cleo was proud of herself for teasing Agnes like she was a friend. Like Cleo was a normal person
