Ian stood there, hair wet from the shower. Cleo didn’t think, she just moved into him, seeking comfort against his heavy frame. He waited a moment and wrapped his arms around her loosely, gave her a gentle squeeze, then stepped back to examine her.
“Got your note,” he said. “What do you need?”
Mari answered before Cleo could. Cleo’s brain moved too slowly.
“Been in the woods lately?” Mari asked him.
Ian kept close to Cleo as he responded. He shook his head. “I’ve been headed over the coven’s woods lately.”
“Because ours is creepy,” Mari said.
Ian hesitated. “Creepy is going around these days,” he said finally.
Cleo started to speak. Her voice cracked before she could finish her first word, so she paused to clear her throat.
“It’s messed up. Remember how curses spread? From that mirror to your shop? I’m linked to my woods. The curse is spreading from me to the woods.”
Ian whistled.
Mari’s smile was wicked. “And we’re going to kill it.”
Agnes looked askance at Mari. “You mean the curse, right?”
Mari cracked her knuckles. “That too.”
The walk to the woods was silent. Cleo stopped at the wall of green and stared at her woods. Or what used to be her woods. It was too dark; a haze dripped over the leaves and branches like a black silken scarf. The sound was muted, not just the wyrd sound of the green space, but the normal song of the birds and chitters of squirrels. The cicadas and other buzzing insects were silent. Her woods felt like it was waiting, and Cleo really didn’t want to find out for what.
She went into the woods first.
Ian was close to her heels, their legs awkwardly tangling as he tried to move past her. She swatted him aside. She felt the tension of his body, but he relented and moved behind her. He was still in her personal bubble, but at least Cleo could walk. Cleo knew the others were behind her, but she didn’t turn to look. Something inside her urged caution, and she heeded that instinct well. The familiar, well-trod path to the little clearing she favored was unusually crowded. The branches reached out as if to push her away.
Cleo kept moving as well as she could. Usually she was invigorated by her woods, but not today. Her habit was to reach out, to tap into the green space and borrow some energy from that shimmery, shifting pool. But instead, she kept to herself. Cleo worried that if she reached out, she would encounter nothing but a ghost of the woods she loved.
She pushed her legs forward, slow as that was. Her legs burned with the effort to keep moving forward. The thorns in her chest flexed, and she felt the slow drip of blood down her stomach. Shit. If that kept going, then the salve would be totally gone. Cleo reached into the messenger bag slung around her for the small mason jar of salve. She touched it and considered the pain. Maybe she needed the pain to not be muted right now. Maybe part of this was feeling the curse as much as she could. Or maybe that was stupid. Blood loss made thinking hard.
“Hold on,” Agnes called from somewhere behind her. “Sophie’s stuck.”
Cleo spun to see, and Ian thrust one broad hand to stop her. Shit. Black dots spotted her vision, but she saw around them to see Sophie tugging her long-sleeve t-shirt from out of the edge of a large, nasty barberry. Its red leaves looked so sweet if you ignored the mess of thorns.
Cleo started to laugh. Sophie’s brows jammed down in irritation. “Chuckle it up, Chuckles!” Sophie called over, voice tight. She gave one last yank, and her sleeve was released. Mostly released. The barberry kept long pieces of it, and Sophie shot it a dark look.
Ian hadn’t turned away from Cleo. He thrust her water bottle of tea towards her, his frown deepening when she refused it. He’d produced a gauze bandage from somewhere and cursed as he raised her shirt to inspect her wound.
Cleo batted his hands away with what little strength she had. She knew it probably looked like she was petting him, but that was the closest approximation to a slap she could give.
“I’m covering this,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers, “you don’t get a say.”
Cleo considered fighting him, decided she didn’t have the resources to fight, and nodded. He made quick work of it, tearing the white medical tape with his teeth and gently but thoroughly covering the wound. It wasn’t slowing. If this kept up, she’d pass out soon.
That thought was like a splash of water. They were running out of time. Sophie looked at all of them, her coven, her friends. Mari’s eyes shifted restlessly, studiously ignoring Cleo’s bloody shirt and pale face. Grant looked at the ground, as if praying for strength. Sophie twisted her hands. Agnes looked at her, cool eyes direct.
“This is should be far enough,” Agnes said. Cleo heard what Agnes hadn’t said, that Cleo didn’t have the strength to walk farther.
Ian growled. “There’s got to be another way. You need to rest.” He gathered Cleo in his arms, avoiding her midsection. She had bled through the bandage already.
“Another way,” Cleo repeated. The black dots were swirling before her eyes. “There is another way.”
“What’s that mean?” Agnes asked.
“Like this,” Cleo whispered. She reached out with her magic, finding her people and her woods. She tangled those energies together and then plunged them down, down, down into the green space.
She’d flirted with the edges of the green space before, dipping her hand in to pull out energy when she needed it. But now she jumped into it. It reminded her of jumping into a lake, the total immersion, the disconnect from her senses in the silence of the water.
But the green space wasn’t a lake. It was living energy, and when she opened her mouth to scream,
