I chose a modified scuttle, directed the flashlight’s beam in front of me, and left the fresh air and weak light at the bottom of the ladder.
Sound was muffled underground. Rocks and roots bumped out of the walls, giving the surface a rough finish. I inured myself to the few crawly creatures I could see in the beam of my light and went deep into denial about how many more I might be missing. Progress was slow. My heart rate and breathing were slightly accelerated but steady. Mostly. When I stopped, musty air irritated my nostrils, and I sneezed twice, almost knocking my head against the wall to my left.
And that was when the presence inside the tunnel made itself known.
A creak and a pop and another pop went off, like a membrane stretched to the breaking point, between me and the ladder.
I flared my nostrils and inhaled through my nose, using my connection to the earth entombing me to keep me calm as I pivoted and dropped my butt to the ground. Tender. Green. Fresh. Curious. This was similar to the presence I had encountered earlier in the day.
I planted my left palm to the packed earth, fear and excitement flooding my muscles, and pointed my flashlight’s beam at the wall to my right. Little rootlets, three or four inches long, sprouted out of one of the exposed roots. I scrabbled closer, intrigued.
Not rootlets. Branches, with tiny stems and glossy green leaves. I went to touch them with a fingertip.
Mine.
The voice reverberated through the earth, shaking loose bits of dirt and pebbles embedded in the archway over my head.
Mine.
I dropped the flashlight and fisted both hands against my chest, the seared skin on my fingertips burning like lemon juice on paper cuts. The voice was terrifyingly close, and my legs wouldn’t obey my brain’s command to move. I retrieved the flashlight with shaking fingers. Dirt crammed under my fingernails, and flashes of my aunt’s dank cellar mingled with the stale underground air. Overwhelming claustrophobia and the voice, with its warning, possessive message, suffocated my curiosity.
“Calli, what’s wrong?” Tanner’s concerned face met my dirt-streaked visage once I made it to the base of the ladder.
I threaded one arm through the closest rung, my legs shaking.
“Panic attack,” I huffed. “I thought I outgrew a certain childhood incident. Guess I haven’t.”
Next time—if there was a next time—I’d come prepared, with one of those big, black police flashlights. And maybe a hard hat with a headlamp so I wouldn’t have to pick bits of bugs out of my hair. And knee pads and leather gloves and a counter-spell to prevent that voice from chilling me to the very marrow in my bones.
“You okay to come up on your own, or do you need help?” he asked.
“Give me a sec to get my legs back under me, and I’ll be fine.”
His head and shoulders disappeared, along with the light from his cell phone. I clung to the ladder, rested my forehead on my hands, and sneezed again. The dull thud of Tanner moving about overhead provided a lifeline to freedom.
“Tanner?” I called. “I’m coming up.”
Three closely spaced rungs rose above my head. Getting up the ladder and out of the tree’s innards entailed twisting the upper half of my body, ducking my head, and not caring at all how dirty my shirt was about to get. I didn’t stop moving until I’d crawled out from under the shade cast by the tree’s wide reach and dropped onto a patch of sun-warmed grass.
Dry stalks prickled the back of my neck and arms, but at least I could breathe. My knees gave silent thanks before they finally gave out.
Tanner crouched beside me and nudged my hip. “Have some water.”
I rolled to my side and cracked open one eye. The lukewarm water was like nectar. I drank half the bottle. “Save the rest for River.”
Tanner chuckled. “River’s in his element down there. He may not emerge for a while.”
I hung my head and shook out my hair, struggling to sit cross-legged.
“Hold on a sec.” Tanner screwed on the bottle’s cap, dropped it on the grass, and positioned himself on his knees in front of me. “You’ve got an assortment of…” he began, eyeing my hair.
“Don’t tell me what’s in there.” I held up my palm, pressed my fingertips to his chin. “Just get it out. Please.”
He laughed softly. “I thought you earth witches loved dirt and crawly things.”
“I do love dirt. And I love the crawly things most when they stay in the dirt and out of my hair.”
Tanner breathed steadily through his nose, tugging at strands of my hair and proceeding methodically, section by section, all over my scalp. The soothing rhythm of his fingers wove a wordless familiarity between us. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched me in such an oddly intimate way.
When he finished, he brushed off his hands and sat back on his heels, tipping my chin up with two fingers. When had his eyes gone from golden brown to a startling topaz? “I think I got them all,” he said. “See anything interesting down there?”
I nodded, still enamored with the gem-like quality of his eye color. “I was mostly fine. Then I heard these odd noises, and when I went to touch these little things that had sprouted out of the roots, I heard a voice. All it said was, ‘Mine,’ which completely spooked me, and that’s when my fear of tight, dark places took over.”
While I was talking, a halo-like light suffused the air around his head and shimmered off the hairs
