Page 20 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

As if sensing Reed’s judgment, the Pikeman announced, “Take Rusty’s cloak,” snapping a finger at one of the men—presumably Rusty—who tossed the garment at Reed. He opened the carriage door, preparing to leave, and the others scrambled to find their places on its exterior. The horses stamped their hooves, impatient to be on their way as the Pikeman called, “Let me know when your next fight is, and we’ll make another pretty penny, eh?”

A cracking whip split the air, in a chorus of hooves on cobblestones, and they were gone.

Reed stood in the deserted alleyway, and the fog thinned, revealing cobblestones littered with rotting cabbage, onions simmering in puddles of filth. He threw aside his enforcer disguise. Securing the cloak over his shoulders, its fur-lined hood over his white hair, he thought about what he should do next.

The Pikeman would have the full support of the Glen, fear of the man and his volatile insanity demanded this.

Reed wouldn’t be so lucky.

He had nowhere to go. If he went back home within the next fortnight, it would only put Philip in danger. His brother needed to mend his weakened health and continue to work in peace until he was strong enough to travel. Reed owed him that much, at least.

Every enforcer within a day’s travel would be searching for him—it was only a matter of hours. He had to get out of sight, and quickly.

There was only one place to go. The one place the enforcers would never suspect he would return to.

Dulce’s manor.

Setting the horse loose to graze in a field of blackprince snapdragons at the bottom of the hill, Reed made his way to Dulce’s manor on foot, keeping his steps within the cover of hedges and trees. Reaching the stone wall, he snuck through the door as he’d done the night before and slipped into the garden unnoticed.

The sun shone down, its warm rays dispersing the thick fog, turning the branches of an enormous weeping willow to glowing green as it kissed the sparkling waters of the lake. Crows watched him from the branches of an elm when he passed, song thrushes singing in the crisp breeze while flowers, dark in nature, bloomed along the hedges and vines. Reed thought it must be a dream to live in such a place.

Approaching the looming manor, the enclosed cemetery in sight, Reed froze.

Two men, one elderly and one appearing no more than sixteen, dragged a dead man across the grass by his bare feet, his torn-open middle trailing his insides like rubbery worms. The grave Reed had carefully refilled lay once again open, a pile of dirt and rock at its side. The men didn’t notice or care when the dead man’s head bounced over a stone with an audiblecrack, instead carrying on their hushed conversation as they tossed the body into the waiting grave.

Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all…

CHAPTER NINE

DULCE

With trembling hands and tears pricking her eyes, Dulce dropped to her knees and spread her fingers along the earth, trailing the cracked lines in the dirt. Gray dots erupted across the tree’s exposed roots, its sickness spreading. The witch’s magic had infected her mother’s tree, a Tree of Life—its death was beginning. However, the ancient bristlecone pine had not been destroyed yet.

She peered up at the sky—darkness didn’t reign over her world, though the sun was very much hidden behind the dark clouds of the slate gray sky.

Dulce pressed her hands on one of the roots, its small pulse thrumming against her fingertips, the tree’s energyslowly being siphoned away by whatever curse the witch had cast. A struggle within the tree stirred, a sense of sickness flowing through its network. Soon, the timber would die—and so would everything else in the land.

How long did they have before it was too late? Her mother’s letter didn’t mention where the other four trees were located, but she had an inkling the witch knew.

“I wish I had known sooner, Mother,” she whispered.

Grasping the skirts of her dress, Dulce ran through the deep burgundy hollyhock garden, leaping over small bushes dotted with plump blueberries, and rushing like a madwoman to the back of the manor.

Her staff lingered in the family cemetery, safe and sound, unaffected by the panic that threatened to overtake her. Vesta hummed a happy tune while picking weeds and placing them into a wicker basket, while Lucas dropped down into the grave where Dulce was once buried. A loud creak of the casket reverberated as the young man shut the lid.

Sylvan wiped the back of his hand against his sweaty brow, his smiling gaze meeting hers. “I know this villainous lout doesn’t deserve it,” he explained, “But this was the easiest place to bury Mr. Cornelius quickly until you know the witch’s motives.” He reached down to the grave and helped his grandson out.

Vesta frowned, lowering the wicker basket. “I don’t believe the pompous boar bladder deserves to be buried on Dulce’s property at all. Even temporarily.”

Dulce’s chest heaved, and she stepped toward them. “You’re quite right, Vesta. A murderer doesn’t deserve such honor, even in death. But since we’re short on time, this will have to do. Temporarily, of course.”

Sylvan and Lucas collected their shovels from beside one of the headstones and began filling the grave with dirt.

Dulce’s breath quickened as her panic rose. They needed to focus on the reason why she’d hurried to find them. “There’s something wrong with Mother’s tree,” she announced. “I found a letter in her spell book, and—”

Her words ceased falling from her lips when she caught a glimpse of a few locks of white hair floating near one of the hazel trees. She recognized the color instantly and knew precisely who they belonged to. Why had the thief returned? And why was he sneaking around like a sly fox? Was her jewelry not enough? Had he returned to creep into her manor, consumed with greed, determined to take more of her things?

In a low voice so that only Vesta could hear, Dulce said, “One moment. I’ll return shortly.” She then left the servants and circled the garden’s laurel hedges until she stood just behind Reed, his gaze fixed on the cemetery, where Sylvan and Lucas continued to cover the grave and Vesta returned to her task of plucking weeds. Reed no longer wore his tattered cloak from the night before but another, more luxurious version of the garment. She wondered if he’d stolen it or used some of the money he’d traded for her jewels to purchase it. Perhaps he didn’t have a brother at all.

---