Page 14 of Devils and the Dead
“Fists, this is Babylon Perkins,” Clinton told him. “She wants to see the tree trunk that Bay brought over.”
Fists sent me a quick glance, then waved me over to where a thick log lay on a bed of leaves. “This is it. Here’s the blood.”
I knelt down, noting the red stains on the bark. The tree wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. “Bay, are you sure it was actually the tree that was bleeding? Could some animal or something else have been injured and left the blood on the bark?”
“It was bleeding,” Bay insisted. “I saw it oozing out of the tree. Scared the heck out of me.”
“No doubt.” I pulled a penknife and a bag out, scraped some of the blood off the tree trunk, and stored it away for later. These werewolves were scared enough. They didn’t need to have to witness my freaky magic on top of a haunting and a bleeding tree.
As the werewolves watched, I went over the tree from top to bottom, looking for anything that might give me a clue, like sigils carved in the bark. Near the bottom of the tree, I saw a discolored and jagged section.
“What happened here?” I asked Bay. He’d said the tree had fallen in a storm and blocked the access road, but the werewolf had clearly trimmed the ends of the log. I wondered why he hadn’t cut this damaged section off as well before hauling it in to the compound.
“That broke off after I brought the log in,” Bay explained. “There’s a little hollow part there in the wood that I didn’t see when I was trimming the ends. I figured Fists would work around it when he was planning the wood.”
I picked up a curved knife from the table and inserted the blade into the place where Bay had indicated the hollow part was. Sure enough, the blade sunk into the wood nearly to the handle before hitting something solid.
“You want me to cut that bad portion out so you can see it better?” Fists asked.
I hesitated, because cutting into a tree that might have an enchantment on the wood might not be a wise thing to do—at least, not a wise thing for awerewolfto do.
Digging some chalk, a bundle of sage, and a handful of stones out of my bag, I motioned for the werewolves to step back. My magic was necromancy. Normally sigils of protection and safety were more powerful when they were done by my other sisters, but when it came to guarding against the undead or the spirit world, my sigils were just as potent.
Since I didn’t know what I was dealing with, and I was concerned for the safety of the werewolves in the compound, I drew my protective circle around the entire tree trunk. With the tiny nub of chalk left, I drew additional symbols around the blood stains and where I assumed the hollow portion was.
“What’s the grass bundle for?” Flick asked, eyeing the sage with curiosity.
“It’s for afterward,” I told her. “Once I’m done here, I’ll smudge the area just to make sure no harmful energy remains. It’s an extra precaution.”
All five werewolves let out a long breath at that. They were trusting me to keep them safe, to take care of this problem. The thought made me proud. Me, the weird dead-thing witch, was helping them. It was a rare occasion to show some of the residents of Accident that my magic wasn’t something to be feared, and that I could play just as much of a part in the community as my sisters.
“And the stones?” Clinton asked.
“To attract the spirit I suspect is trapped in this wood.”
They all tensed back up at that, and I sighed, my pride short-lived.
“I need to bring the spirit who has been haunting you to me if I’m going to try to convince him to leave,” I explained.
The werewolves nodded, but took a few extra steps back. Knowing they weren’t going to like what I was about to do, I turned to block their view and began placing the stones. Red jasper. Hematite. Tiger’s-eye. Rose quartz.
Then with a whispered incantation, I plunged the curved blade of the knife into the tree, through the bark into the hollow space.
The tree screamed, blood welling up around the knife blade. I’d never seen werewolves move so fast in my life. One second they were there, the next they were gone. Although to Clinton’s credit, the alpha did carefully make his way back to stand about twenty feet away from the outer edge of the protective circle.
Three shadowy forms materialized around the tree. They were humanoid, and about three feet tall.
Tinsel.
I wasn’t sure if the word had been spoken, or telepathically communicated, but I’d heard it distinctly. Instead of responding, I pulled the knife from the tree trunk, pushing one of my fingers in through the hole the blade had made. There was something sharp in the hollow, something that vibrated with magic. I widened the hole with the knife enough to get my index finger and my thumb in. The whole time the tree screamed and bled.
A quick glance told me Clinton was still there, ashen as the ghosts in front of me, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Poor guy was probably regretting being the alpha right now. No doubt he desperately wanted to run to wherever the others had gone to hide.
Tinsel, the specters moaned.
I groped around in the hollow section, my fingers slick with blood. Finally, I managed to grip the sharp object and ease it out of the tree. Wiping it off on a small towel, I held it up.
Bone. A bone that was an awful lot like the one my sister Addy had brought me a few weeks ago. She said she’d found it near one of the downed trees that had been blocking the access road to the Savior Mountain werewolf compound. I’d stuck it in a jar at home because we’d been rather busy dealing with attacking demons, then I’d been rather busy trying to figure out what to do with Maude. But now I remembered it and knew it was no coincidence that she’d found a bone right next to this tree.
