Page 48 of Wildwood

I sit a moment, heart beating so loudly in my ears that I’m certain it can be heard throughout the house. Hugo lets out a low guttural growl, and slowly and quietly pulls himself into a standing position, his wolf-descendant instincts kicking into gear.

“Easy boy,” I whisper, suddenly wanting to remain as inconspicuous as possible, to melt into the painted trees that surround my bed.

The house lets out a haunting creak and Hugo books it for the bedroom door, barking ferociously. I am taken aback by his bravery before realizing I don’t want him going out there alone.

“Hugo!!” I shriek, bounding out of bed and racing down the hall and down the stairs. I run through the parlor, chasing after the frenetic barking and suddenly I feel a blinding pain on my toe. I crumple to the floor, crying out in pain. It’s that damn nail again. I rock back and forth holding my foot, breathing hard from my nose, trying to stifle a scream. Hugo whimpers and appears by my side, abandoning whatever he was chasing. He looks at me with worried eyes and makes a pacing figure eight in front of me.

The pain is strong enough that it numbs the wave of fear I felt running down the stairs. I inspect my toe and this time I’ve done real damage. The toe is burning and the skin under the nail is already darkening. It hurts to touch it. Damn it. Hugo nuzzles into me, and I pull his face close to mine and find myself reassuring him.

“It’s okay, boy. I’m fine. Did you find anything down here?” I scratch his head and his eyes look at me apologetically. He whines again. “It’s okay,” I repeat. “It’s okay.”

We sit a few moments longer, both of us listening to the sounds of the house. Almost like waiting for it to breathe. But whatever was happening is over now. Whatever presence we both sensed is gone. I carefully pull myself into a standing position and hobble over to the mudroom, still feeling jittery. The hammer is thankfully where I left it. I grab it and hammer down the nail, with more force than I know is required. We’ve got to do something about the floorboards; we’ll soon have a baby crawling around.

Keeping the hammer clenched in my hand, I take a slow walk through the downstairs, peering into each room and clicking on the lights to make sure nothing is lurking. The house is silent and empty. The only place I don’t check is the basement. I stand at the top of the stairs, hand braced against the door. But I can’t bring myself to open it. I feel certain that if I open the door, I’ll see something pale and horrifying at the bottom. My imagination is in overdrive. I triple-check the lock on the front door, triple-check the security system is on, and give the downstairs one more wary look before Hugo and I slowly make our way back to the stairs. Hugo jumps back up onto the bed and curls into a tight ball, yawning exaggeratedly. I go into the bathroom and close the door, still trying to get my heart rate to return to normal. Looking in the mirror, my face is ashen. I lean on the countertop and take some deep breaths and then pour myself a glass of water. My hand shakes as I drink. I’m about to go back into the bedroom when I feel the hairs on my neck standing up. For a second, I don’t move, and then, I force myself to make a small circle in the bathroom, to validate there’s no one here, somehow hidden in the shadows.

And then I am drawn to the window, looking out into the meadow. At first, I see nothing but my own reflection in the glass. But then, as my eyes adjust, I see it. A cloaked figure stands in the meadow at the tree line, slightly hunched and illuminated by the light of the moon. Even at this distance, I know the figure is looking at me. A patch of clouds cover the moon and for a few seconds, the meadow is in darkness again. When the moonlight reappears, the figure is gone.

The window fogs in front of me and I realize that my breath is coming out in shudders. Was it the serpent or the witch?? The question rattles wildly in my head. Because I haven’t been afraid of Lydia. I don’t think she means me harm. And on some level, I’ve always known I could come out of the dreams, even when I’m in them. But I think of the serpent, coiling and uncoiling in The Forest of the Dead. I had thought it was a waking dream. But now I’m not so sure. Now, I have the bone-chilling realization that in entering Lydia’s world, I may have unlocked a door. And that in waking up, I might have brought something out of the dreamworld with me.

Chapter 39

I’m standing at the stove, staring at a boiling pot of water. I drop the Chaga in, watching it roll in the bubbles, turning the water a dirty brown. I’ve caved. My headaches are too strong and I’m desperate for relief. I can’t tell Topher I’m doing this though. Pharmaceuticals, fine. This weird alternative medicine? Absolutely not.

When it’s done, I take a long, slow sip. It tastes bitter and earthy. Certainly not good, but not terrible either. I wrap the remaining mushroom in a paper towel and shove it into my pocket. My mind goes back to whatever I saw in the meadow. How can I phrase this to Topher? I need to tell him about last night. I mean, I saw someone, I’m sure of it.

He comes into the kitchen, looking freshly showered, smelling of soap. He comes up behind me and leans in slowly, to kiss my neck.

“How are my babes?” His hands rub my shoulders.

“Fine.” I’m really not sure what to expect from his reaction. He’ll either worry that I’m hallucinating and letting my imagination run away with me. Or he’ll be upset that I thought I saw someone on the property but didn’t call him. Or the police. People can be unpredictable with their fears. Particularly once a baby is involved.

“You are better than fine, my dear. You are famous!”

I spin around. “What?”

Topher holds up his cell. He’s on Madeline’s Instagram profile and it takes me a moment to register the people in the photo. There’s Madeline, of course, and then that man from the party . . . Kyle? And on Madeline’s other side is an ungainly-looking woman in an orange hat. I’m facing straight at the camera, unlike Madeline who is strategically angled.

“With the newest members of the CBW&C family at the annual Fall Harvest Festival.” I slowly read the caption. “She used my maiden name. She said Elinor Lin.”

Topher shrugs. “She probably doesn’t know your married name. But isn’t that great?”

“Um. Yeah. I guess.” There’s something akin to anger, tinged with validation, now roiling in my chest. “It’s just. It looks a little bit like I’m a prop, right?”

Topher’s face physically recoils a moment, in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, it’s just . . . there’s literally no other pictures of the party. Why did she choose this one?”

“She’s said you are like family—” he begins, but I cut him off.

“I hardly know her,” I hiss. “And I don’t own a single piece of Cold Brook Cashmere.”

“Well, you wear that red sweater she gave you.” He raises his eyebrows.

“That’s different, she practically forced it on me,” I retort, scrambling to reclaim the high ground.

Topher shakes his head. “Look, I’m not following. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s just. I don’t know, Newfield is like, the whitest town. I just think Madeline cherry-picked this photo to help her image as this hippie CEO.”