Blood Moon (11 page)

Stalking around the back of the home, we peer through a window. The inside seems as cozy and welcoming as Fiona’s cottage. Nothing is particularly out of the ordinary, except for the baby crying in its crib. The witch with the raven-colored hair enters the room, and Ben and I duck so she won’t see us. We pause for about ten seconds before rising up ever so slowly to glimpse at the woman and the child. She rocks it lovingly in her arms, whispering words we can’t hear, smiling down at the baby’s tiny face. I press my ear to the side of the house to decide whether or not I can actually hear what she’s saying. Her words reach me in a muffled tone, and nothing is clear. Ben does the same.

Crack.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Someone approaches from the forest, if the sounds of twigs and dead leaves are any indication. Ben and I retreat to the far side of the cottage, away from the forest, and away from the front door. We can’t, under any circumstances, let them know we’re here.

Once the two witches are indoors, Ben and I return to our spot, where we can view and listen in on any conversations they have. The first thing I notice—other than the fact that they have a baby—is how many dried herbs hang from the ceiling beams, and how many potions line wooden shelves throughout the small area. The floor plan is similar to Fiona’s home, in that there are three rooms, from what I can see, and a small area for the kitchen and dining.

Placing their baskets on the table, the girls fervently work on removing all the berries and herbs they gathered from the forest. The woman with the baby cradles it gently, while the other two rub its belly. Forming a short assembly line, they begin wrapping the herbs with loose ribbon, tie them off, and then find a place to hang them. The berries are placed in a wooden bowl at the center of the table.

Nothing is visibly abnormal with these people. So, what’s their deal? They create these tonics and healing agents to help those in Colchester who need medicine, yet they also practice the dark arts, disappear with the snap of their fingers, transform into werewolves, and have a secret hideout in the middle of the woods. None of this makes any sense.

We continually keep an eye on the women until our legs are tired of semi-squatting. Just as we’re about to call it a day, all three witches raise their noses toward the ceiling, as if they’re sniffing the herbs. They share a perceptive look, one that easily conveys they aren’t inhaling the scent of wild herbs—they’ve caught a whiff of something else.

Blood drains from my head, and every hair on my body stands erect.

Oh, this isn’t good. I think they’ve found us,
I say.

Now might be a good time to run,
Ben suggests.

We scram for the forest, which will supply an easy covering—provided we make it before they see us. As soon as we vanish behind the army of trees, I hear the front door open with a bang. I don’t dare glance behind me, for fear my eyes might lock with theirs. Yet again, my ability to run is hindered by period clothing and heels. Ben’s much faster than me, has longer legs than me, and is fortunate enough to be wearing pants. Me? I have to lift my skirts and pray I don’t trip.

Are they following us? Do they know?
Ben asks.

I’m not sure. I’m too afraid to look over my shoulder. If they caught our scent, they’ll know we were spying on them.

We’re so screwed.

No shit.

I feel as if we’ve been dashing through the woods for a long time. Longer than usual. We have no way of knowing where, exactly, we’re at. All we can do is use our heightened senses and sniff our way out, if necessary.

The thought no more traverses my mind when my feet are lifted out from under me and over my head. I squeal, but hastily regain control of my surroundings—even if the world is upside down. Ben and I sway back and forth from our ankles, tightly bound by the rope which was lying in wait under a carpet of dead leaves and twigs. A trap, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised.

I manage to tuck my dress between my legs, so it won’t tumble down and swathe my face. From the direction of Lavenia’s cottage, dogs bark, and their noisy yapping continually grows louder. Crackling foliage causes my entire body to stiffen. They’re coming for us, and if Ben and I don’t free ourselves from this trap, we might as well kiss our hard work goodbye.

“Over here!” one of the witches yells. “They went this way! I can smell them!”

“Damn it,” Ben hisses. He struggles to pull himself up and loosen the rope, but to no avail.

I’m not even going to bother trying; I know it’s a lost cause. When the witches arrive moments later, they don’t seem too surprised to see us dangling in front of them.

“So we were correct, then,” the blonde says. “No matter. Let us cut them loose.”

The dark-skinned woman, who I’m convinced is Maggie, asks, “Where shall we take them?”

“To the All-Seeing One, of course.”

She must be the old woman in the cave, although her nickname is ironic since she’s obviously blind.

The blonde witch and Maggie cut the ropes located at the base of the trees on either side of us, and Ben and I crash to the ground. Thank the stars we aren’t injured; we could’ve easily broken our necks, credit to these idiots. Have I mentioned how strong they are? Yeah, well, they haul Ben and me like we weigh nothing, like they’re freaking bodybuilders for a living.

In just a few hours, daytime will shift to dusk. If we aren’t at Fiona’s home by the time she arrives from work, she’ll be worried. But she won’t have any idea where we are, or who we’re with. It may be best for all involved that she doesn’t know, come to think of it.

None of the witches speak as they carry us on their shoulders and through the woods. To grandma’s house we go.

Think they’ll kill us?
Ben asks.

Jee, what a wonderful question
, I respond matter-of-factly.
How about we focus our efforts on getting away from these crazies and getting back to Fiona’s? Or, how about we discover what these women truly plan to do with this town?

We may never figure out their plan, and we may never get out of this alive. I’m just keeping it real.

I have an idea. Why don’t we just rewind the clock and
not
get caught in their trap? How’s that for genius?

Ben cuts me a warning glare.
We can’t mess with time too much; otherwise, we’ll screw up everything.
It’s all you, though, baby.
He reaches out so our fingers intertwine.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the past and what we were doing prior to landing ourselves in this stressful situation. How far back we should go is completely up to me. Maybe I should plant us behind Lavenia’s home, or maybe in the woods right before we get caught. That sounds like the best option at the moment. If it sucks, or if things get a little screwy, then I’ll just port us to another spot in time.

In a blinding-white flash, Ben and I are off the witches’ shoulders and running through the forest, just as we were previously. He and I glance at one another with mutual perception of what lay ahead—the rope snare. Careful to avoid the trap, we zigzag through the trees surrounding it . . . and almost dive face-first into a pit full of razor-sharp, wooden spikes. My arms flail as I try to regain my balance so I won’t be impaled. Ben grabs my skirt, yanking me backward. He’s practically hyperventilating, I notice.

“You okay?” I whisper, waiting for my heart to stop pounding.

He nods. “Yeah, just dandy.”

I slowly rise up on my elbows. “That was close.”

Peering at me from the corner of his eye, he deadpans, “Ya think?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like I saw that one coming. I would’ve rather been dangling upside down from that rope than have to deal with this,” I say, pointing toward the gaping chasm in front of us.

Ben runs his fingers from his forehead down to his chin, like he’s wiping off sweat . . . and possibly frustration. “We have to keep moving. I don’t even want to think about what’s beyond this point, though; it can only get worse from here.”

Halfheartedly, Ben pulls me up on my feet, and he and I begin traipsing through the forest once again. The witches aren’t far behind; I hear them conversing among themselves, wondering how we bypassed their ropes. They’ll probably wonder how we bypassed the death trap, too. One thing’s for certain: whatever lies ahead of us now, Ben and I will need to use all of our energy and intelligence to survive.

Chapter Nine

The easiest way to detect any ground traps, Ben and I figure, is by snatching up large twigs or sticks and poking the forest floor before us. So far, we’ve only come across one extra death pit. Who knows how many more we’ll find?

“This is tiring,” says Ben. He looks worn-out; his eyelids appear heavy, his shoulders hang loosely, and his prodding has become lax.

“I don’t even know where we’re at,” I say, “or how far this forest extends. We could be lost in here for days.”

Ben frowns. “We’ll find a way out.” Just then, his stick pokes at loose surface. A small portion of leaves and netting give in, collapsing like a domino effect. “Whoa.” Ben takes a step back. “Another hole with spikes. Nice.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Will this ever end?”

I think his question is rhetorical, but I answer anyway. “We’re probably not even close to being finished with these things. Everywhere we turn, a new trap lies in wait, and we have to disarm it, or find a way around it. We’re running out of time.”

Ben grits his teeth. “You think I don’t know that? Those crazy women could be right behind us, egging on our deaths so they can move forward with their master plan, which, by the way, we haven’t figured out yet.”

“Okay, remember exactly where these traps are, because the second we reach the end is the second I zap us back to the beginning, so we can do this all over again.”

“What the hell would you do that for?” Ben admonishes.

“So we can gain some ground on the witches. If we know where the traps are, we can avoid them and move on. By the time they work their way through the labyrinth of death, we’ll be long gone, because we’re already clued-in.”

“Can’t we just go back to the cottage and run in the opposite direction? That sounds way easier.”

“We’ve already chosen this path,” I reply. “If we go back and change the past, selecting a different outcome, the future will be different. We could literally spend
hours
trying to prevent things from happening, but those hours are lost time we can’t really make up. They’re useless. It’s the same as traveling to this time period—we have to be extremely careful with our actions, as they directly affect our futures.”

“All right, so . . . how about we just make a run for it once we’re in the clear?” he asks. We’re both tired and hungry, and most definitely want to escape the wooded region, but we have to keep our heads on straight.

I stop walking and jabbing the ground. “Listen, I know this sucks and we didn’t sign up for this, but we need to think about the bigger picture—our families, our friends, everyone who has a place in our hearts. They’re depending on us, Ben. We can’t do that if we’re arguing about whether or not using our powers is the right thing to do.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles.

As I resume my prodding, I find yet another trap designed to kill anyone who stumbles upon it. Staring down into the pit, I notice not one but two skeletons at the bottom. I struggle for breath.

“What is it?” Ben asks, edging up beside me. “Oh, no.” He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “May they rest in peace, whoever they were.”

An ominous sensation floods my senses. “Ben, what if they were the men Fiona was talking about, the ones who went after the wolves but never returned?” In a tiny voice, I ask, “What if one of them is her husband?” Peering up at Ben, his Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t say a word.

Clearing his throat, he gruffly suggests that we should keep moving, in case the witches show up. I agree that it’s a good idea; we can’t delay progress any longer. Besides, it’ll be dusk soon, and we shouldn’t be out here after dark.

By my best estimate, thirty more minutes have passed, and Ben and I find one more death trap. But as we move forward in our expedition of this forest and away from the witches who hunt us, we literally stumble upon another problem: tripwires.

“I can’t believe you almost triggered that,” I tell Ben, as he attempts to figure out where the wire leads, and what it leads to.

“Oh, my God. You have got to see this.”

I bound over to where Ben stands. He’s glancing upward, where the trees meet the sky. At first, I’m not going to lie, I don’t see a damn thing. All I spot are trees, trees, and more trees. But as the sun sets, the fiery rays glint off a huge chunk of metal. Metal in the shape of an axe head, tied and strapped to a ginormous handle, waiting to be released so it can swing back and forth, slicing a person, or animal, in half.

“That’s creepy,” I say.

Ben can only nod; he’s too amazed to do anything but.

“Why is it so damn big? Are there giants around here that we don’t know about?”

Slowly, Ben shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

While Mr. Testosterone over here stares in admiration at the handiwork of his ancestors, I check out the other side. Just as I had thought, there’s yet
another
giant axe suspended in the trees. Not only that, once I really pay attention to our surroundings, I realize these aren’t the only two axes—there are three more sets just like them. The section of forest in front of us is a circular clearing, with eight trees spaced apart in the center, two for each axe, nearly side by side. I guess whoever invented this trap decided it was best to uproot the remainder of the trees which might’ve been here once. That way, they wouldn’t have to worry about the axes coming into contact with them.

“Uh . . . Ben? We have a problem.” Pointing to the obvious, he curses under his breath. “Why don’t we try going around those trees?”

Hands on his hips, Ben squints past the axes. “I have a feeling it’s not that easy.”