I nodded, aware of the same sense of being observed. I twisted, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and our hearts pounded through our chests together as we held one another, the muted moans of the house mingling with the rustle of branches.
"Stay safe and hidden," I breathed in Jude's ear.
He nodded. "And you do the same. Be careful when you come back out of the trees and…Hazel—" He leaned back and met my eyes, his stare glowing in our shroud of shadows. "Come back."
I kissed him roughly, pressing all my nerves and worry into the bite of my lips around his. His fingers dug into my back, holding me to his chest, but the bark of the tree scratched gently at my shoulders, welcoming me. I leaned into the trunk, thought of Constantine, of Margaret and Beth, and allowed myself to vanish.
Jude groaned, his eyes opening and glaring back at me as I slid backward into the young oak tree. "Be careful," he hissed.
And then my world was still and dark, none of the bright lines of life threaded through like before. This woods knew the danger it was in, the danger of the house, and it sat quietly. The oak was eager to keep me, protect me from the threat nearby.
Stay where you are safe, sister.
I sank into the darkness, answering gently, finding the roads of roots at the ends of my toes. Help me make this woods safe again. Let's remove the house, let all the innocents inside escape.
We're trying,the oak answered. But it's many years of work, and we've lost numbers along the way.
There was anger in the words, and memories of the woods being richer, fuller, before trees were torn out, their roots corrupted by intentional poison. But I found the network of hidden life, sliding along their path into the heavy rich earth, all the tendrils reaching for the house, reaching for the heavy black stone buried into the ground. The trees wanted the house gone, Birsha gone.
Let me help you, I said, and offered them my own anger, my fear, my energy. It blazed in me like the glare of sunlight reflected over mirrors, washed through my veins like a rainstorm, and it fed the earth I was nestled in. The ground rumbled around me, and I found myself rushing downward, down into the branching foot of the trees, growing thinner with the roots, but stronger too, extending fine tendrils toward the rock.
There were bodies buried in this earth—Birsha's victims, no doubt, monsters and humans—and I begged their forgiveness as the roots of the woods bound around the lost souls and stole new strength from their bodies.
We've missed the company of wild children, the oaks said, tangling roots together, tying me up in the net of them. You bring us life.
Help me crack the house apart. I will come back and visit you, I promised.
Some of the trees were slower to respond, more reluctant to grow involved, like the pair of rowans closer to the house who'd been fed with magic. But the rest urged them along, whatever contribution I offered tempting the rowans to our side.
I met the black stone of the basement with a physical thud that created an all-over nausea, some of the friendly roots recoiling.
Please, I begged, even as I wanted to retreat too. Con was inside. He needed me. Antin needed me. And the rest of the monsters were nearby, waiting, waiting for the house to fall, waiting to prove to Birsha that he didn't own them or control them or make them surrender in fear.
Here, wild sister, here is a crack, a young maple called.
I tumbled through their knotted trails, dizzy and twisting in every direction, before finding the opening. Stone bore down on me from every side, pressure and pain. But it was nothing compared to my time with Con. This was only like holding my breath at the bottom of a pool, waiting to see how long before I had to swim to the surface again. I burned and cramped, and the trees gently wormed through rock, carrying me along.
We broke through, and the flavor was damp and metallic, like blood. I found myself spilling down to a craggy floor, and it took me a moment to remember my own body, my knees on the ground, my palms pressed to cool stone. I patted and groped at myself, rediscovering my form, surprised that all the parts seemed to still be in the right place, if not slightly tangled in the tender fingertips of the trees. They slid away from me reluctantly.
Be safe, they whispered.
Do the work you've craved,I encouraged.
I was alone in a hallway full of shadows, with just one candle burning in a gold sconce. The stone around me trembled, and the hinge of a door ahead and to my right squeaked with resistance.
"Don't stop," I whispered, and then repeated it in my thoughts. Don't stop. Find the seams, the locks, and crumble them. I closed my eyes and sighed a breath of relief as I tugged, calling for the trees, and they answered back, close and eager.
I groped at the wall and pulled myself to standing. I was in a basement corridor, with a long passage of doorways along the right. Roots were twisting eagerly through the edge of the floor and a few fragile cracks in the stone on my left, and there was a persistent snarl bleeding through the door that had started to protest.
There was also a whiff of harsh cinnamon that conjured memories of Con's grip on my jaw, his silver eyes blazing down at me as he rubbed the tip of his cock along my tongue. I chased the scent to the end of the hall, aware of the shuffling steps and growls slipping out from under the doors on my right. This wasn't a safe place for me, and I'd promised Jude and the others that I would do this one act of breaking the house up with the help of the trees, and then return. But Con was here, I was certain of it.
I needed to hurry.
The last door was cracked open, and the cinnamon was blended with that same sticky corrosive odor that had corrupted Antin's sweeter scent. Blood.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder, and I caught my breath at the sight before me.
Con was spread out over the floor, naked, stained in glistening blue blood, surrounded by white painted symbols that formed a circle. His chest was rising and falling slowly, the motion shallow, and one of his legs was twisted in the wrong direction at the knee.
"Con," I murmured.
We were alone, and his head jerked up, silver stare wild on me as I ran to his side. His head shook, and there was blood running down from his brow into one eye. I landed heavily on my knees, and the impact of stone under me was more painful than the gentle shock that bit at my palm as I cupped his face.
He huffed and strained beneath me as I bent, kissing his brow and cheekbone. His frustration vibrated through his muscles, and he sat up, trying to shake me off.
"It's not just me," I said. "We're here to take down Birsha. And to rescue you. It's all right," I said.
Con's brow furrowed, eyes wide.
"I don't care about the warlock," I breathed, wrapping a tense arm around his bare shoulders to pull him upright. "We'll sort it out later. You're coming with me."
But I looked into his eyes and knew, saw it reflected there.
We weren't alone. Of course we weren't. This was meant to be a trap for me after all.
The figure stepped out of the shadows behind me, now illuminated in Con's silver eyes.
"Is it Birsha?" I mouthed to Con.