05. || to be alone.

The echo of the voice vibrated up every vertebrae in River's spine, but they didn't turn around. A trick of the trees, it surely had to be; too many blows to the head, also likely. Or maybe it was that damn Ghost Cat throwing his voice in the wind to get a rise outta River. They'd be sure to skin and tan his spotted white hide if his soul ever took root this side of the earth again, but nary a purring chuckle rumbled in the dark branches above.

"Oi! Now I know ya heard me, River Hawthorne."

The cadence from the old country in her voice couldn't be mistaken. As River turned around, the miller's wife sat upon the raised gnarled roots of the hemlock. Her black skirt dusted the bed of pine needles as she leaned against the slope of the trunk, swinging her foot idly. The white of her blouse glowed blue in the twilight, cinched tight at her waist with the belt River had tooled for her as a birthday gift. Every blonde hair of hers was perfectly rolled and pinned into a low coiffure like a golden crown atop her head.

But River had watched flames consume that golden crown. They'd watched on as the hem of that dark skirt caught fire; as that very blouse with its buttoned collar melted into her skin. Her flesh had bubbled and split raw, charring black 'til she was nothing but ash and rubble, her bones abandoned by her husband in the cove where the scald came to be. Nae, this couldn't be her.

As she ran her teeth over her lip, a glint of moonlight caught in her smirk. "I expected ya to be a wee more excited, love. Been a hundred years since I saw ya last."

"Hundred and twelve," River corrected, watching closely as the corners of her lips turned up. "But who's countin'."

"Hundred twelve, eh?" She seemed to consider that length for a moment before eyeing River up. "Ya dinnae look a day over thirty, finally all caught up to me now. The spell was kind to ya."

"Not a spell, Demon, a curse—your curse."

Her sly smirk fell with the accusation; the idle swing of her boot stilled against the roots. "You still believin' the demon took to me after all this time? Thought ya knew me better n'at. Thought ya were the only one who did."

The delicate lines of her brows knotted just as they had when she caught fire all those years before. But this time, River turned away, which didn't do a damn thing to ease the guilt all gaumed up in their gut.

"Why'd ya ever bother luggin' me bones back to this hemlock, then?"

"'Cause there was a chance you might come back," River snapped, spinning back around. They started towards her, but stopped abruptly, shaking their head with denial and fear of getting too close. "A chance Vera might come back, but I shoulda known better. If it weren't for the preacher's boy, you'd still be spreadin' your darkness, wanderin' free."

"And so would you, yeah? Be wanderin' free?"

But River needn't be reminded. They'd taken her bones, still hot from the pyre, to the hemlock with every hope the demon had been extinguished with the flames and cast back to the black bowels of the earth, not knowing they were being followed. The preacher's boy went and tattled to his mama and she marched up the hill through the woods to see for herself, except she got a mite too close, started smacking River around, and them roots snagged her up before she could scream.

The only explanation was that the demon had taken root within the tree. And the only one to blame for it was River. So the preacher and the miller and the few other men who were left after the mine explosion just days before all came to the same conclusion. They bound River to the hemlock with rope soaked in holy water, which was really just water from the spring, and the preacher said some angry Christian words about three corners, and then they all gathered the families and left the mountainside.

So while bound to the tree, River tried to talk to that Christian god about letting Vera's soul ascend, but a week went by without any response. And after that long quiet week of only sucking fake holy moisture from the fibers of the ropes and eating only what they could reach, mostly the hemlock's bark and ants and grubs, River turned to the tree itself. A deal was made, though they didn't quite understand it at that time. And hell, maybe they still didn't.

But when River finally wriggled free from the ropes and saw the abandoned camps and houses along the mountainside, they tried to leave too. But every time they reached the edge of the woods to step into the valley, they got bounced right back here.

'Til they found out full moons allowed a certain amount of freedom each month so long as the hemlock got fed.

Warm blood continued to drip down onto River's lip from their nose, refusing to clot. Wiping it with their arm, they stared off through the woods, keeping Demon Vera in the corner of their eye.

"River, I'm nae the demon ya think me to be. Dark, aye, but ya knew that. It's what drew ya to me in the first place, yeah?"

"I was seventeen and dumber'n a box of rocks." With a half-hearted laugh, River kicked at a pinecone, flinging it towards the heap of drained bodies just a couple inches shy of Demon Vera's boot. "You need but smile my way and drawn to ya I was." River chanced a quick glance and regretted it instantly 'cause she bore that same old smile and it about sent their heart straight through their chest.

"I told ya I'd always look after ya and I have. I taught ya the sigils long before that demon ever escaped the mine. It's nae demon magic that's sustained me—or us—it's just the woods."

"Fueled by fresh souls."

"Dinnae be dense, it's always been that way. Feeds the whole mountain." Vera, who maybe wasn't a demon, glanced down at the bodies. "Ya lured them boys up here playin' mousey wi' yourself, didnae ya?"

"Bar had a special two-fer deal on degens tonight. Didn't want 'em to lose interest halfway up." Following her gaze, River sighed, not looking forward to cleaning this one up. "So why now? If you've been here all along, why show your face now after a century of keepin' me in the dark. I've been alone all this time."

"Alone?" With a laugh, Maybe-Demon Vera sat up a little straighter. "I mighta not seen all the trollops ya let through this ol' holler, these tree roots only go s'far of course, but sound travels funny up here, leavin' me to wonder which of your body counts be higher?" She kicked at the body of Brian or Brad or the other one with her pointed shoe and cocked her brow.

And that certainly seemed like something Vera would say. Had a family of her own, husband and kids, but still threw a conniption if any girl so much as talked to River. She pert near drowned one of the miner's daughters when she caught them kissing in the springhouse.

River inched a few steps closer to the tree. "Didn't answer my question. Why now?"

"There's been a... disturbance," she answered coolly. Adjusting herself on the trunk, she crossed her legs and picked at her skirt. "And I know ya felt it too 'cause ya showed up to help that woman faster'n a damn moth to flame."

It was River's turn to smile at that. "You shut her water off, didn't ya?"

Her lips pursed, but she didn't look up from her lap. "I heard she invited ya past her wards."

"She didn't—"

"I need her blood, River," her tone dropped, eyes sharpening beneath her brow to lock back onto River. "We need her blood to break the curse."

"Now that sounds like somethin' a demon would say. Why should I believe this is in fact really you?"

Coy as a yearling doe, Vera tipped her head and gathered up her dress as she slid down from the hemlock's mangled trunk, though her feet never touched the actual ground. With every step forward, roots grew forth from the tree, paving a path through the pine needles and leaves. River reached to their pocket for the hunting knife, but again, it was still back at the Deer Jaw. Having borrowed more than a hundred years on this side of the earth, they'd seen their fair share of woodland haunts, but never was there no creature more dangerous than a fair-haired woman—demon, human, or otherwise.

So with empty hands, River waited, heart a-hammerin' as Vera approached.

Her eyes didn't glow red or flicker with hellflame like a demon's might, though River tried to look down and away from their icy blue hues all the same, but she caught hold of their chin and cupped their cheek, sending a chill through River's jaw. They flinched to pull away, but as her thumb traced down to their bloodied lip, they fell at ease against her palm. Notes of lemon and bergamot oil scented her hair as it always had. She leaned in close, breathing in every breath River expelled 'til there was no more air to share between them, then her lips took theirs with such force that a hundred years felt no more distant than yesterday.

It certainly talked like Vera, felt like Vera, looked and smelled like Vera, but she left a charred aftertaste on River's tongue. Before they could argue a word, Vera took their hand and slipped it beneath the bunched hem of her dress.

"Convince her to fetch the talismans for ya," she whispered, guiding River up the garter straps that hung from her corset. "Then bring her to me the eve of the Cold Moon."

River's breath caught with every inch of skin they trailed over as she slid their hand closer. "You really think we can break the curse?" they murmured against the slope of her neck, surprised to find her pulse throbbing hard beneath their lips.

"It's what we've been waitin' for River." With a gasp, she dug her nails into the nape of River's neck as their fingertips teased that spot on her inner thigh that always made her shake. Seizing their hand again, she didn't hesitate this time to press it between her legs. "This is what we—"

Her moan rocked the hollow, sending down a shower of yellow pine needles, but River's lips went cold against the autumn air; their fingertips met nothing but space. Just as quickly as Vera had appeared, she vanished. The ground vibrated beneath River's boots as the roots she'd been standing on slithered back into the tree. A faint smell of smoke lingered in her absence.

River spun around, but only the little thornberry along the brook looked on.

"Were you watchin' the whole time?" they asked the tree, running a hand along the back of their neck. A mess of leaves and dried blood matted their hair in a tangle. "Well, what do ya make of it?" But the little thornberry just shrugged her branches in the breeze.

The wind wrapped around River, stinging their skin where the chill of Vera's fingers remained. And them fingers had indeed been hers, along with them legs and them eyes for sure 'cause not even the Christian devil himself could conjure up such a doppelganger. But if the demon that escaped the mines in 1908 never took to her, then it's been free all this time. Which also meant the preacher burnt Vera alive for nothing. Well, nothing more than adultery and a little witchcraft.

River freed the rest of their dark hair from the bun atop their head and walked over to the brook. Kneeling down at its bank, they scooped water to their lips, letting its cold rush all through their body before splashing it over their face to wash away the mud and blood. The throbbing pain in their ribs dulled to just an ache and the swelling in their nose settled, but the little crescent moons Vera left on the back of River's hand and neck stung like nettles. She always was one to leave a physical reminder of her presence.

With a heavy exhale, River leaned back against the base of the little thornberry. "Thank you, by the way." Up through her branches, the Hunter's Moon hung crisp and orange in the black sky. There was still enough time left in the night to make last call and maybe apologize to Blaire before the mountain locked them back up for another month. They at least owed her that much. Rubbing their cheek, they glanced over towards the crumpled bodies. "How 'bout we let that lone coyote feast tonight, then we'll clean up what's left tomorrow?"

Stubborn as the little thornberry was, she wasn't one to argue. But she did have a strange bend to her lower branch so River stood up to get a closer look.

"What, did that jack-off snap ya, tryin' to break free?"

They ducked under a branch weighed down by her red berries and slipped between two others to reach the one that seemed bent. Careful to mind her thorns, they looked her over real good, but saw no break or split in the branch. It just pointed down while the others, even the berry heavy ones, pointed out and up to soak in the moonlight. Looking back down the branch, River followed the length of it to where it pointed at the ground. Beneath a golden maple leaf, one of her roots twisted around a ring of two skeleton keys.

"Why, you little thief..." Crouching down, River pried the keys from her root and studied the tarnished brass bits, pretty sure of whose they belonged to. Their eyes trailed down the winding brook, unable to see beyond the row of hemlocks that bordered the strange woman's cabin where she was likely sleeping.

There was a real easy way to get that woman to stay 'til December's Cold Moon like Vera needed, River just wasn't too keen on it. Twirling the keyring around their finger, they started back up the hill towards the springhouse.

Inside, the reservoir shined like a layer of black coal, catching moonbeams through the iron-barred windows. Again, River tried not to think of what they'd seen in its reflection with the strange woman 'cause too soon it'd be likely coming true. As hard as River tried to control who ended up tangled in the hemlock's roots, the mountain held fast to its own grudges.

River glanced around the wet corners 'til their eyes fell upon a wooden tool caddy. They dumped out the wrenches and spare pipe fittings, letting them clatter to the stone floor, then carried the caddy over to the trap door that led to the ground cellar. The hatch lifted with a groan, likely irritated that River had returned so soon since their last visit 'cause that was only a few days ago. They propped the door open, then descended into pitch black, mindful to duck their head and to avoid that rotted step they kept insisting they'd fix one of these days.

Moonlight started seeping its way into the dark cellar, but River knew where they were going without it. Sticking their hand out to find the shelf, they patted around a couple glass gallon jugs 'til they found the mason jars. Four fit snug in the wooden tool tote and that seemed nice enough so they jogged back up the rickety stairs, careful again to avoid that step, then kicked the hatch shut and pushed open the door into the woods.

Except the woods seemed to have a strange sense of humor tonight and instead of being right outside the springhouse, River stood before a dying fire in front of the strange woman's cabin. The flicker of the humble flames pushed everything else beyond into a shadowed vignette, warming just the two empty wooden chairs that sat around the pit. River squinted through the smoke towards the porch, finding the outlines of a door and window, but the cabin was dark inside. They glanced around once more before tapping the toe of their boot on the moss covered patio.

For the past hundred and twelve years, the cabin had been off-limits, fortified by hidden wards and River knew the burning boundary well. But the strange woman had tugged them over its line just hours before and while that was hardly an invitation as Vera had called it, it was enough to allow them to pass through then.

So River tapped their toe against the slate patio, waiting to feel the sharp singe of dark heat tear up their leg, but nothing happened. Easing their boot flat, they leaned forward over the invisible line and finally uprooted their back foot from the edge to fully step onto the patio. With a smug grin, they turned around, glancing down at the slate border then back up the woods towards the old hemlock 'cause Vera had been right.

As River turned towards the steps that led up to the strange woman's cabin, the glow of flames brightened behind them. And behind them, the woman called out.

"Look who's trespassing now."