20. || early morning breeze.

As she awoke in River's bed, Finley almost forgot she was dead. Or undead. Or whatever the hell she was or wasn't in these woods. Curled against her stomach laid the white lynx, filling the space where River had remained last night til she fell asleep and then longer still. The day had already dawned before their warmth left her.

Cracked ajar, the paneled window above the bed let in the songs of morning; from the low babble of the brook to the high trill of the woodland wrens, and then somewhere in between, River plucked out the melody of Early Morning Breeze, singing softly to themself.

Finley slipped away from the lynx so as not to disturb him and gathered up the black and blue checkered throw at the foot of the bed. Draping it over her shoulders, she hugged it to her waist to cover her bare legs and walked down the hall towards the kitchen to steal a listen through the screen door.

Morning had brought with it the first soft frost of the season, but River didn't seem to mind the chill. Like yesterday, they wore a henley tucked into dark trousers and a pair of suspenders over their shoulders. They sat on a hand-crafted wooden bench with their back against the cabin, eyes towards the dirt road, and fingers gliding deftly over the strings of the vintage mandolin. Their voice was somehow both raspy and velvet smooth as it clung to a note that seemed far more forlorn than Dolly had originally written it. For a moment, a hush fell over the woods.

Until the lynx butted through the screen door and it slammed shut before Finley could catch it.

"Good morning, Boots." As River looked up from the mandolin, their lips pressed to a smile, but it didn't quite reach their eyes like normal.

Fumbling with the door latch, she stepped out onto the porch. "Good morning. I uh, didn't mean to creep up on you. Again."

River scooted over and patted the bench. "I could feel ya lurkin'. Heard ya creepin."

"Oh." Apparently, stealth didn't just come naturally to ghosts as she'd hoped. She gathered up the trailing blanket and took a seat next to them.

"You've got a particular walk. Reminds me of a fawn. Walkin' light on that foot puts more pressure on the othern." They mimicked the sound of her uneven gait with their fingertips against the mandolin. "That bullet musta tore your bones to shivers, huh?"

Finley nodded, crossing her legs to raise her foot. "I didn't exactly get to a hospital right away." River raised a brow and hummed with interest, but didn't pry, just waited with open ears. For the first time, it actually felt good to tell someone. So she did. "I spent a day limping and crawling towards a voice in my head til I found Buckmouse all tangled in the fencing, covered in worms and flies. After a couple days of stagnate crick water and fever dreams, I got the bright idea to use those worms to eat the infection."

"Probably saved your life." River leaned over and took her foot in their hands to look at both sides of it where the bullet had went clean through. "You're smart, Boots. A survivor."

"I dunno about that." Pulling her leg back, she tucked her knees up to her chest and River started plucking out another tune. From the branches above the porch, a pair of chickadees flew down to a pool in the crick, chirping away as they splashed and preened their feathers together. "Do you sing with the birds every morning?"

River laughed and ran a hand along the back of their neck. Color rose to their cheeks as they looked back down at the mandolin. "I figure if I gotta hear them chirpin', they oughta hear mine too."

"I read once that birds sing at the crack of dawn to let their mate know they survived through the night." As Finley glanced over, River's fingers slowed on the strings, but they didn't look up. "Are you singing for someone, River?"

"Oh ya know, just tryin' to get the strange, cursed woman with no name outta my bed." River's lips curled to a genuine smile this time as Finley nudged their thigh with her toe. "By no means am I complainin', I just didn't want her snorin' through breakfast."

And breakfast consisted of fried corn mush and eggs and sausage, all drizzled with a smoked maple syrup that River had jarred last spring. Everything on the table, from the fresh goat milk down to the salt, had been sourced from their property or borrowed from nearby and Finley started to fully realize just how self-sufficient they actually were. If she was gonna be stuck here a while without a penny to her name, she'd have to start taking notes. River seemed more than willing to keep her fed, but she'd eventually need her own stuff. And dead or not, that meant money.

After finishing the dishes, they walked out to the backyard where River showed her the remnants of their summer garden, the greenhouse, and a pair of friendly brown goats. They let the chickens out to roam and Finley kept her promise to the new girl, sharing the last of the hawthorn blossoms she'd picked the day before. Thick patches of zinnias and dahlias the size of dinnerplates painted the edge of the woods in blushes and creams. Drawn to their pastels, she couldn't help but touch their petals as she waded into their foliage.

The scent of pine slipped past the floral notes that surrounded her, washing over her shoulder as River reached from behind, cupping a dahlia between their fingers. "If there's one thing I've learned in my hundred years, one thing that's stayed constant, is that women love flowers." They flicked the blade of their knife open and cut the thick stem. "And when you've got nothin' but time, they make a nice hobby."

"Flowers?" Finley asked, keeping her back to them to hide her smirk. "Or women?"

"You're bein' smart," River's lips brushed against her ear as they handed her the cut flower, "but if ya need help gettin' a bud to bloom, let me know."

"It's uh, been a while since anything's bloomed in my garden," Finley laughed. "At least, no buds of my own. Just invasive species that have soured the soil. And now everything's dead. It never even had a chance to bloom."

"We uh, still talkin' posies?" River gently tugged on her arm, turning her around to face them. "Just 'cause they die back in the fall, don't mean they're dead, dead. Their roots are just storin' up energy for the next bloomin' season."

And maybe that's what this was. She was just storing up energy now to use in the next life when she earned her soul back.

"Can I pick more?"

"You'd better. Another frost like last night and they'll be nothin' but a pile of soggy black gobs by morning." Pinching the blade of their knife, they handed it to her. "Cut whatever ya like. I'm gonna get some logs split for ya." River took a few steps towards the barn, but spun back around. "Just mind that blade. Blaire nearly lost the tip of her thumb cuttin' limes a while back."

They disappeared into the barn, but reemerged a second later with a long handled axe, spinning it around like a toy as they walked up to the chopping block just beyond the flowers' border.

"River? Can I ask you a personal question?"

"What is it, Boots?"

"I should've asked sooner, but yesterday, Blaire—"

"Oh," they chuckled, loading up a log on the block. "Blaire and I had a good run, but she got tired of havin' to drive up this god-forsaken mountain to come see me every day. 'Specially got tough when her mama got sick with the scourge. Junked up her lungs somethin' awful and she's still havin' to tend to her." With an effortless swing, the axe cut through the wood like a slab of butter. "So it's been over between us for some time now."

"That's not—why didn't you just split the trips?" Finley altered her question. "Your jeep drives just fine, why not meet her in town?"

A half-hearted laugh left their lips as they loaded up the next log. "Blaire loves bein' round people after growin' up isolated on this mountain. But I ain't too keen on the townsfolk. Too many pryin' eyes. I leave the mountain once a month at dusk for anything I may need. Buy everything in bulk. Home before dawn." Another swing split the wood clean in two. They kicked the pieces off to the side and grabbed the next.

"I don't blame you. As alone as I've been, I've missed this quiet solitude. Regardless of demon trees and witch's jars and an undead Not Deer named Buckmouse, this is home." Finley cut another dahlia and laid it with the other. "Anyway, I wasn't actually asking about Blaire, not directly at least. But yesterday, she used 'she' when she was talking about you..."

River looked up from the chopping block and wiped a bead of sweat from their wrinkled brow with their sleeve.

"And then Béla used 'he' as did Jedidiah, I guess I was just wondering if you had a preference for one or the other?" Finley asked trepidly, but River was quiet. "Or neither?" She continued cutting more stems, a little less choosy now. "I've been using 'they' for you in my head whenever I'm thinking about you 'cause I wasn't sure. What you preferred, I mean. I should've just asked earlier. Or maybe not at all."

Sinking the blade of the axe into the block, they crossed their arms and leaned onto its handle. The neckline of their thermal shirt hung open and that strange bone pendant hung from the buckskin cord around their neck. "So you've been thinkin' 'bout me?"

Finley laughed nervously as she ran her fingers through the petals. "It's kinda hard not to think about you, River."

"Well, no one's ever asked me before. People tend to make their own decisions to define ya, despite how ya see yourself." River leaned against the axe, staring past Finley into the trees. "I was just a wee girl when Vera brought me up this mountain. But these woods have a way of whittlin' you down over the years. Fact ain't always the truth. Suppose that applies to me too." Looking down at their hands, they chuckled. "That jagoff Jedidiah thinks I'm a man 'cause that was easier for him to believe than realizing he caught his step-daughter kissin' another woman twenty years ago."

River shook their head and pushed up their sleeves.

"Man. Woman. Those words never sat right with me neither. I'm just me. But they..." River explored the word on their own tongue, "I kinda like that." Wriggling the axe free from the block, they loaded up another log. "You probably won't be stickin' round long enough for this mountain to carve ya down, but breakin' that family curse for yourself, that'll get ya to your truth."

"Actually, I might be looking to stay." Not that she had much of a choice right now being dead, but when she earned her soul back, she was gonna live life the way she wanted. And this was where she wanted to be. "But I have another favor to ask."

River's face filled with a surprised curiosity as they looked up from the pile of logs. "I sure hope we're stayin' above ground for this one."

"Do you think you could run me up to Busty's this evening?"

"Ya need a lap dance on the Lord's day?" River chuckled and spun the head of the axe in their palm.

"Shit, is it Sunday already?"

"Afraid so. Won't be open til—"

"Thursday, then? Will you drive me?"

The smile faded some from River's face as they looked back down at the block. "Don't think I can."

"C'mon, I'll buy you a lap dance. If Cedie's still working, you'll love—"

"Everyone loves Mercedes." River swung down heavier than the last couple times, but didn't say anything more.

"Is that why you feel so familiar? Were you one of our regulars?"

A smirk snuck up the corner of their mouth. "I may have frequented the gentlemen's club on the occasional blue moon. But a regular, not hardly."

As River kicked the pieces over to the pile, Finley tried to place their smoldering dark eyes in the club, but that didn't feel right. "I need to make some fast cash if I'm gonna stick around, River. I don't know how else to do that out here other than sex work. And if I'm being honest, I miss dancing. It was the one time I actually felt in full control of my life so I hope this isn't you trying to protect me from making a bad decision 'cause you think I'm in some feeble state."

"Boots, I never said I wouldn't take ya, just that I can't. But I can give ya a quick n' dirty drivin' lesson and then ya can use the jeep for any runnin' ya need to do. It ain't hard, ya just gotta sweet talk her a little bit to get her started. Trust, I'd love nothin' more to see ya dance, I just can't get ya there."

Where Finley had expected some kinda anger response, River instead gave her kindness and sincerity. They showed no signs of violence brewing, no manipulation in their words. It was a difficult concept to process after the last seven years. "I'm sorry, River. It's hard not to project shame when it's all I've known recently."

"Ya don't gotta apologize. And there's nothin' ya need to feel ashamed about either. We all sell our bodies to someone or somethin' one way or another. That's just capitalism, ain't it?" River laughed softly as they loaded up the last log. "Hell, I sold my body and soul to this damn mountain a hundred-some years ago and all I got was lousy longevity and a nebby Ghost Cat."

"Your soul?" Finley echoed, starting to put River's pieces together. "You not leaving the mountain isn't really about the people in town, is it? You can't leave the mountain. You're trapped here." Her attention sharpened to River's body language as their knuckles curled around the handle of the axe and they tipped their head with that handsome devilish grin. "You are dead, aren't you?"

Swinging harder than the last couple blows, River splintered the log into tiny slivers of kindling and left the head of the axe in the block. With a smirk, they slowly walked back over to Finley and her pile of flowers. Sweat glistened gold on their skin where their shirt hung open and they ran a hand through their hair, heaping it off to the side. Taking her hand that held the knife, they carefully closed its blade and pocketed it, then pressed her palm to their chest. A strong and steady thump, thump, thump matched the beat of her own heart. "I told ya, I ain't dead."

Finley kept her hand to their skin, letting each pulse reverberate through herself.

"Béla had a heartbeat too," she whispered. "And he didn't know he was dead."

"You are relentless, Boots. But I'm really startin' to love that about ya." River let go of her hand, but she kept it to their chest, watching to see if the red garnet would glow like it had with Béla. "It ain't just the dead trapped here, it's all the supernatural that this mountain's spawned. Unfortunately, my own self included."

Lowering her hand, she tucked it back around her side. "And demons?"

River's teeth grazed their lip in slight hesitation. "Yeah."

"But the dead have to die within the mountain's boundary, right?" Her mind took her away from what River was or wasn't and started considering something she hadn't wanted to think about. "You must know where those lines are."

"That's actually what your grandpappy and I were mappin' out some years back when he was workin' on the dam. He was tryin' to help me break the curse. Why?"

"Is the dam within the boundary?"

"Good bit of it, but Emery and I scoured up and down the damn dam with your grandma's garnet looking for a talisman. We didn't get so much as a twinkle from the cursed ring."

"That's a good idea. We'll kill two birds with one stone." Gathering up her flowers, Finley started heading back towards the cabin. "Is your rock-climbing gear still in the jeep?"

River picked up a stray dahlia and hurried to catch up. "Are you gonna tell me what we're doin? Where we goin'?"

"Devil's Elbow," she answered over her shoulder. "I think I killed someone, River. And I need to know where they ended up."