Winterwood

“You’re both assholes,” Suzy says, her gaze flicking from Jasper to Rhett.

I wipe at my forehead, smearing away the gritty layer of ash sticking to my skin. Maybe I was wrong to follow the moth. Maybe it’s only leading me toward death. Into the fire. But my eyes catch on the line of hemlocks, parted by a row of pine trees. The ground slopes down where the trees come together: a ravine. A familiar shape in the ground.

I bolt away from the group—before Jasper can reach out for me—and I run down the row of pines. I only go a few more strides when I know it’s the right way.

Ahead of me is a break in the trees.

I sprint to the edge of the forest, my heart hammering, eyes weeping from the smoke. I slow once I reach the boundary—pausing to look back. Suzy catches up to me first. Her eyelids blink mutely, out of breath, and I think she’s going to say something, but she can’t find the words, so she steps past the threshold and out into the open. Free from the Wicker Woods.

Lin is next, and he jogs straight past me, his gaze meeting mine quickly before he ducks through the row of trees.

I don’t see Rhett and Jasper, only a wall of smoke and flames reaching up into the sky, spirals of fire licking from the tops of trees, trying to burn the stars. But maybe Rhett and Jasper deserve to die in here, to meet their end. Penance for everything they’ve done.

But then they come into view, breaking through the smoke.

Rhett is stumbling, coughing, and Jasper looks no better.

Then something happens.

I see Jasper trip. He staggers a moment—as if struggling against something—then falls forward, landing hard on his side, a stunned gasp escaping his lips.

I move away from the edge of the trees—unsure what’s just happened—but then I see, he didn’t trip. He was pulled down.

Something has woven its way around his foot—the ground moving beneath him.

“What the fuck?” Rhett asks, now standing beside me. But Jasper is strangely silent, his hands clawing at the charred soil—in shock.

A root is wrapped around his ankle, and it’s drawing him back into the woods.

I hesitate, the boundary of the forest so close—only a foot away. I know I shouldn’t care, I should just flee with the others and leave Jasper behind. But I can’t. I can’t see the terror in his eyes and walk away.

I can’t let Jasper die in here, like this.

I scramble forward and drop to my knees, grabbing Jasper’s arms. The tree root has spiraled tightly around his left ankle and is tugging him back, retreating into the soil. His hands grasp at the forest floor, at twigs and moss, nothing that will help him. His eyes wide.

“Rhett!” I call behind me. “Come help me!”

But Rhett doesn’t move. He’s standing at the edge of the forest, his expression slack.

“I can’t pull him up by myself.” Still, Rhett refuses to react.

I dig my feet into the ground, bracing myself, and pull back on Jasper’s arms. But the roots are too strong, his legs sinking into the soft, ashy ground. “Shit,” he starts saying, over and over in disbelief.

Even for everything he’s done, I don’t want to see him die out here. Not like this.

“You have to help me!” I shout back to Rhett, but it’s useless, whether out of fear or stupidity, he won’t move from his place beside the boundary trees, so close to freedom. He watches as his friend is being pulled under.

“You have to empty your pockets!” I yell to Jasper. “Whatever you took from the forest, you have to give it back.”

His eyes stall on mine, then he releases one hand from my grip, reaching around to his coat pocket. Clumsily, he pulls out whatever is inside, scattering the items across the forest floor. Silver buttons, a hair barrette that looks like it’s made of white pearl, the belt buckle tarnished and covered in dirt.

And then I see it.

A single thing among the others.

Metal glinting up at me. A gold band, a stone at the center.

It can’t be.

I want to reach out for it, but I can’t release my hold on Jasper. I squint, bending forward, and then I know for sure: The moonstone glimmers a pale milky white, even in the darkness.

My grandmother’s ring.

The one that fell into the lake when I broke through the ice. An offering to the forest, just like Mr. Perkins had said.

Jasper found it on the forest floor, among the dirt and rot and patches of snow, inside the Wicker Woods. Returned.

Lost things found.

My head throbs and I look away from it, back to Jasper.

But it’s already too late—he’s up to his waist, twisting, thrashing. The nose on his stupid reindeer sweater is already beneath the soil, patches of snow filling in around him. The forest is swallowing him up.

I’m not strong enough, and I meet his eyes, blinking wide—panic in them. The forest doesn’t want us to leave.