At Woods Edge Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2018 by E.M. Fitch

  AT WOODS EDGE by E.M. Fitch

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-946700-74-2

  Mobi ISBN: 978-1-946700-75-9

  Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-946700-68-1

  Published by Month9Books, Raleigh, NC 27609

  Cover design by Ampersand Book Covers

  For my three little Red Caps—Adam, Matthew, and James—and my one faery princess, Caitlin.

  And whispering in their ears

  Give them unquiet dreams.

  —A Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats

  I do not know what haunts me,

  What saddened my mind all day;

  An age-old tale confounds me,

  A spell I cannot allay.

  —The Loreley by Heinrich Heine

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

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  He left the flowers on her doorstep again.

  Aidan enjoyed leaving them there, where he could watch Cassie find them. She wouldn’t be expecting the gift. Somehow, he kept catching her by surprise. He watched as she rounded the corner on her way home from her evening run, flushed with sweat, just like the night before. It was her new routine, running into the sunset. Her body was warm, her blood rushing. He could see the heat spiral from her skin in gentle swirls of steam.

  He wanted to touch her, to feel the warmth spread from her to him, to heat not just his fingertips but the whole of his soul. He knew her warmth; he’d felt it before, longed to experience it again.

  But not yet.

  She paused just before she got to her driveway, her attention lingering on the shell of a home Laney had left. It was a dark, joyless place. Aidan could understand why Laney had left it to join his brother in the forest. The rest of the homes on the street were starting their nightly routine, the inevitable change from bright daylight hours to the more subdued dusk. In every other home, lights flickered on, casting windows that had seemed dark and lifeless just moments before in warm splashes of orange. Children were called from the yards; garage doors were shut. The faint hums of music, televisions, and laughter floated from the otherwise tightly sealed houses. Life, it saturated the neighborhood in every home but the Blake residence.

  From his perch in a nearby tree, Aidan could see a wisp of smoke curling from the chimney of Cassie’s house. The large bay window that faced the street turned a soft yellow from the lamp that was lit beyond. He could hear the gentle murmuring of her parents, a quiet conversation that spoke of their concern for their daughter.

  He wished they wouldn’t talk like that; she was his concern now, not theirs.

  Cassie moved again, her legs shifting into the cadence of a slow jog. Her gaze drifted toward her stoop, and Aidan felt a tingle of excitement buzz in his chest. She’d see his gift in a moment.

  The flowers were a beautiful arrangement. The purple blossoms were fresh and luscious. The color would be pretty against her heated skin. He had worked hard to make them grow, spent hours coaxing them from the frozen ground. It wasn’t really their time yet, but he was determined to make it their time.

  He’d created a bark vase for the stems, a way to keep the blossoms fresh and beautiful, to mimic living things. He wanted them to be perfect, just for her.

  He could tell the moment Cassie saw the flowers. Every muscle in her body went rigid. She jerked to a stop in her driveway. A small twist of irritation coiled in his chest. She should be happy to see his gift. It annoyed him that she wasn’t.

  Not nearly as much as it annoyed him that she still pretended she couldn’t see him. That was her biggest fault. She had fooled Laney with her act, but not him. He saw her for who she was, the real her.

  But to ignore the generosity of his gifts? It was more than ungrateful, it was hurtful.

  He watched as she stooped to pick up the flowers, holding his creation gingerly. The muscles of his neck tightened as she glanced quickly toward the garbage can her father had recently dragged back from the curb. Aidan could see the tracks it had left in the residual slush and snow that still lined the street. Before she could move though, the front door opened.

  The mother stood there, beckoning Cassie into the warmth. She went, the flowers held low at her side.

  Aidan shifted in the trees, let them absorb him, melding as part of them when he moved, trunk to trunk, above and around the bramble. As fluid as a sea serpent moving through the weaving ocean, he didn’t stop until he was just outside her bedroom window, looking up at the blinds she had pulled closed.

  Someday he’d see her there, sleeping, her hair splayed about her pillow, his flowers resting beside her.

  The window opened, a patch of snow lit golden as light spilled from her bedroom. He saw nothing but her arm—a pale, snowy limb—and then a blur of purple from the bouquet she tossed from the window.

  It landed where the others before had landed, a collection of dead things, wasting away in bark vases that could no longer mimic the containment of life. The branch on which he had been resting his fingers cracked as his grip clenched into a fist. His eyes tightened but, inexplicably, a smile stretched his lips.

  “Soon,” he whispered, laughing lightly into the breeze. “Cassie Harris, you will be mine.”

  He left the flowers on the doorstep again.

  The terrifying image of the beautiful purple flowers hadn’t left Cassie’s mind all day. Her classes had blurred into one, she couldn’t even remember what she ate for lunch or if she handed in all her homework. Spirals of anxiety twisted in her chest, and she found herself searching the visible tree line from her classroom window, her gaze traveling down the secret pathways of the forest. They beckoned to her from her seat, taunting her to look. She tried not to, horrified at the thought that she might see Aidan standing there, waiting for her. She imagined him with a bouquet of flowers, an amused sneer twisting his lips.

  Cassie’s palms itched as she thought of him, as though she was holding the flowers in her hands again. She had intended to throw the most recent bouquet out before her parents could see them, but her mother had opened the front door before she could.

  “Again?” Cathy Harris had a
sked, nodding toward the bouquet held by her daughter’s side. Cassie had shrugged as she walked inside, avoiding the question. “And the vase, it’s like the last one. So unique.”

  The comment had earned a wry, uncomfortable grin from Cassie. When the fresh flowers in bark vases had first started arriving a few weeks ago, her parents had assumed they were from Ryan Buckner. The very first time it had happened, Cassie had assumed it was from her boyfriend, too. But Ryan had no idea what she was talking about when she thanked him. He had looked embarrassed about it actually wondering out loud if he was supposed to be getting her flowers. She waved him off, telling him not to worry about it and stumbling her way through a lie, telling him that it must have been a mistake, that maybe the florist had gotten the wrong address. She told him she didn’t even really like flowers and to not bother getting her any.

  Cassie was glad now that he listened to her. Aidan’s flowers—fragrant, beautiful, and rare—would outshine anything Ryan could pick up in the local florist shop. The blossoms varied each time, though the vases were always the same.

  Technically, Cassie wasn’t sure it was a vase. It wasn’t glass or ceramic, but a tightly woven gathering of bark lined internally with moss to keep in moisture. The stems were dewy and fresh, the flowers healthy and vibrant. Cassie had never seen a vase that could keep flowers looking so good for so long. Even in the snowy section of the backyard where Cassie tossed each bouquet, even there she could see the life fade disturbingly slow. No cut bouquet that Cassie had ever seen could last so long. These were different.

  “Whatever you’re doing to train that boy,” her mother had said, breaking into Cassie’s line of thought, “you’re doing it right.” Her mother’s gaze turned speculative with a touch of concern. Cassie couldn’t explain to her parents that it wasn’t Ryan. It was easier for Cathy and Patrick Harris to believe their daughter just had an overly attentive boyfriend, not a crazed, unexplainable stalker. Especially when that stalker was someone only Cassie could see or hear.

  Just a few months back, searching the forest from which her best friend had been stolen away, Aidan had walked right in front of her mother. He had strolled close enough to Cassie for her to feel his breath on the nape of her neck, but the police officers hadn’t seen him and her mother was unaware. No one knew of his existence. Except for Cassie.

  Cassie was jerked back into awareness when Stephanie Allen knocked into her. She stumbled forward a bit, her gaze still stuck to the roster hung on the bulletin board in front of her. The rest of the gym locker room had faded into a buzz of girlish chatter, lockers slamming, and toilets flushing.

  “So you can’t roll your eyes at us when we call you Captain now, eh Captain?” Stephanie nudged Cassie with her elbow.

  “Co-Captain,” Cassie corrected under her breath, her eyes tracing the letters printed on the top of the Varsity softball roster. They spelled out her name in black ink. Stephanie Allen laughed and thumped her back before striding toward the door that her twin, Sara, held open for her. Cassie glanced at them as they walked away, identical honey-brown ponytails swinging behind them. Her name, scrawled in their coach’s loopy handwriting pulled her attention. It was the only occurrence that day that distracted her from Aidan’s taunting gift.

  The locker room was crowded with half-dressed girls. Cassie had already changed, utilizing the separate back room reserved for seniors on the sports teams. It was a small room, only a few dozen lockers, but they were larger than the standard issued gym locker, useful for the catcher’s equipment Cassie always had to lug around.

  The bag she had strung over her shoulder slipped, her gear crashing to the ground. Cassie didn’t bother to pick it up right away. It didn’t shock her that she was listed on the Varsity team, she had been for the last three years. But she honestly didn’t believe Coach Kelly would nominate her Captain. Co-Captain. Rebecca’s name was listed next to Cassie’s.

  “Can you believe she did that?” Rebecca asked, sidling up to Cassie and resting against her shoulder. Cassie shook her head numbly in response.

  She wondered, the thought passing first as just an errant flash and then taking root and invading: could she give it back? Was that even possible? What then, would Rebecca be stuck alone? She snuck a look over at the small brunette next to her. Rebecca’s hair was still pulled back from practice, though sloppily. Curled tendrils hung past her chin. She just barely held back a grin.

  “What do you think she’d do if we both refused?” Rebecca asked.

  Cassie laughed, not entirely surprised to find her friend’s thoughts aligned with her own. She bent to pick up her bag. It sagged on her shoulder. The heft of the gear inside—shin guards, chest protector, and mask—weighed the duffle bag down.

  “Maybe she could bump Lara up,” Cassie said, only half-serious.

  A loud swear echoed from the locker room behind them. Cassie and Rebecca both turned to watch Lara Mitchell slam her locker shut and then kick it with her foot. It wasn’t atypical behavior from Lara; the third baseman had a notorious temper that landed her in detention weekly. She also knew more curse words than anyone Cassie had ever met. That included Cassie’s own mother, who, as an emergency room nurse, had heard more than a few. Rebecca caught Cassie’s eye and burst out laughing. The only other senior on the team was Lindsey Crofton, and Cassie knew she would be missing a week of school and softball when her parents took her college shopping on the west coast. Coach Kelly was seriously pissed about it, too.

  Cassie knew she should have been expecting it. Before the horrible events at the beginning of the year, it had been a competition, if Cassie was honest, between her and Jessica Evans. Both girls were bright and dedicated with even tempers. Though Jessica may have indulged a bit in her wild ways, she really was a leader. She would have made the perfect Captain, better than Cassie, because her enthusiasm was so contagious. She knew how to pump her teammates up, how to call them out when they were sucking, how to rally them when they were down. But Jessica was dead, and Cassie and Rebecca had been thrown into the ring. She supposed they’d have to figure it out together.

  “Is Ryan picking you up?” Rebecca asked, holding the door open for Cassie to pass from the steamy locker room into the cool air of the hall. Cassie nodded. Lindsey Crofton and Maggie Fallon shot past them, jostling them both as they burst into the hall.

  “Sorry, Captains!” Maggie yelled over her shoulder. “We are so late!”

  Cassie and Rebecca waved them off, watching the two girls sprint down the hall and out toward the parking lot. Cassie felt tension coil in the muscles of her neck, noting it would take some time before she really got used to being called Captain.

  “Need a ride?” Cassie asked Rebecca. “Ryan won’t mind.” The halls were relatively empty, just a few remaining athletes and a couple after-school stragglers.

  “Nah, Mom’s coming early to get me. Heading out this weekend, you know, last fling before we’re stuck in practices until the end of the school year.”

  Cassie nodded again, shifting the strap to her bag higher on her shoulder. Rebecca’s family often went away on the weekends.

  It would be nice to have the consistency of softball again, a commitment that would fill the holes in her day. Winter had been filled with college applications, something Cassie had been understandably neglectful of in the beginning of the year, but the hours were lonely and cold.

  And watchful.

  It had been vague, nothing easy to pinpoint, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, didn’t need the bouquets to confirm it. Even though she couldn’t see the bright blue eyes, she knew Aidan was watching her.

  The softball season would be refreshing in many ways, an excuse to be outside, the forced companionship of eight other girls, the constant adult supervision. Cassie hated to admit she was looking forward to Coach Kelly being all over every one of her moves, but she was glad she would be. She didn’t miss much of anything. It used to set Cassie on edge, now it felt surpr
isingly comforting. Coach Kelly lived in town and was as much an institution as the bridge that got painted after every won game, the Gray Lady cemetery, or the yearly carnival.

  The strap to Cassie’s bag dug into her shoulder. She turned in the hall, swinging it higher to adjust it. She was just asking Rebecca where her parents were taking her for the weekend when she collided with a blur of black. Pencils, charcoals, and brushes cascaded from between the two bodies and scattered all over the floor.

  “Oh man, I am so sorry,” Cassie muttered, dropping her bag and stooping to help Alexis Winalski. The junior girl, whom everyone called Lexi, moved to her knees, her eyes lowered, the muscle in her jaw working in agitation as she pulled her art supplies closer. Cassie offered a handful of dusty charcoal, and the girl accepted it with a wry grimace.

  “Pretty klutzy for a Captain,” Rebecca teased, handing a sketchbook to Lexi.

  “Think that’ll get me out of it?” Cassie joked. “Seriously though, Lexi, my bad.”

  The younger girl dumped her belongings back in the black satchel she had strung across her chest. “It’s all right. I wasn’t watching.”

  “Working on something new?” Rebecca asked, offering a hand up. Lexi took it, coming to a stand and frowning at the blotch on the open page in her sketchbook.

  “Ami and I are,” she answered, not catching their eye. Ami Henderson, a senior, was an amazing artist whom Cassie had always admired. She had watched her make figures appear out of smudges of paint in ways that seemed almost magical, and well beyond any of the rudimentary finger painting Cassie had attempted.

  “A big project?” Cassie asked, searching the empty corridor for errant pens. One of the brushes had ended up wedged against the wall. She moved to grab it.

  As she straightened up, handing it over to Lexi, the younger girl answered.

  “Sorta, I guess.”

  “Like a mural?” Rebecca asked.

  Before Lexi could answer, Cassie saw Ryan’s car pull up to the school through the front window. She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed as she called out a quick goodbye and ran toward the exit.