The ground was still soggy from the rain, making the trek through the untouched woods harder than it should have been. My feet were soiled with mud and each step brought the squirming of muck between my toes. I had tied the jacket around my waist when the humidity became unbearable. My pits were soaked, and I regretted ever stepping foot out of air conditioning.
I could see the clearing a hundred yards ahead and used the last bit of willpower to pick up my pace. I didn't want to face a nature witch in the forest after dark.
There was no sign of life as I approached a small structure, but it was obvious someone lived here. Tree roots braided together to create a living home, an opening at the front serving as a door. There was a small pit where the remains of fire curled in the air, the whisps dancing like they had no care in the world.
I slipped the end of my hair pinout, the three-inch knife was not much but familiar in my hand. I had been foolish to leave without a real weapon and might end up paying the price for my naïve action. I was relying on the element of surprise. Anything else would have spelled death.
The woods held still here, with no birds or animals prowling around. It was strange; most witches attracted wildlife. The lack of noise buzzed in my ear, unnerving.
I circled the house, listening, but I couldn't tell if someone was inside. If I was going in blind, so be it. The owner had answers that I needed.
I stayed low, peaking into the room. It wasn't large, a small bed with knickknacks shoved under it and a long shelf made of roots that looked to be a workbench. The light of a single candle reflected off the face of a young woman, her long red hair snarled and held back with vines and twigs, though it was hard to tell if it was intentional.
She bent over the workbench, an open book next to her as she ground something in a mixing bowl. The girl didn't look dangerous. She was shorter than me with a loose shirt over a pair of dirty, torn pants. As she shifted, it became apparent that the brown socks on her feet were not socks at all, but dirt.
I shuffled into the hut, my shadow flitting over the ground as I slunk into the shadows. Though hard to read, the book revealed a simple enough spell. Growth. Nothing here looked suspicious, but there was an infinite number of hiding spots in the woods. Every tree could hide a person, each bush a trap.
"Stay where you are." When I spoke, the girl jumped, her hands raised in the air as she looked at me. "I won't hurt you. I just want to ask you some questions. Do you understand?"
The girl nodded and I moved closer, looking past her shoulder at the shelves over the workbench. There were so many glasses and jars, and I noticed the shine of a fine silver cap in the back. It wasn't even hidden.
I reached across the girl, feeling her shake. My fingers closed around the bottle, clear with crusted red flakes around the bottom. I popped the lid off, taking a low whiff. The stiff smell of iron with a sweet tinge: gorgon blood. It was the same smell that infected the room as Aunt Bea helped Nick.
"What did you do with this?" I asked. She was on her home turf but she didn't seem to remember that now. "Did you give this to someone? Did you use it?"
The girl just stared at the wall, her shoulders trembling. "I don't know," she whispered.
"Turn around and look then." I held the vial so the light would hit it.
The girl slowly turned. Her eyes trailed on the floor, but they managed to flicker to the empty vial of blood in my hand. "That's not mine."
"Who's is it then?" My fingers tightened around it. "Someone poisoned my friend with gorgon blood, something so rare it was thought to no longer exists, and you have it. Care to explain?"
"That's not mine," she whimpered. "I don't know where it came from."
She seemed sincere. Her actions weren't that of a killer unless she wanted me to let my guard down. "Look at me," I ordered.
Amber eyes met mine and widened. The girl was pretty if caked in a fine layer of dirt. She had a high brow and laugh lines that gave her an innocent look. Apparently, that was wrong.
"Thorn." The word slipped from her mouth as she stared, eyes welling with tears as her jaw tightened.
The vial shattered on the ground.
"What did you say?" My voice shook as I took a shaky step away. "How do you know that name?"
"You look just like her." The tears now flowed freely. "I haven't seen you in years."
"How do you know that name?" I asked again. My stomach rolled, and the sick taste of bile rose in the back of my throat.
The girl pulled at a leather strap around her neck, something I hadn't noticed before. A silver pendant hung from it: a rose with exaggerated thorns.
The needle dagger, bearing the same design, suddenly felt heavy in my hand. "How did you get that."
"Rose gave it to me on my birthday, the same day she told me you were coming. Her little thorn." Another round of tears.
"My name is Alexis." I hesitated. Why was I talking to this woman, feeding her meltdown? I needed answers. "Who are you?"
"I never knew you as Alexis. Thorn was always our inside joke. Her pain in the side."
"I know." The words were a bitter reminder. I had read those words from the woman herself; in the hidden boxes of her stuff when my young hands had pulled out her diary. Her slanted handwriting was imprinted in my mind.
My little thorn in the side. You will be so lovely, lovelier than the rose. Just like a thorn, you will be underappreciated but so very important. I hope you can learn that not to be a rose like me but satisfied with being a thorn.
That was the closest I had ever been to her, and here was a woman claiming to know her. It was unbelievable.
"You knew my mother?" I tested. "How?"
"She taught me. I was her pupil." The girl smiled, her eyes far off. "I was her friend."
"My mother did not have a pupil. She died before she had the chance to teach anyone."
"I didn't stay long. We were friends first. I like the woods too much." The girl rocked. "Your hairpin, that was a gift to her from me."
I looked down at the knife clutched in my bone-white hand. It was impossible. Someone would have told me if my mother had a pupil. This girl must have had an impact on my mother if she knew the name my mother called me before settling on Alexis.
"What is your name?"
"Cypress. I'm sorry I never came to meet you." Her amber gaze dropped. "I couldn't, not after she died."
"I never knew you existed," I admitted. "Now is not the time though. I need to know where that" —I pointed to the shattered glass— "came from. It shouldn't be possible."
"No," Cypress agreed. "It shouldn't. I haven't seen gorgon blood in years."
"You've seen it before, yet you claim you don't know how it could be here?" Just because she was close to my mother once didn't mean she was innocent.
"Your mother, it's what killed her." Her amber eyes were sad as though she pitied me. "Did no one tell you? They thought she did it to herself, I never believed them."
"No," I admitted. "But you were there then, and you're here now, and the gorgon blood connects you. How do I know you aren't the one who poisoned my mother and my friend?"
"I don't know what to tell you, but it wasn't me."
It wasn't a very convincing answer. Yet, she did seem as confused as me. Plus, I would have noticed her in the crowd. Her hair alone stood out.
"Is it possible someone put it here?" The question felt right. Something in my gut told me to trust her, foolish as it might have seemed. "Have you seen anyone around here?"
"No, but the woods have been quiet. The animals aren't here, and the trees have been quiet too."
"I noticed. Could you ask the forest if they know anything?"
Cypress cocked her head. "You can't..." It wasn't a question. "Your mother saw that coming, I suppose. She did hope you would take after her, and I suppose you have her face."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh," Cypress waved, an alarmed look taking over. For an instant, she went back to the fretting girl from earlier. "I wasn't supposed to say anything."
"Anything about what?"
"If you were able to talk to them, you'd know it's quiet here. I was right." She clapped her hands. "You are like your dad."
"You knew my dad?" The tiny ray of hope I had long abandoned grew brighter. I needed answers. No one at home knew who he was, but this scatterbrained girl did.
Her mouth gaped like a fish. "I wasn't supposed to say anything. Oh, Rose would be so mad."
"What do you know?" I demanded. "My mother never told anyone who my father was. If you know, I'm begging you to tell me. Rose wouldn't want her daughter to live in the dark. Who is my father?"
Cypress rocked on her heels. "I'm not supposed to."
"Cypress," I hissed. "If you want me to believe you, be honest."
"Alright then. Tan Genson. He was killed before you were born. Rose was so sad."
I gulped. So I knew his name, but he was dead. "How did he die?"
"I think a robbery. Rose didn't talk about it."
I could always look into it later. I had a name, that was more than anyone else had given me. I knew now, I was half-human, and my father hadn't abandoned me.
"I need to know how this got here. Is there anything you can think of? Someone is plotting something in town, and I think they've played their hand. Whatever they're planning, the final move, it's coming soon."
"Is that why you asked me about the blood? You think the person who put it there is the one behind it?"
"Yes. But their actions make no sense to me. I should get back to my friends."
"Come visit me later? I'll stay here until you come back," Cypress promised. "Please, tell Beatrix I said hi, I liked her. You can come for tea."
"I will." I looked her up and down once more. "Stay safe and keep an eye out. The person who tried to frame you might come back."
Cypress watched as I left, waving until I disappeared behind the trees. She was a little peculiar, but it looked like she didn't interact with people often. If anyone else would have found her, they likely would have believed the scheme that had been cooked up. She was the perfect scapegoat. If she hadn't recognized me, our interaction might not have gone as peacefully as it had.
I had a personal stake in this now. The person behind the attacks was connected to my mom's murder. I believed Cypress. There was no way my mom would have killed herself. Her diary was happy, save for the death of her lover, and she seemed to focus on the good. I couldn't believe she would throw that away for such an agonizing death.
As I crept through the dark, an idea rolled around. I couldn't reach it yet, but my gut told me something was wrong. The blood—it was a distraction. If the person wanted to hurt people, the blood could have been used much more potently. It was meant to send us running, distract us, and it had worked thus far.
My head spun with Nick and Cypress and more questions than answers. My past was being dug up and I was hovering over the lid, unsure whether I wanted to see what was locked away. With the attacks and gorgons blood threatening my future and Cypress's words poking my past, I didn't know where I was going. It sent my heart to my stomach.