Wyatt surveyed the dilapidated rose vines with distaste. He stood away from it, tapping his chin and wondering how on earth he was going to fix them.
He resembled a Parisian painter taking a step back from his canvas and realizing that he has forgotten to paint his subject's ears.
The roses were in bad condition. Wyatt was still unsure if he'd be able to revive them after the incident between him and Hal.
He'd spent his entire paycheck on fertilizer. He didn't know much about anything, but he'd been raised to have a keen sense to sniff out what were top-of-the-line products and what were not.
The fertilizer had certainly been top-of-the-line and Wyatt could only hope it did as much magic as the box promised.
Out of habit, he glanced through the greenhouse windows to see Hal's eerie blue light shining from his bedroom, as usual. And, as usual, no Hal.
Wyatt was hatching a plan to sneak up to his room one day when he was sure that Hal was gone. He thought back to all those notebooks and drawings scattered around his bedroom. It had to be Gwydyr, didn't it? It was too much of a coincidence that someone who had an obsession with a specific forest happened to live in its back yard when it grew overnight.
He wouldn't go tonight, though. But soon.
"This place sure is a dump," a voice said from the corner.
Wyatt tensed and spun around.
Silas lazed against a windowpane, absently looking out at the forest, then at Wyatt. The late afternoon sun glittered through his form like particles of dust through a shaft of light.
"What are you doing here?" Wyatt asked. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of a ghost being able to wander into his living quarters. Especially if that ghost was Silas.
"You get bored trying to remember things you've forgotten," Silas replied simply.
Wyatt found that he could not argue that. He bent down to pluck a few weeds from the soil of the rose bush and asked, "So what is it that you do remember? Has the forest helped at all?"
There was that angry stormcloud again, radiating off of Silas like a heatwave. Silas's jaw clenched--a sharp thing that looked both dangerous and unhealthy for his teeth. Then again, what was considered unhealthy for a ghost? Wyatt wondered if he even had to brush his teeth at all.
"I only remember hate," Silas said finally. Wyatt stopped tending the rose bush.
"I remember being happy," he added, then said, "once. Only the feeling of it. Nothing else attached. But now I just feel restless, like I'll never sleep until I find out why I'm here."
He kicked over a potted tomato plant with the toe of his too-big boot. Wyatt resisted the urge to scoff at such a careless act, thinking better of it and instead listening to the small tug of pity that yanked on his heart.
"Do you remember your life in the forest after you died, then?" Wyatt asked, trying to make lighter conversation and figuring there was no point in discussing things that couldn't be remembered. Or, perhaps, things that were best forgotten.
"Of course I do," Silas said, as if it were a silly question. "Except you can't really call it life. We just...exist."
"How long have you been there?"
"I dunno...twelve years or so."
Wyatt lifted his eyebrows. "Do you age in the forest, then?"
Silas sighed, already bored of the conversation. "Some do, some don't. I do. I was only six when..." His eyes sharpened with a sort of twisted amusement. "When I was killed."
There was a self-satisfactory challenge in his gaze, expecting Wyatt to flinch.
Wyatt did not flinch.
Silas's mouth quirked in irritation and he scuffed his boot through the dirt from the broken tomato pot. "So there you have it, Sweater Vest. Twelve years later, I look like an average seventeen-year-old. Except for the whole being dead thing."
"That does make circumstances considerably different."
Silas snorted a short laugh. "To put it lightly."
He stuck half of his body through the glass walls and muttered, "Anyway, I'm going to go terrorize a few hapless townspeople. Maybe set something on fire."
"Wait," Wyatt said, partly because he had another question, and partly because Wyatt did not want anything set on fire. "What happens if your memories don't come back? Will the forest stay?" Then, more darkly, "Will you?"
Silas snarled. "The forest didn't come here because of me in the first place. It came for a reason I can only guess at. So, if I don't remember, then it's a one way ticket on the nightmare train for old Silas."
He said it like some sort of joke. But there was deep cynicism in his voice--darkness, even, that told Wyatt that Gwydyr didn't do anyone any favors. Not even Silas.
But it told Wyatt something else, too. If Gwydyr wasn't on Silas's side, then maybe Silas was on theirs.
But then again, maybe there weren't sides at all.
~~~~~~~~
Birdie was changed, somehow, by the forest.
As she slept, her dreams weren't the jolted hallucinations of fever, but showed images of things she'd never seen before.
They passed through her mind like a movie reel, telling a story without words or interpretation. Birdie could only guess what they meant.
In her mind, she was still sitting in that tiny clearing in the center of Gwydyr, listening, listening, listening.
There was a stillness, as if she were free from gravity and simply existing in another space altogether.
The trees were speaking to her in a language she shouldn't have been able to understand. Their voices were like cool water flowing over her skin. How she wished she could stay forever.
Then she opened her eyes.
And like all dreams, the memories began to slip away as soon as consciousness was regained.
Birdie tried to close her eyes again, knowing that the dreams she'd had were important. Vital, maybe.
But they were gone, leaving only a whisper behind.
A whisper that said, Now is the winter.
What was that supposed to mean?
Birdie tried to gulp through her parched throat and stared up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.
Her body was exhausted and clammy, as if she'd just run a marathon in the morning dew.
She grasped for any recollection of her dreams again to no avail.
The door creaked open and Marigold popped her head through. Her eyes widened when she saw that Birdie was awake and she took a step inside, then backed out again.
"Mari--" Birdie croaked, but Marigold was gone.
She came back with Rose, who took up the room with enough hustle and bustle to make up three extra people.
"Oh, honey, you gave us a good scare," she said, already fluffing Birdie's pillows, filling her water glass, and popping two pills into her mouth.
But Birdie was watching Marigold.
She hung back, which was something Marigold rarely did, looking timid, which was an expression Marigold rarely wore.
"I'm alright Mama," Birdie said, and it was true. She'd had pneumonia when she was three and knew what it felt like to wake up from a fever. This felt nothing like that. She didn't feel sick at all--lightheaded and foggy, maybe, but not sick.
"Oh, I know," Rose said kindly, pausing for a moment to brush Birdie's hair away from her forehead. "You're a strong girl."
She grinned and placed a tray of biscuits and peaches on the bed. "Well, strong-headed, anyway," she continued with a wink. "Try to eat something. I'll be back in a jiffy."
She kissed Birdie's forehead and gently closed the door behind her.
Marigold watched Birdie like she was some sort of ghost. Then tears filled her eyes and she flung her arms around her.
Birdie stiffened. Who was this girl and what had she done with Marigold?
"I'm sorry," Marigold muttered into her hair. "I was so worried about you. I didn't realize it would take so much energy, we should've been more careful, I--"
"What happened in the forest?" Birdie asked, holding Marigold at arm's length. "I don't remember anything."
Marigold shrugged a shoulder, dashing away the few tears that had escaped. "Nothing, really. It took almost all of our energy and knocked us unconscious. Wyatt and Silas found us and we left the forest. None of us have been back since."
Birdie gawked at her. "Anything else?"
"Besides there being a forest instead of a clearing, everything's...normal." Marigold tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. "I dunno, I kinda expected..."
"Something," Birdie finished, sinking back onto her pillows with a baffled expression. "What about Silas? Has he gotten his memory back?"
Marigold shook her head. "No. He's still the same."
"Nothing's changed," Birdie mused. "It's almost as if..." her voice trailed off as she collected her thoughts. "Has anything happened at all?"
."Wyatt's been keeping an eye on it. He says there's been no activity."
How could that possibly be? If the forest wanted to be summoned, why did it remain dormant? Birdie stared at Marigold as a fragment of one of her dreams came back to her. It was only a piece, or rather, a shred of memory.
Eyes, buried in the bark of a tree, opening and closing.
And then it came to her.
"Marigold," Birdie said quietly, "I think we need to wake it up."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Heyyyyy guys! I just had a Harry Potter party and am munching on golden snitch cake pops that I made...life is good XD
~What'd you think of the chapter?
~How will they wake up Gwydyr?
Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to comment, vote, and share!