Page 58 of The Sister's Curse

Besides, I wanted to see if my camera had captured any activity here.

Gibby and I descended the trail into the ravine. Birdsong echoed around us, surrounding us in a stone aviary.

I walked on, down to the water. Cattails reached into the river where it curved around the oxbow from my dream. In the center island, birds’ nests had accumulated decades’ worth of debris. A sentry goose peered at me, but didn’t hiss. Maybe it sensed that I was also of the forest, and not a threat.

I frowned when I smelled fresh paint. I stood beneath the Hag Stone, seeing new graffiti painted on the ravine’s sandstone walls: the ouroboros, once more. In the rocks below it, beside a fallen tree, there was a scorch mark in the dirt. Like something had burned here. A circle was worn in the dirt around it, trodden by many pairs of feet. They had been bare, leaving no shoe tread marks. A few of the prints belonged to women.

I exhaled. Were these Viv’s witches? It was one thing to think the Wicked Witch of Bayern County was a lone woman. It was entirely different to imagine that there were more of them…many more.

I found my tree cam, popped out the SD card, and replaced it with a fresh one. I was excited at the prospect of catching something on camera that would bring me close to the shadowy rumors of witches. I wondered if I’d see Viv on the video, raging against the moon.

I descended to the riverbank and stood among the cattails. Mymother’s voice echoed in my head, the reverent way she’d uttered the word “Rusalka.” An incantation.

My father never said anything about a Rusalka to me. He had spoken of poisonous mushrooms and plants, certainly. But not of a woman lying at the bottom of dark waters, drowning children.

If there were such a creature…how could she move from a pond to a river, unless she had legs and was human? Jasper had searched the pond and found nothing. He’d found nothing in the river, too.

But Ross had described a goth-looking girl. Maybe…or maybe that was Dana…

I dipped my fingers into the cool water. It smelled like iron, and looked curiously sterile. No crawfish or tadpoles, or insects of any kind.

“Rusalka,” I whispered, “are you here?”

A breeze cast ripples on the water. No answer.

I looked east, listening to the breeze rattling in quaking aspen. Sun cascaded in a waterfall into this dark space.

I stilled, melting into the ground. Maybe it was a sort of trance, this sense of falling away from myself. My breath synchronized with the river’s lapping on the shore, and my pulse slowed. Sun heated my forehead and right cheek. As my muscles loosened, my spine and neck made dozens of tiny cracks and pops that sounded like the squirrel flinging acorns to the ground across the river.

A splash sounded to my left, and I turned to see a flash of scales before they receded into the water.Bluegill,I thought.Just bluegill.

But my trance was broken. Gibby went racing into the river, snapping at the fish.

I stood, calling him back. But Gibby searched for prey, splashing in the water.

I took my shoes off and waded out to retrieve him. I trod carefully; even though the river was slow, the rocks beneath my bare feet were sharp. I waded into water up to my knees, turned toward my dog…

…and saw a dead blue heron floating in the water, wings splayed. I reached toward it, seeing its dull feathers and milky eyes. I picked it up and turned it over, finding no wound. I cradled the bird in my arms and took it to shore.

I ordered Gibby to return to the bank. He sensed the sharp alarm in my tone, and obeyed.

I reached into my pocket for an unopened bottle of water. I dumped out the contents, then filled it with river water. I capped it and climbed out of the river, my toes squishing in the muddy bank.

Gibby regarded me with twitching eyebrows, a look of concern.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re a good boy.”

The tension in his stance dissipated, and he leaned against my leg. I patted his head and put on my shoes.

I held the bottle up to the sun. It was filthy. River water was always brown, full of debris. Maybe Nick could analyze this. Maybe he could find something to help Mason.

A tremendous splash echoed behind me.

I turned, seeing only ripples in the water.

Gibby’s fur stood up, and he growled.

“Hello?” I called.