Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

18

In the taxi, Thomas sat between us, mute and physically unresponsive. His high cheekbones and square jaw presented a perfect profile. Long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks when he blinked. Each time it was more of a struggle for him to open his eyes.

Thomas was usually so sharp in mind and movement that when I looked at him with his head lowered and his eyes focused unerringly on Anne, he seemed like another person. I shuddered as I considered his cold, inanimate form.

"He will be ok, won't he?"

"Yeah, but I think we should discuss this at home, don't you?"

Anne looked pointedly at the taxi driver. Luckily we were nearly there. I paid the driver as Anne walked Thomas up to the gate. She muttered something to herself again before she entered and led Thomas inside.

The halo of golden light that I'd first noticed in the office was a constant feature now. The glow was dull, but it surrounded Anne entirely, growing more focused at the point that her skin touched Thomas. That was definitely no trick of the light.

As we passed the old oak tree, its own radiance brightened. Wisp like tentacles reached out, stretching forward to merge with Anne's soft golden haze. The glowing bands were made up of thousands of bright dots that swirled and weaved in a dance of light and beauty. The golden particles that surrounded Anne began to drift towards the many arms of the tree beckoning them forth enticingly.

Distracted by the light show, it took a moment for the deep gloom that radiated from the tree to penetrate my mind. But as soon as it had, there was no mistaking the throbs of dark unease that reverberated deep within me. Just like the silver tree. But was it a threat, or a warning?

Either way, it was nothing good. Jerking Anne back, I tried to keep the miasma from engulfing her form. She tripped, the fall breaking her connection with Thomas.

Everything slowed, seconds feeling like minutes as Thomas straightened up. He stood stock still for what seemed like an age, before his head slowly turned to Anne. His eyes honed in on her with cold, hungry beams of bright crimson. The angles of his face sharpened.

Terror thrilled through me as I stood mesmerised by the cruel, hard smirk that lifted his lips. A flash of bright white teeth caught the light of the moon.

I stumbled backwards, ready to run, when his face smoothed back into a passive, relaxed state. Anne had righted herself, and re-established contact.

"Did you see? What's wrong with him?"

"What the hell, Alice. Why did you push me?"

"What? The tree," I looked back at the huge old tree. The moon had drifted behind a dense black cloud. In the dark the glow had all but disappeared. The tendrils of mist that had looked so threatening as they reached for Anne had dissipated into the air.

"But, Thomas..." I tried to explain, feeling stupid as I gestured to his quiet, unmoving figure. "His eyes, they changed..."

"Get a grip, Alice. There's nothing wrong. I know what I'm doing, alright?"

Sparks of anger pinged in my head, igniting long forgotten childhood memories. My mother telling me stories of monsters with hard faces and sharp, white teeth. Tales of the power of nature and the call of the moon. I'd written it all off as my mother's New Age nonsense. Now I wasn't so sure.

I continued behind, not wanting to be left outside in the dark, but hesitant to follow the pair of them, so strange to me now. The cottage, once so welcoming, was now full of mystery, and I wasn't sure anymore if I wanted the answers that it contained.

Anne settled Thomas in the living room. His tall frame dwarfed the loveseat. Long legs stuck out comically over one arm of the small couch, while his head fell to the side, resting on the other arm. He closed his eyes and his breathing immediately settled into a deep rhythm. I pulled a blanket from one of the chairs and laid it over him. He looked so beautiful there, vulnerable in repose, his face relaxed and free from anger or stress.

Hesitating for a moment, I tried to superimpose the terrifying visage that had shocked me outside onto those perfect features. It was impossible.

His beauty called to me, and before I knew what I was doing, my hand reached to touch him. I gently brushed a lock of his soft black hair from his eyes. His broad forehead creased in response, little ripples of concern flitting over his face.

I had to admit, the symmetry of his elegant beauty was a relief after I'd seen it transform into something cruel and ugly. Turning to follow Anne into the kitchen, I wondered which side was the real Thomas.