chapter thirty

Frank Dearing died in late autumn, after the trees had shed their leaves, but before the snow arrived to freeze the earth.

I was asleep in my oak when he died. The shock felt as though lightning had split my tree, blackening the exposed heartwood. I ran to the house as quickly as I could, but even before I reached the bedroom, I knew he was gone.

He looked little like the man I loved. His eyes were open, and his lips were pale and dry. He had been sleeping in red long johns, which smelled of urine. His upper body was bare, and the skin on his chest was unnaturally pale.

I scooped him into my arms. His limbs hung limp. Even his skin sagged loosely, emphasizing the bones beneath.

My thoughts were clouded as if I had been drinking, though I had spent much of the night in my oak, and time in my tree usually cleansed alcohol and its effects from my body. I didn't know what to do. I had no other friends, nor had I ever wanted or needed any. Frank was my world.

I acted on instinct, carrying him from the house. I wove carefully through the trees, making sure not a single branch snagged my lover's hair or scratched his skin. I hated the coolness of his body against me. My tears dripped onto his chest.

When I reached my oak, my first impulse was to bring him into the tree with me and never emerge, but that felt wrong. Disrespectful and wasteful.

I knew human burial customs, but I couldn't let Frank be locked away in a box, buried forever in the earth while the ex-wife who had turned her back on him waited impatiently to scavenge through his belongings.

I rested him gently at the base of my tree and drew a blanket of leaves over his body. Only then did I retreat into my tree, where I could feel his weight pressing down on my roots.

This was proper. This was love and respect for the dead.

I reached deeper into the wood of my oak. The roots curled inward, digging through the cold, hard dirt to peel open the earth. Other roots eased Frank into the newly dug hole, curling around him like a blanket and sliding him closer to the taproot.

Frank and I had been together for so many years. I couldn't lose him. I wouldn't. His body would sustain my tree, becoming part of me and giving me the strength to survive his loss.

I MIGHT HAVE BEEN the only one in the room who understood Nidhi's curses, the Gujarati words she spat so quickly I could barely keep up.

"I don't understand," I said. "Victor's insects went to find his father. How do we get from that to killing wendigos and attacking Lena's tree?"

Nidhi watched the sleeping girl, her face unreadable. "Does your family know about your abilities, Isaac?"

I shook my head. "My brother walked in on me once while I was practicing pulling coins from Treasure Island, but I don't think he saw anything."

Deb's lips pursed like she had eaten something sour. "My family doesn't, but the Porters cost me a fiancé about fifteen years back."

"I didn't know that," I said.

"You don't know everything about me, hon."

"Victor's father is a monster." Nidhi turned to face us. "August Harrison beat his wife for years. That lasted until Victor was eleven years old. Two days after August broke his wife's nose, Victor was watching through the window as his father mowed the lawn. He enchanted the family car, which smashed through the garage door and tore across the yard. August tried to get away, but he wasn't fast enough. The car broke his femur. He spent more than a month in traction."

I gave a low, soft whistle. Victor had always seemed so pleasant and easygoing, with half his attention permanently lost in his work. "And that's the guy he wanted when he was dying?"

"Victor's mother died eight years ago," said Nidhi. "He had no siblings, no spouse. August Harrison was the only family he had left. And their relationship was…complex."

Jeff snarled. "Doesn't sound complex to me. Rip the bastard's throat out and be done with it." I relayed his comment for the others.

"When August finally returned from the hospital, he acted like he had changed," Nidhi continued. "He apologized to his wife and son, and promised to

make things better. Two days later, he took Victor out to dinner, bought him several new toys, and asked Victor to teach him magic."

"Power and control," Lena said softly.

"Exactly," said Nidhi. "August used violence to control his family, but that was only one tactic of many. He threatened Victor's mother to control his son, and threatened the son to control the mother. He kept tight rein over the finances and their social connections, making them dependent upon him for everything. Magic would have been one more weapon in his arsenal. And Victor was a child. He loved his father. For that reason, and because he thought it would appease August's temper, Victor tried to do as his father had asked."

"An eleven-year-old trying to teach a grown man magic?" That couldn't have ended well. Magical ability almost always manifested during childhood or adolescence. If August had the slightest potential for magic, it would have shown up long before then. Victor had been untrained. He wouldn't have known how he had controlled the car, let alone how to impart that understanding to others.

"He couldn't do it," Nidhi said. "Every failure enraged August further. He accused Victor of lying, of deliberately keeping his secrets to himself. He never again laid a finger on his wife, but he beat Victor three more times. The third time, Victor fought back."

"How?"

Her lips twitched. "Do you remember Teddy Ruxpin?"

"Sure. My grandparents got me one when I was a kid. Stupid thing gave me nightmares." I stopped when I realized where she was going with this.