Charlie Morrison's Arc

Chapter 12 of 14

Charlie shut the drawer on the caramel journal and looked at the map one more time. The moon would rise in a few hours. She still had to carry the blessed basket through the trees, and someone with money had already sent one tracker to take it. A second try would come. If they saw her on the path with the basket in her hands, they would not miss twice. She needed the basket hidden before she stepped off her porch. She climbed to the attic. The rafters smelled of cedar and dust. She dragged trunks aside until she found a sturdy wooden box wedged behind a crate of canning jars. The lid fit tight. The inside was lined with old wool. She lifted it down and set it on the floor. Under the box lay a folded bundle. She shook it out. A plush cloak, deep and heavy, the color of moss in shadow. Her grandmother's, she guessed. She pulled it around her shoulders. It fell past her knees and pooled at her feet. When she held the box against her chest, the cloak swallowed it whole. No shape showed. No corner poked through. She went down to the main room of the cabin, unlocked the cedar chest, and lifted the basket out. The willow and yarrow still held the darkened glow from the wolf's blessing. She set it inside the wooden box. It fit as if the box had been cut for it. The blueberries did not shift. She closed the lid. She practiced. She stood in front of the window with the box against her ribs and drew the cloak forward. In the reflection she saw a tall woman in a long hood, arms folded like she was cold. Nothing more. Her teal sundress showed only at the hem. The box was gone. Charlie stepped onto the covered porch of the crystal-studded cabin and locked the teal door behind her. The wolf rose from the swing where it had been lying. It looked at the cloak, then at her face, and fell in at her heel without a sound. She kept the box tight under her left arm and one hand free at her side. She walked the path slow. Twice she heard movement in the brush. Once, a low branch cracked to her right. She did not turn her head. The wolf's ears did the turning for her. Nothing came out of the trees. Whatever watched saw a hooded woman on a night walk with a big dog, and let her pass. At the edge of the fae woods she stopped and breathed. The basket was still hidden. She was still whole. Ahead, past the barrier, the moon court was waiting for her to arrive. Then she heard footsteps behind her on the path. Human. Steady. Closing.