The acrid scent of burning wood and something darker—like funeral lilies set ablaze—clung to the air as Vinny staggered out of the cabin's wreckage. His entire body trembled with exhaustion, every muscle screaming in protest. The key-shaped scar on his palm pulsed with a dull, insistent heat, its silver glow barely visible beneath the streaks of dirt and blood coating his arm.
Behind him, Daniel leaned heavily against Deborah, his breathing ragged but steady. The black veins that had marred his skin were gone, his eyes clear for the first time since he'd emerged from the tree. Yet something in his expression remained hollow, haunted.
"You okay?" Deborah murmured, brushing a hand over her cousin's forehead.
Daniel swallowed hard. "I remember things," he rasped. "Things she showed me—"
A violent shudder wracked his body, cutting him off. Deborah tightened her grip, her blue eyes wide with worry.
The oak tree burned in the distance, its massive trunk engulfed in silver flames that cast no smoke, only an eerie, shifting light. The fire didn't crackle like normal flames—it *hissed*, as if the tree itself was screaming.
Lena crouched near the tree line, her fingers splayed over the scorched earth. "It's not dying," she said, her voice barely audible over the unnatural quiet. "The fire isn't consuming it."
She was right. The flames licked at the bark but left no char behind. Instead, black sap oozed from the cracks in thick rivulets, bubbling where it met the silver fire. The roots that had chased them lay motionless now, their surfaces withered and brittle.
Silas spat onto the ground, his golden eye reflecting the unnatural glow. "Told you that blade was special," he said, nudging the switchblade's hilt with his boot. "Forged from the same damn tree two centuries back. Only thing that can hurt it." He turned to Vinny, his expression grim. "But that mark you're wearing?" He pointed to the key-shaped scar. "That's a promise. And the Lady *always* collects."
A cold knot formed in Vinny's stomach. He flexed his hand, the scar pulsing faintly in response. It didn't just *mark* him anymore—it *answered* to him. And it was hungry.
Deborah's grip on Daniel tightened. "What does that mean?"
Before Silas could answer, Daniel suddenly gasped, his knees buckling. He clawed at his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
"Daniel!" Deborah dropped with him, her hands fluttering over his heaving shoulders.
Vinny saw it first—the inky tendrils creeping back up Daniel's neck, the way his pupils dilated until no white remained. The same thing that had happened to Sheila.
Lena sucked in a sharp breath. "She's not letting him go."
Daniel's head snapped up, his mouth stretching into that terrible, thorn-filled smile Vinny knew too well.
*"The roots remember,"* Daniel rasped—but the voice wasn't his.
Vinny moved without thinking. He grabbed Daniel's face between his hands, ignoring Deborah's startled cry, and pressed his marked palm to Daniel's forehead. The key-shaped scar flared white-hot, its light cutting through the darkness clinging to Daniel like a second skin.
For one agonizing second, nothing happened.
Then Daniel *screamed*, his back arching violently as thick, black roots erupted from his mouth and nostrils. They writhed in the air like dying snakes before crumbling to ash. Daniel collapsed forward, his breathing ragged but clear. The black veins receded, his eyes returning to normal.
Deborah sobbed in relief, pulling her cousin close.
Silas let out a low whistle. "Well, shit. Didn't know you could do that."
Vinny stared at his palm, where the mark still pulsed faintly. He hadn't known either. The power had come instinctively, like flexing a muscle he'd never realized he had. But with it came a gnawing *emptiness*—as if using the mark had carved something out of him.
Lena's fingers brushed his elbow, her touch startlingly cold. "You feel it, don't you?" she murmured. "The hunger."
Vinny didn't answer. He didn't need to. The mark was awake now, and it wanted to be *fed*.
A gust of wind stirred the ashes around the oak tree. The silver flames flickered, dimming as dawn's first light crested the horizon. The fire hadn't killed the tree—it had *purged* it. Cleansed it.
And somewhere in the scorched bark, something *stirred*.
Daniel lifted his head, his voice hoarse. "She's still here."
Vinny knew it before the words left Daniel's mouth. The Lady wasn't gone. She was waiting.
And she was angry.