Page 16 of When the Woods Go Silent

"Don't worry. He's not worth a boycott. We'll still check out that restaurant the next time it opens, if you promise to take normal bites."

"Fine," she mumbles, swallowing the rest of the tart. "But I won't promise not to have a food-gasm. That tart was better than ninety-eight percent of the guys I've been with."

"Your standards are too low, then," I tease, keeping it light. Ruby has a way of attracting all the wrong guys, and if she's here to get mad for me, I'm here to remind her she's worth more.

"I just wish I wasn't a straight girl," Ruby says over another yawn. "We'd make the perfect couple, deadass."

"Platonic soul mates forever," I agree, linking my pinkie finger with hers. Her yawn coaxes one out of me, and we both smile. "Bedtime, Ru."

"I'm so glad you're here with me, Rosey. Sweet dreams," she says, giving me a quick hug before she heads to her bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen, rolling her words over my tongue.

Sweet dreams.

Common words, something that one of us has said to the other countless times over the years of sleepovers and late-night phone calls. But I’ve had so many intense, strange dreams since we moved here. I think again about Ruby’s childhood memory of a fae woman in the forest, and something seems to crackle in the air, as though an icy breeze has sneaked through a gap under the door.

After hearing Abby’s ghost story today, part of me wonders if maybe Ruby’s been remembering a dream all these years, although I’m not ready to say she saw a kidnapping ghost, either. No matter what wild explanation I think of, there’s one thing I’m certain of.

Clearwater is hiding secrets in these woods. Ruby is already working to unearth them, I’m sure of it.

And if she ever found something, what would it change between us?

I fill a glass of water and sip it, staring out the kitchen window, focusing carefully past my reflection in the glass and into the dense, dark woods.

"Sweet dreams," I whisper to the woods, challenging the edge of fear that creeps up my spine. As soon as the words are out, I see a shadowy hint of movement between the trees, definitely too big to be a raccoon. A flash of eyes reflects the porch light, and a shiver runs sideways across my shoulders. I step closer to the glass, intent on meeting this odd paranoia head on. I scan the tree line intently, but everything is still and quiet.

Ghosts aren't real, and neither are fairy women. Just people, and with an alarm system and a few locked doors, I'm asprotected as I can be. I repeat this to myself again as I close the curtains in my bedroom, and again as I strip down and dive beneath the covers.

And again, as I shut my eyes and hope that my dreams tonight are sweet and playful, with nothing at all about angry-eyed men or sleepwalking ghosts who lure dreamers into the silent woods.

TORRENCE

"Where's your fucking head these days, boss?" Arlo says, playfully beaning a wooden kitchen spoon off my shoulders. "Even I know better than to let a dumbass server get under the skin like that. Bodies are bad for business, even if they’re ours."

I could end him where he stands with less than a spoon, but I let the insult bounce off me just like the tool. He doesn't know everything I know about why we’re here in Clearwater, and it needs to stay that way. Even though I trust him enough to help clean up the occasional mess, how I handleGoblin Marketbehind the scenes - and what Julianna and I are looking for - are none of his fucking business.

“Discipline,” I answer shortly, tossing him a lazy middle finger over my shoulder before turning away from the window. I've been staring out into the night-black woods again, and there's still no point.

Whatever elusive magic I felt between the trees last week hasn't been back since. The two pretty bookshop owners are the only humans new to Clearwater this year, and they aren’t the source of the magic. Maybe my instincts were wrong this time, misled by a need to prove myself. Maybe I was imagining what I'd scented, my mind desperately trying to give me an edge over Julianna when I know I have nothing.

"Maybe you just need a girl to fuck. Take your edge off," Arlo offers, going back to stirring the bubbling fruit compote on the stove. "Or a guy. You know I don't judge." He gives me a questioning side-eye, but I don't bite.

Who I fuck - or don't - is also none of his business, and he knows it. The only reason I haven't sent him underground is that he keeps his mouth shut around the others, even if the same courtesy doesn't extend to me. He believes we’re friends, and I allow it because it’s rare for someone to speak their mind to me. He provides an honesty I can’t always find elsewhere, and no matter how aggravating that is, I need his bluntness.

"Tourist season starts any day now," I say, by way of distracting him. We'll open again tonight, hoping to catch the early wave and get the gossip going. Already, our social media is flooded with questions about possible dates and menus, but my strategy is to stay silent until an hour before the doors unlock. It creates a flurry of activity and anyone who misses it is left fucking salivating for the next time.

Arlo grins, tucking his chin-length hair behind his ears. "Fuck yes, it does. So many fresh... patrons... coming in to try our delicious food." I can practically hear the hunger in his voice, and it echoes my own excitement. He needs to forget about the redheaded shop owner, anyway. We don't get involved with locals for a reason, and I can’t afford to discipline any more of my staff right now.

I allow myself a single proud moment as I cast my gaze around the silver and white kitchen, my eyes greedy as I count and measure the platters and piles of fresh local fruit, towers of organic vegetables, and mounds of exotic tropical produce that arrived this morning.

What began as a simple supply chain for our growing army has turned into something I didn’t expect to enjoy. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’m dreading the day I know is comingsoon - when we have enough humans to shut it all down and disappear into the dirt. I’ve become used to the human world, and the more time I spend here, the less I care about my mother’s war.

But I can’t forget the truth.Goblin Markethas always been a means to an end, and a life in Clearwater is something I have no business thinking about.

"Is it ready?" Arlo asks, using a clean spoon to offer me a taste of the fruit compote I'm teaching him to make.

The flavors are intense, mixing in a burst of sour, then sweet on my tongue. The texture is silky and unctuous, and I nod, allowing the points of my teeth to sharpen into razors against my lips.

Biting deep into my wrist, I slice open the flesh and let the beads of blood fall like jewels into the pot. They sizzle and dissolve, carrying my powerful gobbelin magic into each mouthful.

---