Page 76 of What Lies in the Woods

Dougherty cleared his throat. Cody glanced over at him. “Look, Naomi. Don’t talk to Sawant or Bishop or anyone else again without a lawyer, okay?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said.

“All the more reason to make sure you cover your ass. Trust me. Get a lawyer.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” I confessed.

“I can get you some names. Give me a call later, okay? And don’t worry about the cost. I’ll make sure it’s covered.”

“I think I preferred it when your version of protecting me was punching people out,” I said. He gave me a look. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you. Now get back there before Dougherty starts tapping his foot.”

I waved him off. He followed Dougherty into the back hall and out of sight. I headed out to the parking lot. Ethan was leaning against the hood of the car, hands in his pockets.

“Everything okay?” he asked. I just gave him a little shake of the head and got into the passenger seat. Cody’s words had settled into my skin. I didn’t know much about Ethan. And I was trusting him with everything.

I filled him in about the conversation with Sawant as we drove, trying not to let myself get emotional about any of it. “Doesn’t sound like he has anything solid,” Ethan commented when I was done.

“Doesn’t seem that way, no,” I agreed.

“What did Benham want to talk about?” Ethan asked.

“He’s just looking out for me.”

“You two are still close?”

“Not close. Haven’t seen him in ages. But there are some things that don’t go away,” I said. I leaned my head back against the headrest. “He can be a bit overprotective. Although to be fair to him, there was a time when there was no ‘over’ about it.”

“You mean him finding you. Carrying you out of the woods.”

“That. And before.” He didn’t ask; just waited. I trailed a fingertip down the cool glass of the window. But that story didn’t belong to him. I’d given him enough of me for now, and eventually the silence settled into an answer.

The summer of the Goddess Game, Oscar had been home from state college, and so had Cody. They were both working for Cass’s dad at the mill, like they did every summer. Cody had always done the bare minimum, working mostly to spend time with Oscar and have money for cigarettes. Oscar threw himself into the work. He’d get the company one way or another, eventually, but you could tell he meant to earn it. Or at least look like he did. But at some point, that changed. Oscar stopped showing up for work or showed up drunk half the time. Cody started getting more serious—like he’d suddenly realized he didn’t have family money to fall back on like Oscar did.

I’d avoided Oscar for the most part. Not out of any fear, just because a kid can tell when a grown-up doesn’t like them. The contempt some adults have for children is a frightening thing to be aware of as a kid. But that year, contempt turned to cruelty.

Puberty had started to encroach that summer, and I wasn’t about to ask my dad to buy me a training bra, so I wore bulky sweaters and loose T-shirts most of the time. Oscar noticed—not out of desire, but because he had a new stick to jab in my side when he felt bored.

“What are you smuggling under there? Apples?”

“Looks more like a couple of cherry pits.”

“Did a bee sting you?”

“Ooh, little Naomi’s awomannow. You bleeding yet?”

If Cody was there, he’d jostle Oscar’s shoulder. “Shut up, man. She’s just a kid. Jesus.”

Dad told me to laugh it off. Think of something clever to say in return. Cass told me to ignore it, that he didn’t mean anything by it. Anyone else who overheard tended to chuckle—That Oscar, such a rascal, but such a good boy at heart. Cody was the only one who ever acted like it was Oscar who ought to change his behavior.

I put my head down and ignored him. Day after day. Untilthatday. Sweat sticking my shirt to my back under the sweatshirt I wore to try to hide the slight swell of my breasts.

I had Persephone’s knucklebone in my pocket like a talisman and Cass’s instructions on my mind. “Today, we must make an offering of a particular sort. Something taken, not given. Something of value. That means it has to cost money, but you can’t pay for it.” Eyes sparking with mischief. “Go forth, Artemis. Fetch the offering for the Queen.”

I’d stolen about a hundred Snickers bars from Marsha, but perishables were a no-go. We’d decided that after the initial offerings of bread and milk made the Grotto smell like, as Cass said, “a football player’s ass crack.”

So it had to be something else. Something withmeaning. Marsha kept a little rack of cheap bracelet charms by the register. I nipped in, paid for the Snickers for once, and pocketed a silver dolphin the size of my pinky nail. Even then I was good at lying. I spent forever counting out coins and shuffled off like I was embarrassed to have to scrounge for the last five cents, and Marsha was so exasperated she never noticed what I’d taken.

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