Page 19 of Curses and Cornstalks
“If you let me go, I’ll set you free,” I assure him, shivering when one of the thick vines grazes the side of my neck. My pulse is pounding in my ears, drowning out the soft rustle of foliage as the vines cocoon around me. Probably for the best.
He shakes his head slowly back and forth.
“If I let you go, you’ll run,” he muses. “Which could be fun. Do you think you can outrun my vines?”
No, I don’t. The stairs at the farmhouse nearly took me out; there’s no way I’ll survive a round of cardio.
Besides, my mind is made up. I want to help him.
“I won’t. Let me prove it,” I say.
My voice shakes at the end as panic surges through me, and I try to swallow down my nerves. The thought of getting any closer to Atticus is both enticing and terrifying. He’s dangerous—that much is obvious—but there’s an intriguing softness to his mystery.
It begs me closer, makes me want to learn more.
Thoughts war in my head.
Even if I release him and he kills me with his bare hands, I would have ended up dead regardless. Trying to barter for my freedom won’t hurt anything.
“I don’t think you’re the monster everyone claims you to be, so I hope you wouldn’t harm innocent people,” I press on, steeling my nerves. “I’ll cut those ropes if you help me out of here. What do you say?”
Another long pause makes my skin crawl with anticipation. I can’t believe I’m standing here, bargaining with a scarecrow, promising to set him free, but I don’t have a choice. I’m between a rock and a hard place.
“Are you certain, girl?” His eyes glimmer with something feral.
“Cassie,” I correct. “And, yes, I’m sure.”
Every second that drags by is agony, and I whimper when a vine brushes along my jawbone. My skin crawls uncomfortably, my desperation to be free soaring to new heights.
Finally, he answers.
“Alright. We have a deal.” His response makes my heart skip a painful beat. “Cut me down, and I will help you out of here.”
I can hardly believe it as the vines begin to recede, slithering back across the clearing and disappearing into the corn stalks. My legs almost give out, and I stumble to catch my balance. They’re asleep, tingling painfully as the circulation returns, and my body aches.
But I’m free.
I stare across the short distance separating me from the scarecrow, and for the briefest moment, I consider turning and hightailing it into the stalks.
I know I won’t get far.
His magic is faster than I could ever be.
Fear bubbles in my stomach as I take a cautious step forward, then another. My instincts rebel against my movements, making each step more difficult than the last, and his glaring eyes never leave me as I approach.
Anyone else would surely turn and run, but here I am, approaching a monster.
Maybe this is a sign I need therapy.
I stop a few feet away from him, taking in the details I hadn’t noticed from across the clearing. Without his hat, I doubt he’d be more than six feet tall; he’s almost at eye-level with me. Above the collar of his shirt, I can see something more than hay—gray flesh perhaps—and I note black leather gloves disguised amongst the straw protruding from his sleeves. His eyes are a warm, deep brown, watching me with intrigue.
“You are very trusting. Probably too much so,” he notes as I reach for the knife in my back pocket. In a swift motion, I flick it open and set to work cutting the thick, ancient rope around one of his wrists. “I could kill you as soon as you set me free.”
I slice carefully to avoid injuring him, and a second later, the rope drops to the ground.
My heart jumps into my throat as he flexes his fingers experimentally.
“That’s true,” I admit, my breath catching. “But you could have killed me already and you didn’t.”
