Coyaa pulled her hand back from the burning wax, hissing softly as a blister rose across her index finger. The spectral projection collapsed into a puddle of grey smoke that dissolved against the linoleum floor before anyone could breathe. Outside the kitchen window, the crimson moon seemed to swell, casting long, bruised shadows across the apartment complex courtyard. Keshia stared at the scorched tabletop where the letter lay curled like a dead leaf, her jaw tight. Charmaine was already stuffing her apothecary jars back into her canvas bag with rapid, precise movements that made the glass clink.
“We're leaving immediately,” Coyaa said, her voice dropping into a register that brook no argument. She grabbed her leather jacket off the peg by the door and shoved her arms into the sleeves. Keshia didn't ask what changed, because the look on Coyaa's face told her the apartment was no longer safe. They had minutes before whatever lived in that parchment decided to follow up on the lease. Charmaine hoisted her heavy bag over one shoulder and kicked the front door open with the toe of her boot. The stairwell smelled of stale bleach and damp concrete as they pelted down the steps toward the parking lot.
The night air outside was thick and tasted of charred iron, pressing down on their chests like a physical weight. Their boots crunched on the gravel as they made a beeline for Keshia's dented sedan parked beneath the flickering security light. Keshia fumbled with her keys twice before the remote chirped, the headlights blinking awake with a yellow glare. Charmaine tossed the bags into the trunk and slammed the lid down with a dull thud that echoed off the brick walls. Coyaa slid into the passenger seat, her fingers still smarting from the seal, while Keshia hopped behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition.
“Say a quick prayer to whatever gods you still trust,” Keshia muttered, her foot slamming down on the gas pedal with unnecessary violence. The tires spat gravel across the asphalt as the car lurched backward out of the stall. Coyaa gripped the door handle as they shot out of the complex and onto the interstate heading north toward Oakhaven. The highway stretched before them like a black ribbon swallowed by the red glare of the sky, devoid of any other traffic. No semis, no commuters, just the steady hum of the engine and the looming dark ahead of them.
Kilometer after kilometer blurred past in silence, the dashboard lights glowing an amber hue against Keshia's focused face. Charmaine leaned forward from the back seat, resting her elbows on the console between them. “You didn't see what was in the rest of that projection, did you,” Charmaine said, her voice small and entirely uncharacteristic of her usual bustling noise. Coyaa shook her head, watching the telephone poles snap past like broken ribs against the crimson horizon. “I saw enough to know my mother didn't abandon us,” Coyaa replied, staring straight ahead at the asphalt. “She was taken by whatever house we're driving toward.”
The interior of the car grew warm as the heater ticked over, but a chill lingered just beneath their skin. Keshia kept her eyes glued to the white lines of the highway, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. “If this is a suicide mission, you could've at least bought us donuts first,” Keshia joked weakly, though the corners of her mouth refused to curve upward. Charmaine snorted, a sharp sound that broke the tension just enough for them to draw a collective breath. They drove deeper into the backcountry where the trees grew crooked and tall, their branches scraping against the roof of the car like long fingernails. The mileage signs disappeared entirely, replaced by jagged stone markers carved with strange, unreadable symbols.
Without warning, a dark shape detached itself from the tree line and staggered directly into the middle of the road. Keshia slammed on the brakes, the antilock system kicking in with a furious shudder that threw them all forward against their belts. The car skidded across a patch of loose gravel before coming to a halt a mere foot away from a tall figure standing motionless in the high beams. The stranger wore a heavy wool coat that looked damp with swamp water, his long hair matted across his broad shoulders. He raised a hand against the blinding glare of the headlights, his golden eyes flashing amber in the red glow.
“You're driving too fast for a road that eats its own,” the stranger said, his voice deep and resonant as he walked right up to the driver's side window. Keshia cracked the window down an inch, her hand hovering over the heavy iron talisman in her coat pocket. The man leaned down, his handsome face lined with exhaustion and an old, deep sorrow that didn't belong to a casual drifter. “Turn back now, Coyaa Gibson, or you'll find out the hard way that your family didn't just leave this town,” the man said, staring directly past Keshia to lock his warm, striking gaze onto Coyaa. “They were buried alive in it.”
Coyaa unlatched her seatbelt and pushed the car door open before Keshia could grab her arm. The cold air hit her face like a physical blow, carrying the distinct scent of wet earth and crushed pine needles. She stepped onto the asphalt, her boots clicking against the road surface as she closed the distance between herself and the stranger. Up close, he was broader than he looked from the passenger seat, standing at least six-foot-two with broad shoulders that filled out the damp wool coat. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Coyaa asked, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs.
The man tilted his head slightly, a faint, rueful smile touching the corners of his lips for a fraction of a second. “Names don't carry much weight out here past the nine-thirty hour, but you can call me Theron,” he said, casting a quick glance up at the swollen crimson moon overhead. Keshia and Charmaine climbed out of the car behind Coyaa, closing in to form a protective semicircle with their magic humming just beneath their skin. “And as for how I know your name, I knew your mother back when she still had a reflection in her looking glass.” The admission dropped into the space between them like a heavy stone falling into a deep well.
Coyaa didn't step back, though every instinct she possessed screamed that this man was tied directly to the curse waiting for her. “My mother died when I was six,” Coyaa said, her voice dropping an octave as the old memory surfaced unbidden. She was standing in the hallway of their old apartment, watching paramedics wheel a gurney covered in a white sheet while the rain lashed against the windowpanes. “The hospital issued a death certificate and a closed casket.” Theron let out a low, humorless laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping across concrete. “The town claims a lot of things on paper, Coyaa, but the registry in Oakhaven only records who's paying rent with their blood.”