The Witch in the Woods Read online

  My eyes spring open uselessly. My face is pressed up against some sort of dark fabric. I can’t see nothing.

  I want to shove. Can’t do that, either. Whoever’s got me, he’s got me good. Steel bands wrap around my upper arms. I struggle to break free, knowing that it’s too late. I stumbled into someone’s grasp. They’re not letting me go.

  A man’s soothing voices continues to coo over my head. I stop thrashing, my blood suddenly running cold. His murmurs bring me around. I stop fighting because it’s clear that I need to reserve my strength.

  It might’ve taken me a minute to realize that this strange situation is a hundred times worse than I first thought when I stumbled through the mirror and landed in a man’s arms. Because that voice? I don’t know it, which means it’s not Mr. Jupiter.

  So, then, who is it?

  I don’t have half a clue.

  Don’t panic, Poppy. Don’t panic.

  “‘Atta girl. Easy does it. Stay calm and I’m sure I can explain everything to you.”

  Don’t panic? Easier said than done. As this stranger attempts to soothe me, I’m wishing I hadn’t left my handbag behind on the third floor. I don’t know who he is, what he wants, or why he was right there to grab me like that when the ballroom was supposed to be empty, and I start to shake.

  Stay calm. All right. I can try.

  I wiggle my shoulders, attempting to see if I can loosen his grip. When it’s clear I can’t, a mix of temper and terror has me shouting, “Let me go,” then bucking my body again before he can defend against it.

  My skirt is loose around my knees. I jerk one up, aiming for his jewels. If I can hit him just right, he’ll drop me like a hot potato.

  It doesn’t work. Either he’s expecting it or I give off my intention too early, because he blocks my strike before yanking me close. I can feel his chest heaving against me. He’s strong and he hasn’t given an inch in his tight hold, but I’m making him work for it. Good.

  I thrash as much as I can.

  “Hold on. Listen. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then let me go!”

  “If I do that, if I free you, do you vow not to run? I can explain everything if you just don’t run away.”

  Strange way to put it. Vow? Doesn’t matter what he asks of me since I’m taking off the first chance I get. I don’t care who this man is or what he makes me promise. “Yes, yes. I vow it. Now get off!”

  He hesitates for a moment, then releases me, unwinding his arms from their embrace of me. The second I think I’m free, I push him away and start to run.

  I take three frantic steps before I stop and stare.

  Trees.

  All I see are trees.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many, and I’ve been past Central Park.

  This… this isn’t the Jupiters’ ballroom. It’s not their brownstone. It’s not even inside.

  What the—

  I spin around.

  He’s waiting for me, shaking his head slowly as if he knew I would try to escape and I went ahead and proved him right. My eyes are wild and my heart is racing, and it only gets worse when I get my first look at the man who caught me.

  Good Lord and Jesus Christ.

  Whoa.

  It’s a white man, tall and fit, with a golden tan that reminds me of Mr. Jupiter. That’s not the only similarity. His eyes. His eyes. A pale silver like my client’s, they shine out of a face that looks like it belongs to an angel. Michael, maybe. Or Gabriel.

  A devilish glint sparkles off his gaze as he takes me in.

  Lucifer.

  Definitely Lucifer.

  His long blond hair drifts softly in the breeze before settling on his broad shoulders again. A wide smile reveals shockingly white teeth.

  “I’ll forgive you for trying to go. I did the same myself when I first landed here.”

  How nice. He forgives me. “Who are you? Where is here?”

  “All in good time, my sweet.”

  He reaches for my arm again, frowning when I jerk it away.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m not here to hurt you. Weren’t you listening before? I want to help you.”

  Help me? “Show me the door outta this place. That’s all the help I need.”

  He shakes his head. “There is no door.”

  “Then a mirror, I don’t care. I want to go back.”

  “Mirrors only exist mirrorside. Here, in the Other, there’s no going back without a portal. Unfortunately for the both of us, there isn’t one. Fortunately, though, I’ve been waiting for you. I’ll help you get back to wherever it is you just came from. I vow it.”

  What is he talking about? Mirrorside? Other?

  Portals?

  More vows?

  Apart from when he said he would help me go home, I didn’t understand any of that.

  The fact that he’s so dazzlingly gorgeous added to the undeniable truth that I’ve somehow crossed a mirror out of New York and into a forest is making me doubt my own sanity. And a level-head was something I always prided myself on.

  What is going on here?

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Apollo.”

  I’m so confused. Scared, disoriented, and confused. Like always, I say the first thing that pops in my head. “You mean, like the theater?”

  His eyes light up. And I mean light up. They blaze like liquid gold. That’s not… that’s not normal.

  None of this is normal!

  “They still name theaters after me?”

  What is he talking about? I shake my head. “It’s just the name of the theater. I don’t know why it’s called the Apollo. Does it matter? I have to get back.”

  I don’t know how I’ve gotten here. I don’t know where here is. What I do know? Is that this place isn’t Manhattan, and if I don’t return to the Jupiters’ brownstone, I’ll be out on my ear tomorrow. I can’t afford to lose that house. I have to go back.

  He’s still watching me curiously. There’s a kindness, an almost wistfulness to his expression that calms me slightly. No one who looks like this Apollo can be bad.

  Right?

  I hope so.

  He lowers his head in a small bow.

  “Now, it’s been some time since I’ve been mirrorside, but introductions go both ways, I believe.”

  What?

  “Are you asking me something?”

  His eyes sparkle. “Your name.”

  Oh. I’m still too stunned to do anything but tell him the truth. “It’s Poppy.”

  The tiniest curl to his lip. “For now.”

  Apollo is a perfect gentleman. When he says he forgives me for my reaction when we met, he means it. And, to prove it, he takes me home with him.

  I don’t know what power this pretty, pretty man has, or why I was helpless to resist him, but I let him.

  His home?

  He should’ve said palace. It’s monstrous, a gilded structure that is even larger than the brownstone I left behind. Tucked in a copse of trees out in the middle of nowhere, stray sunbeams filter in through the leaves, throwing a blinding shine in my face. I have to shield my eyes to get a better look at it and, even then, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at first.

  It’s an even bigger shock that he expects me to live in there. And he does. No way around that. Until I can take a portal back, he insists on sharing his home with me. Since my other option is sleeping out in the woods, I accept his offer.

  I don’t want to stay. All the same, It would be madness to go when I still don’t know where I would be going to.

  Once I stop fighting him and agree not to run again, Apollo is even more of a prince. My unlikely savior swears every chance I give him that he will help me find my way back to Harlem, even if it’s clear he’s never heard of it, or New York either. When I finally stop plotting how to leave him behind long enough to listen to him, I discover some very important truths.

  He said he would explain everything. Without pulling
his punches, he does just that.

  I learn very quickly that this place I’ve found myself in is, well, magic. Apollo is magic, too. His palace? Magic.

  The mirror that brought me here?

  More magic.

  Then he tells me that I’m also magic.

  He calls me by the name of Cassandra instead of Poppy because he’s convinced that that is who I am—or who I was. It takes me much longer to come to terms with that. I’ve never really believed in reincarnation before. The good book says that we all get our turn, but it’s a one time thing and then, if we lived life right, we get our ticket into Heaven.

  Apollo tells me that that might be the case for others. Not us. Because people like him and me? The ones who find their way from the real world—he calls it mirrorside with a dismissive wave—into the enchanted land of the Other soon discover that Heaven is a place on Earth. I didn’t have to die to find a god.

  I just had to be pushed through a mirror.

  A god. That’s what Apollo calls himself. The reincarnation of the Greek sun god Apollo.

  And I’m Cassandra.

  Right.

  Me? A domestic worker with a failed marriage? I’m supposed to be the reincarnation of a wealthy, beautiful Greek princess?

  I know better than to scoff at his beliefs, though. I’ve always been a woman who trusted what was in front of her. There’s no escaping the fact that I’ve arrived in a whole other world. Outside of Apollo’s palace, there’s a forest teeming with things a New Yorker isn’t equipped to deal with.

  He keeps me safe in his home. He’s fed me. He’s given me a bed when all I’ve done is ask to go home. Repeatedly. Without end.

  All he does is smile and tell me that, one day, I will.

  And he’ll be going with me.

  Ten days into my stay, he knocks on my door.

  His palace is made up of a good number of rooms. The only ones I’ve seen so far are the dining area and my chambers. He had it set up for me the day I arrived, as if he was waiting for me. When I point that out, he just smiles.

  I also notice something very odd. The bed in the center of the room is massive yet old, the quilt equally as priceless. The furniture matches. Unless I’m crazy—and I might be crazy—this room looks eerily similar to the room I was supposed to be given at the Jupiters’ home.

  The bed is as soft as I imagined, and I’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant I was back in my Harlem apartment.

  I look at the closed door. He knocks again. It’s not locked because there are no locks in Apollo’s home. There’s no need. There’s not a soul in the Other who would enter the golden palace without an invitation.

  Apollo isn’t only a god, he tells me. He’s one of the most powerful ones in all of this place.

  That he would allow me to decide whether or not I can keep him from my chambers is a small victory. He wants me on his side so badly, he’ll bend to my wishes.

  I’m so worried about making him mad enough that he’ll boot me from his home that I do what he asks of me anyway.

  My survival in this place is utterly dependent on his goodwill. He might not spell it out just like that but I’ve been around long enough to know better.

  “Come in.”

  I suck in a breath as he enters. His magnificence shines as it always does, drawing my attention, capturing my stare. Ten days after he found me and I still can’t hide my reaction whenever I see him.

  He’s so pretty. What is he doing wasting his time on me?

  So he thinks I’m this Cassandra. I… I still don’t know what that means.

  “Evening.”

  “Good evening, my dear. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Wonderful. I just wanted to pop in and give you a gift.”

  I swallow my groan because I don’t want to offend him. Another gift? I keep telling him there’s only one thing I want and, for now, it’s the one thing he can’t give me.

  It doesn’t stop him from trying to please me in other ways, though. I’ve given up trying to figure out why he cares so dang much. Everything Apollo does is a mystery to me.

  He’s already given me so much already. The hand mirror last week. The combs a few days ago. The clothes I can’t bring myself to wear. I cling to my apron and worn dress instead of the fancy fabrics he brings me because I know them. When I go back to New York, I’ll need them.

  I don’t want any more gifts. I just want to go home.

  He tells me I will. He doesn’t know why it’s taking so long for a portal to appear to bring us back—according to Apollo, there’s a path we have to take, a story we have to tell before we can satisfy the Other’s magic and leave. He swears he doesn’t know what it is and, since he will go to any length to make me happy, I want to believe him.

  He’s trying so hard. I know dang well I don’t deserve it.

  So I put a smile on my face, tuck a curl behind my ear, and say graciously, “I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is.”

  Because, well, I don’t see anything. Apollo’s hands are empty. Is it in his pants pocket?

  “Sit up, love. Then I can give you your gift.” He rubs his hands together. “I’ve been waiting since you arrived to give you this. I think you’re ready now.”

  While I adjust my pose in the big bed, pulling myself into a sitting position with my hands in my lap, Apollo stalks forward and lifts his arms.

  Something golden, bright and shocking, shoots from his palms. I gasp as whatever it is strikes me dead in the chest. My body gives a jolt at the power. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. The tingling sensation is almost pleasant, if entirely overwhelming.

  The force of his power knocks me onto my back.

  I’m just about to cry out, ask him what he thinks he’s doing, when something really weird happens. The room disappears. Apollo disappears.

  And I see.

  It’s like watching an old-fashioned motion picture. Everything loses its color until all that’s left is a crackly scene in black and white. It’s fuzzy. Flashing. I’m not blinking. I’m only staring.

  There’s no sound. I can’t control what I’m looking at. There’s no moving away, no tilting my head to get a better look. I’m stuck and I’m watching a stretch of land, empty and desolate.

  On the edge of my sight, a woman appears. She moves slowly, the long white dress flowing behind her. Sandals leave impressions in the dirt. Is it sand? Might be. Whatever it is, it’s dry and dusty and her steps are as careful as they are sure.

  From a distance, I can see that she’s got dark curly hair, like me, and big dark eyes. Her features are striking. It’s a lot of sharp angles, cut deep in a face that is more handsome than lovely. I can’t look away from her, though. She’s captivating and I don’t know why.

  I feel like there is some sort of a connection between us. In this in-between place with no color, no noise, my instincts are shouting out that I’ve been here before—that I know this woman.

  And that’s when her head jerks up, like she knows I’m here. Like she senses me. I’m invisible here, there’s no way she can see me, but her eyes lock on me all the same.

  Her mouth opens. She keeps mouthing the same phrase.

  I hear a soft whisper echoing in my head.

  Save us.

  I come out of it with a jolt, falling on the bed again. Colors bleed back in—the white marble furniture, the dark tiles, the golden decorations—and I lift my hands to my temples, trying to make sense of what I just saw.

  My head is pounding, my pulse racing. I struggle to get myself under control. One breath. Two.

  Okay.

  I peer over at Apollo. He’s watching me with that knowing smirk of his.

  Gritting my teeth against the unpleasantness, I snap out, “What did you do to me?”

  I don’t care if I upset him. It’s one thing for him to expect me to accept this place is full of magic. I did it, even when it went against every Christian belief I had, and that’s because
my arrival in this place meant that I had to accept it.

  But for him to use that magic on me?

  I don’t know what he did, but I’m so very furious.

  His jaw goes tight. “I gave you a gift. Thank me for it, Cassandra.”

  A gift? He shot me in the chest with some kind of light and put a strange vision of another woman in my head. What kind of gift is that? And why should I thank him for it?

  Because he’s Apollo.

  The voice is a whisper in my head. I know in an instant it belongs to the dark-haired woman.

  And she’s right. If there’s one other thing I’ve learned since I’ve been in his palace, it’s that his gentlemanly facade only stretches so far. So long as I do what he says, we get along fine. I don’t want to test him. Who knows how he’ll react if I push him too far?

  Swallowing my pride, I choke out the words. Something tells me that it’s the right thing to do. “Thank you for the gift.”

  “The gift of sight was always meant to be yours, my love.”

  I cringe at the endearment. He’s never used it before. He wields it like a weapon now.

  “It’ll help you understand,” he adds when I stay quiet. A queer look on his face, a smile that makes my stomach tighten out of nerves. “Four seasons.”

  “Seasons?”

  “A year. I’ll give you a year.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. Part of me is back in that other place with that other woman. Save us. Save who? I shake my head. “For… for what?”

  “For you to give in and give me what I want. I think I’ve been patient long enough, Cassandra.”

  There’s a warning in his gentle voice that I know I can’t ignore. Rubbing the tingle in my chest with the flat of my hand, I ask, “And what do you want?”

  His eyes burn. “Everything that you can give.”

  Six seasons have passed. So has his initial deadline.

  We’re still here. Nothing has changed.

  He still insists he loves me. He waits in vain for me to return the sentiment.

  Unfortunately, I no more believe that he loves me today than I did when I first fell into the Other. Why? I don’t know if Apollo could ever love anyone—though, in his way, he does care for me. As much as he can care for anyone.