Chapter 23: Into the Woods
In Which Miss True visits a gingerbread house in the woods and finds herself in a Grimm situation.
The bus dropped Cassandra on the edge of Fellwood Forest, one of several wooded areas within Redemption's city limits. In any other municipality, it would be named a park, but tradition called these sections forests; not because of their size, but because of their sheer density. They had been set aside as preserves centuries ago and somehow had resisted all attempts by industrialist and real estate developer alike to cut them down. Cassandra never knew that anybody actually lived inside Fellwood, but this was the address Miss Morrigan gave her.
Cassandra found the mailbox easily enough and the path next to it leading into the heart of the forest. The sun was already dipping below the level of the trees and Cassandra began to fret. When she agreed to visit Morrigan that evening, she didn't realize it would mean walking through the woods at night. She should call and reschedule the interview. No, she couldn't; she didn't know Miss Morrigan's phone number. She didn't know if the old woman even had a phone number. Besides, she was here and there wouldn't be another bus along for another twenty minutes.
A sudden noise from the tree branches made her start. Just an owl, she told herself. Nothing to worry about. But the rustling of the branches reminded her of the wolf attack the week before. If wolves roamed the city streets, who knew what could be prowling in the deep dark woods.
She gathered herself. Her editor had made this assignment a challenge she couldn't afford to fail. And surely it wasn't late enough for there to be any real danger about. As soon as she reached Miss Morrigan's house, everything would be fine. If the woods weren't so dense, she could probably see the lights of the house by now. She tried to concentrate on reaching the house and not on the eerie feeling that she was being watched.
She looked over her shoulder. For an instant, she thought she saw a pale, wraith-like figure, by the trunk of a gnarled old oak. She shivered and continued on. Ever since encountering that ghost at the Cyba-Netsu Club she was seeing apparitions everywhere.
* * * * *
The Wisp glided unseen through the branches of the trees. He came up to the house at the center of the forest and slipped in through the window. Morrigan was there, chopping mandragora root in the kitchen.
The Wisp knelt on the linoleum behind her. She is on her way, he said.
"Good," Morrigan grunted. "See to it she reaches me safely. We wouldn't want anything to happen to her... yet."
I obey, the Wisp said, and darted from the cottage.
* * * * *
Cassandra knew from the map that Fellwood only occupied a few city blocks, but somehow the forest seemed to stretch for miles and miles. Finally, she caught a glimpse of a lit window. She hurried along the path and came to a small cottage nestled between the trees. A gingerbread house, Cassandra thought with dismay. Damn her editor! How far had this Belladonna Morrigan lost herself in her stage roles? Steadying herself, she rang the bell-pull by the door and Miss Morrigan answered it. "Welcome, child," the old woman cooed. "I've been expecting you. Come right in."
The inside of the cottage was a museum of antiques and oddities: an antediluvian grandfather clock, a hand sickle hanging on the wall, a stuffed baby crocodile on the shelf, a bust of a human head divided into phrenological zones, and other stranger items. "Do have a seat," Morrigan said, "While I bring you some tea."
Cassandra picked her way across the cluttered parlor to a musty horsehair couch next to a framed print of Herne the Hunter leading the Wild Hunt. "Thank you again for allowing me to visit," she said. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you." Only a few dim lights and the flames of an old fireplace illuminated the room. After leaving the gloomy forest, the fireplace should have seemed warm and cheery; but it's flickering light played weird and disturbing shadows among the clutter and curios packed on the parlor's shelves.
Cassandra realized with a start that there were two other people in the room; a young man and a woman wearing school uniforms stood near the far wall next to a framed poster of an angry samurai for a production of The Mikado; so silent and still that Cassandra had barely noticed them. They might as well have been waxworks, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. A quote from Through the Looking Glass came to her mind unbidden: “‘If you think we’re wax-works you ought to pay, you know. Wax-works weren’t made to be looked at for nothing, nohow!” Their eyes had a dull and leaden cast to their stare. They each wore a silver medallion of a leaf impaled by a thorn.
Miss Morrigan returned with a tea service. "I see you've met my niece and nephew. They're from Australia and they’re staying with me. This is... Winston, and... Sheila." The two raised their heads at the mention of their names. They weren't waxworks then after all.
Cassandra acknowledged them with a polite smile. Perhaps she could get a real story out of this. She just needed to sit tight and play politely along to get a little information out of Miss Morrigan. Maybe her weird relatives too. The ominous old bat obviously wanted someone besides Mrs. Trotter to talk to, or she wouldn’t have invited Cassandra here. Handle it right and before long she’d be back on the bus putting notes into her smartphone for a human interest piece that would impress the boss and keep her job!
Cassandra accepted a cup from Morrigan. "Thank you." She brought the cup to her lips, its aroma filling her nostrils.
She took a sip.
Something was wrong. The tea had a peculiar taste. She looked up at Miss Morrigan, who smiled a tight, expectant smile and fixed her gaze upon her. Without knowing why, a dreadful certainty seized Cassandra. The tea is drugged.
Cassandra tried to unobtrusively spit the tea in her mouth back into the cup while pretending to drink more. She hoped the old woman was fooled. "My, what an interesting flavor. I don't think I've tasted anything like it before," she said.
"A herbal blend of my own," Morrigan said. "I have a garden behind my cottage."
Cassandra set down the tea cup. The old crone leaned forward, with hungry anticipation gleaming in her eyes. Or was it the firelight? The silent pair also seemed a pace closer. Cassandra felt as if a trap were closing around her. But which was more dangerous, the weird old lady in the cottage, or the dark and deadly woods?
Cassandra made up her mind. She stood up. "Oh dear, I just realized! I have an important appointment. I really must be going."
"But you just arrived," the crone hissed.
"Yes. I'm awfully sorry. I'll come again some other time." Cassandra bolted for the door.
"Wisp!" Morrigan shouted, and the lad she had referred to as "Winston" dissolved like a mist and re-materialized in the doorway, blocking Cassandra's escape.
Cassandra halted with a gasp and looked wildly around for another means of escape.
Morrigan turned to the girl. "Banshee!" The young woman's uniform transformed into a diaphanous gown and her eyes glowed with a fey green light as she advanced towards Cassandra. "Sing to her," Morrigan said. "A quiet song."
Cassandra scrambled over the coffee table and tried to open the window. Behind her, the Banshee opened her lips and emitted a weird, high pitched keening.
Cassandra flung her hands over her ears. The room seemed to spin and she felt a spasm of nausea. She crumpled to the floor and the room turned to darkness.