Edgy and not sure why, I carried the basket of laundry
off the back porch. I hung my T-shirts and overalls on
the front line of my old-fashioned solar clothes dryer,
two long skirts on the outer line, and what my mama
called my intimate attire on the line between, where no
one could see them from the driveway. I didn’t want
another visit by Brother Ephraim or Elder Ebenezer about
my wanton ways. Or even another courting attempt from
Joshua Purdy. Or worse, a visit from Ernest Jackson Jr.,
the preacher. So far I’d kept him out of my house, but
there would come a time when he’d bring help and try to
force his way in. It was getting tiresome having to chase
churchmen off my land at the business end of a shotgun,
and at some point God’s Cloud of Glory Church would bring
enough reinforcements that I couldn’t stand against them.
It was a battle I was preparing for, one I knew I’d
likely lose, but I would go down fighting, one way or
another.

The breeze freshened, sending my wet skirts rippling as
if alive, on the line where they hung. Red, gold, and
brown leaves skittered across the three acres of newly
cut grass. Branches overhead cracked, clacked, and
groaned with the wind, leaves rustling as if whispering
some dread tiding. The chill fall air had been perfect
for birdsong; squirrels had been racing up and down the
trees, stealing nuts and hiding them for the coming
winter. I’d seen a big black bear this morning, chewing
on mast and nuts halfway up the hill.

Standing in the cool breeze, I studied my woods,
listening, feeling, tasting the unease that had prickled
at my flesh for the last few months, ever since Jane
Yellowrock had come visiting and turned my life upside
down. She was the one responsible for the repeated recent
visits by the churchmen. The Cherokee vampire hunter was
the one who had brought all the changes, even if it
wasn’t intentional. She had come hunting a missing
vampire and, because she was good at her job—maybe the
best ever—she had succeeded. She had also managed to save
more than a hundred children from God’s Cloud.

Maybe it had been worth it all—helping all the children—
but I was the one paying the price, not her. She was long
gone and I was alone in the fight for my life. Even the
woods knew things were different.

Sunlight dappled the earth; cabbages, gourds, pumpkins,
and winter squash were bursting with color in the garden.
A muscadine vine running up the nearest tree, tangling in
the branches, was dropping the last of the ripe fruit. I
smelled my wood fire on the air, and hints of that apple-
crisp chill that meant a change of seasons, the sliding
toward a hard, cold autumn. I tilted my head, listening
to the wind, smelling the breeze, feeling the forest
through the soles of my bare feet. There was no one on my
property except the wild critters, creatures who belonged
on Soulwood land, nothing else that I could sense. But
the hundred fifty acres of woods bordering the flatland
around the house, up the steep hill and down into the
gorge, had been whispering all day. Something was not
right.

In the distance, I heard a crow call a warning, sharp
with distress. The squirrels ducked into hiding, suddenly
invisible. The feral cat I had been feeding darted under
the shrubs, her black head and multicolored body fading
into the shadows. The trees murmured restlessly.

I didn’t know what it meant, but I listened anyway. I
always listened to my woods, and the gnawing, whispering
sense of danger, injury, damage was like sandpaper
abrading my skin, making me jumpy, disturbing my sleep,
even if I didn’t know what it was.

I reached out to it, to the woods, reached with my mind,
with my magic. Silently I asked it, What? What is it?

There was no answer. There never was. But as if the
forest knew that it had my attention, the wind died and
the whispering leaves fell still. I caught my breath at
the strange hush, not daring even to blink. But nothing
happened. No sound, no movement. After an uncomfortable
length of time, I lifted the empty wash basket and
stepped away from the clotheslines, turning and turning,
my feet on the cool grass, looking up and inward, but I
could sense no direct threat, despite the chill bumps
rising on my skin. What? I asked. An eerie fear grew in
me, racing up my spine like spiders with sharp, tiny
claws. Something was coming. Something that reminded me
of Jane, but subtly different. Something was coming that
might hurt me. Again. My woods knew.

From down the hill I heard the sound of a vehicle
climbing the mountain’s narrow, single-lane, rutted road.
It wasn’t the clang of Ebenezer’s rattletrap Ford truck,
or the steady drone of Joshua’s newer, Toyota long-bed.
It wasn’t the high-pitched motor of a hunter’s all-
terrain vehicle. It was a car, straining up the twisty
Deer Creek mountain.

My house was the last one, just below the crest of the
hill. The wind whooshed down again, icy and cutting, a
downdraft that bowed the trees. They swayed in the wind,
branches scrubbing. Sighing. Muttering, too low to hear.

It could be a customer making the drive to Soulwood for
my teas or veggies or herbal mixes. Or it could be some
kind of conflict. The woods said it was the latter. I
trusted my woods.

I raced back inside my house, dropping the empty basket,
placing John’s old single-shot, bolt-action shotgun near
the refrigerator under a pile of folded blankets. His
lever-action carbine .30-30 Winchester went near the
front window. I shoved the small Smith & Wesson .32 into
the bib of my coveralls, hoping I didn’t shoot myself if
I had to draw it fast. I picked up the double-barrel
break-action shotgun and checked the ammo. Both barrels
held three-inch shells. The contact area of the latch was
worn and needed to be replaced, but at close range I
wasn’t going to miss. I might dislocate my shoulder, but
if I hit them, the trespassers would be a while in
healing too.

I debated for a second on switching out the standard shot
shells for salt or birdshot, but the woods’ disharmony
seemed to be growing, a particular and abrasive itch
under my skin. I snapped the gun closed and pulled back
my long hair into an elastic, to keep it out of my way.