Chapter Text
Areala’s Gap is as sleepy as JC and Ava expect one bar towns to be, and they settle into their usual routine easily. They’d share a fifteen cent breakfast from the diner next door, usually a ham biscuit and grits with an unholy amount of sugar or honey. The cook had graduated from open-mouthed disbelief at Ava’s crime against hominy to ignoring it in favor of shaking her head at whatever story she told as she and JC collected their meal. After a week, they found their tray often had an extra thick slice of ham, or a treat of leftover cobbler from the day before. JC would then go to open the store with Mateo. He told Ava he liked the work. There was a fair balance of physical labor, from moving sacks of dry goods, and opportunities to garner friendship with the locals. The gap wasn’t a wealthy town by any means, but he often came home with an extra few pennies that pretty girls “forgot” in his hand as he gave them change for their purchases. In their second week working for Mateo, Ava comes to the store early before her shift to eat with JC, Mateo, and his family. There’s always a lull before the bar opens so he lingers behind the counter while JC brings few more sacks of oats from the back of the store. The bell over the door jingles and they look up to see two women, probably close to their age, enter. Ava looks to their faces and warms in an way she’d long forgotten about. She faintly remembers feeling this way when she played with her mother in the stream, when they filled jars of honey with herbs. The tall one exudes tension, dark hair pulled into a bun that accentuates her severe cheekbones. She’s beautiful in the way a lightning storm is beautiful, simmering and building until the sky crackles and flashes with power. The shorter woman is no less beautiful, but the curls in her short hair seem to match her energy, relaxed and bouncy. She offers Ava a wide, easy smile as they make eye contact and Ava thinks of adolescent mountain lions. Playful, but strong and dangerous. JC drops the final bag of oats on the low shelf and turns to greet the two women. They’ve already begun shopping, the tall one inspecting bags of flour for damage and the short one collecting a few different cans of fruit.
“Well, hello there. I’m JC. Can I help you gather your items? The sharp one scoffs, but the other does answer,
“I’m Camila, and this is Lilith. We’re just fine shopping for ourselves, thank you.” To Ava, it’s a polite but clear dismissal. JC doesn’t seem phased as he says,
“Okay! Just let me know!”
He lingers some in the dry goods section, clearly waiting for Lilith to find goods to her satisfaction so he can take them to the counter for her. She eventually finds a few large bags that meet her expectations and collects them. She breezes past JC’s outstretched hands and places them on the opposite end of the counter from Ava. JC seems a bit surprised but drops his hands with a shrug and moves to the register. Camila brings up her now-full basket and gives Ava another smile. This close, Ava feels almost hot. There’s a neighbor at the door, the nice old man who gives Ava a rock candy when he and Mama trade vegetables for washing services and salves. Mama won’t let him in like usual, though. She sees him through the crack in the door, and she feels sick to her stomach. Mama’s voice is quiet and scary. She steps onto the porch and closes the door. Ava can’t see the man anymore, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. Mama’s only gone for a few minutes, maybe and when she comes back Ava rushes to hug her. The air in the room feels hot, and her arms are almost burning on Ava’s back, even through their clothes.
“Mama, are you sick? Why is it hot?”
“Don’t worry, solzinha. It won’t be hot long. Mama had to do some work.”
Ava finds herself pulled again from her memories by JC’s voice. He’s rambling, gesturing to Ava as he writes down Camila and Lilith’s purchases and calculates their total.
“My sister and I are from California. It’s just been the two of us for a while. We’re trying to make our way to New York, but it’s taking some time and work.” Ava forces out a smile, and notices Camila’s friendly smile has turned curious and even Lilith’s previously unflappable countenance looks rattled.
“It’s hard, but it’s a great way to see a lot of places! We spent Christmas in St. Louis and visited the new symphony hall.” Ava spins a story about their travels as JC finishes making their change.
“That’s a good number of bags, can I help you home?”
“That’s so kind of you to offer, but please don’t trouble yourself.” Camila shoots JC down again gently.
“It’s no trouble! Ava can handle the counter until it’s time to close up, which isn’t long now anyway. It’d be a pleasure to walk you lovely ladies home.” He’s laying it on thick, and Ava wonders if she should feel jealous. They are sweethearts, but to everyone in town they are siblings and almost any single man of JC’s age would be interested in.
“That is unnecessary. Our husbands are just down the road with the truck. Thank you for the assistance, JC.” Lilith snaps out at JC, and nods to Ava. She gathers the bags of flour and oats and hefts them over her shoulder with ease. She exits in three long strides, and Camilla hurries after her, calling over her shoulder
“It was nice to meet you, Ava!”
Ava fills her morning with walks. She learns the town in a few days and soon begins venturing out into the woods. There’s plenty of signage to guide her to the river and back in time for her to open the bar. One unseasonably warm February morning, Ava sits on her favorite fallen log with Mrs. Dalloway, the book she splurged for after receiving her first week’s wages from Mateo. Sister Frances and the orphanage had little in the way of books beyond old copies of The New England Primer and moral treatises for children. Ava struggles to read many of the books she picks up, but she relishes the opportunity to even try. The river’s lazy gurgling and the sound of purple finches and kingfishers protect her little pocket of peace. She’s unsure how much time has passed when her reading is interrupted by the uneven snapping of branches somewhere to her left. The birds quiet, and she looks for the source of the noise. The culprit is a young deer, not quite a yearling. It’s dragging one of its hind legs, which is bloodied and caught in a steel trap. It reaches her clearing and collapses, exhausted and pained. Ava feels something sharp in her chest in response. She shallows her breathing and sets her scrap paper bookmark slowly. There’s only a handful of yards between them. Ava creeps over slowly, palms outstretched, silently pleading with the animal to not try to run. It tries to stand, terror evident in its eyes. Ava exhales, trying to calm herself, and she sees some form of ease come over the deer. It’s still in obvious pain, but it lays back down and eyes her with more curiosity than fear. Still moving slowly, Ava reaches the trapped leg. She places one hand on the release and the other on the injured leg. She takes a deep breath to gather her strength and presses down forcefully on the lever. It’s rusted and stiff, but after a moment, the steel teeth of the trap open enough for her to yank it away from the deer and toss it across the clearing. Despite its freedom, perhaps because of its exhaustion, the deer remains still under her palm. She looks over its leg. The skin is bloodied, rubbed raw from dragging and shifting in the trap. The deer becomes restless under her gaze and she releases the breath she had forgotten about. She rubs her hand across its haunches as she does so, and she’s shocked at the burning sensation that streaks across her palm. She feels something tugged gently from her chest and the young deer leaps up. It takes a few hesitant steps, still limping, but with each step it seems steadier. By the time it reaches the other side of the river, the limp is gone and it is bounding away as it reaches the edge of the clearing on the other side. Just before it disappears, it appears to stop to look back at Ava for a moment. When it’s finally out of sight, Ava feels a wave of fatigue roll over her. She picks her book up off of her log, and makes her way back to Areala’s Gap. By the time she reaches the edge of town the strange heat in her palm has faded, and when she reaches the hotel the fatigue is gone as well. JC arrives at their room around the same time, and when she gets to the bar for work an hour later, her encounter with the deer has all but slipped her mind.
Beatrice will imbibe on exactly one evening a week, Saturday, with many of the other miners, but mostly with Mary. It had taken Mary some time to convince her, but it was the one night that the end of Beatrice’s shift didn’t butt up against the beginning of Mary’s so she accepted the opportunity to spend some time with her friend. It’s the first time since Christmas they’d been able to stop in for a drink, between Mateo’s daughter’s illness and their own obligations. She kicks some lingering truck dust off of her Sunday boots as she opens the store’s door. She’s surprised to see the young man from the train station a few weeks ago behind the counter, writing in the ledger. He looks up,
“Hey there, can I help you?”
“I have an appointment.” He offers her a lazy smile,
“Sure thing. Mateo’s ready for you downstairs.”
She nods at him and makes her way down. She’s glad to see Mateo has some help as his daughter recovered. He’d gone from looking exhausted at church to missing it entirely in recent weeks and she’s sure the whole family was grateful to spend more time together. Beatrice steps into the basement, kerosene lamps casting a yellow glow and heavy shadows deep in the room. She looks to the bar, and is blinded again by the woman from the train station, looking quite in her element as she pours whiskey into short glasses. Mary’s already on her usual stool, chatting away with the shining woman. Beatrice is fixated on her brightness and realizes she must have been staring when a hard bump to her shoulder makes her stumble forward. It’s Sean Crimson, again.
“What, never seen an out of town broad before, Young? Close yer mouth, you don’t have what a gal like her likes anyway.” Crimson’s default nature is loud and crude, and he loves to exaggerate that to cause Beatrice discomfort. By the time he finishes speaking, the bar has quieted and everyone, pretty bartender included, are paying attention to him as he adjusts his crotch dramatically and sidles up to the counter. Beatrice rolls her eyes, but can’t hide the embarrassed flush that appears high on her cheekbones. She takes her seat next to Mary, who bumps shoulders with her affectionately and slides a waiting glass to her.
“Always a displeasure to see Crimson. His mama must wonder every day what she did wrong to have a son like him.” Beatrice laughs a little and looks at the woman at the other end of the counter.
“She’s the one I told you about, the woman at the depot.” Mary looks up from her glass,
“Ava? Yeah, she’s got it. I could tell when she said hello. Cam and Lil mentioned someone working the counter upstairs the other day looking pretty promising as well. Reckoned we were all talking about the same person.”
Their low conversation is interrupted by Ava’s approach. She leans on the bar, arms accentuating her breasts despite the simple cut of her dress. Beatrice’s eyes flit down briefly before she trains them on the face of the woman before her. The woman, for her part, smirks flirtatiously and makes no secret of trailing her eyes over Beatrice’s torso, whose strong shoulders appear broader clad in clean, wool broadcloth and the denim jacket Camila had specifically tailored for her.
“Hi there! I’m Ava. Whiskey or beer?”
Beatrice holds up her glass.
“I’m doing whiskey, but Mary had me sorted on the first one. Thank you.” Ava looks down at the glass and over at Mary, and looks a little embarrassed.
“Right! Silly me, she told me someone else was coming for that second glass. Well, when you’re ready for another, let me know okay…?” She trails off, hoping for a name.
“Beatrice. I will, thanks.”.
“Beatrice. I’ll check on you soon, Bea.” She flashes another smile and bounces off to pour drinks for a few other miners who’d just come down the stairs. Beatrice stares as she walks away for just a moment before Mary nudges her again with a grin only younger siblings and long-time friends recognize. Beatrice clears her head with a shake and says,
“ ‘Pretty promising’? Mary, I saw her from the road. I was damn near blinded when I walked in tonight. She has the strongest connection to the Green I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m just telling you what we’ve seen as well. I don’t know about the strongest connection, but she’s got it. Maybe she was in the sun when you saw her outside and you were just blinded by her tits just now.” Somehow, Beatrice thinks, her irritating smile has gotten worse.
“I’m not a teenage boy, Mary. I can look at a woman without fixating on her breasts.”
Mary snorts and takes a sip from her glass.
“Just pulling your leg, kid. She’s someone to keep tabs on for more than one reason. Anyway, tell me what kind of shit y’all got up to today.”
They settle into their usual comfortable banter with each other and some of the other, more pleasant miners from their shifts. Ava seems to be keeping a close eye on them. As soon as Beatrice’s first drink is gone, Ava is there, leaning on the counter with that flirtatious smile and pouring her another. Mary is ready to head back to the Cradle and Shannon after their second drink, and Beatrice is as well until she sees Crimson stumble back down the stairs after stepping out for a leak. He was piss drunk when he left and moved like he still was, but his eyes were far too alert for his condition. And they were trained on Ava, not with lust but with malice. Beatrice takes her jacket off and tosses it back onto the coat rack.
“I think I’ll stay for one more. It’s a nice night.” She leans close to Mary’s ear,
“I don’t like the way Crimson looks right now. I’m just going to make sure he doesn’t cause trouble.” Mary glances over, but Crimson is deep in another glass and she doesn’t see his eyes like Beatrice had.
“You don’t have to make up a reason, Beatrice. You get your girl.” She speaks loud enough for Ava to hear a few seats down, who looks over and rakes her gaze over Beatrice again. Mary grins and tosses Beatrice the keys to the truck.
“You’re not wrong though, it is a nice night. I’ll hoof it, since you got plans.” She leaves a few small bills on the bar and makes her way up the stairs. Ava steps over with the bottle.
“Just had to have another, huh?” She flirts. Beatrice flushes and decides to be brave.
“Not every night in Gap sees your drink served by a pretty stranger. What brings you this far off the path?” Ava looks delighted that Beatrice has decided to flirt back and Beatrice is again blinded by her as she breaks into perhaps her first genuine smile of the evening.
“Just traveling. My brother and I are working our way to New York, but taking our time. Seeing different places.”
“Sounds like quite an adventure. But why Areala’s Gap? We don’t have much out this way but the mines.”
Ava pauses. She’s not sure, now that she’s asked about it. It was in the right direction, sure, but it had felt *important* that they stop here rather than one of the big cities. She hesitates and finally responds with,
“It sounded pretty, I suppose. I’m a bit tired of the cities, too. I wanted to see something different.” Beatrice nods in understanding. They pass a couple more hours this way, Beatrice nursing her third drink and Ava stopping to chat between other customers. Even with her attention on Crimson, Beatrice feels the crackle of energy between her and Ava. Not the Green, though Beatrice feels that as she always does when she meets another person with the gift. Ava is magnetic, Beatrice feels it and sees it in the other patrons of the bar. She knows she has most of Ava’s attention, even when she’s helping other customers, and only the brightest of the other patrons also see where her focus lies. Eventually, most of them settle up and drain the last drops of liquor from their glasses with a nod to Ava and a wink at Beatrice. By the time Ava’s closing up bottles, the only patrons left in the bar are Beatrice and Crimson. He’s slumped over in a chair in the corner, snoring. Beatrice stands and dons her jacket. She places a five dollar bill on the counter.
“I’ll get that souse out so you don’t have to deal with him. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ava. I hope to see you again soon.” Ava smiles and nods, slightly disappointed Beatrice hadn’t offered to walk her home. She would have declined of course, because JC should be outside waiting for her, but it would mean Beatrice was as interested as Ava hoped. Beatrice strides over to Crimson’s table and kicks the chair leg.
“Get up, Crimson. Bar’s closed.” The man’s head jerks and Beatrice catches a glimpse of lucidity in his eyes before they’re schooled back to the sleepy, unfocused gaze of a drunk. He grumbles but rises, and Beatrice grasps his arm, tight, and guides him firmly out of the general store. There’s a young man leaning on the window, tan and handsome by most girls’ standards, and Beatrice gives him a nod as she lets Crimson go. He seems well and truly stoned and Beatrice wonders if she’d been overly concerned earlier. She walks down the street to the Cradle’s truck, fully intending to leave. But as she turns, she hears a gruff “thank you” from behind her back, and knows she won’t be leaving until she’s sure Ava is back wherever she needs to be, safe. Crimson stumbles down the road towards his house some blocks away. Beatrice fades into the shadows around the truck. A few short minutes later, Ava appears in the doorway. She gives the man at the window a brief kiss on the cheek and they head off in the same direction Crimson had gone a few minutes before. Beatrice gives them a small head start, and follows slowly, sticking to the shadows and alleys as much as possible. If her distaste for a drunken Crimson was simply playing tricks on her, there was no reason to alarm the young strangers. The general store and her truck are just out of sight when it happens. Crimson stumbles out of an alley and into the pair, startling them. The young man yelps—who *yelps*?—and jumps back.
“Suh sorry, lost my feet there fer a second.” His words are heavily slurred and he sways as he leans on Ava. “Can ye help me get t’ my house? ‘S’not that far. Least I don’t think.” JC and Ava share a glance. Helping drunks home wasn’t exactly in their plans for the night, but Ava thought about how wet the winter had been and didn’t want to find out one of the most regular patrons of the bar had gotten sick from sleeping in the damp. JC shrugs, so the each sling an arm over their shoulders and continue walking. Every now and then, Crimson will tell them to make a turn. After a few minutes, Ava realizes he’s taking them out towards the mines, not the residential area and she slows her steps.
“Are you sure you know where you’re taking us, Mr. Crimson? I thought you lived in town.” The drunk man stops and straightens a little, looking around. His brow furrows.
“Huh. Thought I did. This is good enough, though.” Crimson draws a knife and rises up to his full height, all signs of inebriation gone from his face and posture. The voice that emanates from him as he speaks in not the familiar one of a man too many drinks deep. There is hatred, darkness, and power in its rumble.
“Adriel sends his regards, Miss Silva.” His lips split into a wicked grin and he lunges at her. His knife narrowly misses her ribs as she stumbles backwards.
“What the fuck?” Ava walks backwards, gaze trained on the man before her, willing the nausea roiling in her gut to cease. His eyes are pitch black, radiating malice.
“Ava, what’s going on?” JC’s voice cuts through the tension, and the Man Who Was Not Sean Crimson whips around to him. Crimson lashes out with inhuman speed and JC can’t move away in time. The knife catches him on the arm. JC looks at the wound, slowly welling with blood and blanches.
“Sorry, Ava.” He turns and hightails it down the street. “I’m uh gonna get help!” Crimson watches him run for a moment and turns back to Ava, grin just as twisted and wicked as before. He begins his advance again. Ava is so fixated on the blade in his hand that she doesn’t notice that he’s been forcing her into an alley until her back hits a brick wall. She risks a glance around her and sees no escape. The Man Who Was Not Crimson sheathes his knife and grasps her throat, lifting her into the air. His palms feel rough and gritty from work and coal dust. Time seems to slow as his grip tightens, relishing in the way she kicks and struggles. She claws at the hands on her throat.
“The Gap ain’t for your kin anymore, Silva.” It happens as her vision begins to spot and darken at the edges. She strains to grip his hands and she’s faintly aware of screaming. She can’t breathe, it can’t be her screams, can it? She only realizes as she’s dropped to the ground and collapses in a heap that the screams are coming from Crimson. His eyes have returned to their normal blue, and he’s clasping his wrists. She smells burnt flesh and sees the peeling, angry red on his arms. Above him, there’s a cloud of red mist. It advances on her as she gasps for breath, frozen in place. Crimson is still screaming as a strange, white knife splits and inexplicably sticks in the cloud, mere moments and inches before it envelops her. She whips her head in the direction the blade came from and she sees the woman from the bar, Beatrice, running up to her. She hits her knees and slides the last few feet to Ava’s side. The knife clatters to the ground beside them, and Beatrice picks it up. She barely seems strained from the effort of sprinting from whatever distance, but her tidy bun has loosened and strands of hair now frame her face.
“Are you hurt? Did the mist touch you?” Ava shakes her head, looking from her hands to Crimson’s burnt arms.
“How did I do that? What is he? How are you here? What the fuck is going on?” Beatrice looks her over quickly and says,
“I promise I can and will answer your questions, but we need to get somewhere safer first. There may be more people like him around. Can I help you up?” Ava nods and Beatrice grasps her elbows and they stand together. Beatrice holds on for a moment to steady Ava. She turns to the man on the ground, babbling incoherently from pain and alcohol, and hefts him over her shoulders with barely a grunt. Ava’s eyebrows raise at the ease with which Beatrice carries this grown man, one she knew to be at least 5 inches taller and probably 40 pounds heavier based on their brief showdown earlier in the night. Beatrice strides out into the night and Ava hurries to follow her. She turns to make sure Ava’s keeping up, and begins to speak.
“I can take you to where you and your brother are staying, but I can guarantee your safety if you come to the Cradle, my family’s property. I need to take him there, too, but he won’t be able to hurt you. My sisters can treat his burns and figure out how he got this way.”
“I burned him. He got that way because I burned him. How did I do that?” Ava feels panic rising in her chest as she thinks over the last few minutes.
“Some people from the mountains have gifts. We call it the Green. You have it and it lets you do, well, magic.”
“I don’t think Houdini can do what I just did.” Beatrice gives her a rueful grin.
“It’s less Houdini and more…did your ma ever put something special under your pillow when you had nightmares and it actually work? Or take you to someone when you were sick and the doctors hadn’t helped, but this person did?”
Family after family knocking on the door, Ma handing out bundles of herbs. Ava, rustled from sleep by her mother’s sweet voice. “I have to go see the Parsons, amore. Their baby isn’t well. I’ll be back before you wake up again.” Turning the mattress and finding the markings carved in the bed frame.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know stuff like that.”
“Yeah, so that’s usually thanks to the Green. The folk tales all have a little truth, and the really good midwives and healers all have a little bit of the Green in ‘em. My family…we have a lot of the Green. Know a lot more about it…and the other things in the mountains.”
“Other things?”
“Things like what got into Crimson tonight. He’s a right fool most of the time, and meaner than a snake when he’s drunk enough, but not one to get violent like he did with y’all. He was possessed by what we call a haint. Restless spirits. They usually stir up some trouble, throw cups, move your good shoes. Sometimes they get nasty, like this one. They’re from the Inner Dark of the mountains.” She pauses, deciding how much detail to give Ava at once. “They’ve been…real nasty recently.”
“The Green and the Dark. Original.” Ava quips doubtfully, and Beatrice smiles again and shrugs. By now, they’ve returned to Mateo’s store and Beatrice’s truck. She places Crimson in the truck bed with little fanfare and turns to Ava.
“Where do you want me to take you?”
Ava thinks for a moment. She barely knows this woman with the strange knife and giant muscles, and she’s talking about magic as if it’s real. But, she also barely knew JC when she started traveling with him and he turned out to be useless when trouble came around.
“I’ll come with you.”