Page 66 of Among the Screaming Trees

Fox guides Luk from the plate, nodding for him to finish cleaning the sink. Then he places my index finger over the tiny dials, because his huge digits wouldn’t just turn one number; they’d all move together. With shaking hands, I scrape down the first dial, alighting the two, then the next two dials until a zero is facing forward.

“Good,” Fox mouths, and I bloom with pride. Had he tacked “fucking girl” onto the end of that statement, we would indulge in that quickie prior to the helicopter’s arrival.

Two lines up next, and I scrape the second to last dial so that the four lines up with the rest. If this is true, then all I need to do is roll the seven around to line up with the other numbers. The hut door opens with the creek of disuse, and Jackson pauses on the threshold.

“I can hear a bird in the air, people. We’re moving out.”

The seven clicks into place, and the plate springs open, hinged to the frame.

“No fucking way,” Luk exclaims, rushing over. “We’re fucking rich, baby.”

Premature celebration aside, I stare into the space about three inches deep. The compartment must be recessed into the structural exterior timber, so this hiding spot was no accident.

“I want a Bugatti. And a yacht. We should all move to Monaco. Fuck this freezing fucking weather. And I need my tatts tidied up. I started the sleeve one night while I was drunk and the lines aren’t the best. We could track down one of those celebrity artists from social media and get them to ink over the⁠—”

“Vaskari! Enough! What is it, Aspen?”

We’re not rich. At least not obviously so. There is no thumb drive alluding to anything of a financial nature. The crypto theory was farfetched at best. With a family legacy like Wyldan, that reeks of shady saloon deals and old, dirty money. Sure, they built a town out of nothing and started a university here and another campus in Anchorage. I shouldn’t cast dispersions, especially when said university is paying full board and tuition. But I’ve seen and read the history books about how the land was exploited for minerals and mining or savaged for fuel and construction. Otto Wyldan staring back at us from a portrait in Eli’s study just looked like a mean, dishonest, shady bastard with bad breath. Like his halitosis could seep through from the oils on canvas if you looked too long.

“It’s a… key,” I state, holding up the brass item for closer inspection.

“To what?There are no keyholes here,” Luk adds.

“Again, this is why you are Einstein, and we are just in awe,” Jack barks back, sarcasm dripping off his tongue like syrup.

“Fuck you,” Luk retorts, pulling on his near-dry boots as the thwack thwack of the helicopter blades sound above us. The only clear, stable place to land is right outside the hut’s door.

I palm the key, turning it over to check for any markings, perhaps a stamp identifying a building or a company logo. There isn’t anything. I slide it into my pocket, adding it to the long list of questions still to be answered about my parents, their beloved Malchoydian Pepperberry trees, and this weird fucking town of Wyldan.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Elijah

FISHY

“It’s very fortunate you didn’t succumb to any questionable fish, Elijah. Don’t you have a chef preparing your meals?”

I shrug, not sure how else to describe the absence of a colleague and three students, all of whom are currently residing with me on the mountain. “Very fortunate, indeed, Dean.” I’m not subscribing to his passive aggressiveness or floating questions. If he thinks they ate questionable fish and became sick, that’s on him. The irony that we are even having this conversation while staring out at the snow-dusted fountain depicting a fish about to become a bear’s feast, is delicious.

“Judging by the state of your face, I’d say you cooked, and whoever ate it wasn’t happy. Good grief, man, did they all take turns on your face? Do I need to organize a welfare check up on that mountain?”

Christ, the last thing we need is social services or law enforcement swarming to the house to find it… empty. I smile with what I hope is deflection, the skin of my split lip pulling taut.

“As long as they are feeling better, Professor. The very last thing we need is more students falling ill, especially after that business with Merda. I’m expecting some preliminary results back from George at any moment. He will have to release to the family first, of course.”

“Of course,” I concur. The only reason he’d be privy to any part of the investigation is his position here, and George’s penchant for oversharing. His father was also on the force, was the Wyldan Sheriff until his death while I was studying in Colorado under Arthur, and where I met Jackson and Aster.

“If I may be so bold… May I ask, once Aspen has recovered, for you to pass on a message for her to meet with me, please? I’ve sent her an email, although if she’s bent over a toilet, her inbox will be the furthest thing from her mind.”

“Of course,” I add again, sounding like a broken fucking record. “Anything she needs to be aware of beforehand?”

He smiles that knowing, older man smile, like he knows the secrets of the universe that only come with time spent on this rock, and not education alone. He knows I’m fishing for information. The question is, does it serve his purpose to drip feed me enough sustenance to whet my appetite, and hers, or does he sit back in his incontinence underwear and ferment?

“Should you speak to her before she can check her mail, please tell her I’ve been contacted by a research team from Norway, and they want to speak with her urgently. Plus, I received communication for Mr. Vaskari, but I haven’t been able to contact him either. The mill contacted me about an incident with his father. If you cross paths with him before I do, please tell him to check his phone! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must head off, or I’ll be late for Bonner’s other class. Between Professor Donnelyn and myself, we have it covered. I’m more than happy to leave the soup to her though. She made broth for him. To aid his recovery. Lovely gesture, that. We’re fortunate to have such caring members of faculty, eh?”

“Very fortunate,” I grit out through teeth clenched so tight I’m a fucking ventriloquist. Grundy shuffles back down the hall, and I check my phone for an update from the pilot. The helo should have landed at the cabin and collected them and brought them back to my side of the mountain by now, only I can’t exactly dart off and check. Another absentee lecturer who doesn’t require soup, but substance. If Aspen wants to poke the bruise, she may find the blood pools in other places than under one’s wounded skin.

My SUV tears up the mountain road, the icy slick no deterrent until I reach one of the town lookout areas and pull in. Then, I lower the window and throw the container and contents of soup out as far as I can, not giving a single shit where it lands or what poor fucking animal ends up eating it. With a bit of luck, it might be trapped under more layers of snow and be somewhat decomposed after spring and the thaw. Fucking soup! It took everything I had not to allow Donnelyn to head up here herself, now that she knows the good doctor is staying with me and Aspen. I don’t want her anywhere near my house, or my occupants, and her soup can get in the fucking bin, or fly off the side of a mountain. The rumor of gastrointestinal upset was just that—a rumor. I can’t risk it being true following the other professor’s hearty cooking.