“Grab the stick,” Rory ordered.
She had thought being held prisoner in a petrifying spell would be the worst feeling of her life but being sucked into a grave was worse. Much worse.
Jennifer reached as Rory thrust a stick in her direction. She grabbed hold with both hands, ready to be pulled to safety.
“I got ya, love,” Rory said. “Don’t let go.”
Jennifer held on tight. She felt her body coming out of the bog. “It’s work—”
Another force countered Rory’s rescue, and in the span of one breath, the earth engulfed her completely. She heard Rory yell for her. The stick ripped from her hands, and her head became encased in thick darkness. The sound of her frantic heartbeat thumped in her ears.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Jennifer tried pushing her arms to swim toward the surface, but the mud was too thick. Her lungs begged for air, warring with her tight lips as they tried to keep out the peat. Any moment, the lungs would win, and on reflex, she’d try with her last seconds to breathe.
Rory flew back as Jennifer released the stick. He landed hard on the ground. Jim ran up to him, ready to play.
Rory kept the puppy from climbing onto his stomach and pushed up from the ground. Without concern for his own safety, he leaped close to where Jennifer had disappeared. The bog caught his legs, but he didn’t care as he reached into the disrupted surface. If she died, he died. There was no living without her.
“Take me, Jenny Greentooth,” Rory yelled. “Not her. Take me. I’m the one ya want!”
He dug into the bog, flinging layers aside before finally punching his hand into the depths. His legs sunk deeper. Jim barked.
“Back, Jim,” Rory ordered. He flung his dirty hand out of habit, trying to keep the dog safe, but his magick was useless. The puppy ran toward him, but he didn’t sink into the mud, just like the child that had pushed him down all those centuries ago.
Pieces of the memory came back to him as he desperately searched for Jennifer. He’d been here before, helpless in the bog as a woman drowned in the mud.
Before, it had been a stranger. This was Jennifer. He could not lose her.
Not his Jennifer.
“Take me, Jenny, take me,” he begged. “I’m the one you’ve been after.”
Rory sank lower. Jennifer would not be able to hold her breath much longer. He was running out of time.
“Take me. Take me. Take me.”
Rory screamed in frustration as he reached deeper, bringing the mud to his shoulder. His fingers bumped against something, and he grabbed hold. His fingers slipped, but he clutched his fist as tight as he could and pulled. The action caused the bog to pull his body into its depths, but he didn’t care. If Jenny accepted his trade, then he would die a thousand times for the chance to save Jennifer.
Rory managed to grab hold of what felt like an arm with both hands. He pulled harder, crying out as he lifted her. The mud came to his chest now. It became difficult to breathe as the pressure of it pushed against him.
The arm he held slipped, but he would not let go. A muddy hand broke the surface.
“I have ya, my love.” Rory grunted at the effort it took to pull her from the bog. “I…”
A second hand came through the surface on its own, slapping down on the ground near his face. The claws were unmistakable. It wasn’t Jennifer.
“No!” The agonized cry escaped him. That was all the fight he had left.
Mud touched his jaw. The bony arm slipped from his grasp.
Peat clung to Jenny Greentooth’s head. Clumps flew from her missing nose as she hissed out air. She opened her mouth and gurgled a horrible sound in his direction. Like the bog she lived in, her body looked eaten away by rot and decay. She crawled out of the muck, using the top of his head for support as she pushed him down.
The cold bog enveloped him. Rory tried to swim toward where Jennifer went under, desperate to push her to the surface. It was no use. If he could manage to move even an inch closer to her, he’d take it. If this is what eternity had in store, he would die knowing he spent it with the love of his life.
Chapter Eighteen
Death was cold.
It was dark.
And the fear still lingered.
Jennifer’s lungs had stopped fighting for air. That was how she knew she died. The taste of peat sat in her mouth like a bite of dead leaves. If she thought being stuck as a statue for a few hours was dreadful, how was she going to last forever here in the darkness?
Had she led such a bad life that this was her punishment?
“All it takes is a dash of destiny, and everything can change.”
Was this her destiny all along? Had she been drifting toward this moment?
So much tragedy. It rushed over her. Her brother’s death had led to her mother’s absence. Her father’s illness had fallen upon her shoulders. She didn’t regret caring for him, but she hated losing him. Then came the loneliness and struggle to pay bills.
Life had not been easy, but she had not lived it badly. She didn’t deserve this.
What did she deserve?
There was something….
Someone…
Rory.
She wanted Rory.
She thought of his smile, and the cold didn’t feel so cold. She imagined his laugh, so real it felt as if he was trapped next to her. This would be the thought she carried into eternity—Rory, and all they could have been together.
The idea triggered her imagination, and she felt Rory against her flesh. He was part of her, in her, and she was in him wherever he was.
Jennifer saw his life as an observer in a dream. She saw him moving through time. He walked through tall grasses. His hand danced along the tops as he pushed through them, each brush of his palm like a caress. She witnessed him running after a woman, into danger. She felt his despair when he’d watched her sink into the earth. He had tried to save her with no thought of himself.
It was then Jennifer understood what happened in this enchanted bog. Sinners were encased in darkness. This was a place of judgment. The bog witch collected souls, but only those who proved themselves worthy of her punishment. Jenny Greentooth planted them in the soil, and they churned and rotted to nourish the peat.
Rory didn’t deserve to be here. He’d come into the bog to rescue a stranger, and Jenny had wanted to take him, for she was greedy and wanted her souls, but she’d been unable to keep him planted. He had not been worthy of her garden. The clarity of seeing Rory’s life laid out before her made Jennifer convinced of that fact. He was a good man with a kind soul. His selflessness had protected him. All those years ago in Ireland, Jenny had marked his soul so that it would find his way back to her judgment.
If Jenny needed a soul, then Jennifer would let the bog witch have hers. She would take Rory’s place.
Jennifer felt movement near her head. Sharp nails scratched her scalp as someone grabbed hold of her hair and pulled. The thick mud released her from its prison as she was brought into the light. She gagged, expelling filth from her mouth, just like in the cheese-induced acid trip. She tried to see, but mud stung her eyes.
Someone’s breathing sounded like a cross between a death rattle and the rasp of a heavy smoker. Her rescuer dragged her from the bog by her hair. When her hand broke free, Jennifer swiped clumps of peat from her vision. Her legs pulled from the muck with a terrible sticking sound. Once free of the bog, she slid much faster. The hold on her hair hurt, but she didn’t care if it meant safety.