The tree curled possessively around the entrance, creaking hugely in the oppressive silence. I shivered. In the canopy above, the leaves did the same.

You have come, the tree said. I have waited for you.

“Yes,” I replied, and added, a bit lamely, “Sorry for the delay.”

It is no matter. The tree creaked again, roots shifting minutely. The crumbling masonry protested, sending a shower of cracked stone and rotten mortar tumbling down around me.

You have made the necessary preparations?

I glanced back over my shoulder to the still-smoking altar, to the dying smudge of blood and sage and ash. The hot designs traced across my skin were already drying. The smell of it was everywhere.

“Yup.” I looked toward the tree and laid a hand on its closest root. “In case I don’t come back, you should know: I love you.”

I know.

“Do you love me?”

I do not. I cannot. I am a tree.

“True.” I looked down into the cool blackness before me. “Right. That settles that.”

I stepped forward and down into darkness.