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“...How’s he doing?”
“Well, he’s alive, but has been unconscious since he turned back. I don’t know how much damage it caused on his body.” A pause. “Why do you care, anyway?”
The two voices floated to Woodie’s ears, but were muffled, as if a plane of glass separated them. He attempted to hold onto the words, but they dissipated as soon as he heard them.
Where was he?
What happened?
He pulled himself slowly out of unconsciousness. He tried to force his eyes open. As he did, a throbbing, dull pain spiked in his head. It drove a stake into his brain. He kept his eyes shut with a faint groan.
It took him a few seconds to realize someone was cradling his aching, pounding head. It was someone’s lap, he thought dully, but couldn’t pinpoint whose.
They ran their hands through his hair and brushed some from his eyes. The hands were small, but rough and calloused, similar to his own. It felt nice.
“Don’t worry.” The person said. Their voice was light and high pitched, but soft. Caring. More tangible, and very, very close. “You’re going to be alright. Don’t push yourself.”
More muffled, far away voices. “Well, Higgsbury, I feel somewhat responsible. I want to try to fix this.”
“Only ‘somewhat’ responsible? You gave him his curse!”
“I’m very aware of that, thank you. Are you going to just argue with me or are you going to let me see him?”
“You know he won’t be happy to see you when he wakes up.”
“I’ve realized that.”
Woodie let out another sound of pain. Why couldn’t they stop talking? Jesus, he was thirsty, but the very idea to drink revolted him.
More petting. More loving touches, although cold. More clear words. “Ignore them, Woodie.” They said. “Just focus on me.”
The person’s name was on the tip of his tongue as his sluggish brain tried to work. He tried opening his eyes again, maybe to catch a glimpse of them—
“Fine. I’ll let you in. But if he doesn’t want to see you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I can live with that.”
Before Woodie could process this, the person combing through his hair stopped. They let out a small, annoyed growl, mixed in with a slight gasp, before shifting out from under Woodie. They eased his head back down on a small pillow and gave his forehead a small, fast kiss, before they were gone.
That woke Woodie up.
He came to in Wilson’s small medical tent, lying on his side in a small cot. His stuff was off to the side, with Lucy resting against said cot. Woodie pulled himself up slowly, fighting dizziness, pain, and nausea.
As he did that, the small tent flap opened. Wilson, followed by Maxwell, stepped inside. Wilson stopped in his tracks. “Woodie? You’re awake?”
“I am now.” Woodie mumbled. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, then squinted at Maxwell and Wilson. They were slightly blurry; his eyes refused to focus correctly on them. “What… happened?” They focused slightly more on Maxwell. His eyes narrowed. “What’s he doing here?”
Wilson gave Maxwell a look, before he knelt by Woodie’s cot. He started tending to Woodie, checking his pulse and laggy reflexes. “You transformed again.” Wilson began.
“I remember that.” Woodie replied. “But why am I… here?” A slow pause. “Why do I feel… hungover?”
Wilson let a small breath through his nose. “You got into some of the wood alcohol. That was for Winona and I?”
Woodie blinked. He definitely didn’t remember that.
Wilson ran a hand through his hair. “Methanol’s toxic. I’m surprised it didn’t kill you immediately.”
Woodie didn’t reply.
“I want to monitor you for a little while longer.” Wilson said. “Most of the primary symptoms should be letting up; most of it was in your werebeaver form. But I’m worried about secondary symptoms. You’ve been out of it for a few hours. How’re your eyes?”
“Blurry.” Woodie mumbled. More blinking.
“I was worried about that.” Wilson sighed. He grabbed his feather pencil from his small desk and held it. He began to move it to the side in front of Woodie. “Focus on me and don’t move your eyes. Tell me if you can’t see it anymore.”
Near the edge of Woodie’s peripheral vision, he stopped. “There.” Woodie said. His voice was bleak; he felt anxiety in his gut. “I can’t see it anymore.”
Wilson checked the other side and got a similar response. Wilson wrote that down, and sighed. “It seems you do have some vision loss from the methanol. It’s not as bad as I was expecting, but…” He trailed off. “I can work on getting you some glasses to correct it, but I can’t do much about your peripheral vision.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
That took a second for Woodie to absorb. He yearned for that gentle touch he missed. In the back of his mind, he was convinced it was a dream. “I… understand.” Woodie said. “Is Winona upset about… what happened?”
“She was more worried about your well being.” Wilson sighed. “We’ll figure something out to replace what was lost.”
Finally, Maxwell cleared his throat and made himself known once again. Woodie almost forgot he was there. “Now that you’re finished, Higgsbury, may I speak with him?”
Wilson looked at Woodie, then back to Maxwell. Wilson backed off.
“What do you want, Maxwell?” Woodie demanded. Even through the news about his eyes, his head cleared a little. He sat up straighter, even though his head still pounded. “I don’t exactly want your pity.”
“I’m not here to offer any.” Maxwell said. “I’m here because I have an idea on how to reverse your curse. I can’t exactly help with your vision, either, but I can prevent it from getting worse from… other means.”
Before Woodie could even think of a response, Lucy beat him to it. She shifted slightly next to Woodie cot; her voice was high and shrill. “I swear to God, Maxwell, if I wasn’t a goddamn axe I’d kill you on the spot! Don’t you even touch him!”
Wilson’s face went paler than normal. Maxwell looked startled at first, but quickly regained his composure. Woodie’s gaze snapped to Lucy as he picked her up by the handle. “Lucy!” He scolded. “Now’s not the time!”
Wilson swallowed. He looked like he was about to say something, but Maxwell cut him off. Maxwell’s face was blank and hard to read. “Ah, how have you been, Lucy? Or should I say, Lucille? It’s been awhile, hm?”
“Oh, I’ve never been better!” Lucy chirped, her voice dripping in sarcasm. “Just livin’ my life as an axe. It’s just what I’ve always wanted!”
Woodie looked between Lucy and Maxwell. “Wait--” He began, but was cut off as Lucy, again, moved on her own. His grip on her was tight, but she pulled his arms and body with him, forcing Woodie into a standing position. Through a pang of dizziness and pain, Lucy’s blade was inches from Maxwell’s throat, almost kissing it.
“Now, now, that’s not very nice, is it?” Maxwell asked. He backed up from Lucy a few steps, and Woodie’s arm relaxed, pulling Lucy back towards himself.
“Luce?” Woodie asked, looking down at her. His voice was barely over a whisper. “Mind explainin’ what’s going on here? How d’you know him, eh?”
“I’ll, ah, run some glasses designs by Winona! I’ll be back shortly.” Wilson said, before gathering his notes and leaving the three of them alone.
Maxwell and Woodie watched Wilson scurry off with his head down, then Woodie sat back down on his cot with a huff. He set Lucy down next to him.
“Alright.” Woodie said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “One of you better start talkin’.”
***
The wolves got Woodie’s horse.
Lucille found the poor thing bleeding out in the snow, surrounded by dark red snow and bits of tissue strewn about. Her hands flew to her mouth, nearly dropping her lantern in the snow.
The smell of blood was thick in the air. She thought she was going to throw up.
The horse stared at her with blank, dead eyes. It did not move, did not breathe. Her own horse, standing a few feet away, didn’t seem to notice its downed companion.
Through a wave of dizziness, black spots threatened to overcome her vision. One thought managed to claw its way out of her subconscious and into her conscious mind, grounding her.
Woodie.
The name hit her like a sack of logs. “Woodie?” She choked out, her hands dropping from her mouth. She looked around frantically, sweeping the small clearing in a circle. “Woodie!?”
She fell to her knees in the snow. Her lantern dropped with her, almost going out. Her knees were soaked immediately, but the wetness felt far away. Her breath fogged in front of her face in short bursts. A sob escaped her throat.
This was all my fault I should’ve just gone to bed and not said anything oh dear God--
Through her grief, she didn’t notice someone place a hand on her shoulder until they spoke. “Say, pal, you look a little lost. You might need a little help with that.”
Lucille froze, her clawed hands inches from her sobbing eyes, before whipping her head around and crawling away from the voice. Her gaze travelled up pinstripe legs to a pinstripe suit jacket, to the face that accompanied the body. She stared, dumbstruck. “Woodie?” She managed to choke out.
The figure blinked. “I believe you’ve gotten me mistaken for someone else, pal. The name’s Maxwell. Maxwell the Great, to be precise.” He took a drag from his cigar. “Ever heard of me?”
Lucille wracked her brains for absolutely anything to help her in this situation. All she could think of was how awfully cold he must be in just a suit. Were pinstripes even in style anymore? She couldn’t remember. “Uh, no?” She finally said. “I… what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help you, Lucille.” He said. He gave a grin. “You seem you really need it, hm?”
Lucille blinked. How’d he know her name? She grabbed for her lantern and backed up away from him, trying to reach her horse. The dead horse by Maxwell’s feet was forgotten. “I don’t know what the hell you’re really doing here, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She tried to straighten herself out, to make herself look more intimidating, but the cold was finally catching up to her. Her entire body shook, and all she wanted was to curl up and go to sleep.
Maxwell’s grin turned to a frown. His eyes narrowed. “Oh, are you now?” He took a few steps closer to Lucille. His steps did not crunch in the snow. They didn’t even seem to leave footprints.
Lucille’s heart sped up. “I-I sure am!” She spat, backing up more.
“But what about your poor friend, hm? What was his name? Woodie?” Another drag. Lucille didn’t see the smoke exit his mouth. Maxwell glanced at the dead horse, then back to Lucille. “Aren’t you missing him?”
Lucille’s heart clenched all over again, and tears threatened to overspill her eyes once again. In a fit of anger, she rubbed them away quickly. She didn’t reply.
Maxwell continued. “I can help you, Lucille. I can save him.” He paused. “But at a price.”
“Please.” Her voice came out as a small, pitiful whine. “I’ll do anything to make sure he’s alive.”
Maxwell raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really mean that, pal?”
“Yes.” She sobbed. “I do.”
***
“And you never told me this… why?” Woodie asked, looking down at Lucy. For the first time in a long time, he felt angry at her.
She would have given a light shrug if she had arms. “I was suggested to keep it to myself.” She said. “And I never expected to see Maxwell again.” She spat out his name.
As soon as the anger overcame him, it was replaced with gentle fondness. “You sacrificed your physical body… for me?”
“Sure did!” Lucy chirped. “I was so scared I wouldn’t see you again!” She then went quiet. “It was technically my fault dragging you out there… For my own selfish needs and fears. I couldn’t just leave you out there on your own.”
“It was either die in the woods, alone, or come here.” Maxwell said. “She chose the latter.”
“And you transformed her into an axe…?” Woodie asked.
“It was part of the deal, Woodie. It was the only way I could save both of you.” Maxwell said. “I typically can only bring one person at a time into The Constant by various means… but seems cursed objects can as well.”
“And my… curse?”
“That was just… something I added in.” Maxwell gave an awkward cough. “A spir of the moment thing, you know.”
“Like hell it was!” Lucy snapped. “That was just to torture us!”
“Look, are we done catching up already? I’m trying to fix this.” Maxwell retorted. “I might have a way to reverse your curse.”
Woodie looked down at Lucy, then back to Maxwell. “How do we know what you’re going to do will work?”
“That’s the thing.” Maxwell said. “I have no idea if it’s going to work. You’re going to have to trust me on this one.”
Woodie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. He went silent.
“Woodie?” Lucy finally asked.
“I’m thinkin’, Luce.” Woodie replied. He was quiet for a few more seconds, then opened his eyes. The blurriness was still there; it made his eyes and the back of his skull ache. “I don’t think I can accept, Maxwell. I can’t take that risk. I’ll just… have to cope.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Maxwell said with a sigh. “If you change your mind--”
“I doubt it.” Woodie snapped. “You hoser.”
“I suppose I deserve that.” Maxwell said. “However, I have one last thing to offer to you. I don’t think you can refuse this one.”
Woodie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Now what?”
“I may not be able to return Lucille here to her original body, but… You can still see her, if you want.”
“You mean like how Wendy summons her sister?” Woodie raised an eyebrow at him, doubtful.
“Yes, and no.” Maxwell said. “She already can leave the axe as a ghost if she wishes, but no one, not even you, can actually see her body. I can change that.”
“...I was wondering about those random cold spots.” Woodie mused. “That you, Luce?”
“Sure was!” Lucy replied. “I prefer to stay in the axe, though. It’s nice in here.”
Woodie peered at Maxwell. “Are you sure about this?”
“More sure than your curse.”
Another glance at Lucy. “What do you say, Luce? If I’m bein’ honest, I miss your face something fierce. I almost don’t remember what you looked like. It’s been a long time.”
Lucy was quiet for a few seconds. “Alright, let’s give it a shot.” She said. “But Maxwell, if this doesn’t work, and I’m lost forever, I’m still going to find a way to haunt your ass.”
***
“I hope you don’t mind Abigail and I joining you, Woodie.” Wendy said, following Woodie and Maxwell away from their main camp. Abigail floated a few feet above the ground, just behind Wendy. “We’re both very excited to finally meet her.”
“Are you sure this is safe, Maxwell?” Woodie asked, looking at Maxwell. “Or, you know, age appropriate?”
“It’s about as safe as it is to summon Abigail.” Maxwell replied in the dusk air. “It’s not going to take very long.”
Maxwell walked for a few more minutes, then set the Codex Umbra on the ground, open to a nondescript page. Woodie, Wendy, and Abigail stood on the other side of the book, watching him.
Maxwell extended a gloved hand. “If you would be so kind?”
Woodie glanced down at Lucy, then handed her handle first to Maxwell.
“Oh, gross!” Lucy exclaimed. “Your hands are clammy!”
Maxwell raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m wearing gloves, Lucille.”
“I can still feel it!” Lucy snapped. “It’s soaking into your disgusting gloves, Maxwell.”
Maxwell cleared his throat with his free hand. “Are you going to sit there and insult me or are you going to let me continue?”
“Okay, okay.” Lucy replied. “Just get it over with.”
“Alright. I’m going to need you to leave the axe and stand on the Codex.” Maxwell said. There was a pregnant pause as nothing appeared to happen. However, after a few more seconds, there was faint rustling of the pages of the Codex, although there was no breeze.
The axe was no longer as vibrant red as it usually was. It was just a regular old fire axe, a relic from the old world. “Now, Woodie, I need your hand. Palm up, please. Yes, like that.” Before Woodie could respond, Maxwell took the blade and cut Woodie’s palm.
Woodie hissed in pain and jerked his hand back, his hand curling into an impulsive fist. “What the hell was that for!?”
“I need some of your blood for the book, Woodie.” Maxwell said matter-of-factly.
“You didn’t tell me this before you cut my hand, you hoser?” Woodie snapped, before sighing and opening his hand over the book, palm down. Crimson blood ran down his fingers and speckled the pages.
As soon as the blood hit the book, it was absorbed by the pages, and the letters began to glow. Woodie pulled his hand back once again and stepped away from the book as a beacon of light escaped from the pages. It reminded him of the lighthouses back home in Newfoundland.
One second, there was nothing, then a ghostly woman stepped out of the beacon of light. It closed behind her, and the Codex Umbra closed itself on the ground with a gentle exhale of pages. She wore a navy-purple ankle length skirt, cape, and a small hat cocked to one side of her head. Soft brown curls framed her face, barely longer than the base of her skull. She was translucent; Woodie could still see Maxwell through her silhouette, but she was tangible enough she was actually there.
Woodie blinked, the blood and pain in his hand gone for just a sweet moment. “Lucy?” His voice was a mere whisper as his eyes were wide in shock. Even with his sudden loss of vision, she was clear as day.
Lucy stepped off the Codex Umbra and twirled around, then glanced down at her body. She hoisted her skirt up some, looking at her legs. “Huh.” She said; her voice had a light dusting of a Montreal accent. “I wasn’t expecting myself to still look like this.”
Maxwell scrambled to collect the Codex Umbra. He seemed slightly flustered. “Yes, well,” an awkward cough, “the Book showed to us the version of you that’s the closest to your true identity.”
With a grin, Lucy spun around on her heels from a shocked Woodie to an embarrassed Maxwell. “What, never seen ankles before, Maxwell?” She hoisted her dress a little higher, showing a knee in black stockings.
Maxwell visibly turned his head to look away. “There are children present here, Lucille.” He snapped, then handed Woodie the axe without looking at Lucy. “Take this before I change my mind.”
Woodie, shocked to silence, dumbly took the axe back in his non bleeding hand.
Lucille gave Maxwell an obnoxious wave as he muttered a quick farwell. He then slunk over to the others, face dully red in the low light. Once Maxwell was out of an earshot, Lucy faced Woodie. She had a playful grin on her face. “Well?” She presented her arms out to him. “What do you think?”
Woodie still didn’t reply. He just gaped at Lucille.
Finally, Wendy and Abigail made themselves present. Abigail floated over to Lucy, her eyes wide and full of awe and excitement. Even Wendy had the ghost of awe on her face. “I believe I can speak for the three of us, Ms. Lucille. You’re very pretty.” Wendy stated.
“Thank you, young one.” Lucy replied. She held up a hand to Abigail and gently adjusted the small flower on Abigail’s head. “How are you, my dear?”
“She says she’s very happy to finally see you.” Wendy translated.
Lucille gave a hearty stretch. “It’s nice to be back in a body. Kinda.” Her gaze then focused back on Woodie. “You okay there, bud?”
Woodie finally blinked and shook his head. He had a faint smile on his face; his cheeks matching his hair. “And here I was, thinkin’ that old picture you had was of your sister… that was you!”
It took Lucy a few seconds to remember what he was talking about, before she burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you remember that!”
“‘Course I do!” Woodie replied. “I kept on thinking how much I fancied her until I learned about you .”
Her laugh ended with a gentle smile on her face as she ran and hugged Woodie, pulling him close. He was vaguely surprised when his hands didn’t just pass through her as they embraced.
“I missed you, Woodie.” Lucy mumbled into his shoulder and neck. She could finally smell the forest on him properly, and not through a layer of metal in the axe.
“Me too, Luce.” Woodie replied.
Their kiss was short, but sweet. Even Wendy and Abigail covered their eyes, giving the couple a moment.
When they pulled away, Woodie offered his free arm to her. “Now,” he said, “why don’t you get reintroduced to the others?” A grimace of pain followed. “While I get my hand looked at.”
Lucy took Woodie’s arm. Then, she took Wendy’s hand. “I would love to.”