The quiet grew too loud. I should have heard whispers. Something. I dared a peek over the headstone. A couple yards ahead and to the left, Ica's tree trunk stood above the layer of fog. Two sections curled outward from the deep split in the middle, making most of the branches dip into the fog and disappear. Leaves that looked like curved fingers hung limply against the bark.

I patted my hand around my waistband, but all my ash tree keys must have fallen out. If I'd had a ...