SAWKILL GIRLS x GHOST WOOD SONG
When Morgan is forced from Atlanta to the Romanian wilderness to work for her dad’s hunting firm, she has one goal in mind: his co-signature on a loan for art school. But in the fabled Transylvanian Highlands, Morgan meets a different kind of hunter—a young woman with an irresistible lure: access to her band’s utopian underworld where music and art magically intertwine. The price? Morgan’s soul.
A disfigured animal skull hangs on the wall over the cabin’s wooden staircase, its jaw fixed in a permanent yawn. Long snaggled teeth, curled tusks. Definitely boar. Judging by its size, Carpathian.
Dad’s favorite prey.
Worn stairs creak under my black Converse until I reach the landing beneath the skull’s gnarled bone. Twelve hours of uncomfortable silence on the road from Germany to Romania can turn even a gross carcass into a conversation starter.
My lip curls. “Looks like your kind of place.”
Dad’s Gore-Tex boots are silent over the foyer tiles. He motions to the boar, his chestnut beard twitching around a smile. “A hunter’s welcome.”
Right. I climb the rest of the stairs to a narrow hallway, where a time-yellowed map hangs in a wood frame on the mildewed wall. Transylvania stretched out on a scroll, illustrated by hand and preserved under glass like something from another age. Diagrams and ink sketches—of mountains and castles and horses-and-carriages—mark tiny towns and villages. Over Bran, a bat.
Ironic. Back in my middle school goth phase, I’d have been perversely giddy at the chance to explore medieval cities and landmarks of lore. Now I’d give anything to be back in my bedroom in Atlanta—on my papasan, blinds shut, AC set to arctic-blast.
I clench my teeth. Two months. I can do this.