A speculative horror-romance that combines the magical dark academia of The Atlas Six, the unsettling atmosphere of Mexican Gothic, and the psychosexual power dynamics of The Last Housewife.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Forest Bleeds by Rachel Kitch, which releases on October 13th 2026
Saige Chambers, Arcane Bioengineering student and blood witch, is constantly anxious and chronically over-prepared. When Saige and her fellow witch doctoral candidates depart for a conference, she plans and anticipates every last detail. Except she’s not prepared for the moment their bus turns off the highway and takes them to a remote mansion in the Appalachian Mountains, the gates sealing shut behind them.
The mansion’s owner, Arius Medea, issues a simple mandate: fix his injured, rotting leg or die. But it’s no ordinary injury—the flesh melts off the bone, emitting waves of foul magic that set Saige’s blood alight. Saige’s colleagues want to fight back and escape. Saige thinks their best chance is to fix him fast and get out.
As tensions rise, Saige finds herself growing closer to Vaishnavi Sri, a poison witch and Saige’s long-term crush. But first impressions can be misleading, and as Saige’s reluctant attraction to Arius grows, she begins to wonder if there’s a better life waiting for her in the walls of this mansion.
But, as one by one, Saige’s colleagues start to disappear, Saige realizes that dying may not be the worst option—because there are far worse fates lurking in the woods.
EXCERPT
The front of the bus kept up a stream of steady chatter. Gossip, mostly—despite the fact that the entire engineering department had a whopping total of thirty graduate students, it seemed like there was plenty of news.
The back of the bus simmered in silence. Saige chanced a look back at Thuy; she had her nose buried in a book, AirPods in her ear, sunglasses still on her face. Saige had no idea how she could read like that in a moving vehicle.
To pass the time, Saige had downloaded a recent talk by a lecturer at the University of New Mexico on her latest technique deploying thaumatechnical nanites to treat antibiotic-resistant bacterial infections. Apparently, the enhanced nanites could attract the antibiotic-resistant bacteria and break them down—a huge breakthrough, given the recent sharp decrease in antibiotic potency.
Saige’s chest tightened as she listened to the lecturer’s passion, her emphasis on learning from curanderos, the traditional witch healers that cleansed illness along the Rio Grande.
Land-grant universities had long and deep ties to the folkloric legends passed down generation to generation in their area. They were among the few universities in the country that offered arcane programs; while a few of the more prestigious schools had begun offering arcane studies, it was still considered a niche STEM field.
West Virginia’s long history of coal mining meant a wealth of knowledge of what lay beneath the surface, a natural respect for the land and what walked among them. It was why WVU’s Arcane Bioengineering program was the best in the country—students leaned on their ancestral stories to push their research further, higher.
If only Saige knew how her own powers worked; if only she knew from where her roots stemmed.
So Saige hit pause on the podcast and strained an ear to listen to Meredith, Ian, and Vaish chatter away.
It made sense to her that Meredith and Vaish got along. They were both fourth-years, and Meredith’s research on commercializing new strains of magically enhanced sochan to treat infertility differed enough from Vaish’s venom research that they didn’t compete against each other directly. Both came from affluent backgrounds. Meredith’s family owned Mylan Pharmaceuticals, one of the largest employers in Morgantown. Vaish grew up in New Jersey, a stone’s throw from New York City, with an easy grace and a tailored wardrobe that suggested a comfortable childhood.
What drew Saige’s interest was how easily Ian fell in with the two women. At least, at the core, Meredith, Vaish, and Ian all shared one trait—the three of them were physical witches. They all had to channel their power through a tangible object or tool; for them, it was plants, venom, or blood, though there were hundreds of other manifestations possible.
But Ian hailed from southern West Virginia, a proud Boone County boy, the first in his family to go to college, and getting a PhD no less—a far cry from Meredith and Vaish’s upbringings. He was a second-year just like Saige, though they had little overlap with fourth-years apart from departmental meetings and shared lab space.
Saige figured that she’d have more in common with Ian than the others: rural upbringing, same year. She also channeled her power through blood, albeit in a different way than the other blood witches at WVU. It should’ve given her common ground with the others, should’ve been enough to connect with her classmates.
But instead, Ian sat up front, and Saige sat in the back.
His eyes twinkled in the mid-morning light as he laughed; one eye glinted a steely cobalt blue, with the other eye a bright green, sometimes bordering on yellow. His mismatched eyes always drew Saige’s attention, despite the fact that she found it hard to make eye contact with other people.
“Saige?”
She blinked. “Sorry. What was that?”
Already, she could feel her skin heating up, the flush creeping up her neck. She hated being caught off guard.
“Did you want any?” Vaish asked again, waving the thermos at her. “You’re allowed to have fun sometimes, you know.”
Saige shook her head emphatically. “No, thank you.”
Vaish shrugged and turned back around. “Mer, do you remember what we have to do today?”
Meredith started shaking her head, reached into her bag—
Almost by instinct, Saige interrupted. “At 1 p.m., you’re both signed up for a lecture by Dr. Marcus Pellegrini at USC on the effects of genes, environment, and physiology on DNA methylomes. It’s in the Robert C. Byrd Biotechnology Science Center in the main auditorium. At 2 p.m., Vaish, you’re meeting with Marshall Hospital’s transplant coordination team along with Professor Stirrell from Marshall to discuss their supply chain concerns. I’m not sure where exactly, but Professor Stirrell’s office is in the Arthur Weisberg Family Applied Engineering Complex, room 1227. Oh, this building is usually shortened to WAEC, in case you need that. And Meredith, your 2 p.m. is still in the Science Center. You’re attending another talk on innovations in genetically engineered methadone substitutes to combat the opioid crisis by Dr. Morrell from Virginia Tech.”
Saige took a quick breath and continued to rattle off information. “At 3 p.m., all of us meet back at the Arthur Weisberg Family Engineering Laboratories for a tour of Marshall’s facilities. We’re to apologize on our faculty’s behalf that none of them were able to attend this conference and thank them for the special invitation. We all have a break from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m., where I suggest we head back to the hotel to get ready for the keynote speech and opening night dinner back at the Science Center at 7 p.m. We are all staying at the DoubleTree hotel in Huntington. It’s a fourteen-minute walk from the engineering labs. Then the keynote speech and dinner conclude at 9 p.m.”
The bus was silent. Vaish stood up and craned her head over the seats, looking into Saige’s lap. “Were you reading that from somewhere?”
Saige shook her head.
Vaish stared at her, then slowly sat back down.
The bus chugged along the highway, the rolling autumn foliage keeping Saige company.
She listened to the recorded lecture with one part of her mind; the other was dedicated to her usual calming techniques. Running through the schedule, anticipating anything that could go wrong, calculating every potential outcome from this conference.
The greatest probability: she would gain no tangible information but would walk away with a greater appreciation and understanding for the field.
A narrower probability: she would gain clarity on her dissertation proposal.
Least likely probability: she would gain valuable contacts in the field that would be tangibly useful for her dissertation.
The flicker of a turn signal jostled Saige out of her reverie. The bus drifted to the right-hand lane, slowing down in anticipation of taking the next exit. Saige peered out the front window, took stock of their surroundings, and frowned.
Everyone lurched forward as the bus driver hit the brakes, careening around the coiled loop of the highway exit. It spit them out onto a two-lane road with a forlorn gas station standing weary at the intersection, a single stoplight blowing in the faint breeze.
But—they should have stayed on the highway for the entire trip. Saige knew the route. I-79 for 148 miles, then I-64 for another 37. They wouldn’t take roads like this for their journey.
She remained peering over the seat, thighs cramping as she stayed in a half-crouch, her pulse pounding.
Vaish turned around, some sixth sense telling her that Saige hovered awkwardly behind her. “What is it? The stick in your ass finally too uncomfortable to sit down on?”
Saige ignored the comment. “I don’t know why we’re going this way. We should have stayed on 79.”
Vaish rolled her eyes. “We’re probably just taking a detour or something. Relax.”
Saige lowered herself back into her seat, but kept her eyes glued outside.
It made sense. There could be construction on I-79 despite Saige checking the traffic conditions; the bus driver could know a shortcut because he was a professional; it could be better for fuel economy to take a break from the highway. Saige ran through every reason in her head, but her mind still couldn’t settle. They’d had enough deviations that day. She didn’t need another.
With a trembling hand, she pulled out her phone to check their location on the map.
Saige stared at the little blue dot. When she closed her eyes, she could see the map of West Virginia in her mind, the highways shooting through the state like veins, their intended path glowing green against the backdrop.
Instead, Saige watched as that little blue dot moved further into the mountains.
She lifted her eyes off her phone to peer out the window again. Every muscle in her body tensed as the view gradually turned to small-town sights and scenes.
For whatever reason, the bus was making a detour through Flatwoods, West Virginia. Saige couldn’t help it; she pressed her nose against the window, marking every single restaurant, shop, and sight in her mind. The bus slowed down enough for Saige to stare at the sign.
WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF FLATWOODS!
And erected next to their cheerful sign was a giant . . . chair, a massive alien built into the back. Unlike the typical green-man depictions, this alien had a round, red face surrounded by an almost lizard-like frill in the shape of a spade.
A scant handful of tourists milled around the chair, taking selfies with the alien, a region’s folklore reduced to a joke for passersby.
The bus chugged along, the cheery, well-kept town of Flatwoods steadily disappearing. The buildings grew sparser and more run-down, until eventually, the only structures Saige could make out were battered and worn. Vines and foliage wrapped around them, choking them, as if determined to bring the earth back to its natural state before mankind left its mark.
Saige craned her head, taking in the sights, looking for a sign of life.
“Claymore Springs,” Thuy murmured from behind. Saige whipped around. “Sorry, what?”
“It’s an abandoned mining town. Maybe thirty years ago or so there was a huge explosion. Killed dozens, so the mine owners—the McKay family—just wiped their hands of the ordeal and shut
it all down. They sold off their fancy-ass mansion, but nobody would ever touch the mines. Too many accidents, too much death over the last century, so the McKays let the mines rot. Ruined the livelihoods of everyone who depended on the mine. The area is still fucked up too.”
Saige cocked her head. “How so?”
“I come down here to research the lingering effects on the air and test the purifiers I’m building for my dissertation. When tragedies like this occur, there’s always a metaphysical impact that manifests in physical existence. And this one . . . was a bad one,” Thuy replied, then returned to her book.
Saige was fairly certain that this was the longest she had ever heard Thuy speak. Unlike the rest of the group, Thuy was a metaphysical witch; she didn’t require a physical object to channel her power, instead manipulating energies that resided outside physical existence. Metaphysical witches were rare in higher education—very few metaphysical practitioners had attempted to tie their abilities to physical objects, which was the only way their powers could be replicated and commercialized at a larger scale. Saige had always wanted to learn more, but Thuy was . . . intimidating.
Saige wanted to press further, to question what Thuy meant, but she only nodded. She returned her attention to her phone, a vague attempt to ignore the images that flashed in her mind at Thuy’s words—the thought of a town dying out entirely, the tragic fate of dozens of people clawing from beneath the earth, doomed to be buried or torn apart.
So instead she focused on the little blue dot as it kept moving, until it was only surrounded by empty green.
Then the dot disappeared.
No service.
Out of sheer instinct, Saige held the phone high above her head, searching for a signal. Still nothing. She turned back to Thuy. “Do you have service?”
Thuy glanced up over her sunglasses, then back down to her phone. And frowned. “No, I don’t.”
A bead of sweat started to form at the nape of Saige’s neck. She whipped around to look at the crew at the front of the bus. “Does anybody else have service?” Part of Saige cringed at the prospect of making a scene, but the panic that crawled up her spine won out.
“Saige, chill the fuck out. There’s plenty of parts of the state that don’t have service,” Meredith replied with an eyeroll and a snicker.
“I don’t, Saige,” Ian added. Now, Ian seemed to take notice—he stood up to peer out the window, hands cupped around his eyes as if it would help him see better. “We shouldn’t be out here. We’re headin’ east. Huntington’s west.”
That caught Vaish’s attention. “Wait, what?”
Ian clambered out of his seat toward the bus driver. “’scuse me, sir, I think you might have taken the wrong exit. I can help us get back to 79 if you pull over for a sec.”
The bus driver didn’t respond.
Saige shook, tremors rippling down her spine and through her limbs, quivering until she couldn’t take it anymore and shot out of her seat. “Sir, can you please pull over for a moment? I don’t have service out here and we need to be at this conference on time. If we’re lost, we can see if there’s somewhere to ask for directions.”
The bus driver still didn’t respond. Saige took a few steps toward the front of the bus, coming up to stand next to the bus driver to wave an experimental hand at him. Maybe he had earphones in.
But—he didn’t. His eyes were locked forward, unmoving from the road, bloodshot. Rimmed in red. His hands clutched the steering wheel in a deathly tight grasp, veins bulging out, the skin pulled white and taut over his knuckles. Saige tapped him on the shoulder. No movement in response.
Thuy cursed under her breath, then shoved Saige out of the way to get a look at the bus driver. Her eyes turned white; the faint smell of lemongrass filled the air, then cut off as the bus suddenly accelerated, careening down the road.
Saige and Thuy staggered back. Vaish caught Saige with an outstretched arm and hauled her into her row.
“What the fuck is going on?” Vaish asked. Saige didn’t know.
Then—the bus driver slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel, whipping the bus around a sharp corner. They were flung to the left side of the bus, Saige slamming against Vaish’s lithe body, Ian tumbling into the aisle.
And just as suddenly as it’d taken the turn, the bus righted and slowed to a creeping pace.
They were at the end of a long, winding driveway. No markers; no signifiers. Only clustered woods and a worn dirt path.
And in front of them—a gate.
Excerpted from The Forest Bleeds by Rachel Kitch. Copyright © 2025 by Rachel Kitch. Available in the U.S. from Union Square & Co., an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
