Briar Rose

by Jana Oliver

  To Inez, my beloved mother-in-law,

  whose love knew few boundaries

  ‘Fairy tales are more than true: not because

  they tell us that dragons exist,

  but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.’

  G. K. Chesterton

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  Inch by inch, the strange powder sifts out of the bag behind the silent figure along the journey around the darkened house. In the distance, a neighbour’s dog wails, as if it senses the foul magic. Perhaps even senses the anger and the loss that brings this person here on this particular night.

  Once the circle is complete, the ritual words are spoken in a thick whisper as fingers nervously clutch the paper and eyes squint to read the faint type. Then it is done: the curse is laid. It was easy, just as the conjure woman had said it would be. Still trembling, the solemn figure walks into the darkness, leaving behind the legacy of bitterness that will bear ill fruit.

  Empowered, the curse stirs to life now, the powder glistening like molten silver in the moonlight. It seems to dance for a time above the withered grass, and then sinks deep into the ground, claiming one of those within the house as its own.

  Over the years this curse will remain vigilant, growing in strength, changing course as needed. Then, when the time is right, it will fulfil its calling. Sate its near-human desire for revenge.

  No mercy. No second chances. Only more tears to feed the bitterness.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A prolonged bugle blast echoed across the heat-drenched field, followed by the raucous applause of over a hundred bystanders. Briar Rose sighed in relief – the re-enactment of the Battle of Bliss was finally over.

  Groaning, she rolled over on her back on the hard-packed earth, her head throbbing and throat parched. The Deep South July sun beat down unmercifully, and when coupled with the soaring humidity it was Georgia’s version of a sauna.

  The annual re-enactment of the battle between a ragtag bunch of rebels and a contingent of General Sherman’s forces always brought tourists to Bliss. Over the years, various members of Briar’s family had taken their turn at portraying their famous ancestor, Private Elmer Rose. This was her year to do Elmer’s ‘run’, a futile sprint across the battlefield to deliver a message begging for reinforcements. A message that never reached its intended recipient and resulted in Sherman’s troops sacking and burning the town on their way to Savannah.

  ‘Good job, Briar,’ one of the re-enactors called out, limping along as the final whiffs of smoke cleared over the battlefield.

  A shadow passed over her, bringing brief respite from the sun. Briar blinked up at a fellow rebel soldier. The eldest of the three Quinn brothers, Joshua had curly brown hair, which was mussed around the edge of his cap. His face was sweaty and his mismatched butternut-coloured uniform spotted with red clay.

  Their families had a history, as the locals would say. Some of it had begun before either of them had been born – their parents hadn’t really liked each other for as long as she could remember – but she and Joshua had been friends until the day they’d both nearly drowned at the mill when they were six. After that awful day her folks had told her not to go near him, and his had said the same. Briar had never understood exactly why, but when her mom had grounded her for a week for trying to talk to him at a softball game a few weeks after the accident, she’d decided Joshua Quinn was more trouble than he was worth.

  ‘Nasty people, those Quinns,’ her grandmother used to say. ‘That boy’s momma’s not right in the head, blamin’ all her troubles on us. She brought it on herself.’

  Because of the animosity between their families, Joshua rarely came near her, mostly because his mom had ordered him not to. When he’d broken that rule, which wasn’t often, he’d paid dearly. Or least that’s what Briar had heard from some of her friends. The not being near that Rose girl proved difficult since they were in the same class in high school and rode the same bus. Still, they’d managed to keep their distance ever since first grade.

  Until now.

  Above her, Joshua hesitated, and then offered his gloved hand to help her up.

  Briar froze. That she hadn’t expected from a Quinn.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘Helping you up,’ he said simply.

  ‘Go away! I don’t want to get into trouble.’

  Uneasy now, Briar stood and did a quick scan of the field around them, knowing people were watching them. Some of them would be happy to call up either set of parents and deliver the news that the ‘kids’ were seen together.

  Briar’s head continued to pound, which meant she’d not had enough water. She really wanted to unbutton her uniform coat, but no girl wanted to be seen all sweaty and gross. Instead she stripped off her cap, which really didn’t help much.

  When her balance faltered, Joshua’s gloved hand touched her elbow to steady her. It quickly retreated at her glare. She made her way to the huge oak tree in the centre of the field, the one that had been there since before the original battle, and slumped beneath it.

  Joshua crouched down near her. ‘You OK?’ he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  ‘Just really hot. I’m kinda dizzy. I didn’t eat much breakfast.’

  His battered canteen came her way. When she didn’t take it, he scowled, unscrewed the cap and took a big drink. ‘See, no poison.’ Then he wiped off the rim and offered the canteen again.

  Briar felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. ‘No. Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘It’s just . . . your mom is so . . .’

  ‘My mom? Yours isn’t any better,’ he came back. ‘They’re both crazy.’

  Crazy? ‘You leave my mother out of this,’ she said, defiant.

  ‘Yeah, whatever. It’s never a Rose’s fault, is it? It’s always us Quinns who are wrong.’

  Scowling, he pushed a stray curl off his face, which only made his big brown eyes more noticeable. No doubt about it, Joshua Quinn was cute, even if his family were the enemy.

  Briar looked around again, increasingly worried. ‘You should go before—’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I better,’ he said, stripping off the glove and tucking it under his belt. ‘This was just a waste of time.’ He held her eyes for a moment, like he wanted to say more, then hiked off,
no doubt to collect his horse.

  Briar sighed in relief. Why had he done that? He’d stayed away from her for years, going to elaborate efforts so they never came near each other, even faking stomach flu to avoid partnering with her in gym class. Still, she’d always been aware of him watching her, but never coming close.

  Until today.

  Confused and still lightheaded, she slowly unbuttoned her uniform jacket and let the steamy air collide with her skin. It didn’t offer that much relief, not when you were in the middle of a dusty field where there wasn’t a breeze.

  Usually the place for impromptu softball games, for four Saturdays each summer, this stretch of ground became the Battle of Bliss with Union soldiers on one side, locals and a small contingent of Confederate soldiers on the other. They even had cannons. Though the re-enactors were very particular about period details, the real Elmer Rose had died in the winter of 1864 during Sherman’s infamous March to the Sea. It was the single most important episode in the town’s otherwise dull history and that’s why it had never been forgotten.

  To ensure that the tourists would share that history (and their much-needed dollars) the town council had proclaimed that the re-enactment would be held during the summer, rather than in December, when it had really happened. As Briar’s dad had put it, ‘There’s nothing quite as entertaining as watching people dying in the baking sun.’

  After this summer one of the cousins would take over the role of Elmer, much to Briar’s relief.

  ‘There you are,’ a voice called out.

  Briar smiled at the sound of her best friend’s voice. Reena Hill’s corkscrew curls bounced as she walked closer. She was a senior, a year older than Briar, and the eldest of the four Hill kids.

  ‘Hey there,’ Briar said, annoyed that her head was still buzzing from the heat.

  ‘I saw you talking to Josh,’ Reena said. ‘You’re risking the wrath of the parentals doing that.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Reena and Joshua had no such restrictions, so they’d been friends for years. That had proved to be awkward on occasion.

  ‘What did he say?’ Reena asked.

  ‘Not much.’ Briar pointed at the full bottle of water in her friend’s hand. ‘Is that mine or are you just torturing me for the fun of it?’

  ‘It’s yours,’ Reena said, tossing it to her.

  Instead of gulping the water down immediately, Briar held the chilled plastic against her forehead. It felt glorious as the condensation ran down her face. She screwed off the cap and took a long drink. That’s better.

  ‘Did you see me bite the dust?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure did. Better than yesterday’s run. Practice makes perfect.’

  ‘I didn’t look too fakey?’ Briar asked.

  ‘No. The twitching was a nice touch.’

  ‘Good, I wasn’t sure how far to push it.’

  As a few tourists wandered by, Briar could tell she and Reena were attracting attention. It wasn’t often you saw a tall, athletic African American girl in running shorts and bright red tennis shoes chatting with a shorter, sweaty white girl in Confederate garb. It couldn’t get any more anachronistic than that.

  ‘Is that it?’ her friend asked, looking around at the milling bystanders. Some were talking to the re-enactors while others bought souvenirs or snow cones. In the distance, the heat shimmered above ground like an undulating serpent.

  ‘Yup, let’s get out of here,’ Briar replied. ‘Can you drive me home and turn the air conditioner down to Arctic? The heat is killing me.’

  ‘I would if I had a car,’ Reena replied as they drifted across the field to the changing tent. ‘The littlest bro has a toothache so Mom had to haul him to a dentist in Savannah. I’m on foot today.’

  ‘I swear, my parents are never going to let me get my driver’s licence,’ Briar complained. ‘Every time I mention taking driver’s ed, my mom freaks out.’

  ‘I don’t mind hauling you around,’ her friend replied.

  ‘I know, but still. My parents act like I’m ten or something. It’s getting old.’

  A few minutes later Briar had stripped down to her shorts and tank top, her tennis shoes replacing the cracked and weathered brogues. Usually she wore her curly blonde hair in a ponytail during the summer, but it was so long it still cloaked on her shoulders. Today she’d pinned it up to fit under the uniform cap, which meant the sun had permission to do its worst to her neck and back.

  As re-enactors and their families scattered to the picnic benches for a late lunch, Briar adjusted her tattered backpack to allow for the additional weight of the uniform and shoes.

  ‘OK, I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Here, drink,’ her friend insisted, handing her another full bottle of water she’d bought from one of the vendors. ‘I am not carrying your butt back to town.’

  Briar knew better than to argue, having grown accustomed to Reena’s take-no-prisoners attitude. Somehow they’d become friends, despite being total opposites: Reena was tall and thin, loved knitting, movie marathons and NASCAR racing. Briar wasn’t that good with sports, tended to be more rounded than svelte, and was never keen about getting all sweaty. Reena was a realist and was convinced daydreaming was for little kids. Briar was a hopeless romantic. Still, somehow they’d built a solid friendship, one she hoped would never end.

  As they cut across the field and on to the gravelled path that led towards Bliss, a couple of young boys on bikes flew by them, kicking up dust in their wake. In the pine woods to their right the jewelweed was blooming, bright yellow flowers against the rich green foliage. The birdsong tried to compete with the sounds from the field behind them, and failed. In the distance Briar could see one of the cotton fields, though the bolls hadn’t headed out yet. Soon it’d be a sea of white.

  ‘What did folks do before AC?’ she grumbled, wiping sweat and grime off her neck. A long shower was in her future.

  Her friend smirked. ‘They roasted and got eaten by the bugs.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Georgia had a lot of good things to its credit, but the midges and the deer flies were pure torture.

  ‘That’s why I’m not into that dress-up thing you guys do,’ Reena continued. ‘You have to be ten kinds of fool running around in wool or hoop skirts when it’s ninety-eight in the shade.’

  ‘You’re just lucky you’re not a Rose. If you were, you’d be out there like I was.’

  ‘You could have refused,’ Reena countered.

  ‘And get guilted forever? You know my relatives. Thirty years from now one of them will be sure to remind me that I didn’t uphold “the family tradition”.’

  ‘Some tradition. Running around and playing dead.’

  Briar shrugged. ‘It was our big moment in history.’

  ‘Which failed, but the town still worships Elmer like he was a saint.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  Briar sucked down more of the water, pleased that her head was clearer now.

  ‘I’m getting nailed with the same family tradition guilt,’ her friend admitted.

  ‘Gran Lily after you again?’

  ‘Yup. She says I need to learn a few more conjures before she crosses over.’ Reena rolled her eyes. ‘Like she’s ever going to die.’

  Lily Foster wasn’t actually Reena’s grandmother – more like her great-grandmother. Depending on who you asked, she was somewhere between eighty and a hundred and twenty years old. Briar had only been around her a few times, and each time Mrs Foster had spooked the crap out of her.

  Though folks didn’t talk much about it, there was a rich hoodoo tradition in the South. Carried across the oceans with the first slaves, mixed with Christianity and Native American traditions, it’d found a home in the backwoods of Georgia. Unlike voodoo, which was a religion, hoodoo was folk magic, pure and simple.

  ‘You doing more spells now?’ Briar asked, pleased that Reena was starting to open up about this. Usually her friend was reluctant to talk about that part of her life.

>   ‘Yup. We’re getting deep into the rootwork.’ Reena looked around like she was about to confess to some sin. ‘It’s kinda cool, but don’t you tell anyone I said that, OK? Not all my family is good with this.’

  ‘You mean like your Uncle Matt?’

  ‘Him in particular. He doesn’t seem to understand you can be Christian and a rootworker at the same time. He keeps confusing it with voodoo. I think he does it on purpose, just to get a rise out of Gran.’

  ‘So what are you doing? Are you laying tricks on people?’

  ‘No, right now I’m working a conjure to protect folks from evil.’

  ‘Evil, in Bliss?’ Briar snorted. ‘Wasting your time there, my friend. Evil requires too much effort.’

  Reena gave her long look. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’

  Briar felt a shiver course up her spine. She shook it off. ‘OK, name one evil thing in Bliss, and you can’t count Mrs Quinn because she’s just nuts.’

  ‘All right,’ Reena said, rising to the challenge. ‘Remember Old Man Clayton, the guy who used to beat his wife every Sunday morning before he went to church because he thought it made him more righteous in the sight of God? Lily put a trick on him so that every time he raised his hand to hit his missus, it’d go numb. Eventually he figured it out and stopped being a douche.’

  ‘Really? That rocks,’ Briar exclaimed.

  Reena reached into a pocket and tugged out a small fabric pouch. It was muted green with a subtle tapestry pattern to it. ‘Gran had me make up a gris-gris bag. Says I’m supposed to carry it for protection.’

  ‘Seriously? What’s inside it?’

  ‘I’ve got a John the Conqueror root in there to draw away evil. I also have a Saint Michael’s sword to defeat any bad stuff that comes my way. And something for good luck.’

  ‘Anything for love?’

  ‘No. Not going there.’

  ‘Oh, come on – if I could do some spell to make a handsome prince come my way, I’d be all over it.’

  Reena sighed. ‘I’m too busy checking out colleges. Don’t need a boyfriend. Not right now.’

  ‘Your grades are good. You’ll get a scholarship, no sweat.’