by Dani Lamia
Phoebe kept her head down, pretending to be devoted to the potato on her fork. In her peripheral vision, she saw Hester lean forward, taking notice of what Dzolali was wordlessly bringing to her attention.
Hester exhaled harshly and cleared her throat. Dzolali released Ned’s chin, but a long moment passed before he turned his gaze from Dzolali. He resumed his meal, though he proceeded exceedingly slowly, taking a great amount of time in between his samples of food.
Phoebe felt a restrained rage from her great-aunt Hester but rejected the notion. Despite this, Phoebe downed the glass of wine in front of her, certain that Hester was about to voice her angst.
Hester remained silent.
Phoebe turned her head to see if Holgrave had noticed the exchange between Dzolali and Ned. He had. He watched them both as he ate, his brow knit low in thought.
Looking past him at Glendarah, Phoebe saw that she, too, had taken notice. Glendarah studied Onenspek gravely, giving glances to Hester.
What in the world is in those gingerbread men? What have I done?
“I heard there were some grim tidings in town last night,” Holgrave said, shattering the silence.
“Tragic, yes,” Hester said without emotion after a moment.
“Have the police found the animal, or animals?” he asked.
“They have not,” Hester answered.
“Poor Mrs. Carp is so distraught,” Dzolali said. “She even blamed Hester for the attack.”
“Really?” Holgrave feigned surprise. “Interesting. Grief can certainly muddle a person’s mind.”
“Tragic, indeed,” Glendarah put in. Her voice was sanitized of emotion, but a twinkle in her deep blues hinted at something Phoebe could not begin to guess.
“You should have been there, Glendarah, dear,” Hester said. “Clive all but accused me of murder.”
Glendarah gasped. “No!”
Dzolali nodded with widened eyes. “Truth.”
Phoebe frowned, remembering how Hester and Dzolali had grinned at each other when the Carp woman had ranted in the detective’s car. She got the feeling the women were putting on a show.
“Are you a suspect, then, Hester?” Glendarah inquired, almost gleefully.
“I do believe I am,” she answered with equal delight. “On a positive note, however, I have to say that his demise puts an end to that awful plan of his.”
“Oh!” said Glendarah. “Is he the same man? The . . . what was it? Village president?”
“The very same,” confirmed Hester.
“I’ll be damned,” Glendarah said with an evil-looking grin, and the three of them laughed loud and long.
Phoebe, with a chill washing over her body, looked at Holgrave, who shared her expression of guarded shock. Ned, seeming not to comprehend the conversation, smiled toothily as he passed his eyes over each of them.
The meal finally and mercifully came to an end, and Phoebe managed to refrain from watching Dzolali exit. With a solemn promise to Great-Aunt Hester that she would get the next load of bedlinen finished shortly, Phoebe went about clearing the dishes and sending them down to Alva in the kitchen.
It was nearly eight thirty when Phoebe was able to get into the kitchen to do the dishes. Alva had begun the project but had left for the night.
Well into the task, Holgrave entered. Phoebe did not hear him approach over the running water.
“Hello.”
Phoebe screamed, dropping the handful of silverware loudly into the sink. She turned on him, eyes full of riled spite. “Dude!”
“Sorry!” he said, surrendering with his hands raised.
Startling them both, a wine glass tipped from the kitchen island next to them and shattered against the stone-tiled floor. Both stared at the sparkling wreckage. Neither had been near the glass to send it tumbling to its demise.
“Interesting,” Holgrave said, and he lowered his hands.
Phoebe huffed in frustration, shut her eyes, and turned her head ceiling ward. “Fuck.” She knew she had done it. Like the picture on the credenza the previous day, and so many of her own household items of the past, her so-called gift had struck again.
Holgrave looked at the smattering of glass shards. “Don’t move. Your feet are surrounded.”
“Dude,” she said warningly. She felt her patience was on its last nerve. Her fists clenched and she wanted to swing at something or, perhaps, the someone next to her.
“I apologize. It’s my fault,” Holgrave said soothingly. “Let me help.”
Phoebe resignedly crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. She reached for the faucet and slammed it, cutting off the flow of hot water.
Holgrave bent to open a cabinet door and retrieved a dustpan and brush. Without a word, he meticulously swept up the mess. He dumped the pieces in the trashcan, put away the pan and brush, and removed his suit jacket.
“What are you doing?” Phoebe asked glumly.
“As I said, helping.” He moved to the sink and turned the water back on. He paused to roll up his sleeves, then began washing a plate.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he answered while he rinsed.
Phoebe sighed loudly and thought it best to change the subject. “Ned is on something.”
“I know.”
“I think whatever it is, is in the gingerbread guys that Hester makes.”
“I know.”
She was shocked by his admission. “You know?”
“Indeed.” He pointed to the plates he had just washed and placed in the rack to dry.
His hint taken, Phoebe grabbed a towel and began drying. “Okay, so how do you know?”
Holgrave stopped washing the bowl in his hand and looked at her with a suppressed grin and laughing eyes. “Have you seen his paintings?”
Phoebe giggled, her annoyance with him disarmed. “Yes, well—”
“Well, there you are.” He continued scrubbing.
“Seriously, though,” Phoebe said lowly, “I don’t think he’s well, and don’t say you know.”
Holgrave flashed a smile. “He was an utter mess this evening.”
Phoebe swallowed and made her confession. “It’s my fault.”
“What? How?” Holgrave asked with genuine surprise.
“I found him in here a few hours ago and gave him one.”
“Oh, God. You didn’t!” He stared at her in shock.
Phoebe could only nod in response. Her guilt was real.
“I’ve noticed that Hester gives him one. One a day,” Holgrave said.
“I didn’t know that,” she said as she put away the cleaned and dried plates. “I mean, I suspected there was something weird about him and those cookies, but I didn’t know the dosage, I guess you’d say.”
“Understandable,” he conceded. “I do have to admit, I’m only guessing about it being only one per day. I can’t say I’ve ever seen him down here in the evening. Perhaps it’s more.”
Phoebe thought about her question before she asked it. “Do you think it’s witchcraft or some kind of drug?”
“You kid me.”
“No. Really.”
“Phoebe. Witchcraft is nonsense. I’ve told you this.” The washing done, he shut off the water and began drying his hands.
“I wonder,” she said, drying a bowl. “I mean, what Hester’s got going in the parlor are, literally, parlor tricks.”
Holgrave rolled his sleeves back down. “They have a client in there now,” he said and shook his head.
“I went in there today,” she whispered.
“Oh?” His expression was knowing but guarded.
“I found wires leading from the table to a hidden room,” she said and gave a short laugh.
“Well, there you are,” Holgrave concluded, feeling his point made. �
�How adventurous of you.”
“You haven’t been in there?”
“I have, actually,” he admitted. “Your great-aunt Hester was kind enough to offer to read my palm, so I humored her.”
“And?”
“And what?” A frown of confusion slowly descended on his brow.
Phoebe matched his expression. “She didn’t show you any of the toys? The lights in the crystal ball? No sound effects, nothing?”
“No,” he said. “Perhaps she held back, knowing I’m a skeptic.”
“I guess,” Phoebe said and shrugged. “Say, you’ve been here a couple of weeks, right?”
“Sixteen days, to be exact, but yes.”
Phoebe cleared her throat, unsure of just how to ask the next question. “How well are you sleeping?”
“Pretty well,” Holgrave said at first. He noted something else in Phoebe’s eyes. “How do you mean?”
Phoebe blushed. “Well, I had one of those recurring dreams,” she said. “I mentioned it earlier.”
Holgrave turned and looked at her sidelong.
“Well, it was bizarre, kinda nice, and it was like I was in a movie.”
“I see.”
“And it was really intense and . . . well—”
“I think the word you’re searching for is ‘vivid.’”
“Exactly,” Phoebe agreed. “So, you have had that happen here.”
Holgrave seemed reluctant to answer. “Yes.”
Phoebe was about to go on and mention Dzolali’s leftover scent, her nakedness upon waking, but Holgrave explained further.
“On both occasions I awakened before hitting the ground outside.”
“Oh? In the dream, you what, jumped out the window?” she asked, grateful that she need not describe the scene further.
“Actually, no,” he went on, “a gargoyle threw me through it.”
“Yikes. Yours sounds more like a nightmare.”
“Quite.”
“That’s the whole dream?” she pressed.
“No, but after a prolonged, somewhat one-sided struggle, that’s how they ended.”
With the dishes done, Holgrave excused himself to watch the television in the sitting room for a short while before turning in. They wished each other a good night and left the kitchen at the same moment.
Depleted beyond the ability to think straight enough to do any writing, as she had thought she might, Phoebe went up to her second-floor room, cleaned herself up, made some preparations, and went to bed. Just before drifting off, she thought to bury her nose in the sheets. Only the comforter bore the scent of water lily and vanilla, and it was faint. She had left the windows opened, which had aired out the room.
Exhaustion overcame Phoebe’s worries, and she fell asleep.
9
Nighttime Seduction
Dzolali, having taken some time to change into her nightclothes, casually and silently stepped along the hall in bare feet. As she had the night before, she willed the key to turn and unlock the door. This time, however, the door didn’t budge. Projecting her consciousness into the room, the redheaded witch quickly discovered the problem.
Phoebe had braced the door with the wooden chair.
Dzolali laughed and flipped her long wavy mane from her shoulders. “Oh, darling girl,” she called in a singsong that carried her will and her magic.
“Hmmm?” Phoebe answered with her mouth half-buried into the pillow. She did not awaken, but the dream had begun.
“Come open the door for me,” Dzolali called sweetly.
Phoebe raised her eyelids sleepily, tossed the covers to the side, and shuffled to the door. Clumsily, she swiped an arm at the chair, knocking it to the side. She turned about and reclaimed her bed, burying herself under the comforter up to her nose. She snored lightly as the door swung open.
Dzolali stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Good girl.”
“Mmhm,” Phoebe hummed.
“Look at me,” Dzolali gently commanded.
Phoebe did so, opening her eyes fully, though they were without focus. Next to her bed was Dzolali, dressed in a black kimono with large red carnations patterned throughout and a sheer nylon negligee that clung to her form and hid nothing. She took off the robe, let it slide to the floor, and joined Phoebe in her bed.
Dzolali embraced Phoebe fully, trapping Phoebe’s legs with her own and pressing her upper body against hers. She followed it with a kiss. By the light of the stars and a partial moon, they stared at each other. With the youngest Pyncheon’s mouth open and eyes dreamily closed, Dzolali raised her hand over her victim’s face. Uncurling her fingers, a glowing pink powder took a gentle flight, descended to Phoebe’s face, and was absorbed into her skin.
Phoebe moaned, smiled, and her eyes focused. Caution was replaced by hunger. Pleased, Dzolali smiled, and another kiss followed.
***
Though Phoebe met the dream with a curiosity not born entirely of innocence, she took Dzolali’s advances for what they were: intoxicating and thrilling. She was aware, however, that her own movements were restrained.
The pleasure dealt by the redhaired Latina was unrelenting, tender, and loving. Still, as time passed and Phoebe’s delight reached new levels, her inability to reciprocate led her to frustration, then rose to near rage.
Phoebe became determined to continue her struggles against the unseen bonds about her wrists and ankles. In her delirium, she did not correlate the restraints with the presence of Dzolali, simply an obstacle that Phoebe wished to remove.
Phoebe fought willfully, and over the course of the dream, she felt she was beginning to have an effect over her imprisonment. While Dzolali enjoyed Phoebe, Phoebe worked her wrists apart, then after what seemed to be an immense, exhausting struggle, she was able to move her legs.
“Don’t fight me, Phoebe,” Dzolali warned.
Regardless, Phoebe demanded to be free, to be allowed to pleasure Dzolali, who had done so much for her. With a great effort, Phoebe willed her arms apart completely and embraced Dzolali.
Just as she began to repay Dzolali’s favors, a great thunder crashed around her bed. In a flash, Dzolali was gone, and Phoebe was left utterly alone. Her corner room glowed intensely, as if the moon had grown full and had focused its light through her windows.
Glendarah then appeared next to Phoebe’s bed, wearing her usual high-collared, hoop-skirted attire. She appeared to have lost twenty years from her appearance, but her cobalt eyes were hard and dark.
“There is a price,” Glendarah whispered and was gone.
Something powerful yanked Phoebe’s right arm, and she screamed in pain. Her body was launched from the bed, and it felt like her arm was going to be pulled free from her shoulder.
Phoebe was flung to the wood floor, and she felt bones break, heard them snap. Reduced to tears, Phoebe tried to gather herself up but was torn into again. There were claws in the grip, and she was tossed into the air. Her room’s ceiling, normally just a few feet above her five-and-a-half-foot frame, had become vaulted, arching away into darkness, and into this darkness she was hurled.
Broken, bleeding, and feeling tremendous pain, in such contrast to the ecstasy Dzolali had entreated her to, Phoebe wept freely. She missed her bed and the redhead’s sweet company, thinking of her image as she tumbled upward.
The claws again ripped into her, and Phoebe howled. She was spun to face her attacker and screamed doubly when she set eyes on it. The beast was massive, with a skin of burnt charcoal and burning, golden eyes. It was winged, and the span was so great that Phoebe would have had to turn her head to view them whole. She could not, however, so hypnotized with fright had she become.
In the tight, torturous grip of the gargoyle, Phoebe did not feel the fall until she and the monster met the floor. She was jarred harshly, and she felt a shooting pain i
n her neck and back. Then, with a snarl that threatened to destroy her eardrums, the gargoyle pushed her away, and Phoebe sailed across the small room and burst through the windows back first.
She screamed as the turret of the House of the Seven Gables receded from her. She hit the ground and the world went black.
***
Phoebe awoke on the floor of her room, staring through tears at the ceiling, now back to its original height. It was dark again, at least to the point where it was lit only by the stars. She was cold, covered in sweat, and again, naked.
“Fuck,” she groaned and tried to get up. Her back ached and her head throbbed. She rolled over, onto her knees and elbows, then leveraged herself up. She was spent, dizzy, and bruised from the fall.
Phoebe looked about the room. All was as it had been when she’d gone to sleep, except for her condition and the chair, which was on its back, lying on the floor a few feet away from the door.
She clearly remembered knocking it away in her dream. That, and everything she and Dzolali had enjoyed all ran through her aching mind. She gathered her clothes, dressed, and retrieved the blankets, reeking as they did with water lily, vanilla, and her own sweat.
Phoebe sobbed, realizing at that moment she had fallen in love with Dzolali Alameda, and over nothing, it seemed, more substantial than an intense dream. She cried herself to sleep, thinking that she had gone insane, confused at having developed feelings for someone she had spoken to only a handful of times and who was so closely linked to her great-aunt Hester.
***
Sunlight penetrated Phoebe’s eyelids, and in time, the red glow grew uncomfortable enough to awaken her. She covered her head with the sheets and, taking the scent of Dzolali into her nostrils, instantly remembered the dream. From the pleasurable time in the beginning, all the way to the nightmarish end, it played in her mind like a movie in fast forward.