Feral Curse

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Based on Tanya’s and Evan’s previous respective behaviors, there was a big debate about whether they should be excused from the séance. But we’re all in this together.

  Peter and Darby, too, of course, though they’re elsewhere at the moment. I can’t help worrying about how they’re coping with the effects of Ben’s spell, how its ripple effects might be affecting the people who care about them.

  Meanwhile, Tanya may be taking deep, relaxing breaths, but she’s still glaring at me like she wants to rip me limb from limb, and Evan’s still looking at me like he wants to —

  Come to think of it, I’d rather not spend quality time pondering his fantasies right now. I have enough to worry about, especially if Junior is truly capable of summoning Ben’s spirit.

  At least we’re making tangible progress on reversing his spell. The missing carousel figures are starting to arrive. Across the cabin, Yoshi hauls the bear figure transported by Nora to the bedroom.

  It joins the figures Yoshi’s already brought in from Stubblefield’s Secrets. It took nine trips, along back roads, in his Mercury Cougar, but we couldn’t avoid the highway bridge. Even using tarps for cover, Deputy Hoover and way too many locals caught a glimpse of him driving them out of Pine Ridge, especially given how much he’s been seen around town this weekend with me.

  Still, there’s nothing I can do about that now, so I focus on the newcomer. Nora is a stylish older lady who’s the head chef at the restaurant where Aimee and Clyde work. Unlike the others, I’m not comfortable calling a grown-up by her first name, but she hugs the Austinites and new arrivals alike without so much as blinking at the weirdness that is Junior.

  “You must be Kayla,” she says, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulders. “Hon, I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”

  I couldn’t begin to count the number of people who said something like that to me since Ben died, but with Nora it’s different. I can tell she understands — not only how it feels to be caught up in something supernatural but also what loss means on a more personal level.

  “Do you want me to stay?” she asks as Junior compromises by draping both cloths over the round table. “I don’t know much about ghosts, but I’m pretty comfortable around dead people.”

  Returning with the snake figure, Clyde shakes his head. “I’d feel better if you cleared out so there’s someone we can call if Kayla’s ex-boyfriend goes all Amityville on our asses.”

  “Try not to worry.” Aimee hugs Nora. “Remember, heaven is always on our side.”

  They’re awfully religious for what my dad would consider Austin hippies.

  Anyway, it seems to reassure the chef. She leaves after Yoshi and Tanya unload the coyote figures, a battery-powered radio, sleeping bags, and coolers of what turns out to be gourmet Texas-Italian fusion cuisine and bottled waters.

  Junior announces that we should grab a snack if we’re hungry (we all pass), take a bathroom break if we need one (there’s no plumbing in the cabin, and right now, I’d rather hold it than squat behind a tree), and turn off our cell phones. He sounds matter-of-fact, like a flight attendant reciting emergency information for the millionth time.

  Everyone with a working handheld reaches for it to comply.

  “Does the phone have to be off to summon the spirit or just quiet?” Clyde asks.

  Junior cocks his head. “Just quiet.”

  Clyde and Aimee exchange a look, and I’m sure they’ve set theirs to vibrate.

  I take a deep breath. Dear Lord, are we really going to summon a ghost?

  Ben’s ghost?

  “Please, everyone, take a seat,” Junior says, retrieving a cardboard box from a nearby shelf. “Kayla, what’s Ben’s favorite color?”

  “Dark green,” I say. PRHS team colors are white and Pine Ridge green.

  I peer into Junior’s box of votive candles and pick out the one the closest in hue.

  Then I choose the chair between Yoshi and Aimee.

  As Junior pours Clyde’s salt around us and the table, then lights the candle, I note that, seated clockwise from his empty chair, it’s Evan, Yoshi, me, Aimee, Clyde, and Tanya. The extra chair has been set against the cabin wall.

  Junior also ignites four white candles at chalk-marked points for north, south, east, and west. “Spirits are often attracted to light,” he says. “And these are protective circles.”

  “How can spirits be attracted and warded off by light?” Tanya asks with a raised brow.

  “As a nonbeliever, your negative energy is counterproductive,” Junior informs her. “Now, Kayla, do you have a photograph of Ben?”

  I wish people would stop asking me that. “No, I, um, burned them all.”

  His huge blue eyes blink at me, and Aimee jumps in. “What about your phone camera?” she asks. “Or . . . does he have a Catchup page?”

  “He did. Does. Did.” Mrs. Bloom left it up so that people could share memories.

  I didn’t go online and officially change my relationship status with Ben when we broke up. That would’ve been too public, and I hadn’t been in the mood for questions. Come to think of it, I still haven’t done it. As far as the Internet is concerned, I’m still Ben’s girlfriend.

  Aimee offers her phone, and, taking it, I quickly surf to his page, then to his photos . . . his hundreds of shots of me, with me, with his teammates, at dances, over pizza and tacos, with his tongue sticking out on the Superman roller coaster at Six Flags.

  God, we had fun that day. I haven’t been letting myself think about the good times.

  After a moment, Aimee gently pries the phone from my hand and chooses a head shot where he’s smiling. Then she hands it to Junior, who sets it on the table, screen up.

  Without being asked, Yoshi unties the cat’s-eye gemstone necklace and gives that to Junior, too.

  “Benjamin Bloom,” Junior intones, “we respectfully ask that you join us.”

  Tanya smirks, and Junior glares at her so intensely that she squirms in her seat. She’s the only werebear I’ve ever known, but I get the feeling they don’t squirm often.

  It makes me wonder about Junior, what he’s capable of. When we first met, he seemed innocent. I didn’t expect him to have this kind of depth or intensity. Or maybe he’s simply a great actor, which begs the question of which Junior is the real one.

  “Join hands,” Junior says, moving the screen to the middle of the circle so we all can see it. “Think about Ben, about how much you want to talk to him.”

  A cool, light wind blows through from nowhere, then . . . nothing.

  Junior tries again. “Benjamin Bloom, is that you?”

  Still nothing. Junior nods to me, urging me to speak, but I have no idea what to say. “Um, Ben? It’s me, Kayla.” My cross pendant feels chilly against my skin. “If . . . if you’re here, we have . . . I have a question for you.”

  God, what am I going to ask? I feel self-conscious with so many ears listening.

  I let go of Yoshi and reach for the cat’s-eye gemstone. To maintain the circle, the Cat sets his hand on my shoulder instead. This time the touch feels more comforting than sensual, to the extent that, in my nervousness, I can process it at all. “Ben . . .”

  There’s no wind this time, just a more dramatic drop in temperature. Say, forty degrees.

  I feel Aimee shiver beside me, but she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  A moment later, Yoshi coughs, Tanya begins silently opening and closing her mouth, and Evan jerks his head like he’s having a seizure.

  Yoshi shouts, “I . . . Don’t . . . Can’t . . . Kayla, Kayla, Kayla, Kayla, Kayla, Kayla, Kayla, Kay, Kay, Kay, Kay-Kay-Kay —”

  At the same time, Evan begins muttering, “La, la, la, la, la —”

  “Stop it!” Aimee yells as Clyde blows out the candle on the table.

  It doesn’t matter. The enchanted shifters are still wigging out.

  “Thank you for coming, Ben,” Junior bellows. “Now it is time for you to move on.”

  Yoshi, Tanya, a
nd Evan fall forward in their chairs, motionless and dazed. “Don’t touch them,” Junior warns. “Let them come back to us in their own time.”

  I’ve stood, knocking over my chair, backing away from the table and breaking the circle of salt in the process. “Did that work?” I ask. “Did Ben move on?”

  Junior’s gaze flicks around the table. “Away? Yes. On? No, I don’t think so.”

  Clyde gets up and tears the beach towels from the windows, letting the sun back in.

  JUNIOR STORES THE CANDLES and sweeps the salt from the floor while Clyde, Aimee, and I keep busy by setting up the provisions Nora brought. Comfort food. Call it stress eating, but I can’t resist the venison blood sausage. I live for sausage.

  After maybe ten minutes, I’m dialing the radio to a country station when Tanya moans. I open my mouth to say I’m-not-sure-what, but Junior holds up his furry hands, like he’s trying to stop traffic. “Easy,” he warns. “Don’t rush her.”

  Yoshi and Evan remain motionless, dazed. Personally, I’m not convinced that all three enchanted shifters don’t need brain scans, but I go with it.

  Brushing off his caution, Aimee grabs cold bottles of water and drops them in turn in front of each of our entranced companions. It works. The thump, thump, thump snaps them back to the moment.

  Yoshi reaches for his, rips off the top with extended saber teeth, and gulps loudly. Evan manages to unscrew the cap off his before pouring it over his own head.

  I follow Aimee’s lead, rejoining the group at the table, but Clyde holds himself at a distance. He sets one foot on the spare chair and reties his shoelaces.

  “What do you remember?” Junior prompts. “Do you have any messages to pass on?”

  “He’s in me,” Yoshi, Tanya, and Evan say at the same time.

  Creepy. I flinch as Yoshi adds, “But I couldn’t —”

  “He wouldn’t,” Evan corrects.

  “No,” Tanya says. “He can’t.”

  “But it was Ben?” I ask, holding up the image on my phone. “You’re sure?”

  Three nods. Dear God Almighty. Ben. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Junior says. “Never heard Granny Z mention —”

  “A split soul,” Aimee whispers. Her gaze goes to Clyde, and you can feel how mentally in sync they are. It practically radiates off them. “You knew all along?” she says to him.

  “I suspected.” He walks over with the whiteboard and a thick black marker. “Split doesn’t necessarily mean evil, you know.” He’s talking only to her. She’s the one who matters. “Especially with a spirit as young —”

  “I know.” Aimee straightens in her chair and addresses the rest of us. “In the event that a soul — or essence, if you’re dealing with something soulless — is somehow divided at death, it must be reunited for the being to move on to heaven or hell.”

  What is she talking about? “Ben has a soul!” I exclaim.

  “Of course he does,” she assures me. “I just . . .” Aimee glances up, distracted by her boyfriend scribbling on his board. “What are you doing?” she asks him.

  Clyde has written Ben’s name in the center surrounded by those of the shifters transported by the carousel spell — each marked with an emotion: Darby/sadness, Tanya/anger, Evan/desire, Yoshi/?

  Is the part of Ben in Yoshi the reason why he’s always almost touching me?

  “You dumped Ben, right?” Clyde asks. “So, he’s mad, sad, but he still wants you.” He smiles at Yoshi with teeth that are too big, too satisfied. “What do you feel for Kayla?”

  Yoshi crushes the plastic bottle and crosses the room to fetch another one. He takes his time breaking the cap seal, unscrewing it, and taking a long drink. “Protective . . . Loyal. Like I have something to prove. I’m competitive about stuff I don’t normally care about. Money, grades, being right. My glorious future, or lack thereof.”

  Interesting. He didn’t mention the attraction between us.

  “Yoshi’s naturally protective and loyal,” Aimee insists. “They’re two of his better qualities.” She frowns and asks me, “How fierce is this competitive streak?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he says. “Really, I’m good with it.”

  I believe him. “My rivalry with Ben was a friendly one.”

  Clyde looks down at his marker, and I can tell he doesn’t love our answers. “I’m not saying that Ben’s qualities have replaced theirs, just that he’s influencing them. Or at least attached to them. Tanya, are you normally a hothead?”

  She’s leaning back in her chair. “I have a temper when it’s warranted,” she replies, defensive, like it’s not the first time the subject has come up.

  Clyde swaggers over to Evan, who’s seated with his legs crossed and his hands folded over this lap. I’ve seen boys position themselves that way before. I know what he’s trying to hide. “Hey, Evan,” Clyde begins. “Have you always been such a . . . hound dog?”

  “I’m a healthy teenage guy,” is the Otter’s reply, angling himself as if he’s trying hard not to stare at me. “A healthy gay teenage guy. But I’m shy about, you know, expressing my emotions.”

  Clyde’s grin is back. “So, it’s safe to say, however . . .” His gaze rakes my body, then, noticeably conscious of Aimee’s close attention, he clears his throat. “However attractive Kayla might be, she’s not exactly your type. You’re not lusting after me, Yoshi, or Junior, are you?”

  Evan narrows his eyes. “The fact that I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m jonesing for anything with a”— my eyebrows shoot up —“manly physique,” he finishes. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Yoshi puts in, a thin sheen of sweat across his brow.

  Whatever just happened took a lot out of him, out of all of them. Evan’s eyes are still dilated, and Tanya’s bangs are damp.

  “But it proves my point,” Clyde says. “Ben’s desire for Kayla is haunting you.”

  The Otter tilts his head. “That makes as much sense as anything else.”

  “What about Peter, my werecoyote stalker?” I say. “Ben was never that way with me.”

  “That you knew of,” Clyde declares. “Did you really see any of this coming?” He scribbles Peter/obsession on the board.

  When I don’t answer, he goes on, “Building on what Aimee said, it may be necessary to reassemble the carousel not only to reverse the spell, but also to reunite Ben’s spirit so he can go into the light.”

  “In which case,” Aimee adds, as if thinking out loud, “we’ll need all the teleported shifters here to pull it off. Including Peter and Darby.”

  “Darby’s in Fort Worth,” I remind them.

  Aimee stands up. “I’ll call Freddy,” she says. “It’s possible he’s still in that area, picking up carousel figures, or, if need be, I guess he can loop around. Kayla, do you have Darby’s number?”

  I nod. “I’ll call him.” I hope he’s okay. It was wrong of me to let him leave, feeling the way he did. It hadn’t sunk in at the time how serious and complicated this was going to get.

  I can’t imagine Ben ending it all because of losing me — well, not on purpose, anyway — it’s not like he intentionally caused the lightning strike that killed him. But Darby seemed incredibly distraught, fragile. More so than the ensorcelled shifters I’m with now. Who knows what his mental state was before he was caught in the spell. “I’ll call him right away.”

  “Wait a minute,” Yoshi says. “Tanya’s doing a bang-up job of keeping her anger in check.” She favors him with a tight smile, her hands fisted at her sides. “But,” he goes on, “Peter is —”

  “Peter is an X factor,” Aimee concludes. “We can’t be sure how dangerous he might be.”

  STANDING ON KAYLA’S FRONT PORCH, I call the Stubblefields. “Sorry to bother you at home,” I say to Lula. “But I talked to my grams, and one of our dealers is looking for a mate to a carousel cat that sounds like it might’ve come from your set. As long as I’m out here, I thoug
ht I might be able to bring it home with me.”

  “We did have a couple of cats,” Lula raises her voice. “Eleanor, you remember who picked up the cat figure?” There’s a pause. “No, not the one that went to Austin, the other one.”

  She covers the phone with her hand, and I can’t make out their conversation.

  “I’m sorry, Yoshi,” Lula finally replies. “I must be having a senior moment. If it comes back to me, I’ll be sure to give your grams a call.”

  When I cruise inside the Morgans’ house, Aimee and Clyde have already joined Kayla’s family in the kitchen. The table is set in Queen Anne Fair Lady china with black trim. There’s a Depression glass pitcher filled with iced tea at the center and wooden serving bowls of guacamole and black beans to each side.

  Both Clyde and the mayor straighten in their chairs as I stroll into the room, and, remembering that I’m supposed to be Aimee’s boyfriend, I come up behind her at the bar counter, rest my hands at her waist, and give her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  It’s the kind of gesture that says I might do something more interesting if there weren’t parents around, and I’m partly doing it to annoy Clyde.

  She whispers, “Any luck?”

  The shake of my head is slight, but I know that Clyde, at the table, and Kayla, who’s depositing chicken enchiladas on the plates, both catch the exchange.

  “So, Yoshi,” the mayor says, “Clyde tells me you’re a senior at J. L. Nixon High in Austin. They’ve got a great wrestling tradition. What’s your sport?”

  I’m betting he was a wrestler in high school. It doesn’t occur to him that I’m not a school athlete. Every guy in Texas plays sports. I let go of Aimee. “Swimming.”

  Not really. Werecats don’t hate water as much as people say, but we’re not fond of it. That soggy episode at the river with Kayla and Evan was zero fun for me. But I’ve been told enough times that I have a swimmer’s build to know that it’ll ring true.

  Before he can ask me for specifics, I cross with Aimee to take our chairs and add, “I’m starving. The enchiladas smell delicious, Mrs. Morgan.”

  I sound like a lame kiss-ass, but I’m not in the mood to chitchat with parents. I was tempted to argue when Kayla insisted that she had to go home for dinner. I can’t shake off the feeling that we should be doing something, but truth is, we’re in a holding pattern.