Perigee Moon

by Fuller, Tara

  That’s when I noticed it, the brown leather flap sticking up through the crack. I lifted it up and the floorboard rose with ease as if it had made the exact same journey a hundred times before. I reached my hand down inside the compartment until my fingers wrapped around what felt like a book, lifted it out of its hole and blew the dust from the worn leather cover. There was no telling how old it was. I wondered if my grandparents knew about this, or if I was disturbing some sacred piece of history that wasn’t meant to be touched. I probably should have left it alone. But I was never very good at doing what I was supposed to do. My fingertips buzzed with energy as I took the book and set it gingerly on my bedspread to inspect it.

  Weird.

  I peeled back the cover, half afraid that it might disintegrate into dust when I touched it. Thankfully it remained intact. The yellowing pages crinkled as I ran my fingers across them, inspecting the tiny words and drawings scribbled across each page. Time had faded them but the ink was still dark enough to make most of it out. Some looked like journal entries. Some just lists of herbs and stones. Some looked like spells.

  Beth Root, Black Nightshade, Clear Quartz, Lilac, and Pine. Collect for healing circle at Beltane.

  I ran my fingertip over the words. The next page over were some instructions on drawing a purification circle with salt.

  I stopped as a memory came rushing over me with a force strong enough to take my breath away. I waited for the flames, for my mother’s screams, but they never came. Instead I found a nine-year-old version of myself sitting in my Mom’s closet digging for hidden Christmas gifts. I could still smell the lavender that clung to her dresses, all neatly pressed and hanging above my head like satin treetops.

  I had spotted a cardboard box that looked full to the point of bursting and thought I’d for sure hit the jackpot. In minutes I’d be knee deep in Barbie dolls and dress-up clothes. I could feel there was something special in that box. But when I lifted the lid my fingers went immediately to a book. It didn’t look identical to this one, but it was close. I remember being mesmerized by the verses inside, they were like poetry, but all in my mother’s writing. I never knew she had such beautiful words inside of her. It didn’t last long though. Mom found me and ripped the book from my hands. She hid it in the top of her closet and made me promise to never touch it again. She held me for an hour after that, crying, her arms clinging to me, trembling and rubbery. That was the day I knew that she had answers. She knew exactly why I was the way I was and it was clear that she would die before explaining it to me. And in the end, she did.

  Wiping a warm tear from my cheek I flipped to the middle of the book. I peeled back the page and caught by breath as the scent of lavender burst across my face, infusing me with memories of my mom. Underneath a sprig of dried lavender there was a silver chain tucked away into the binding. I tugged at it carefully until it finally came loose. The lavender sprig turned to dust in an instant. There was a charm attached to the end. I laid the silver chain out next to the book to examine it. It was beautiful. An iron setting with a small green stone encased between four tiny claws. Maybe jade? I flipped it over. There were strange markings on the back too. I picked it up and slipped it over my head without thinking.

  “What’s that?” I jumped and my cheeks went hot at the sound of Grams’ voice. For some reason I suddenly felt like a five-year-old version of myself getting caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  “Um…I don’t really know. I found it under a floorboard in here. Did you know it was here?” I asked, discreetly tucking the necklace into my shirt.

  She sat down next to me, her eyes wide. “No. I didn’t.”

  I slid it over to her for a closer look. She flipped through the pages silently for a moment. Her emotions took me by surprise. Warm memories, discovery, longing. It was as if she had been reunited with a very old friend.

  “My God…Rowan look at the date.” She pointed to the first page. The name Rebecca Foster was followed by the date 1692.

  “This must have belonged to the original owners,” she said. “This is wonderful.”

  “What is it?” I asked hoping she’d know. Grams always knew a lot about history. Especially when it came to this stuff.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe...” She paused, her face twisting as she strained to read the writing. “I can’t be sure but I believe this might be an old grimoire.”

  “A what?”

  “A grimoire, or a book of shadows.” She repeated and slid it back to me. “It’s a secret book of magic and spells that belonged to a witch. In many cases the books themselves were also believed to be imbued with magical powers.”

  Magical powers? When I was a kid I used to think of my ability that way. It was a nice way to paint something ugly a pretty color. But if she was right, could that be what it really was? What my mom didn’t want me to know? I shook the thought off. Grams might believe in this stuff, but I wasn’t so easy.

  “You should be careful with that Rowan.” The look on her face showed that she already regretted giving it back to me. “It’s no joke.”

  “You know I don’t believe in that stuff Grams.”

  “When you start playing with magic, if that is what this is, the kinds of spirits you invoke won’t care if you believe or not Rowan.”

  I rolled my eyes and tucked it into a drawer, afraid that she might change her mind.

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful with that,” she said.

  I nodded my head. “I will. It’s probably just some old journal Grams, really. I can’t even read half of it.”

  She nodded, seeming satisfied enough before pausing in the doorway.

  “Oh by the way, Alex was looking for you today.”

  I could feel the confusion twisting across my face. Alex?

  “Who?”

  “Black hair. Blue eyes. About your age.” It only took a second for me to realize who she was describing, and a thrill of heat raced through me.

  “What did he say?”

  “He just asked if the new girl was coming in today. I told him no but that you would be in tomorrow. Do you know him?”

  “Not exactly.” I hesitated wondering how much interest I should be showing. “How do you know him?”

  “I don’t really. He’s just a boy that I’ve seen in the store lately. He seems very nice.”

  “Does he live near here? I’ve seen him outside the house a few times.”

  The skin between her eyes furrowed in thought. “I really don’t know Rowan. I only learned his name today, and I was lucky to get that. He’s not much of a talker.”

  A laugh slipped past my lips. At least it wasn’t just me.

  “So you’ll be going to work tomorrow I take it?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  I finally stopped fighting the smile that was tugging at my lips and let it spread happily across my face. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 6

  It’s getting harder to get away already. How can I continue like this? But then again how can I not? Aunt Marion invited Annabelle here today for tea and to fill her head with fantasies of an engagement. She thinks that if we marry that our two rival covens will join. She’s becoming too hungry for power. I wish mother were alive. She would never let this happen. And I don’t love Annabelle. Though she is beautiful, she does not possess my heart or my affection. They already belong to someone else, however ridiculous it may seem. And I will see her tomorrow. I will hear my angel’s voice.

  ~ Alexander 1692

  ***

  I tossed my purse behind the counter and tied the ugly green apron I was forced to wear around my waist. Not the outfit I wanted to be wearing when the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen came walking through the door, might I add. Grams giggled.

  “It’s not very flattering is it?” she said with a smile, as she motioned to the apron.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I groaned.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s that necessary if you wan
t to take it off.” She focused on the inventory sheet that she was working on as she spoke.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Just put it behind the counter.”

  I didn’t give her time to change her mind. I yanked it over my head and shoved it behind the counter next to my purse.

  “Finish this up for me will you dear? I have to get home to start on dinner. Pot roast tonight.” She slid the sheet over to me. I nodded and picked up where she left off.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “I’ll see you tonight. Your grandpa will be here in a few hours to help you close up.” She waved as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. I waved without looking up, already immersing myself in the task at hand. To most people something like inventory might seem mundane. But I didn’t mind it. At least it was something else to think about. My fingers were pecking at the calculator, adding up the cans of chicken soup that Grams had counted when the doorbell chimed and the sound of someone shuffling into the store broke my thoughts. I didn’t bother to glance up. Grams rarely made it out of this place on the first try. She was the most forgetful person I knew.

  “Don’t tell me you already changed your mind about the apron?” I laughed as I focused on the next row of numbers.

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean?” My fingers froze when I realized that it wasn’t her. Brushing the curtain of dark hair back from my face I slowly let my gaze drift upward until I met his curious eyes. His face, intense but careful, was just a foot from mine as he lingered on the other side of the counter.

  “Um…sorry… I thought you were someone else,” I stuttered, my breaths already coming in too shallow. I was starting to feel light headed. He had a thick British accent. I wasn’t expecting that. He smiled.

  “Can I help you with something?” I asked, trying to seem cool and nonchalant, knowing full well I wasn’t pulling it off. His smile was too much. Blood heated, pooled underneath my cheeks, exposing me in the most embarrassing way.

  He ran his hand through his hair and dropped his eyes to the floor; his face looking torn like it had the last time he’d been here. I waited for him to bolt, but prayed that he’d stay.

  “What’s your name?” he finally asked.

  “Rowan,” I answered, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. It helped that I was a little stunned.

  “I’m Alex.” He stuck his hand out. I let my fingers close around his, almost losing my balance as the warmth from his hand invaded my blood stream. I was no longer cold inside. I was boiling. He stared at our two hands intertwined for a moment like he could feel it too before quickly pulling away.

  “Do you go to school around here?” I said, trying not to sound too desperate to learn something about him.

  “No,” he said.

  “Oh…do you live near here?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Okay…” I hesitated before continuing, biting my lip and fighting my nerves. “Have you been watching me?”

  He froze, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine. The briefest flash of panic flared up before he smiled.

  “Would it bother you if I had been?” he said, amused.

  My heart almost stopped. “That depends.”

  “On what?” He leaned heavily against the counter, his eyes fixed on mine.

  “It depends on why you’re watching me.” I had to force the air to pump in and out of my lungs. The warmth inside was almost too much. It was numbing me, healing me.

  His eyes drifted over me before he stopped, the smile falling from his face. “This is wrong,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to me. His eyes drifted back towards the door.

  “What?” I could feel the panic rising up inside me. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  “I’m sorry Rowan. It was very nice to meet you, but I shouldn’t have come here.” He turned for the door.

  “Wait.” He stopped and halfway turned to face me, his hand on the door. He didn’t want to go. I could feel it, an invisible stream of energy pulsing between us.

  “You didn’t answer me. You’ve been outside my house in the middle of the night. You’ve been here in the store twice now. You owe me an answer.” I clutched the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned paper white, forcing myself not to chase after him. “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to know you,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  “Then why are you leaving?”

  “Because I shouldn’t want that Rowan. And you shouldn’t want to know me.” He turned and sprinted through the door without giving me a chance to speak.

  I glanced at the clock across the room. It was one o’clock in the morning. I’d been staring listlessly out the window for hours waiting for a glimpse of him, but he never came. The edge of the forest swayed in the wind, a dark mass of shadows dancing in silence. The house was quiet and I felt alone. I missed my mom so much it hurt at times like this. And I hated it. I hated the memories. The reminders. But more than anything I hated that I was sitting here aching over a boy I didn’t even know. It didn’t touch the pain I felt for my mom, but still it was there. A dull throb in the background of my thoughts. A reminder of something else, or rather someone else, that I wanted and couldn’t have.

  I pulled down my sleeve and wiped the senseless tears away that were streaming down my face. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging across the room and I cringed at the sight. Dad may have been able to escape the cruel reminder of my mother that was my face, but I couldn’t. I still had to stare at the same emerald green eyes, the same sharp nose, the same pouty lips. I used to be grateful that I had inherited some of her beauty, but now I resented it.

  Finally I shoved the window shut, cutting off the cool night breeze that had been circulating through the room. I needed something to keep my mind off of things. The scars on my wrists were tingling with awareness. I was a house of cards and one wrong move could send me toppling over into the black abyss that was waiting to swallow me whole. I yanked open the drawer to my nightstand, desperate, and found the leather bound book there, thankful that Grams’ hadn’t changed her mind. I peeled open the cover and started to read. It was strange feeling how my fingertips pulsed with energy the second they came in contact with the cracked leather binding. This power was different than the kind I got from emotions. This was like nothing I’d ever felt. This felt like…home. I flipped through the pages slowly trying to make out the clusters of entries. I could tell that it had belonged to a woman. She had beautiful penmanship. The entries started out light but grew darker and more desperate by the page. I ran my fingers across the faded journal entry and read.

  William is ill. The others here in the colony hold no hope for him and refuse to help. They tell me it is God’s way. That it is his fate. I cannot accept it. I will not accept it. I will find a way. I will invoke the spirits. I care not of the consequences. March, 13th 1691.

  The next few pages were filled with lists of ingredients. Herbs, crystals, candles, along with several healing spells. Most were too faded to read. I turned the page to find another journal entry.

  William is worse today. His skin burns like fire and the boils have spread. He is delirious and does not recognize me. He only asks for Alexander. Nothing is working. I cannot understand why the spirits have failed me. The others blame me for my husband’s condition. They say God is punishing me for dealing in the black arts. They call me a witch. I hear their whispers. I sense their fear. They say I am evil, that I cavort with the devil. They know nothing. I have to keep trying. I will not lose my William. March, 18th 1691.

  My fingers clawed desperately at the pages, my eyes skimming for an entry that described her husband’s recovery. I needed her ending to be happy. I needed her ending to be different than mine, different than my dad’s. I quickly turned through the next pages only pausing long enough to realize that the entries were growing shorter; the desperation gone and a dark surrender taking its place. I held my breath as I read the final passage. />
  They have buried him beneath the willow tree behind our home. Alexander is devastated. He sits by his father’s grave day and night, his once bright eyes are now hollow and unwelcoming. He does not feel him as I do. He is still here. He finds me every morning beneath the clouds, in the briny gusts of wind that sing through the trees. He dances through my hair and caresses my skin and fills my lungs. And at these times my heart sings with joy, for I know what no one else seems to see. He is here. My beloved is the wind. April, 14th 1691.

  The tears were swelling behind my eyes now. Tears for this desperate woman who was willing to sacrifice everything to save the one she loved. I felt strangely connected to her in that way. I would have done anything to save my mom.

  I couldn’t read anymore of this woman’s pain. With her every word the sword in my own heart was twisting deeper and deeper.

  I flipped to the page that had held the necklace that I now wore around my neck. The crushed lavender still dusted the page. I carefully pushed it aside until the fine powder was tucked into the binding and strained to read the faded inscription.

  Mother of Earth, Goddess of great. Part the winds of time and fate.