The Catalain Book of Secrets

by Jessica Lourey

  For the second time in a week, Ursula thought of the father she’d murdered. Her shoulders tensed. “Not in making them, though I don’t always give them to the right person. I’m sorry about Adam.”

  Katrine turned her gaze on her mother for the first time. The green in her eyes was storming. “You never met him.”

  “That was your choice, not mine, and I can still be sorry you’re hurt.”

  Katrine opened her mouth, then closed it. She set the thin blue bottle on the table. It was warped by the indentations of her fingers, and the air was tinged with a faint char of melting glass.

  A knock at the door broke the mood. Katrine’s face cleared. “Guess your real purpose has arrived.”

  She slipped out the door, not even tossing a glance to the woman waiting on the other side. Ursula considered running after Katrine but then remembered the weight of Velda’s “advice” on her own shoulders. She squared her shoulders. She would be here, always here, when Katrine was ready.

  Ursula turned her attention to the woman standing on her cottage steps, backlit by the moon. She was an exotic creature, her head heavy with black, gold, and copper dreadlocks laced with jewels and metal rings. Her eyes were amber-green tiger eyes, but one stared off another direction than the other. Her body arced like a cello, and she held herself with a dancer’s poise. If her eyes had treated each other like sisters, she would be so stunning that she’d be difficult to look at. As it was, the visual defect was too pronounced, and such a contrast to her beauty, that your average person was inclined to feel superior when looking at her, as if it was preferable to be average than to fly so close to the sun and fail.

  Ursula felt her hand go to the Book of Secrets high on the shelf. She rested it nearby, though she was itching to open the book. “You want me to fix your eye?”

  The woman stepped into the workshop and closed the door behind her. Her left eye, the one that Ursula had taken to be the weak one, swirled in its socket twice before landing on her. The woman’s gaze felt like butterfly fingers, and the sensation almost made Ursula smile.

  The woman shook her head, and her jewels and metal rings jangled like fairy bells. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just realized that if I found out I had a year to live, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s made me so sad that I don’t want to go on living.”

  Near Ursula’s hand, the Book of Secrets laughed.

  Chapter 18

  Jasmine

  Jasmine watched her precious daughter play the viola, unaware that the soft smile on her face was identical to Tara’s. When Tara missed a note, Jasmine stuck her fingers in her ears. “Is it supposed to sound like that?”

  “Mom,” Tara said, rolling her eyes. “I’m learning, remember?”

  Jasmine kept the teasing expression on her face. “You make it hard to forget.” She longed to stroke her daughter’s hair, but it had been a couple years since Tara’d let her get away with that. She kept the smile on her face. She’d felt lighter since dinner with Dean last night. It had been an uncomfortable meal at first, as if they were playing themselves on stage.

  “Pass the salt?”

  “Of course.” Their hands touched. He looked into her eyes, and she thought he was going to ask to move back home. Instead, “Will you see a counselor?”

  She was surprised at how distant the words felt. They were meant for someone else, someone who couldn’t stop turning on and off light switches or who wanted to fall asleep in their garage with the car running. She was neither. She was content, as long as she kept Jasmine close and there were no surprises.

  “What for?”

  The pained expression on his face was more eloquent than he, but he tried. “You keep yourself small, Jasmine, and you’re doing the same to Tara. That’s no way to live.”

  A thousand needles of surprise pushed through her skin, and her eyes grew wet. She didn’t know he had that depth, though she’d suspected. He wasn’t the most handsome man, or the smartest, but he was a wonderful dad, and he was honest. She’d never doubted him for a second. Most importantly, he didn’t keep secrets. Everything he was to her was displayed in his open heart.

  “Okay,” she said. There was nothing a counselor could do for her, and she’d expended too much already in her daily fight to keep her past out of reach. But if seeing a counselor would bring Dean home, she’d go through the motions.

  He squeezed her hand. They finished their meal. Before he left his own home for the evening, he’d kissed her forehead. “I love you.” It was enough.

  “Hey, can Brittany come over later? To watch TV with me?”

  Jasmine blinked. She’d been feeling the warmth of her husband’s lips on her. “Did you finish your homework?”

  “Yeah, you already looked at it, remember? The hydroponic tomato science project.”

  “I remember.” She did. She just liked to hear Tara talk. It seemed like her daughter was growing up so quickly.

  “And maybe you could teach me to make spaghetti sauce with the tomatoes I grow? Helena told me you used to make spaghetti sauce so delicious that it could heal a broken heart.”

  Jasmine felt a twinge. She wasn’t sure if it was guilt or fear. Tara knew about the Catalain witchcraft rumors. She couldn’t live in Faith Falls and avoid that, but Jasmine had been careful to dispel them at home, and to redirect any of her daughter’s skills that seemed to verge on the supernatural. She was going to protect Tara from the pain she’d experienced, at any cost. “That’d be some pretty good sauce. I can’t promise anything like that, but I can show you how to mince onions, and steam-peel fresh tomatoes. Add a little of both to store-bought sauce, and it’ll taste better than homemade.”

  “Thanks, mom.”

  The trust in Tara’s eyes was almost too much to bear. Jasmine leaned forward to turn the page on Tara’s sheet music. Someone knocked at the front door. Jasmine directed Tara to keep practicing.

  It was a delivery person in a brown uniform. “Jasmine Moore?”

  She nodded.

  “Sign here.”

  She took the package with her to the living room.

  “What is it, mom?”

  “I don’t know.” She reached for a scissors and split the shoebox-sized cardboard package. Inside was another box, and inside that, pink tissue paper. Inside was a ceramic dancing pig with ruby lips wearing nothing but a white mesh tutu. Her front hooves joined together under her chin in a saucy gesture.

  “Mom, it’s so cute!”

  Jasmine held it up to the light. “I love it,” she said. She was referring to this life she’d built for herself, one where she could look forward rather than back, and where there was no magic.

  Chapter 19

  Katrine

  Katrine wasn’t sure what to bring to the interview. It was her first gig for the Faith Falls Gazette. She was scheduled to meet with the owner of the new bead store a half an hour before the class, ask her some questions about her new business, and then take photos of the beading class. Heather had told her the owner’s name. It was something Midwestern, and she’d forgotten it. She settled on bringing a laptop, the Gazette’s staff camera, a steno pad, and a thin black pen. She hadn’t written a newspaper article since college, but how hard could it be?

  Helena had agreed to let Katrine borrow her car until she could cash in her retirement account, something she’d forgotten about until she’d opened a stack of mail forwarded from a friend in London. Her heart had thudded when she’d recognized the Vogue London offices in the return address spot.

  She needn’t have been worried by the letter. It was from HR, informing her how to access her retirement fund and some legal documents pertaining to the files she’d left behind. They could have all of them, every silly bit of research on Paris fashion and Ivory Coast silk and Peter Pan collars making a comeback. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen so deeply into that world that she’d neglected her family. Still, she promised herself she’d go to the post office today to ch
ange her mail forwarding address to the Queen Anne so her friend would no longer need to deal with her mail.

  It was temporary, living here. Just for now.

  When she pulled up front, the old Stearns bank building was all scuffed edges and stately columns, a mini-Fort Knox well past its prime, the rainbow-lettered “Stacy’s Beads” sign incongruous against the dusty brick. The movie theater owners had done all their banking here, and she’d been inside often to make deposits. She stepped from the hot sun into the cool of the bank building, curious as to how different it would be inside.

  Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and so her first sensation was the smell: dust and money. It made her feel safe. The building had been gutted, all the teller counters removed and replaced by tables of beads glittering like pirate’s treasure in the high-ceilinged space. A woman behind the counter flashed a smile before returning to her work organizing a bead tray.

  To Katrine’s right was the only familiar object from the days of the bank, and she was delighted to spot it. It was a grandfather clock made of polished maple; instead of ringing on the hour, a little rabbit wearing spectacles would pop out and chime. He used to ring a gong, legend had it, but the gong hadn’t been seen for decades. The clock had been an anomaly in a bank but fit right into a bead shop, though it must be under the weather because a tall man with his back to her had his head shoved in the famous timepiece.

  Katrine walked up to him. “Ren?”

  He stood too quickly, cracking his head on the inside of the grandfather’s clock. He was rubbing the spot when he turned around. His face broke into a lopsided grin when he saw her. “Hey!” He pointed his screwdriver toward the ceiling. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  The blush crept up his cheeks at his own dorky joke, and she couldn’t resist matching his smile. “You don’t get out a lot, do you?”

  He shrugged, still smiling. “Work keeps me busy. It’s nice to see you.”

  In one of her rare flashes of complete clarity, she knew he meant it. The knowledge warmed her. “I wanted to thank you for the ride home the other night. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “My pleasure. Really.” He kept his smile in his eyes.

  She felt her face grow hot. What is wrong with me? “Well, yeah. So thank you. And hey, work is why I’m here, too. I got a job at the paper. I’m supposed to interview the owner. You know her?”

  Ren glanced over her shoulder, toward the back of the store, and lowered his voice. “She’s at the counter, doing her best to pretend she isn’t eavesdropping. You being back in town is definitely bigger news than a bead shop opening, if half the gossip I heard at church is true.”

  The words spilled out before she could stop them. “You go to church?”

  He leaned back a millimeter, and her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. That sounded judgey. My other friends in London weren’t church-goers. I forget what it’s like here.”

  He tipped his head, his smile softening. “I do go to church. I bring my daughters. I wanted continuity in their lives after Laura died.”

  “I’m a donkey,” Katrine said, her stomach tightening. “An absolute, horrible goober. I don’t know why I keep saying the wrong thing around you.”

  “I don’t mind. Does this mean we’re friends?”

  She tried to follow his train of thought. “What?”

  “You said most of your friends in London weren’t church-goers. I am, and the implication was that I’m different than your other friends.”

  She stuttered for an answer before realizing he was teasing her. She put out her hand, fighting the smile that was tugging at her cheek. “How about we start all the way over? Hi, my name is Katrine Catalain, and I’m a recovering goober.”

  He took her hand, grinning broadly. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ren Cunningham, chief greeter for the Goober Rehabilitation program here in Faith Falls, Minnesota.”

  Katrine was chuckling deeply for the first time in weeks, but when his warm flesh moved against hers, she was struck with a vision so powerful that it knocked the laughter right out of her. He moved forward to catch her, concern in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?”

  She pulled her hand over her eyes to clear the vision, her stomach fluttering. She’d seen secrets shaped like frogs raining down from the sky, each one of them a vivid emerald green, women laughing as the frogs turned into butterflies just before they hit the ground, and air so clean that it smelled like water.

  She had absolutely no idea what it meant, but the vision left a thrill like kisses on her skin. She hadn’t had one since she’d met Adam, and before that, they’d been sporadic at best. “Fine. Must have been a static shock. The air has been so dry lately. Um, I better let you get back to work. Talk to you later?”

  He started to respond, but she turned to hide her discomfiture and made her way to the counter to complete her interview. Goodbyes had never been her strong suit, but even so, the guy deserved better.

  If I was Ren, I’d go out of my way to avoid someone as messed up as me.

  Chapter 20

  Tara

  Tara watched the commotion outside the bay window of Seven Daughters. She knew from overhearing her aunts speak that picketers were not uncommon, though she couldn’t figure out why they bothered the store.

  She had lied to her mom to come here, the first lie she’d ever told. But she knew her great-aunts needed help setting up for their End Times class, and anyhow, the air seemed looser since Katrine had returned, like anything was possible, like rule-bending was not only acceptable but created a space inside which miracles could happen.

  And so once she’d found out Helena and Xenia’s regular assistant was busy, Tara had agreed to help them clean the tomatoes and sanitize the jars for tonight’s inaugural End Time class, which would focus on canning, as long as she could be home by supper-time. She was excited to learn all she could. She’d told her mom she’d be at Ursula’s helping around the house, which was only a small lie.

  Today’s class would be held in Helena’s kitchen so they could use the stove. Tara reviewed the necessary ingredients list for the first class: three five-gallon buckets of plum tomatoes smelling like spice and earth, four dozen quart jars and lids, two five-gallon pots, a pressure cooker, and tongs and ladles. Because of the acidity of the tomatoes, they wouldn’t need vinegar, Xenia had told her. They would, however, need onions, salt, and celery for the stewed tomatoes, and Xenia had asked if she’d like to come along to purchase both.

  Tara tried to convince her great-aunt to sneak out the back door so they could avoid the three women who had been perched outside the storefront window for the past hour. Tara knew that the Queen Anne Catalains were different, and saw how certain people around town were almost scared of them, but to her, they were family. She couldn’t make sense of why anyone wouldn’t also love them, or would want to boycott Seven Daughters.

  “I’m too old to sneak,” Xenia said. “Besides, I didn’t do anything wrong. Come on.”

  It was a beautiful late-summer afternoon, and the sun was still high in the sky. Tara recognized two of the women from her church. They didn’t hold eye contact. Meredith Baum, mom to Jasmine’s good friend Heather Lewis, did not look away. She stormed right up to Xenia.

  “You’re going against God’s plan.”

  Tara recoiled. Her parents never argued. In fact, Tara had never heard her mother so much as raise her voice, let alone confront somebody. She tensed, waiting to see what Xenia would do.

  Xenia smiled pleasantly. “Nice to see you, Meredith. How’s your husband doing?”

  Meredith looked like she wanted to spit. Instead, she pointed a shaking finger at Xenia. “Witch,” she said, loud enough for the other two women to hear.

  “No shit,” Xenia said, and strolled forward as the two shocked witnesses parted to let her through.

  Tara followed, a bitty smile settling into the corners of her mouth.

  The Catal
ain Book of Secrets: Putting Up Food

  Sterilize your jars by washing them in hot, soapy water and then placing them along with your lids in a boiling water bath for ten minutes. Remove the jars with jar tongs but leave the lids in the water bath so they don’t come in contact with other surfaces.

  Clean your freshest vegetables. Scrub cucumbers, peel tomatoes, clean and trim beans, get the dirt off. If you’re going to pickle, have pickling mix on hand (2 qt. water, 1 qt. white or cider vinegar, 1 cup canning salt, and 3 tablespoons of the following mixture: 2 tablespoons black peppercorns, 2 tablespoons mustard seeds, 2 tablespoons coriander seeds, 2 tablespoons dill seed, 2 teaspoons allspice berries. Also, put a few cloves of garlic, a grape leaf, and a dill head in the bottom of each jar). If you’re going to make jellies, plan on having 1 part juice, 2 parts sugar, and one package of fruit pectin.

  Fill your jars with produce, packing them in tightly and leaving an inch at the top.

  Unless it’s a jelly, pour boiling water or pickling solution to cover all the produce. Wipe the rim, making sure it’s clean and dry. Put the lids on.

  Place the jars into water preheated to 180 degrees, making sure the glass doesn’t touch and there is one-two inches of water above the lids. If you’re using a pressure cooker, follow the time and temperature instructions for your chosen produce. If you’re using a pot of boiling water, see the following page for required boiling times.

  Once you’ve boiled for the appropriate length of time, remove your glorious jars. Line them up on a counter. As each pops, indicating it is sealed, give thanks.

  Chapter 21

  Katrine

  The interview had been straightforward, the only odd point when Stacy Reller, the new owner, invited Katrine to a séance later that same evening. Apparently, the Stearns Bank combined with the Avignon neighborhood had been enough to generate an interest in the occult for the women of Faith Falls. “It’s like a book group, only with Ouija boards and scrying stones,” she’d said. Katrine had politely declined.