His glance was quick, almost sharp, and in one split instant she saw a glimmer there, as if somehow he knew what had happened and at the same time didn't want to know.
"What?" he murmured. "What are you talking about?"
"When I couldn't find her today I got worried," Olivia said slowly. "So I went upstairs to look in her room." Careful . . . careful ... "I didn't see her, but there was . . . this smell."
His eyes dropped immediately. He didn't move, just stared at the ground and the trampled weeds and the raw brown places where the grass wouldn't grow.
"There's a stairway hidden in the walls," she went on, and she was surprised at how calm she sounded now, almost mechanical, almost matter-of-fact. "It goes from the armoire in my room to the third floor where Skyler sleeps. And Helen was in there, and she was dead."
The silence dragged on and on.
"My God," Jesse murmured, and his voice was so low she could hardly hear him. "My God—"
Olivia sank to her knees in front of him and peered earnestly up into his face.
"Jesse," she begged, "what is going on? What is happening in that house?"
He kept his eyes away from her. She could see the muscles moving along his cheeks, and his face seemed to drain even more.
"I didn't know." He shut his eyes, pain furrowing along his brow. "Are you sure?"
And in her mind Olivia was back again, back in the foul dark place with the body sprawled at her feet and the house holding its breath all around her.
"It was dark ... I was scared—"
"Did you try to help her? Maybe she just fell—"
"Are you listening to me!" Olivia's voice rose, and she leaned closer, trying to make him understand. "Did you hear what I said? Someone killed Helen— there was blood all over her throat! All I wanted to do was get away from there—"
"Why were you even there in the first place?" He was looking at her now, and he sounded almost angry,
his face like a white, white mask with wide dark holes for his eyes. Olivia stared at him in dismay, then stood up, stiff and shaking.
"I told you, because I was scared! Because Skyler was coming after me—"
"Coming after you? What do you mean, coming after you?"
"Have you forgotten what happened at the cemetery this morning!" And she was shouting, she could hear herself from a long way off as if she were someone else, some total stranger desperate to be believed. "Don't you remember what he tried to do to me!"
"I'm sorry," Jesse mumbled, and he looked shocked, watching her, shocked and bewildered and frightened watching her now.
Olivia saw his expression, and she was glad she was frightening him, glad someone else was frightened besides herself, and she rushed on breathlessly, unable to stop.
"Well, there's more to the story you don't know about! There's a whole lot more to the story!" And tears were rolling down her cheeks, blurring Jesse's face, but still she couldn't stop, words tumbling out recklessly—
"I killed him! Do you hear me? / killed Skyler! I stabbed him right there in the cemetery, and I knew he was dying, even while he was locking me up inside the mausoleum! And I was terrified—it was dark and I was so terrified! And there were people in there with me— real people —Mathilde and Yoly and two men I couldn't see, and some poor woman on the floor who was screaming and begging for them to stop, to stop touching her! I saw them—I heard them! Something
Richie Tankeisley Cusick
horrible was happening, and I wanted it to stop, but it wouldn't! And I couldn't get away—I couldn't get out!"
She was sobbing now, huge racking sobs going all the way through her, and Jesse's face was only a shadow beyond her streaming tears. She saw him stand up and come toward her, and she pulled violently out of his reach.
"Yoly said the door was open! Yoly came by and found me and said the door was open all the time! And then I saw Skyler upstairs in the house, and he was alive! There wasn't a mark on him, Jesse, not a single mark on himl"
She could feel Jesse close to her; she could see his face coming into focus as she wiped furiously at her tears. His eyes swam with pain.
"Now," Olivia cried, "aren't you going to tell me it's impossible? Aren't you going to tell me I'm imagining things?"
Jesse said nothing. His arms went around her and held her tightly, even as she twisted and raged at him, even as she beat at him with her small, angry fists.
"Let's go inside," he whispered. "Olivia . . . please ... let's go inside."
She couldn't fight anymore.
She felt him lift her in his arms and take her into the church, into the tiny room at the back. He lowered her gently onto the bed, and he sat beside her, smoothing her hair from her tear-stained face, whispering softly as he held her.
"You're going to be all right," he promised. "It's going to be all right. . ."
Her sobs eased into deep, deep sighs, and she rest-
ed her head against him, trembling, empty and numb.
"You don't believe me," she said, but he shushed her and rocked her gently.
"Yes. Yes, I do believe you."
"How can it happen? How can it be real?"
"Sleep now," he whispered. "Sleep .. ."
BLOOD RO O T S
"I don't intend to scare her. I intend to be perfectly charming."
"I know. That's what I mean
Olivia roused from the depths of sleep, her mind thick and sluggish. She wanted to wake up, but voices pulled her back again . . . down . . . down . . . into a strange wilderness of dreams . . .
"I told you to stay away from her/' Jesse's voice, tight and angry. "I know how you are, Skyler, and I don't want her getting hurt."
"And I know it's not just the lady's honor you have at heart. I know you've been meeting her yourself. At night in the cemetery."
"So you've been following us? I would have thought that kind of childish behavior would be beneath even you—"
"Oh, I have more important things to do than spend my nights spying on you. Let's just say I had a . . . rendezvous there. I just happened to be. . . involved . . . in something when you two showed up, and I couldn't very well reveal myself and still be a gentle-man."
"Mathilde again? Or have you managed by now to service all the females in the slave quarters?"
"Mathilde isn 7 a challenge anymore. But this lady of yours ..."
"I told you to stay away from her."
"Then maybe I should tell Father about your . . . secrets."
"She and I haven't done anything wrong."
"And neither have she and I. Yet. But I have a feeling the lady's resolve is weakening — and you know how persuasive / can be . . ."
A soft moan enveloped her like a cloud.
Olivia stirred and squinted into the darkness, trying to see the tall windows along the walls of her room.
Dusk had slipped into nightfall, and the air was
thick with shadows. A single candle had nearly burned
itself out beside the bed. The sound came to her
again ... the moan . . . like the softest, softest breath
. . . and with a start, she turned over on her pillow.
Jesse was beside her, his eyes closed in sleep. He lay upon the covers, not beneath them like Olivia, and his hands were groping restlessly, as if trying to reach something that wasn't there.
Catching her breath, Olivia threw back the covers and started to get up. She didn't remember falling asleep, or Jesse lying down beside her, and she had no idea how long they'd been here together, side by side.
But then, as Jesse moaned yet another time, she studied his face and frowned. His features were distorted in quiet agony, and his pale, pale face was damp with sweat. Alarmed, she reached over and caught his hand, which was plucking at his shirt, and as she gently pulled it away, she felt something wet beneath his fingers.
Even in the faintly flickering darkness, she could see the large stain there against the white.
Could see the stain spreading e
ven wider as she watched.
"Jesse," she mumbled. "Jesse, wake up."
She tried to shake him, but he seemed trapped in the throes of a nightmare that wouldn't let him go. She laid one palm against his shirt and felt the oozing warmth, and with a cry, she jerked open his shirt and stared.
290
There had been a bandage on his chest, but sometime during the course of sleep it had somehow worked itself off. The wound was large and gaping, bits of flesh ripped and torn, blood flowing, skin shredded. Olivia put a hand to her mouth and willed herself not to faint.
"Jesse—" She grabbed his shoulders and shook him again, roughly. His head lolled back on the pillow, and his face convulsed in pain.
My God . . . is he dying?
Olivia didn't know what to do. She knew she should go for help, but she wasn't sure she could find her way back in the dark to where she'd hidden the boat. By the looks of Jesse's face, she was afraid to go off and leave him alone for any length of time, and frantically she looked around the bare room for something she could use to stop the bleeding.
Jesse roused for a split second, opened his eyes, looked right at her. She had the eerie feeling that he saw straight through her, yet saw nothing at all.
"Jesse," she tried again. "Jesse, you've got to wake up . . ."
She wadded up part of the sheet and held it to his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood. My God, Jesse, what kind of accident did you have? He tossed fitfully, and she laid her head against him.
Time drifted. Olivia stayed at his side and held him, and Jesse slept.
But still he moaned in the depths of a dream, and as Olivia's eyes closed, exhausted, she dreamed, too.
Guns,
Guns and smoke and fire and fog — men shouting — men screaming — vague figures running through the mist — tattered flag falling — young men crying —
Richie Tankeisley Cusick
Death . . .
"Have you seen him?" And Skyler stumbling through the boiling, churning air, his face black and runny with blood, "Have you seen him? Have you seen my brother?"
Moans and shrieks of pain and whispered prayers, don't let him die, Lord, don't let me die, Lord . . .
"Have you seen him?" Skyler shouting, running, desperate and alone — "My brother — have you seen him!"
And the limp form on the muddy ground, the earth sodden and stained with the blood of gentlemen, one familiar form sprawled there, impaled there, forgotten there in the name of the Noble Cause . . .
"Jesse!" Skyler's scream of sorrow, of pain, lifting him, holding him, cradling him in his arms. "Jesse, no! Jesse, don't die, you can't die!"
Bayonet hole where his chest should be. . . eyes huge and dark and sorrowful . . . light fading . . . life flowing . . .
"Jesse!"
Olivia's own scream awakened her. As she bolted upright in bed, she reached for the figure beside her, and her heart raced in terror.
Beside her Jesse lay calm, his face like that of a sleeping child.
Olivia sighed in relief. Easing back down, she rested her cheek against him once more and felt the icy coldness of his skin . . . the hot sting of her tears. She cried softly without knowing why, and her tears were as salty as his blood, as the sweat of his frantic nightmare.
And what was your dream just now, Jesse — was it as horrible as mine?
BLOOD ROO T S
"It's not a dream," Jesse mumbled, and Olivia started, propping herself up on her elbow, peering anxiously into his face.
His eyes were still closed.
His breathing was deep and even.
Yet she knew she had heard him speak.
And she wondered when she would ever wake up . . .
It was a dirty, squalid cabin.
There were holes in the roof and in the floor and even in the chimney, and a cluster of half-naked dirty black children crawled over the porch and over the wet, muddy ground.
The lady hesitated a moment, standing out on the pathway, looking anxiously toward the cabin door. Sweltering shadows hung deep inside the one smelly room, and when the beautiful black girl swirled out of them, the lady stepped back in fear and surprise.
"Are you Mathilde?" she asked timidly.
'Who wants to know?"
"I hear ..." The lady cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. "I hear you have . . . powers."
The girl watched her . . . studied her. A feline smile lifted the corners of her full, sensuous lips.
"Come in. " She shrugged and led the way inside.
The lady lifted her pure white skirts and stepped reluctantly over the threshold. There was a pot simmer-ing on the coals of the fireplace, and the noxious smell made her dizzy and lightheaded.
Mathilde leaned lazily against the wall and looked the lady up and down. The lady dropped her eyes and fumbled with the sash of her dress.
'T need a favor," she began, and Mathilde gave a short, harsh laugh.
"What kind of favor?"
"It involves Jesse," the woman went on, "and Skyler—"
"Ah, yes. The master's brave sons." She had a lilting voice and a heavy French accent. She shrugged her narrow shoulders and her dirty blouse drooped low over her breasts. "Yes, I know Jesse. And Skyler." The girl chuckled. "Every female on and off the plantation knows Skyler." Her look was direct "But that shouldn f t surprise you."
The lady blushed. She looked away for a moment, as if gathering nerve to continue.
"Then you probably know they arrived back this afternoon. That Jesse's badly wounded, and Skyler got special leave to bring him home."
"I know."
"I... I don't really believe in magic/' the lady began, but before Mathilde could interrupt, she added quickly, "it's only for Jesse's sake. And Skyler's."
"Of course," Mathilde purred, her eyes widening with a strange glow.
"The other slaves say you have a gift. That you can weave spells . . . change destinies. That you can influence matters of life and death."
"That depends." Mathilde smiled languidly. "On the price."
"Anything. I'll pay you anything you ask. Just save Jesse. Just keep both him and Skyler safe for me."
"Keep them safe for you!" Mathilde's head fell forward, and her mocking laugh echoed through the cabin. "Keep them safe for you! Both of them, because you can't make up your mind!"
The lady's face went pale. Her lip quivered, and her hands clenched tightly around the purse she was carrying.
"Jesse doesn't know me — he doesn't know anyone, or where he is or even that he's wounded. I don't want him to die/' she pleaded. "I don't want either of them to die. When they have to go back to the war again, I don't want anything to ever happen to them — ever!"
"Immortality." Mathilde considered, shaking her head slowly. "It's a dangerous thing. You must be sure of what you're asking. Once the magic is made ..." She reached toward her waist, and for the first time the lady noticed the small leather drawstring pouch that hung there. ". . . it cannot be undone." Mathilde patted the little bag, then lifted her chin, almost defiantly. "Not even by me."
"Anything," the lady repeated again, more firmly this time. "I'll pay you anything you ask. Just name your price."
"A position in the house would be very, very nice," Mathilde cooed, "with a fine white mistress to take care of. . ." She chuckled softly as the lady looked back at her, horrified.
"I. . . do you promise, then?" the lady stammered. "That you'll use your magic?"
Mathilde's hand struck out quickly, sending the lady's purse flying against the wall. Coins rolled across the floor, and bills fluttered up into the sticky air.
"Keep your blood money. I'll think about what you've asked. I'll think about it, and you'll have my answer tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!" The lady's voice rose, panicky. "Why do I have to wait until tomorrow?"
Mathilde's eyes narrowed. She leaned forward and her voice was like the hiss of a snake. "Tomorrow. In my time, in my way! Now, go!"
The lady f
led sobbing from the cabin and up the muddy path into the woods.
"Don't do it," Jesse whispered, and Olivia lifted her head at once, gazing down into his troubled face.
She was having the strangest dreams. She was awake, but somehow she could still see them, as if they were playing on and on in some separate, uncontrolled part of her mind. She shifted gently beside Jesse, trying to shake the dreams away.
"Ssh," she soothed him. "Everything's all right. The bleeding's stopped."
He stared at her, frowning slightly, his eyes dark mirrors of pain.
"Don't you understand?" he whispered to her again, and he tried to raise himself up, falling back with a quick intake of breath.
"Don't move," Olivia said. "Don't do anything but lie there. Just sleep. Just sleep."
"But don't you understand . . ." Jesse murmured, his eyes closing, his lips barely moving. "Don't you understand what's happening ..."
How very strange . . .
Hovj very unreal. . . yet all too real. . .
/ see Skyler bolting upright in bed. . . black room sputtering softly with light. . . rough cabin walls trembling with thunder.
Beyond the half open door, a violent storm . . . beside him a woman sleeping, her face turned toward the wall She doesn 't hear as he gets up and pulls on his clothes, as he stands silhouetted in the doorway for only a moment, as he goes outside and walks long, long in the rain . . .
I see the house ahead, illuminated by flares of
lightning, and Skyler squinting off into the churning darkness, spying something — a shadow — running fast across the yard. He calls out, but the storm drowns the sound of his voice, and he starts to run, following the figure deep into the gardens where I can't see him anymore . . .
And yet I can see the bed he's just left, the woman rousing slowly from her sleep, I see now it's Mathilde turning to the yellow glow of storm light, bewildered to find her lover gone . . .
She dresses quickly and runs through the storm to the house, up the back stairs in the darkness, calling softly — Skyler, Skyler, where are you — looking lost and afraid on the rain-swept gallery . . .
And something has happened, she is thinking, and I can hear her thoughts through the raging wind, as she bursts into the empty bedroom, as Yoly comes up behind her now, both of them crying out in fear and surprise — something has happened, everyone has gone —
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