by Olsen, Lisa
“That all depends on how distracting you intend to be.”
“Distracting enough to make you forget about all of this, and have a nice evening all to ourselves?”
“I like the sound of that,” Sara tipped her face up to be kissed. “Come on then, let’s head back and you can show me just how distracting you can be.”
*
It took a few days for Will to find someone who didn’t laugh him out of the room when he asked about getting rid of a ghost. Sara started to lose hope, until he called from Weymouth with good news for a change.
He’d found a gypsy woman who claimed she could rid the house of evil spirits; not who she thought of when talking about exorcism, but Sara was willing to keep an open mind. All the arrangements were made, she’d arrive in three days time since it had to be done on the night of the full moon, according to Mirella, the gypsy.
The three days went by lightning fast. They didn’t go out much, mostly staying around the house, while Sara watched over Jack like a hawk. There were no dreams or visions in the meantime, and Jack swore up and down that Gemma hadn’t appeared to him since the incident with the window.
On the night of the full moon, Sara found herself nervous and irritable, waiting for the gypsy to arrive. When the bell rang at half past six, she beat Thomas to it, throwing open the door, only to stare at the girl who stood on the other side. Instead of an old gypsy woman dressed in brightly colored scarves with missing teeth and a cackle, as her imagination had run away with, a young woman in jeans and a Van Halen t-shirt waited, hair pulled back into a thick, black ponytail, an expectant look on her face.
“Who’s ready for a party?” she jangled her shoulder bag made of brightly woven tapestry depicting the sun on one side and the moon on the other.
“Thank you for coming, please come in,” Sara invited, stepping back as she crossed the threshold just as Will loped up, offering Mirella a solemn nod.
“Oh come on you guys, you’re acting like someone’s gonna die,” Mirella smirked, setting her bag on the floor. Sara figured her age to be somewhere in the mid twenties once she got a closer look at her, or maybe it was that there was a hardness to her, that robbed her of any youthful innocence.
“Someone still could,” Sara murmured, unable to keep a feeling of foreboding from settling around her. If Gemma figured out what they were up to, it was a safe bet she wouldn’t go gently into the great beyond.
“Not if you do exactly what I say,” Mirella replied earnestly, but Sara wasn’t so sure.
“Alright, when and where are we going to do this? Do you need a certain amount of space?” she asked, figuring the more she could learn about the actual ritual itself, the more prepared she would feel; the better to kill some of the butterflies swirling around in her stomach.
“I’ll need a fair amount of open space, and tonight.”
“When, at the stroke of midnight?” Will quipped, and Sara resisted the urge to pinch him. If they ticked her off, they’d be right back where they started.
“Actually it’ll be closer to about one thirty a.m.” Mirella replied, unbothered.
“That seems… specific, why so late?” Sara asked. At least Jack would be in bed by then and hopefully never know anything happened.
“That’s when the full moon officially starts. I googled it and the net said one twenty three in the morning.”
“You can’t argue with that,” Will shrugged.
Remembering her manners, Sara directed her to the study. “Would you like something to eat? Or some tea?”
Mirella shook her head. “No, I’m good. I like to do stuff like this on an empty stomach, it’s much prettier that way if something goes wonky.”
That didn’t sound so good. “Wonky… like…”
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about.” She waved a hand back and forth, as Will and Sara traded looks. What did that mean? Sara opened her mouth to ask, but fell silent as Mrs. Poole approached.
“I didn’t realize you were expecting company, my Lady. Would you like tea or other refreshments for your guest?” she watched Mirella with undisguised interest, but Sara shook her head.
“No thanks, Mrs. P, we’re good here.” The less anybody knew about what they were up to, the better as far as Sara was concerned.
“Perhaps a sherry then?” she tried again and Sara shot Will a helpless look. It would never work if she stuck her nose into it.
“That will be all, Mrs. Poole,” Will smiled benignly, laying a hand on the study door, drawing a scowl from Mrs. Poole, but she withdrew.
Still on her quest for details, Sara forged on. “Will you do it in here or do you need like a sacred space or…”
“Outside would be better; this could get a little messy.”
“Right,” Sara swallowed, feeling a little queasy as her imagination ran rampant. What did a gypsy exorcism entail? Maybe she had time to excuse herself and ask Wikipedia before it started?
“I think there’s a space out back that will suit if you want to come and take a look at it,” Will offered and Sara had a fleeting selfish thought that she hoped he didn’t have the space for the gazebo in mind. If that’s where they did it, she’d never be able to enjoy it ever again. Chasing that thought away, she tagged along while Mirella chatted with Will about the space and the composition of the ground.
Luckily, Will took her a little farther away from the house, where a ruined fountain presided over broken cobblestones. Declaring the space suitable, Mirella pulled out a cell phone, muttering about the crap reception as they walked back to the house to wait. Mrs. Poole appeared before they even approached the rear patio and Sara looked to Will to see if he could run interference for them.
“I’m on it,” he winked, loping ahead to steer the housekeeper away.
“How about we wait in the study?” Sara suggested, and the gypsy followed her, more involved in reading something on her phone than where they were headed. “So… when you say it could get messy…”
“Don’t sweat it, sweets. I don’t mean bleeding walls or ectoplasmic goop or any of that crap from the movies. But things do get thrown around a bit from time to time. It’s easier on the furniture if we do it outside.”
That made sense. “It’s just that I thought you’d have to be in the house to make… it happen,” Sara said vaguely, but Mirella understood well enough.
“That’s the trick of it, to lure them out,” she winked. “No muss, no fuss. I thought your man would have explained it to you? I told him as much. Also, I’ll need a personal item, something she handled quite a bit.”
Will hadn’t said much about the procedure at all, and she wondered if that was because he hadn’t wanted Gemma to overhear or if there was something unpleasant he didn’t want her to know about ahead of time. “I’ve got something that should work pretty well.” It would be a shame to lose the diary, but it was the only thing she knew for sure had been used by Gemma. “Do you um, do you do this sort of thing very often?”
“I can handle myself,” Mirella’s eyes narrowed as if Sara had accused her of inexperience.
“I’m sure you can,” Sara replied quickly. “I just wondered how often you run into something like this.”
“They’re around us all the time, most people just can’t see or hear them,” she shrugged. “Every once in a while one of them needs a little nudge, that’s all.”
“And you can nudge them?”
“You’d better believe it,” Mirella grinned. “You’ll see; the Romani hold many secrets, my family more than most. I’ll do this thing for you, and then you’ll do something for me.”
“Something like…?”
“Pay the price, of course. There’s always a price to be paid, make no mistake of that.”
“Of course.” Whatever she charged it would be worth it, and money wasn’t an object any more. Sara had to hope there was more to the girl’s words than swagger, for all of their sakes.
About a half hour before the full moon, Mirella excused h
erself to prepare for the ritual. Leaving her to it, Will and Sara moved out to the rear patio, wanting to keep an eye on her.
“Are you sure this is going to work? She doesn’t look like much of a gypsy,” Sara whispered.
“She said that rubbish is for tourists. Trust me, she’s got the gift, you’ll see,” Will assured her. “Oh ballocks…” he muttered as Mrs. Poole stepped out onto the terrace.
“Will Talbot, what on Earth…?” she demanded, her nose obviously still out of joint for being dismissed by him earlier. “Is that woman out in the gardens at this time of night?”
“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with, Eleanor,” Will said calmly, refusing to be cowed by her formidable gaze.
“Oh, so it’s Eleanor now, is it? Have you forgotten your place?”
“No, but I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten yours,” he fixed her with a quelling look and Sara laid a hand on Will’s arm, not wanting them to lose their friendship over it.
“Will, it’s fine. I said I wanted to keep things open and honest; well… we’re working on something to help with our little problem around the house.”
It took a few seconds, but comprehension sunk in. “Oh dear… then you intend to…”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Sara cut her off before she said something to tip Gemma off. “We’ll take care of all of the details.”
“It’s for the best, I think you can agree,” Will added.
“Yes, I can see how it would be at that,” Mrs. Poole replied after a moment’s thought. “Very well then, is there anything you need?” she asked Will directly.
“We have it well in hand, thanks.”
“I’ll be off then before I hear more. You watch yourself, boy,” she wagged a bony finger at Will. “You’re not so big I can’t turn you over my knee.”
“You know I believe she would?” Will laughed after she’d gone, but the laughter died between them when Mirella approached, eyes wide in anticipation.
“It’s showtime.”
Chapter Twenty-One
They gathered outside by the old fountain under the light of the full moon. Mirella wore a simple white shift, feet bare, long hair loose down her back. No gypsy scarves, beaded necklaces or other trappings, she’d told them earlier that she wasn’t there to put on a show, it was the real deal. The only adornment she wore was a personal talisman of sorts, which looked like a knucklebone wrapped in silver wire and suspended by a leather thong around her neck.
In the yard was a circle laid out in white stones with a small altar built in the center from the same white stones. Atop the altar was a wooden bowl made of oak, a small bundle of herbs, a wire wrapped bloodstone pendant, Gemma’s diary and a gleaming knife, the hilt fashioned out of bone. On the ground beside the altar was a section of cobblestone that had been cleared away, leaving freshly dug earth.
“We’re almost ready to begin,” Mirella announced, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “What’s going to happen is, I’m going to step into the circle, do a little bit of preparation and then I’ll call for the sacrifice, that means you,” she pointed to Sara.
“Sacrifice? What do you mean sacrifice?” Sara’s eyes flew wide.
“Bloody hell, you really didn’t tell her anything, did you? It has to be you, you’re related by blood.” A roll of the eyes was given, and Sara turned an accusatory stare to Will.
“It’s not that kind of a sacrifice,” his hands came up in supplication. “It’s just a little bit of blood. I didn’t want you to worry too much, that’s all.”
That didn’t sound so bad… “Then what happens?” Sara prompted, wanting to get any more surprises out of the way.
“Then you get back outside the circle and let me do what I need to do.”
“How will we know if it worked?” Will asked before Sara had a chance to.
“You’ll know,” Mirella replied crossly, taking a deep breath, her voice more serene when she spoke again. “Now, let me prepare.” Stepping into the circle, she knelt in front of the altar, eyes closing.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” Sara murmured out of the corner of her mouth, eyes on the spectacle before them.
“I should probably tell you I’m in love with you. You know, just in case,” he replied glibly, and Sara turned to gape at him, at a complete loss for words. “It’s starting,” he nodded towards the circle without looking back at her.
Mirella chanted low and unintelligible in the background, and Sara suspected the words weren’t in English. The order to step forward was clear enough though, accompanied by an outstretched hand in Sara’s direction and she forced one foot in front of the other until she stepped inside the ring of stones. The air felt different inside the circle, charged with an electrical current that made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up on end. Approaching the altar, Sara stopped when Mirella’s hand pointed to the ground beside it.
Did she want her to kneel? Hoping she was interpreting it correctly, Sara knelt beside the makeshift altar. Mirella rewarded her with an almost imperceptible nod and grasped the knife, holding it up to the sky with a torrent of foreign words with an almost musical lilt to them. Lulled by the hypnotic lilt of the ritual, Sara didn’t bat an eyelash when Mirella seized her hand, but she sure snapped out of it at the stab of pain when she neatly sliced across her palm. Stifling the urge to cry out, she bit her lips together against the pain as Mirella held the wooden bowl under her hand, catching the blood that instantly welled from the cut. Bright red blood ran in rivulets through her fingers to catch in the bowl until she decided they had enough, and she laid the bowl on the makeshift altar, chanting again, she stepped back as the contents spontaneously burst into flame.
Holding the little bundle of herbs, she passed them through the flame three times, blowing onto the ends when she was done, the coals glowing bright in the darkness. Mirella pressed the glowing tip of the herbs to the wound on her palm, but before Sara could react to the pain it was gone, the skin smooth and unblemished when she took them away.
“Go now, leave the circle,” Mirella hissed, when Sara stared at her hand in amazement. Staggering to her feet, Sara backed off, almost tripping over the ring of stones on her way out of the circle.
Will caught her, “Are you badly hurt?” he demanded, peering at her hand.
“No, I’m fine. Shh, watch…” she replied, eyes glued to the rest of the ritual.
Mirella dropped the diary into the wooden bowl that strangely didn’t seem affected by the fire at all. Holding the bloodstone pendant over the flames, as they watched she dropped it into the bowl as well. There was a brilliant flash of light and Sara was hurled off of her feet as though she’d been tackled by a linebacker. For a second she couldn’t see or hear as her body absorbed the blow, and then everything came back in a rush with a wave of dizziness.
“Did it work?” Sara murmured, pushing herself up on her elbows as Will rushed to her side.
“It’s done,” Mirella nodded weakly, sitting back on her haunches to catch her breath.
“She’s really gone?” Sara wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it seemed too good to be true. There was no sign that Gemma had ever shown, let alone been exorcised. Wasn’t there supposed to be howling wind or something more dramatic than the flash of light that could have been easily orchestrated by the gypsy?
“What happened to her?” Will asked, gently pulling Sara into his lap as they all sat on the ground.
“She’s trapped, bound to the pendant. We’ll bury her here where no one will disturb her and you can get on with your lives,” Mirella gestured to the cleared ground where the stones had been overturned.
“Trapped?” Sara blinked. “You didn’t say anything about trapped. I thought you were going to help her move on, you know, go into the light, that kind of stuff.”
Mirella fixed her with a smirk, no doubt amused by Sara’s naiveté. “Romani magic is to bind evil, not set it free.”
�
��But I didn’t want her to be trapped for all eternity; she can’t help it if she went insane.”
“Then you should have called a priest. Look, you wanted the job done, and I’ve done it. Do you want me to release her?” Mirella held the bloodstone pendant high and Sara felt a flare of panic.
“No! Just… no,” Sara finished weakly. There wasn’t a happy ending to it any way she looked at it, but maybe they could move on with their lives now.
“Fine,” Mirella set the pendant down on the altar carefully, scooping up the bowl and knife to slip into her bag. “I’ll take that drink now, and then we can see to my payment.”
“Go up to the house, I’ll see you’re taken care of,” Will replied distractedly before turning to Sara. “Are you alright to walk?”
“Yes, I’m fine, just a little woozy. What about the pendant?”
“I’ll take care of it. You go on up to bed, I’ll take care of everything.”
“No, don’t be silly, I’m fine. I’ll pay Mirella while you’re busy out here and meet you inside.” To prove her point, Sara rose to her feet, pushing past the feeling of oddness that persisted. It wasn’t that she was dizzy anymore, not exactly… but she did feel strange, almost as though the pressure in her head was wrong, her senses a little off. Yawning, her ears popped and the sounds of the night returned with startling clarity and she chalked it up to that.
Leaving Will to bury the pendant, Sara trudged up to the house where Mirella was holed up in the study, already wearing her street clothes, working on a tumbler full of brandy while Mrs. Poole watched her like a hawk.
“No, I don’t need any tea or anything else, Mrs. Poole,” Sara delivered the pre-emptive strike before she could ask. “We’ll be done in here soon, so you can go ahead and go to bed, it’s late.”
“I only wanted to see that you’re alright. And did… everything go as planned?”
“You don’t have to tiptoe through around it anymore, Mirella took care of it. Gemma won’t be bothering us anymore.” They were really free.