Magic
Page 22
“She gave him something as a good luck charm,” Teag said, staring at the button. “And it made old Jonah uncomfortable.”
I unfolded the second letter, and noticed immediately that the writing was different. Smaller, graceful, meticulous penmanship hinted that the writer of this letter was female. “That’s interesting,” I said. “There’s a note in pencil on the outside of this letter, saying it was found with the kit bag of a missing soldier.”
I scanned down through the letter. “Here it is,” I said, feeling a thrill of triumph. “Darling Jonah. How I pray for this war to be over, and for you to return safely. I know you sent me back to my parents in New Orleans for my safety, but I now feel doubly parted from you. I cannot sleep for fear that something might befall you. I implored my maid to take me to the French Quarter, where a Creole woman sells amulets that bring good fortune. Please do not think me unChristian, but I fear my prayers alone may not be enough to bring you home again. The Creole promised me that if you keep this gold coin near your heart, you will not die. I beg of you, my love, do this for me. Ever yours, Elsabeth.”
“I learned long ago that the devil is in the details when it comes to contracts.” Sorren’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway, and I realized that we had been at the journals long enough for the sun to have set.
“You heard?” I asked, clearing journals off a chair for Sorren to have a seat. Sorren looked to be in his late thirties, but I knew he was older. He had dark blond hair, blue eyes flecked with gray, like the sea after a storm, and a slim, wiry build. Once upon a time, he had been a jewel thief in Antwerp, but that was before the Alliance had recruited him. Now, he put his talents to better use, keeping dangerous magical objects from falling into the wrong hands.
“I heard enough to make me suspect that perhaps Elsabeth should have been more careful with the way she phrased her request,” Sorren said. His gaze rested on the old letters.
“If you keep this gold coin near your heart, you will not die,” I murmured. I looked up, meeting Teag’s gaze. “Could an amulet keep Jonah’s spirit from crossing over?”
“Your phone message left a good bit out,” Sorren interrupted. “Perhaps you could recap a bit for me.” After all this time, his voice still held a trace of a Dutch accent.
Teag and I took turns filling Sorren in, ending with the discovery of the journal and the letters. Sorren listened quietly, but I could see the spark in his eyes that said he was mentally cross-referencing everything we told him against his considerable knowledge of magical lore.
“So Elsabeth asked a Voudon to make an amulet for her beloved,” Sorren said. “That kind of magic should not be dabbled in. It’s powerful, and the spirits that give the Voudon power, the loas, do not make simple bargains.”
I moved around the room, letting my hand hover over the journals, decade by decade. “Something isolated Edward, filled him with despair. I can feel how it grew over the years. By the end, it consumed him.”
Sorren nodded. “Edward found Jonah’s skull – and the button and coin – in a cave. Caves are liminal space, thresholds between our world and other realities. That would have heightened the power of the spell on the coin, and lying there for more than a century would have strengthened it even further. Then Edward happens upon the bones and takes them home with him, to a home built on land reclaimed from the sea – another sort of liminal space. He brings it into a home that already had a history of haunting, so other spirits had found an easy passage from their world to ours.”
I shook my head as the horror of the situation became clear. “Jonah, or the coin, fed on Edward’s life energy, until Edward weakened and Jonah grew stronger.”
“I fear Jonah has been a tool of the coin’s curse for many years now,” Sorren replied. “If anything of Jonah still remains, it’s what is left after the coin drew the power it needed to fulfill the spell.”
“We didn’t see a skull or a gold coin in the house,” Teag said. “But before the house passes on to another owner, we’re going to need to find them, or Edward won’t be the only victim.”
Sorren nodded. “The coin – or rather, the curse on the coin – is strongest in liminal space. So you’ll have to go in daylight, avoiding the threshold times.”
“Noon, midnight, dawn, sundown,” I replied. “And nighttime.”
“Exactly. And my magic makes me liminal space,” Sorren added quietly, meeting my gaze. Magic had kept Sorren alive long beyond a normal lifespan. “So I won’t be able to go with you on this one. My presence will only make the curse stronger.” He paused. “Don’t worry, Cassie. Teag and I will still get the items to the Alliance. I just need you to find them.”
“How do we get it out of there?” I asked. “I don’t dare touch it, and I don’t want to put Teag in danger.”
“Agreed,” Sorren replied. “Give me a couple of hours. I need to pay a visit to an old friend.”
Sorren left the shop, and Teag and I passed the time cleaning up the pile of journals and unloading a few of the boxes I could assure contained nothing except ‘mundanes.’ Before long, we heard a knock on the door and rushed to let Sorren in.
“I went to see a friend of mine, one who knows something about Voudon. Mama Nadedge,” he said.
“Why didn’t you take us with you?” I asked, intrigued and a little put out at being left behind.
Sorren chuckled. “Mama Nadedge died many years ago, Cassie. Her spirit lingers, if one knows where to look. I asked her guidance, and this is what she gave me.” He withdrew a piece of paper marked with a complicated, stylized pattern of crossed lines, stars and a heart, something I recognized as a veve, a Voudon symbol.
“I took these to a jeweler I know, someone willing to stay open late for a good cause,” Sorren said. “He made these for you and Teag.” Sorren reached into his pocket and withdrew two silver disks engraved with the same pattern as the paper, each on their own silver chain.
“I know enough about Voudon to know each spirit, or loa, has its own veve. Whose is this?”
Sorren smiled. “Very good, Cassie. This is the veve for Maman Brigitte. She’s the spirit who reclaims the souls of the dead and helps them cross over. Believers say she’s powerful, and she appears as either a bride or a veiled old woman. She is very near the top of the loa hierarchy, which means that whatever spirit placed the curse on Jonah’s coin is less powerful than Maman Brigitte.”
“At least, we hope so,” I muttered under my breath, taking the amulet and slipping it over my head.
THE NEXT DAY, when we reached the Allendale house, I let Teag go on ahead to unlock the door and turn on the lights. I lagged behind, turning my senses inward, listening for the button’s owner. There was a presence here. I followed Teag to the attic.
“Teag, let me hold your jacket, please,” I said.
I was hoping that having the button close to me would heighten my senses. It did. As soon as I held Teag’s jacket, the connection with the button grew stronger. As Teag began to wander around, looking at the attic walls for hiding places, I let my senses focus on the box, let it draw me toward one particular corner.
Against one wall was a large, empty armoire. I stood in front of it, wondering why the button had steered me here.
“I emptied that myself,” Teag said, coming up behind me. “We went through it completely. There aren’t any hidden compartments, no extra drawers.” He shook his head. “We left it here because frankly, no one could figure out how to get it down the stairs.”
I looked down toward the floor. “Casters,” I said, pointing. “It can be moved. Did you look behind it?”
Teag shook his head. “It was pretty clear no one had moved it for decades, and it’s flush against the wall. Never occurred to me.”
I went to one side and put my shoulder against the armoire. “Come on. Let’s see what’s behind it.” Teag joined me, and we started to push. The heavy wooden armoire didn’t want to roll, but finally, the casters creaked and we inched the heavy box dow
n the wall.
“There!” I said, and pointed. The wall behind the armoire was filthy, covered in dust and a shroud of old cobwebs. Down where the wall met the floor a piece of wood covered a hole and above it, a thin dark crack separated two wide boards.
Teag pulled out a pair of work gloves from his messenger bag, along with a screwdriver. He knelt next to the opening, and began to pry at the wood. I could hardly think straight, because the sensations from the button in my pocket had gone off the charts.
The attic walls melted away, and once again I saw the sunlit battlefield I had glimpsed before through the eyes of the button’s owner.
Fear coursed through me, making my heart pound. All around me, I heard the sharp crack of rifles and in the distance, the steady, deadly pounding of cannons that shook the ground beneath my feet. The uniform I wore was gray, or had been once. Now, it was faded from the sun, stained where it had been splashed with the blood of other men, brown from the red clay dirt. Just as I raised my rifle to my shoulder, I heard another loud crack, closer this time, and staggered backwards as if someone had shoved me. My own shot went wild, with the rifle barrel pointed toward the sky as I nearly fell. When I put my hand down to my side, my fingers came away stained with blood.
“It’s open!” Teag shouted in triumph, setting the board to the side. A dark hole gaped in the wall. From that hole, Teag drew out a small bundle wrapped in old rags. He unwound the rags and withdrew a yellowed skull. He jostled it, and the lower jaw fell away, revealing a gold coin that had been placed in the mouth.
I stared at Teag and the bundle, then my gaze shifted behind him, to the wall. The thin dark crack had grown wider, and from it, a shadow slipped out like smoke.
“Get back, Teag!”
Teag followed my gaze, but I could tell from the look on his face he didn’t see what I saw. Still, he acted, scrabbling backward, clutching the skull and coin. The shadow grew larger, briefly taking the form of a man and then shifting, with tendrils that unwound themselves like a black kraken uncoiling. Behind me, one of the light bulbs flared and then burst with a crack like a gunshot. I searched my senses, and knew that the dark crack was a fissure between more than the attic siding. The Allendale house had been rumored to have been a hotbed of paranormal activity for long before Edward brought home his battlefield treasure. Now I knew why. The dark space was no ordinary splintering of old boards, no settling of the foundation. It was a threshold between the world of the living and the place of the dead.
“Get out of here.” I could barely make words come from my throat. The dark shadow was growing larger.
“The hell I will,” Teag said. “Maybe it wants the button.”
But I could feel what the darkness really wanted; it wanted fresh meat, warm blood, and the life that animated our beating hearts.
My gaze went again to the crack between the boards. I reached for the amulet around my neck for moral support, and pressed the smooth silver disk against my palm.
An image formed in my mind of a woman in an antique bridal gown. A heavy lace veil covered her face. I could sense an aura of power around her.
Leave the shadowed one to me, my child. Send the curse where it belongs, and close the rift.
How? I wondered. How do I close the rift? I looked again at the dark crack, a thin opening, or a small rip. Or a buttonhole.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, eyeing the skull Teag still held and the distance between me and the wall. “Can you get the coin out of the skull’s mouth?”
Teag juggled his macabre charge. “I think so. Dammit! Someone wired it in here.”
“Try not to handle the coin if you can help it. Put it on the floor, where it’s easy for me to get it,” I instructed, keeping my eyes on that damned shadow.
A coin in the mouth of a corpse, a penny for the ferryman, I thought. Perhaps at some point, Edward Allendale had tried unsuccessfully to send his unwanted visitor to the great beyond.
“Got it,” Teag said
I reached into the pocket of Teag’s jacket and my hand closed over the plastic box with the button, and I fumbled with the latch to open it. The box gave way, and the button tumbled into my palm.
For that instant, the contact with the long-dead soldier was complete. Darkness washed over me, drawing the warmth from my blood. Anger and despair filled me, and my gut contracted with the pain of a rifle wound that was more than one hundred and fifty years in the past. Then another presence filled me, and the image of the bride grew brighter and brighter, becoming a light that flared and forced the shadow to retreat.
Now! The voice shouted in my mind. I dove across the floor, grabbing the coin with my right hand and clenching the button in my left. I skidded toward the wall, and used my momentum to thrust both the coin and the button through the crack.
Maman Brigitte’s light struck the shadow man, just as I forced the coin and the button into the darkness. I heard a scream, although I could not tell whether it came from the shadow or whether it was my own.
The darkness vanished, and I slumped to the ground, too spent to move. In my mind, I saw the image of the bride again, bending over the rift, sealing it with her veil. Teag grabbed my wrist, yanking me to my feet, and together we barreled down the stairs and out of the house. We reached the other side of the street and looked back, half expecting the house to disappear into a vortex or tumble to the ground. It did neither, although for an instant, a light flared brilliantly from the attic window, then went dark.
“Want to bet no one sees a shadow at the window again?” Teag asked. I looked down. He was still holding that damned skull. He caught the direction of my glance, and shrugged. “Poor guy is long overdue for a decent burial. Without the coin, it’s just a skull. I have an old friend who works at the mortuary. I’m betting he can make sure old Jonah gets a proper burial.”
Teag might have said more, but my head was swimming, and I swayed on my feet. He reached out to steady me as I passed out, but there was someone else as well. In my mind’s eye, I saw the veiled bride standing over me. She bent down, and touched a finger to my amulet, and the metal disk felt warm on my skin. As consciousness faded away, so did her image, but I had the feeling she approved.
I woke on the couch in my apartment over the shop. Consciousness returned slowly, and with it, warmth. I felt a presence, safe, reassuring, and it carried a honeyed compulsion to rest. I opened my eyes, and found Sorren, looking down at me, concern clear in his features. He helped me sit up enough to sip some sweet tea, and then eased me back onto the pillows.
“Rest,” Sorren said, and his voice felt like balm poured over a throbbing wound. “When you’re feeling better, there’s a new situation to discuss.”
“Oh, goody,” I murmured, but as I drifted off to sleep, I knew the truth, and so did Sorren. Trifles and Folly was far more than just another antiques store. It helped make the world a little safer, one haunted item at a time. I couldn’t walk away from that, not when my gift could make a difference. Not for all the damned buttons in the world.
NANNY GREY
GEMMA FILES
Secrets can run in families, and secrecy and magic are two very old – some would say ancient – bedfellows. Gemma has taken the theme of women and magic and woven it into a dark and erotic tale. It’s a warning to the curious, but also a story about how power accrues over time and what dreadful price one must pay for its use.
OH LOW ESTATE, my love my love, the song’s hook went, or seemed to, through the wall of the Ladies’. Bill Koslaw felt it more than heard it, buzzing in his back teeth through the sweaty skin of his jaws as he pushed into this posh tart – Sessilie, he thought her name was, and the rest began with a ‘K’ – from behind with her bent over the lav itself, hands wide-braced, each thrust all but mashing that great midnight knot of hair against the cubicle’s tiling. And he could see her lips moving, too, half-quirked in that smile he’d literally never seen her lose thus far: Oh low estate, the threat is great, my love my love (my love)...
“Bit cruel to your knickers,” he’d commented. “Bet those cost a pretty penny.”
“No doubt,” she’d replied, bum still in the air and both legs wide-spread, aslant on her too-high heels, completely shameless. “But then, it all ends up in the fire eventually. Doesn’t it?”
Punctuating it with a bit of a shimmy, like: well, get a wiggle on. Don’t waste my time, groundling; better things to do, you know. Better classes of fools to fuck.
That airy contempt of hers, especially when delivered in those plummy tones, engorged him. But...
He should be liking this better than he was, he reckoned. Some sort of aristocrat, perpetually drunk and perpetually talking, always with her credit card out like it was glued to her palm and no apparent impulse control to speak of; what wasn’t to like, for Christ’s sake?
Just her, he supposed. Her, and almost everything about her.
He slid one hand up to ruck her blouse over her shoulderblades, and flinched from what he encountered there. Something halfway between a grey-on-grey tattoo of uncertain design and a brand with scabby edges, so rough it took on a Braille-like texture beneath his fingers. As though if he knew how, he could read it, but only in the dark.