She moved around the tree hesitantly, her hands balled in preparation for possible threats. At the back of the thick brown trunk, a gaping hole, the size of a large welcome mat, disappeared into the red moss. Abby could see what appeared to be a stairwell moving down, but it wasn't actually a stairway. Instead, huge hunks of root twisted beneath the tree, creating steps that dropped lower and then disappeared. Abby did not want to place her foot on that first warped root, but she thought again of time. A clock ticking for every step that she took and for every one she didn’t.
The first tentative step found her knee length into the hole, then waist deep, neck and then she was below it, walking on the deformed roots of the flaming willow. On either side were thick black walls of dirt that crumbled when her arms brushed them. The tiny white veins of plants poked at her, and shiny beetles scaled the dirt floor overhead as she plunged further into the ground.
The stairwell ended at a thick-carpeted floor that may have been a pale pink at one point, but was now so embedded with dirt and mold that pink only showed through in slightly grayed patches. Not far from where Abby stood, at the foot of the root staircase, stood a long brown table with claw foot legs. Candles burned along its length, their waxen bodies melted down to the final inch of life, piles of white wax clumped around them. The table seated ten, and each setting was adorned with a silky red placemat and full dinnerware. The white porcelain plates were piled with decayed food, the mold crawling over it like living things, its furry green back bristling in the candle light. Tall, thin-stemmed wine glasses held a deep crimson liquid that looked like wine. Bugs buzzed around the overripe beverages and crawled across the acrid lettuce wilting in crystal bowls. No one sat in the straight-backed chairs that butted to the table’s edge, but far in a back corner of the room, facing a plain dirt wall, sat a woman.
She appeared to be very beautiful, her slender shoulders pointed beneath a pale pink cloak that looked woven from cobwebs. Her white flesh glowed beneath the translucent fabric. Long, almond waves of hair cascaded to the floor and pooled there, as if she had been growing it for centuries.
"Hello," Abby said with more courage this time. The woman was young and beautiful, not a sinister fiend hiding in the woods.
"Come closer," the woman said, her voice like a dry hinge.
Abby did not like the voice. She did not like the way the woman floated a note of youth over the coarse sound below it.
She took a step, repulsed by the smells of rotting food, rotting meat.
"Closer," it cracked again.
Another step and another. The smell was overpowering now, as if she had her face pressed right down to one of the plates, inhaling the spoiled scent and the festering germs above it.
"I…I need your help," Abby whispered as she neared the back of the woman.
The Lourdes sat on a worn wooden bench, the legs cracked and the finish chipped away. Near her, on a small, round black table, rested a cracked hand mirror, the handle an ornately carved golden stem speckled with red bejeweled flowers. Abby glanced down at the mirror, at the reflection in the spider cracked surface and gasped.
* * * *
Dafne shook Elda awake.
“Abby has left the castle.”
Elda sat up, her eyes small, and lit a candle beside her.
“She left in the night. I thought for a walk, but she hasn’t come back, and her rowboat is gone.”
“Wake the others,” Elda said quietly, pushing her blankets off.
Chapter 27
The woman sat erect and whipped her head forward, realizing that Abby had glimpsed her face in the broken glass.
The face did not belong to the back of the young woman sitting before her. The face was puckered, the skin gray and twisting around the black hole where a mouth should have been. Tiny, coal-singed eyes glittered in the deep, wrinkled folds of eyelids that were red rimmed, as if she'd been crying for a hundred years. The woman, the thing, looked inhuman, as though her head were merely stolen from a rotted corpse and deposited on the slim, beautiful body.
Abby backed up, her feet tripping over the thick carpeting. She stumbled and turned, accidentally plunging one hand into a thick plate of putrid yams. The gooey mess slid over her fingers and wrist, opening a cavity of stench that poured forth, sickening her. She vomited, water and bile spraying the already reeking food. In different circumstances, she might have apologized, might have cleaned up the mess, but she only turned and ran for the knotted roots that served as the beast's stairway.
"Wait." The voice, as deep as a cave, halted her at the first black branch.
Abby did not immediately turn, but stayed, foot raised. Her mouth tasted bitter and her heart pounded as if the grim reaper stood behind her. She wanted to run, to race out of the underground hole and away from the weeping willow, but a disturbing mixture of desperation and curiosity held her.
“A girl,” the woman said suddenly. “A little girl, such a peach, a gem to behold.” She laughed, a shrill giggling spasm that shook the bench she sat on. “Mothers love their little girls.”
Abby cringed away, but could not move, frozen at the thought of her own mother.
She listened to the sounds of the woman rising from the bench. It shrieked in protest, as if she were a monstrous ogre and not the petite beauty that her body simulated. Abby felt a flutter of gooseflesh prickle her back as the woman shuffled across the carpeting. It did not sound like the movements of a human, not even the slow gait of an older woman. The thing made a slithering noise.
Abby wondered, if she turned around, would the woman be crawling towards her on her belly, using only her hands to propel her scaly flesh? That was the sound the thing made, a slow wriggling, like a snake across the carpeting.
A few feet behind Abby, she heard the Lourdes stop and sigh deeply. The sigh went on and on, the woman's lungs stretching into infinity.
"I can help you," the Lourdes spoke breathlessly.
Abby shook her head, but did not move. She didn't want the Lourdes’s help. A beetle scuttled across the floor, and Abby heard the woman's rough tongue slither out over her lipless mouth.
"You need my help," the Lourdes told her eagerly, her scratchy voice too close.
"I do," Abby agreed with a violent shiver. The woman snickered behind her.
"I…I have to help my family, they're in danger."
"Yes, and more?"
Somehow the woman knew what she had come for. Abby could sense that, could sense that the Lourdes wanted Abby to voice it, to ask for her help.
"I also need you to help me destroy this." Abby pulled the goddess from her pocket. It felt warm to the touch and shone in the candle light. She realized that she did not want to destroy the lighter. It connected her to Vesta and her family. Once destroyed, the connection was lost.
"A relic," the Lourdes hissed, and Abby felt the hot, acrid breath on her neck.
"Yes, I promised to destroy it…" But I don't want to, she thought.
"Of course you don't want to," the Lourdes divined. "You have another soul in your grasp. Her life and death are in your control."
Abby did not like the Lourdes’s tone or her words. She clearly longed for that type of power, but Abby didn't want it. She did not want to control Devin's soul; she just wanted to find her family.
“It’s not about that,” she started, but the Lourdes interrupted her.
"I will help you," she said, teasing, and Abby knew that she had retreated some, giving her a morsel of space.
"Yes, please…" Abby said, fighting her instinct to run - flee from the underground pit of despair and never look back.
"First, you will help me," the Lourdes continued, further away now.
Abby turned, but did not look at the woman's face. Instead, she stared at her claw-like toes, the toenails so long they hooked over the edge of her silver sandals. The sandals were lovely with long straps that crisscrossed, but the Lourdes’s feet were decayed and gray like her face.
"What…what kind o
f help," Abby stuttered, angry at her fear. She was a witch, why should she be afraid?
"I am sick, and there is a potion that I must make," the Lourdes pleaded, as if Abby might suddenly change her mind and run after all. "It is easy for you, so easy."
Abby nodded and forced a few deep breaths through her mouth to avoid the stench. A bit of pity invaded her now, sympathy at the wretchedness that oozed from the Lourdes like bad perfume. She could do this - she would do this.
"You must return to the woods and retrieve two berries from the shrub of a Belladonna. The berries must be black, not green, black. The shrub is not far, back to the tree marked by the Fate Triad, where you will find these berries at the base. Then, on your way back, you must scoop a handful of the red moss into your shirt. Do not hold the moss in your hand for more than a second." The Lourdes laughed a low, guttural giggle. "Your skin will burn if you do."
Abby cringed at the laugh and again when she heard the papery tongue slip out and rake over the dried flesh. The Lourdes was enjoying Abby's disgust and hating her for it at the same time. Abby could feel the woman's every emotion as it flew out and landed on her trembling skin.
"Do not hesitate, young Abby!" the Lourdes demanded. "The woods are not safe."
This last line came in a rush and prevented Abby's question as to how the Lourdes knew her name. The woods were not safe? But she'd only just walked through them.
"Go now and hurry." The Lourdes spoke no more, but turned, once again revealing her delicate, shapely back.
Without pause, Abby turned and sprinted up the roots. She burst out of the hole beneath the red willow, her shoes sinking into the red moss. Crouching low, she escaped from the willow, feeling the clammy branches slide over her. She reached the Belladonna bush, squatted down and carefully chose two plump berries, their skins black and shining.
She hesitated as she slipped underneath the willow a second time, staring at the blood red moss that carpeted the earth. The Lourdes scared her, and the whole situation felt wrong, dangerous, but what could she do? Devin had said that she was the only one who could help her, who could tell her where they'd taken her family.
With a deep breath, she stooped down and slid her cupped hand into the moss. It pulled away easily, a damp pile of velvety mush. Not holding it even for a second, she pulled out her t-shirt and dumped it in, her hand slightly throbbing where the moss touched, its wetness pressing against her stomach.
Back in the hole, the woman once again sat on her bench facing the wall. A large, gilded silver bowl rested on the edge of the table. Some of the decayed food had been brushed to the floor to clear space.
"Place the berries and the moss in the dish," the Lourdes said, her voice scratchy, but filled with a hope that was new.
Abby did, flipping the contents of her t-shirt out, rather than touch it a second time. The moss made a quiet splattering sound, oozing into the dish.
"Now, lift the dagger," the Lourdes said, shifting slightly on her bench. Abby saw her lift the golden mirror so that she could watch.
"The dagger?" Abby asked, seeing it for the first time. It was a simple piece, sharp silver blade; plain wooden handle stained a cherry red. Against the yellowing tablecloth, the dagger might have been an ordinary piece of cutlery, placed for guests when tough meat was served, but this was no dinner party and obviously the Lourdes had other plans.
Abby did not want to touch it, feel the weighty knife in her palm. The room had begun to feel stifling. A stench of anticipation seeped from the Lourdes in eye-watering clouds. Abby frowned, pressing her lips into a tight line of disgust; she had to fight the rising bile in her throat.
"You must prick your skin, anywhere, but press deep. Three drops I need, three drops of blood." The Lourdes shifted further, her hand angling the mirror as if it were a fragile antique, not a cracked looking glass that harbored the likeness of a monster. Abby could see her greenish profile, the dripping skin that hung slack from her jaw.
"No, no, I won't," Abby said, for herself as much as the Lourdes.
"You must," the woman hissed, her voice growing deeper still, angry. "Or they will die." The Lourdes sighed the last part, knowing that Abby would hear her, and finish the task.
Tears sprung to Abby’s eyes, but she clenched them tightly closed, not allowing even a single one to fall. My blood, but not my tears, she thought madly.
She lifted the dagger and swiped it quickly over the top of her forearm, a line of blood twisting across her pale skin. Throwing the knife back onto the table, she pinched the skin and allowed three large drops to disappear into the bowl. She released the skin and it closed instantly. She watched in wonder as it puckered into a thin white line and then faded almost completely.
"Yes, good," the woman whispered, lurching from the bench.
Abby stared at the floor as the Lourdes slithered to the edge of the table.
The Lourdes sank her hands deep into the bowl, mashing and pinching with her fingers. Abby continued to avert her eyes, sickened by the woman's closeness. She reached up to pull her hair from behind her ear, hoping for a flimsy wall of defense, but found only cropped strands.
To Abby's horror, the Lourdes hunched over the bowl and dipped her face down, lapping hungrily. The sounds nearly sent Abby vomiting again, but she fought it down. She could hear the Lourdes licking the bowl, her shriveled tongue scraping its surface.
When she finished, she straightened up and stood gasping, choking down the last of the mixture.
"Here," she whispered.
Abby looked up, avoiding the woman's face, but staring at a small black bottle clutched in her gnarled hand. "For your relic.”
"I don't understand," Abby told her, carefully taking the bottle. It was cold to the touch.
"You must drown the spirit out," the Lourdes said. "Soak the relic in this, it will dissolve completely, and your friend will be free."
"Yes, okay," Abby breathed, committing the directions to memory. "And my family, how do I reach my family?"
"Your family," the Lourdes spoke, but her voice had changed. The gravel gone, replaced by a youthfulness that conflicted with her very nature. "I will show you how to reach them."
Abby had to look at her, could not stop the shift of her gaze to the source of the girlish voice.
The Lourdes was changing, her face melting and reforming before Abby's eyes. Her mouth, the black hole, had sprouted plump red lips. Her gray skin had become milkier, the ashen pallor dissolving into an ivory silkiness.
She's becoming beautiful, Abby thought, and recoiled as the woman smiled, her teeth still yellowed and thick with mold.
"I will draw you a map," the Lourdes giggled.
Abby watched as she shimmied across the room, her hips swinging seductively. The slither had vanished, the entire woman had vanished and been replaced by a graceful beauty whose appearance might have challenged Helen of Troy.
The Lourdes pulled out a long piece of parchment and tore it in half, mindless of the jagged edges. She picked up an old feathered quill from a crumbling desk along one dirt wall. Her writing scratched loudly in the cellar-like room.
The Lourdes to her lair was a diamond resting in a field of manure. A face and figure only observed in the glossy pages of magazines. Abby could not force closed her wide hanging mouth, too much in shock to register the germs probably piling into her throat from the polluted air.
She waited, frightened, as the Lourdes finished, and could not dispute the feeling of dread that plagued her. Somehow the woman's transformation scared her even more than her original hideousness. Perhaps just the mere possibility of a mask so encompassing that it could hide the decayed creature. No, not just hide, but swallow whole.
"The map to your destiny," the Lourdes flirted, holding the parchment out. She extended it just far enough that Abby had to step forward to retrieve it.
As she reached out, the Lourdes clamped her hand on Abby's wrist. Abby gasped and tried to pull away, but the woman held her easily, digging her s
harp fingernails into Abby's flesh. Her eyes were two brilliant black pearls shining with desire and triumph.
She wants to keep me or eat me, Abby thought and bit back the scream that rose inside of her. The Lourdes laughed and let her go. Abby sprawled onto the dirty pink carpeting, landing on her side, the map fluttering down next to her.
Without faltering, she snatched the paper from the floor and ran from the hole. The witch laughed behind her, the melodious giggle giving way to her original shrill cackle. As she raced from the willow she could still hear the Lourdes, her laugh strangled and hungry.
* * * *
Abby soared through the woods, her feet barely scraping the marshy ground as she sprinted back to the car. In her previous life, Abby had not been a runner, or any type of athlete, unless you counted ping-pong. As a witch, not only could she run like an Olympic sprinter, she didn't even break a sweat. She looked at her limbs and wondered at their strength. The cramps and thirst that should have plagued her did not.
When she neared the car, she slowed, braced her hands on her knees and gasped. Her heaves came not from exhaustion, but alarm and outrage. How could she reconcile herself and the Lourdes? She wanted to label her as something rotten, a warlock, a monster, anything that cast her apart, but she could not. She was the newcomer, the ignorant student blindly assuming that all magic was good.
Her stomach throbbed dully where the red moss had touched her, penetrating the cheap cotton of her shirt. She used a large maple leaf to rub the area dry, hoping to chafe her skin until any remaining juices faded away.
Ula (Born of Shadows Book 1) Page 26