Something like Voodoo

by Rebecca Hamilton

  She winked then calmly walked out of my house, clicking the front door shut behind her. I whirled around, ready to protest, but Dad held up both of his hands.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I’ve had enough stories from you for a lifetime.”

  He slouched in his chair, disappointment writ large on his face. It was the same look of exhaustion and frustration he wore around tax time every year.

  “You know, Emily,” he began, motioning to the chair across from him. Sarah had just been in it. I refused to sit. “There was a time when I knew you. Knew when you were lying and when you were telling the truth. What’s that say about me? What’s it say that I don’t even know my own daughter?”

  I swallowed hard. I thought he had known I was lying and just didn’t care. Now I wasn’t sure if I should feel bad for lying or worse that I’d assumed he’d given up on me. I didn’t want Noah or Heather on his bad side, which is why I let another lie slip out.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.”

  He nodded expectantly, as if this lie was no surprise. “I know you weren’t out of town with Heather. Trust me, it takes all I have not to tell you that you can’t see her again. But something tells me you’re the bad influence, not her, so I’m letting that one go.”

  “Dad –”

  He lifted his face long enough to blast me with a direct scowl. “I’m going to finish what I have to say, and then you are going to your room, where you will stay until you graduate. Got it?”

  He leveled his gaze, as if daring me to try him.

  I didn’t.

  “Forget for a moment you lied to me so you could sneak off with some boy,” he said, wheezing in a breath. “But Noah? God, Emily, I thought I raised you better than that. He could have hurt you.”

  I was not about to let Sarah put a spell on my dad – voodoo or otherwise. “He would never hurt me.”

  Dad rubbed his forehead. “Your friend is worried about you, and that worries me.”

  “Sarah is not my friend.”

  “It takes a bigger friend to tell a secret than to keep one,” my dad replied crossly. Damn him and his ill-timed wisdom. The problem was, it didn’t fit here.

  My issue with where we’d lived before hadn’t exactly been that I was bullied. I’d never had any friends, but I would bounce around a lot…and not with the best crowds. Things had gotten pretty bad – I was doing some stupid stuff I shouldn’t have been – when a classmate of mine confronted Dad about it. This person hadn’t been a friend, and this was not a repeat of my past. I needed my dad to see that.

  “Emily, we’ve been down this road with –”

  “God, Dad! That was different! I haven’t ever even mentioned Sarah to you before! Why would you think we’re friends?”

  “Why would I think you keep things from me? Are you really asking me that right now?” He held out his hand. “Keys.”

  “What?”

  “Your car keys, Emily.”

  “No.”

  “I have more than one way to stop that car from running, and so help me God, you won’t like half of them.”

  “Fine,” I said, nearly bursting with my tear-fueled adrenaline. I dug into my purse and shoved the keys into his hand. “Take them. Take whatever you want. But you’ll have to take my feet, too, if you want to stop me from leaving.”

  I spun on my heel and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

  The door swung open and he yelled “Emily,” but I didn’t turn back. I was already running. I cut through a few yards and quickly turned down several streets so he couldn’t catch up by car.

  My dad had no reason to trust me. But at the same time, he used to know when I was lying better than anyone. He should have known I wasn’t lying about Sarah. How had he not seen right through her?

  I turned another street corner. No idea where I was going. I needed to see Noah, but he’d left – wisely – probably before Sarah even made it outside, and I didn’t know where he lived. I wandered aimlessly until I reached the library. It would close in a couple hours, but Dad wouldn’t check for me there.

  I’d left my phone in my bag, which I must’ve dropped in the foyer when I’d gone inside. The good news was I had Noah’s number memorized, so I found a decrepit old payphone and some change in my coat pocket to call him.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “It’s me,” I said, trying not to burst into tears. Why was it that just hearing his voice had turned my anger into a mental-freaking-breakdown? “I need you to come get me.”

  “Calm down. Where are you?”

  “The library.” I wiped a tear off my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater. I felt a wicked headache coming on.

  “It’s going to take me a bit to get to you. I need to wait for Sarah to go home.”

  “She’s there?” I asked, angry and bitter.

  “Outside my house,” he mumbled. “Stay put until I come for you, okay? I will. I promise.”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded. Talking hurt, but I forced out an “okay” and hung up the phone.

  I spent the first fifteen minutes sitting at a table in the corner, not doing anything. The next fifteen I spent picking off all of my fuchsia and lemon-yellow nail polish. No matter how many times I checked the front doors, Noah was not there.

  Finally, I got up and started wandering around, trying desperately to find some comfort in old paper. People online always talked about how they preferred paper books, the smell and feel of them. But for me, there was no solace. It was just paper. I strolled around some more until I found a bank of computers, then sat to connect to some sort of messenger to reach Heather. Except, I couldn’t figure out how to close the library’s online database.

  After clicking around, I started running searches on Sarah’s family. If she had records on me then I wanted something on her. Anything.

  A few news articles and records documented the trouble she’d gotten into with the police, which was a start. Apparently her family was rich, so it was newsworthy. I searched her last name along with the other It Girls, but all that came up was a recommendation for a book on the Salem witch trials.

  Eh, what the hell. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

  I wrote down the reference code and went in search of it. After I pulled the book from the shelf, I skimmed around until something popped out at me. Williams, Walcott, Booth. The last names of all the It Girls. Hmm.

  All were surnames from Salem.

  So was Bishop.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  If Sarah’s voodoo and the Salem witch trials were connected, then that would change what little I understood about voodoo. It was a dark magic that supposedly originated from Africa, introduced to America when the slaves were brought over. Massachusetts had been a free state then. The only slave in Salem I’d read of was Tituba, and there was no record of where she came from. All of this felt…off.

  I shook my head. When it came to things like voodoo, it was entirely possible not everything was recorded completely or accurately. I couldn’t stare at this book thinking I would get answers. This was just an opportunity to find clues.

  I quickly scanned the rest of the page, knowing what I would find at the same time thinking no way would I find it.

  But there it was, at the bottom of page 173: Caldwell.

  Noah’s last name.

  I felt a panicky jump in my stomach. There was a connection all right. This had to mean something.

  But what?

  15

  HUNGER OF THE PINE

  The library closed before Noah arrived, so I sat outside on the cold concrete steps, resting my back against an iron railing. The building behind me looked so peaceful now, with its faded red bricks and sleepy windows.

  I wanted that peace for myself, but Noah was the one w
ho loved the quiet. Not me. Quiet left too much room for thinking, and I didn’t want to think anymore. My head throbbed as I stared up at the empty flagpole, imagining the flag rolling in the wind. People had fought bigger wars than this. I couldn’t let some cruel high school girls stand between Noah and me – voodoo or not.

  Finally, headlights swept over the parking lot, and Noah’s Chevy screeched to a halt a few feet away. The passenger side door to his truck flew open before he’d even come to a complete stop. I jumped in, and he took off as I shut the door. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes.

  Silence – the last thing I wanted. But I didn’t want to talk to Noah with my eyes shut either. I wanted to see his reactions while we spoke. So I kept quiet as he drove, my thoughts drifting to all the questions the Salem book had awakened.

  Somehow, we were all connected. Sarah. Noah. The It Girls. Me. And it had been that way since the Salem witch trials. Possibly even before that. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even credit my useless gift for these revelations. Instead, I had a damned mass-production library book to thank. That didn’t exactly make me feel awesome.

  Neither Noah nor I muttered a word until we parked at the lake. It was full dark now. A starless night and a tired moon cast little light onto the embankment. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, my breathing coming in short bursts.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Maybe I was having a panic attack. Or dying. Maybe somehow Sarah had found a way to attack me with her voodoo. I was an unraveling mess. Life had become equal parts terrifying, infuriating, and fascinating. I would never be that girl making up stories about being enrolled in the witness protection program ever again.

  Noah hopped out of the truck and came around to my side. When he opened the door, I faced him, searching his eyes. I thought I was going to burst into tears, but he placed his warm hand on my cheek, and my nerves calmed slightly. He stepped closer, until he was standing between my legs, his body flush with mine, his forehead tipping against my own.

  “Emily,” he breathed, his hands reaching up to play with the bottom of my shirt, his fingertips grazing my belly.

  Suddenly, I didn’t want to think about Sarah anymore. I didn’t want anything but him. His mouth on my lips, his fingers on my body. I needed that physical evidence reminding me we were together, despite all this.

  Noah pressed in closer, leaning over me as he finally captured my lips with his. His lips were soft at first but soon grew more insistent. He wanted what I wanted: to kiss away our troubles.

  The winter air crept past his body and through the open door, but my skin was numb to it, to everything but his touch. Still I shivered as my hands slid over his bare arms, under the short sleeves of his shirt, up to his shoulders. I sighed against his mouth as he kissed me harder. The heat was his curse yet the warmth of it made me feel safe.

  One of our songs came on – “The Hunger of the Pine.” If any song was the story of us, it was this. Butterflies and needles, our attraction and fears. Our hunger for one another insatiable, but the heartbreak inevitable if we didn’t do something to stop our adversaries soon.

  Noah’s kisses became more fevered as he pushed closer, his hips rubbing against mine. My breathing hitched, my face burned, but this time not nearly as hot as the rest of me. I shrugged off my already-unzipped coat and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  His hands – more gentle than his mouth – caressed my thighs, slid up to my waist, paused at my ribs. His lips moved down to my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, and my thoughts drifted away. My worries drowned. I had never felt so lost and found all at once. His fingers slid beneath my shirt and glided up, and for some reason this urged me to kiss him more, if kissing him more were even possible.

  He pulled back just enough to level his gaze with mine. “We can stop at any time.”

  I didn’t want him to stop. Ever. “I’m okay.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up as his hands fell to the bench seat on either side of my body. “Going after Sarah, I mean.”

  Oh. I pushed up on my hands; I hadn’t even realized I was nearly lying down. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. The mention of Sarah’s name made me colder than any winter breeze. How had we gone from kissing to talking about her, when that was exactly what we had both been avoiding? Or at least I had been.

  “I don’t want this to be all we have, Noah. Stolen moments, hiding. I don’t want to run away every time we want to be together.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “But I can handle Sarah. I don’t think you being involved is a good idea. Taking you to Hazel was a mistake.”

  Finally, we were both in a place where neither of us wanted to hide anymore. He didn’t want my help, but the problem was, if he could handle this without me, he would have done so already, long before we met.

  I swallowed, pushing myself all the way up now, forcing Noah to move back. “I’m already involved.” Thinking of the book from the library, I added, “And this isn’t just about you. It’s about me, too.”

  Noah nudged me over to the middle of the cab and took my seat, settling in beside me. “Then we need to find out why.”

  “Maybe it’s because of my gift?”

  He pressed his lips together, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. “Is that what you think?”

  I stared at my hands resting in my lap – at my uncharacteristically bare fingernails. “No,” I mumbled. “It might be part of it now, though.”

  Noah hooked his arm around me and pulled me tight to his side.

  I needed to tell him about the book. About my past. About the guilt I felt over my mom. “I’ve figured out a few things, but I still don’t know how it all comes together.”

  “Maybe if you opened up to me, I could help. What does she have on you? I mean, besides your gift?”

  If I could trust anyone, it was Noah. “My doctors think my gift means I’m schizophrenic, and I think somehow, someone out there used magic to kill my mother.”

  Noah’s eyebrows shot up. When he said nothing, I looked away, staring forward as I said, “Sarah sure wanted to mock me about my past. I didn’t even know her before I moved here, yet somehow she knew things about me she shouldn’t have. It’s why I’m convinced she’s connected to my mom’s death.”

  “Why, though? And how?”

  “When I caught up to them at the asylum, I thought…” I shook my head, trailing off. “When I was driving away, I swore I saw my mother’s ghost.” I looked at him again. “Do you think that’s crazy?”

  Noah grinned. “Not as crazy as me fighting an internal inferno.” His expression smoothed out. “But if all that’s true, what are the odds you would move here?”

  My gaze narrowed on the lake as I stared out over the dashboard, chills running up my arm. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Without him hovering over me, I was getting cold. I pulled my jacket back on and directed the heater vents my way. “I don’t know what it is, but it can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  My attention snapped back to Noah. “The library tonight. Did you know all the It Girls’ last names were surnames during the Salem witch trials?”

  “I didn’t.” He frowned. “Was voodoo even a thing then?”

  “I’m not sure if that’s what they called it, but the magic practices involved in voodoo existed before voodoo itself. So it’s possible. There’s more, though. My last name was a surname in Salem, too.” I chewed at my lip. “And so was yours.”

  Noah sat up a little straighter. “But you don’t know how it all ties together?”

  “Do you?”

  “Why would I? I didn’t even know half of what you’re telling me until now.”

  I waved my hand. “I’m not accusing you. I’m trying to understand. We all have secrets, right? I told you mine.
”

  “And now you want to know mine.”

  “Just one in particular,” I said. “I want to know what allows Sarah to control you.”

  He chuckled. “If you find out, let me know.”

  “It’s not a joke, Noah.”

  The smile fell from his face. “I don’t know, Emily. Her family and mine have always been connected, but this hold she has over me – this is new.”

  “And you can’t even guess why,” I said, half statement, half question.

  “I should get you home,” he said, stepping down from the passenger seat.

  I grabbed his arm. “Sarah can only use dark voodoo as revenge. Did you do something to her?”

  He pulled away. “Why would you even ask me that?”

  My heart sank. “I’m not implying –”

  “Forget it.” He slammed the door.

  I thought he was going to come around to the driver’s side, hop in, and drive me straight home, but he stayed outside the truck, staring at the lake as he lifted his arms up to rest his hands behind his head. I stepped out and came up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

  I stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Don’t shut me out, Noah. Please. How can I help you if you don’t tell me these things?”

  Noah turned toward me, his expression forlorn. “I don’t want you to help me, Emily. It scares me. It scares me that you’re going to get hurt. I can’t protect you. Not from Sarah. Not even from myself.”

  “Maybe you don’t need to try anymore,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “Remember you were afraid that if you came to my house, Sarah would follow?”

  “Right,” he said, removing my hands from his waist. “For all the good it did staying away.”

  Together, we stared out over the pale blue ice of the lake. “She didn’t find me because of you,” I said softly. “She found me because of me.”

  “Because of us,” he said, regret heavy in his voice.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. If you think about it, in a way, she did us a favor.”