The Bone Carver

by Monique Snyman

  “Oh,” Rachel whispers. “I take it she wasn’t successful.”

  “Mrs. Crenshaw went out of her way to help me, but no. Laura’s spell had created an irreversible traumatic brain injury, and the lesions are too deeply embedded in the matter to be fixed with any type of magic,” Mercia says. “All that helps to alleviate the symptoms is the goldmint.”

  They are quiet for a while, driving down the empty street on their way to the center of town.

  Curiosity gets the better of Rachel, and she breaks the silence with a subdued, “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Laura?”

  “As punishment for dabbling in the dark arts and hurting another witch, the coven stripped her of her powers. She didn’t take it well and eventually had to be committed. That’s who we visit in Hawthorne Memorial.” Mercia looks in the rearview mirror, to where Ziggy twirls in place. “I have never heard of a Fae separating themselves from their Fae light for so long, or of humans being able to control them.”

  “I don’t control Ziggy,” Rachel says.

  “But you can, can’t you?”

  Rachel bows her head slightly. “If you’re wondering how I’m able to do it, you’re in good company. Even Orion was stumped when he realized I could control Fae light.”

  “Maybe you have some residual powers in your blood, some magic that was passed down to you. If I recall, your family also fled Ireland?” Mercia glances at Rachel.

  “Nah, we didn’t flee. There were some convictions of witchcraft and heresy way back in the 1500s, but most of the claims were unfounded, and the evidence was fabricated,” Rachel says. “I don’t have any magic in me.”

  “Just because you don’t have witch blood running through your veins doesn’t mean there isn’t some magic in you.” Mercia smiles, already looking less tired. “Manipulating someone else’s magic, particularly a Fae Prince’s magic, is unheard of. I doubt anyone in the coven has even attempted such a feat.” Mercia turns off into Main Road, slows down by the first traffic light, and looks in all of her mirrors. When the light changes to green, she pulls away, driving past the eerily quiet Whole Foods, which stands across the street from the empty roadhouse-styled diner. “Maybe your mother’s family has a bit of magic,” she says, shrugging.

  “You’re awfully calm after stealing a car,” Rachel says to change the topic.

  Mercia grins. “Rachel Cleary, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were afraid of going to juvie.”

  “Hardly. I simply didn’t think you were capable of doing something as bold.”

  Her humor slowly vanishes. “Peer pressure has its advantages.”

  Rachel raises an eyebrow.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Mercia says, as if knowing where Rachel’s thoughts had traveled. “Holland likes to make people do things so she can blackmail them later on. Ashley, on the other hand, thrives on—” She slams down on the brakes, the tires screeching as the car comes to a stop. “Is that your mom?”

  Rachel looks out of the window only to see her mom skipping across the road, tearing out the pages of a library book and allowing the wind to blow those torn pages away.

  “I didn’t think she’d be back from Bangor yet,” Rachel says, undoing her seatbelt.

  “Are you sure leaving the car is wise?” Mercia unclips her own seatbelt.

  Rachel ignores her. “Mom,” she calls. Her mother looks up from the book and smiles broadly. “What are you doing?”

  Jenny glimpses at the book in her hands again, and snickers. “I’m making big confetti. Duh.” She rips out another page from the book and releases it from her fingers. The page flutters across the street and comes to a rest by the gutter.

  Rachel takes her mother by the arm and tugs her forward. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  “No.” Jenny shakes her off.

  “Mom, come on.” Rachel reaches for her again. Jenny takes a step away. “Seriously?”

  Jenny leans closer and whispers, “There’s a monster in that house.”

  Rachel frowns and shakes her head. “I got rid of the monster, remember? It’s safe now. The Night Weaver is gone.”

  “No,” she yells. “That thing is still there. It’s always there.”

  “Should I, you know?” Mercia makes a poof sound, indicating using magic.

  Rachel shakes her head. “My mom’s already been through a lot these past few months. I don’t think it’s a good idea to zap her with more magic.” She takes a tentative step closer, both palms up, approaching her mother like she’s a wild animal. “Mom, I promise the monster’s gone. Come with me so I can show you.”

  Jenny shakes her head, pouting.

  “We have confetti and glitter at home.” Rachel forces herself to smile, afraid of scaring her mother off. The last thing she needs right now is having to chase her mother down to stop her from hurting herself or someone else. “Don’t you want to play with sparkly glitter?”

  Jenny seems to consider the question, before she nods vigorously.

  “Okay, but you have to come with us then.”

  “The monster, though,” Jenny whispers. She drops the book and allows Rachel to lead her to the car.

  “If there’s a monster,” Mercia says, walking on Rachel’s other side, “I’ll make it disappear.”

  “Like a magic trick?” Jenny is all wide-eyed innocence at this point.

  “Exactly like a magic trick,” Mercia says, opening the back door of the car.

  “Ooh, pretty and shiny,” Jenny exclaims when she sees Ziggy, scrambling inside to try and catch the startled Fae light.

  Rachel shuts the door and sighs. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” Mercia says, already moving toward the other side of the car. “If we have someone who’s enchanted, I can maybe figure out what we’re up against.”

  “My mom’s not a lab rat, Mercia.”

  “Obviously I don’t mean to hurt her,” Mercia says. Rachel follows her into the car, strapping herself into the seat. “No magic, I promise.”

  “Aw,” Jenny says in the backseat. “I want magic.”

  “Look at the pretty light, Mom,” Rachel snaps over her shoulder, her patience already wearing thin.

  “Flashy-flashy.”

  “Let’s just get her home and figure things out there, please.”

  Mercia nods and pulls away, continuing down Main Road. There’s some gunfire as they pass the sheriff’s department. Black smoke rises up from somewhere near the town square. Doors stand open and windows are broken, things are scattered across the sidewalks and streets, but not a single soul is to be seen on their way onto Eerie Street. The townsfolk must be somewhere, though. They must be planning something. But what?

  “I’m glad we didn’t see the sheriff on our way back.” Mercia grimaces. “I don’t know about you, but that image would have scarred me for life.”

  “Billy Boy said we’re having a party in the square tomorrow night,” Jenny says behind them. “There’ll be fireworks, and cake, even presents. I like presents.”

  Rachel twists in her seat to see Ziggy in her mother’s arms, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic golden flashes. “Why are you having a party?”

  Her mother shrugs.

  “Mom? Did you get an invite to the party?”

  Her mother nods, still staring at Ziggy, brushing her fingertips over the golden surface. “I think it’s someone’s birthday.”

  “Oh, okay then. Well, if you’re good, maybe we can go.”

  “You’re not invited,” Jenny says.

  Rachel rolls her eyes and shifts in her seat. “You’ll notice,” she says to Mercia, “my mom and I don’t get along.”

  “Been there.”

  The rest of the journey home is uneventful, especially since Rachel’s mother is preoccupied with Ziggy. As far as Rachel knows, Jenny Cleary hadn’t seen the Fae light until they’d picked her up off the street. Good thing, too, because Rachel has no idea how she would have explained Ziggy if her mother wasn’t one fry sh
ort of a happy meal.

  Mercia offers to lead her mother inside the house, to keep an eye on her while Rachel goes in search of glitter and confetti in the attic.

  Luckily, those boxes—the boxes she’s dubbed dead hobbies—were nearer to the door than her father’s journals. It’s just a matter of finding the right box. So Rachel rummages around through the vast amount of stuff, junk they’d gathered over the years. She pulls out old paperbacks, the covers faded with time, and pencil cases full of dried-up pens. Adult coloring books and a whole plastic container of beads her mother had wanted to string together to create a kitchen curtain or something equally ridiculous. There’s a box full of yarn, tangled and discolored with age, the mismatched knitting needles and crochet hooks. Fabrics and sewing threads fill the inside of another box, the overlocker rusted with disuse.

  Finally, Rachel finds the box she’s been searching for.

  An old, unused piñata of a unicorn’s head rest atop princess paper plates and pirate paper cups. There’s a plastic bag full of pink confetti, which she removes, and after more digging in between the various decorations—the It’s a Girl! and Happy 35th Birthday! banners knotted together—she finds a plastic container with gold glitter.

  She leaves the rest of the stuff where she’d tossed it and makes her way down the attic ladder.

  Rachel is barely on the second floor when the screaming starts, her mother’s wails threatening to bring the walls down. The banging comes next, rattling the windows.

  She rushes to the staircase and looks down to find her mom throwing herself against the door, tears streaming down her face. To one side, Mercia stands frozen.

  “What the hell happened?” Rachel rushes down the stairs with the glitter and confetti under one arm.

  “She was fine a minute ago, and then—” Mercia gestures to her mother, who’s gone back to slamming her fists against the door.

  “Mom,” Rachel says, and places her hand on Jenny’s shoulder. “Mommy?” She gently rubs the woman’s back. “I found glitter. Do you want to see? It’s sparkly.”

  “Please let me out,” Jenny cried, turning to look at Rachel. “Please?”

  “This is your home,” Rachel says gently. “There’s no monster here, I promise.”

  Jenny wails again, the sound desperate and haunting.

  “Mommy, look,” she says, pulling the bottle of glitter from underneath her arm. The golden sparkles glimmer in the container. “Pretty, huh?”

  Her mother sniffles, the sobs turning into hiccups. She holds out her hand and Rachel places the glitter container in her open palm.

  “And look what else I got,” Rachel says, opening the plastic bag of confetti. She takes a fistful of confetti and throws it up in the air. Pink paper floats down over both her and Jenny. “Now we’re princesses.”

  Jenny smiles as she studies the falling confetti, seemingly in a dreamlike trance.

  Rachel hands over the confetti and places an arm over her mother’s shoulder to lead her away from the door. She settles her down on the sofa and pulls the coffee table closer, just in time for Jenny to dump all the confetti out on the table.

  “This is whack,” Mercia says, her voice a mere whisper.

  “Ziggy.” Annoyance and worry edge her tone.

  “The Fae light slipped out the window,” Mercia says, gesturing to the open living room window. “I didn’t think it mattered?”

  “Why would he—?” Rachel shakes her head and heads back to the front door, Mercia close on her heels. “Today doesn’t make any sense. Everyone’s out of sorts,” she mumbles as she opens the front door and takes a step outside. Rachel looks around, searching for the golden orb. “Ziggy, I am in no mood for y—” She cuts herself off midsentence as her gaze meet’s Orion’s. “Orion?”

  “The townsfolk are acting really weird,” he says.

  “So, you’ve noticed?” Rachel walks down the porch steps and onto the path.

  “Bit difficult to miss it when your neighbors barbecue a deputy’s car in the parking lot,” Orion says. “Do you know what we’re up against yet?”

  “Ever hear of Golvath the Lonely?”

  Orion blinks slowly, shock filling his eyes. “He’s just a bedtime story.”

  “Well, it’s all I’ve got.” Rachel shrugs, and plants her hands on her hips. “Do you still think I was overreacting about needing your help?”

  He grimaces.

  “Thought so.”

  “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” Orion says.

  “Uh, yeah, but I have bigger problems than petty squabbles. My mom’s kinda affected by all of this, and she’s a handful.” Rachel’s words are barely cold when something shatters inside the house. There’s a scream.

  “No, Mrs. Cleary—stop.”

  Rachel gestures with a thumb over her shoulder, saying, “Cue the madness.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out while you handle that,” Orion says. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Rachel!”

  Sixteen

  Jaw Dropper

  Rachel glimpses at Mercia as she runs down the porch steps, “Where’s my mom?”

  “Exactly where we left her,” she says, breathless. “I confined her to the living room. So, yes, I did technically use magic, but not on her personally. It’s just a barrier spell, the same one witches use to keep toddlers from sticking their fingers in electric outlets and away from stairs.”

  Rachel sighs and nods. “Thanks.”

  “It’s not going to hold.” Mercia turns around to walk back to the house. “We both need rest and something to eat.”

  “Yup.”

  “I mean it, Rach. We can’t save the town when we’re running on fumes,” Mercia says.

  “I know.” Rachel sighs. “Why are you suddenly being so nice to me? Not to mention, you’re helping my mom. What happened to the whole ‘this doesn’t make us friends’ thing?”

  Mercia shrugs. “Your mom’s gone cray-cray, the guy you’re crushing on is being super weird, your only friend and his grandmother have basically been run out of town, and I’m pretty sure you have a serious stalker problem.”

  Rachel closes her eyes and shakes her head. “What?”

  “Isn’t that Greg’s car?”

  Rachel opens her eyes and directs her attention to where Mercia is pointing down Griswold Road as Greg’s Mercedes appears on the horizon. Every alarm bell in her body goes off in unison, her fight-or-flight responses readying themselves.

  “Can this day get any worse?” she mutters, not in the mood to deal with him right now.

  “That’s a polite way of looking at things,” Mercia grumbles. “What do you want to do?”

  “Play dumb?” Rachel says and Mercia nods, both coming to a stop in the driveway.

  They watch as Greg slows down and turns off the road, the passenger side window lowering. He sits forward in his seat, tilting his head to see them properly. Greg frowns, before he says, “Mercia Holstein, whatever are you doing here?”

  “Well, sometimes even I like to drive down backroads and see how losers live,” Mercia says. “You?”

  “Where’s your car, Rachel?” Greg asks, ignoring Mercia.

  “It’s not here, obviously,” Mercia answers for Rachel, then quickly adds, “I’m glad you’ve not gone blind yet, you know, from using your right hand excessively.” She makes a crude gesture, fluttering her eyelashes all the while.

  It takes every ounce of strength to keep Rachel from laughing out loud, especially when Greg turns a deep shade of red.

  He narrows his eyes at Mercia, but turns his attention on Rachel.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay out here by yourself,” Greg continues. “With Mrs. Crenshaw not around, I became concerned for your safety. The town’s gone completely nuts. On my way over, Mr. Morris chased my car on all fours, barking like a dog.”

  Rachel shapes her mouth into an ‘O’, acting surprised. He must buy it, because his eyes soften as he regards her.<
br />
  I should’ve taken drama class instead, she thinks.

  “Well,” Mercia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “Rachel is not by herself, as you can see, and we have work to do.”

  “What work?” Greg asks. “School’s been closed for days or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Art project,” Rachel lies quickly. “The theme is ‘the world as we perceive it’,” she continues. Luckily Greg doesn’t have art as an elective. “I was thinking we should put a Freudian twist to it.”

  “Ooh, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Mercia says, playing along. “Nothing says art like wanting to sleep with your mother.”

  Even Rachel can’t help herself from frowning.

  “Or your daughter, whatever.” She waves it off, unperturbed. “Anywho, we should probably get on with it if we actually want to do the project, so buh-bye, Greg.”

  He glances at Rachel, who shrugs.

  “Sorry, but this is due soon,” she says.

  Greg’s expression smooths out. “Call me, okay?”

  Mercia bursts out laughing and takes a step away from the car. “Can you be any more desperate?” She pivots and walks toward the porch.

  “Can you be any more of a bitch?” he calls back.

  She flips him off, and disappears into the house, leaving Rachel alone with Greg. Rachel puts her hands behind her back and smiles, still acting like some lovesick idiot.

  Mercia’s nervous shout from within the house is enough to make her cut short whatever long goodbye Greg was waiting for.

  “Gotta go, bye.” She’s already heading back to the house.

  “Okay, bye.”

  She rushes up the steps and makes her way straight into the house. Rachel shuts the door behind her. The entryway is fine, but as she walks toward the living room, the issue becomes clear.

  Rachel stands there staring at the destruction. The TV has been pulled off its wall mounts and lies in pieces on the floor. The coffee table is upended and two of the legs have been broken off. The sofa has been torn asunder and foam is spilling from the deep gashes. Even the curtains didn’t survive, lying in large swathes on the floor. Confetti and glitter is strewn across the mess, which just feels like a slap in the face.