Blue Moon

by J. A. Belfield

  “Nothing drastic.” She grinned. “I’ll just make up a small parcel of heliotrope blossoms and bay laurel leaves, and you’ll have to make sure you don’t fall asleep without it tucked beneath your pillow. All you then have to do”—she pointed at me—“is try your hardest to recall any occurrences in your dreams or anything unusual—anything that stands out. You must remember.”

  “You really think this will work?” Ethan didn’t look as sceptical as I expected. Maybe he’d seen enough over the past weeks to develop his belief in the powers of magic.

  “I think it’s your best shot,” Jess said, “because nobody but that group of witches knows where they are. If you can’t find them by usual means, I think you have no choice but to look using alternative ways. You’re fortunate Jem is so susceptible to psychic connection because”—she shrugged—“she may be the best hope you have.”

  26

  Jess surprised me with the contents of her large, wheeled suitcase as I watched her make up my dream aid. Filled with an assortment of herbs, stones, resins, plants, amongst unexplainable items, its size outshone her clothes holdall by miles. I’d no idea before then just how much Jess studied the art of witchcraft, had always imagined it to be more of a hobby.

  “Done,” she said, waving the small bundle.

  To wear me out, we headed off to hunt for the boys. When I suggested splitting into three groups of two to cover more ground, Connor’s and Nathan’s responses suggested they both considered me something of a loose cannon—which meant Ethan got to leave in his truck, with Jess and Beth as his eyes, whilst I ended up squashed between a couple of bears.

  We all had our mobiles, with strict instructions to stay in touch at all times. Mine had only been switched on twenty minutes when it buzzed, and Poppy’s name glowed from the screen.

  I almost didn’t answer it—could barely deal with issues right in front of me let alone Poppy’s probing mind—but I did, and it took Poppy all of two minutes to kick aside her greeting of ‘Merry Christmas’ and deduce all was not right.

  Ignoring Nathan’s headshake, I took a deep breath and explained that Sean had gone missing, along with some of his pack brothers, that Marianne had conducted it, that Jess had come to help, but left out all the extraneous information she didn’t need to know or would worry her more than she already did.

  Obviously she did worry. She offered to drop everything and race over until I convinced her that home with her family was where Sean would want her to be on Christmas day, and she’d eventually conceded.

  Though after Poppy hung up, my hand remained by my ear for a few beats as I hung onto the normalcy the outset of the call offered to my unstable day.

  • • •

  As one day merged into the next, my patience wore thin. We hunted by road, we hunted on foot, and I hunted in my sleep. Every avenue had been a dead end, a cul-de-sac of hope—or hopelessness. Each time we hunted on foot or by car, we returned home despondent—not just me but all of us. Each time I hunted within my mind, I dozed off determined to succeed but awoke with an aura of pessimism—each time more than the last.

  As a precaution, Nathan had locked every window in the house—apparently to prevent me leaping up out of slumber and taking off again—as well as ensuring the doors were secured, and he held the keys himself whenever we holed in for the night.

  By three days after Poppy’s call, we’d searched as big an area as anybody could. We only returned to the house each day to eat, or for me to try and dream. Each time, after collapsing in a fit of exhaustion, I’d concentrated hard on Sean, Josh, Daniel and Kyle. Within sleep, my mind searched for the last item to consume my thoughts before my brain switched off to the living world. To simplify, Jess insisted I only concentrate on one of them at a time—which made the whole exercise take a lot longer than I anticipated.

  Each passing day increased my desperation. I woke on Tuesday afternoon, after a catnap rich in memories of Sean, with frantic frustration in every cell in my body.

  Feet plodding, I carried my disheartened soul into the kitchen.

  “Anything?” asked Jess.

  I shook my head, my mouth down-curved too far in misery to speak.

  She studied me. “Jem, what’s wrong?”

  The others all turned to me, too.

  My bottom lip quivered.

  “Jem? What is it?”

  I looked round at them all. “What if I’m having trouble connecting to any of them because . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Jess seemed to understand my implication. “You know that’s not true.”

  “But, what if—”

  “If that were true—”

  “It could be. We can’t keep denying it as a possibility—”

  “Will you listen to me for one second,” Jess snapped.

  I shut up, but my mouth still refused to alter the line of its curve.

  “One.” Jess lifted her index finger. “You have been connecting because you said you were certain you felt a pull last night . . .”

  I had—a distant connection when I’d focused on each of them. Just as I’d thought ‘this is it’, it broke—like a door slamming in my face. “But, then I lost it.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re all on the other side of the veil . . .”

  I flinched.

  “It probably means there’s a barrier of some sort blocking you—most probably a magical barrier. You can break through if you concentrate and hold onto it, I’m sure you can.” I opened my mouth, but she held up another finger. “Two, there is no way on this earth that Sean could be dead and you not know it.”

  The words ‘Sean’ and ‘dead’ uttered in the same sentence worked at the raw wound in my chest cavity like a pair of forceps, stretching it beyond capacity.

  “Use your head,” she said in a softer tone. “‘These two hearts beat as one. One cannot exist without the other’. They’re the words of your binding. If Sean were dead? You’d be dying already.”

  What could I say to that?

  Inside, I already felt dead.

  • • •

  I knocked before entering—though why, when at the door to my room, I didn’t know.

  Jess sat on ‘our’ bed, her suitcase open and items sprawled across the duvet in front of her. She smiled as her eyes connected with mine. “Can’t sleep?”

  I shook my head, nudging a velvet drawstring bag aside to make room to sit.

  “You should try camomile tea. It’d relax you.”

  I poked at the bag I’d moved, creating small clacking noises. Loosening the neck revealed a handful of stones, and I dug in and pulled out a rugged amethyst. “I’ve always liked these.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  The icy air of the room seemed to have vanished since my last venture in there almost a week before. Perhaps Jess’s claim to the space made the difference.

  “What are we going to do, Jess, if we don’t find them?”

  “I’ve actually just been trying to figure out if there’s a way to protect the men from a distance. Of course, it would be a lot simpler if we had a photograph of this Marianne, but . . .”

  “What would that achieve?”

  “If we had a picture of her, I could show you how to do a binding ritual.”

  I shook my head. “There’s been enough binding. That’s what started—”

  “Not that kind of binding.” She rested her hand against my knee. “It’s a binding ritual to prevent her doing harm. Any impure intent in her plans, and she won’t succeed. Then, there’s the double plus.” She smiled. “If you do the ritual, it’d protect you at the same time. Anything malicious she throws your way would only be reflected back at her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She smiled. “Whatever she tries to
afflict you with will rebound and hit her instead.”

  I gave a small laugh.

  “But, without a picture . . .” Jess shrugged.

  My shoulders sagged again as if somebody had stuck a pin in to deflate them.

  “It’s going to be difficult, anyway, to figure out what to do for the best.” She gave another shrug. “We have no idea of the exact magic they’ve used. It’s always hard to counteract a spell without all the details.”

  “Are you saying even if we find them, we may not be able to break the spells put on them?”

  Lips compressed, she nodded. “It’s a possibility.”

  My fingers fiddled around in the purse, clinking the small crystals against each other. The different textures rolled off my skin—rough, smooth, polished.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a chance of Josh having had a picture of her?”

  I lifted my gaze to hers. Did I think Marianne could have given a photo of herself to Josh? Her vanity would certainly make her believe he’d want one. She may even have done something to it to strengthen her connection to him.

  Without a word, I climbed off the bed and headed for Connor’s temporary sleeping spot in the lilac bedroom opposite.

  I found Connor sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, head in hands. He looked up at my cough and made a failed attempt to smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I settled beside him. “Jess had an idea that could protect the boys if we don’t get to them in time . . .”

  He straightened his posture, twisting to face me.

  “But, it can’t work without a picture of Marianne.”

  He averted his eyes.

  “Do you know if she gave Josh a picture of herself, Connor?”

  He rubbed at his tired-looking head as he nodded. “Yes, she did.”

  My jaw tightened despite the little ray of sunshine the admittance brought. “Where is it?”

  His gaze avoided mine again. “He thought you’d be upset if you saw it, so he kept it beneath his mattress.”

  I gave a small smile and padded back to tell Jess we’d struck gold before I knocked at Nathan’s door.

  Feet shuffled across carpet from beyond the wood until Nathan opened the door and stared down at me.

  “Nate, can I have the truck keys?”

  His brow furrowed. “Do you have a lead, Jem?”

  I shook my head. “No, but Jess believes she knows a way to protect the boys, and I need to fetch a picture of Marianne from Connor’s. He said Josh has one, and Jess can’t do anything without it.”

  Ethan’s door opened behind me. “You’re not going.”

  “But . . .” I turned, lifting my hands. “I have to.”

  He stepped out onto the landing. “I’ll go.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t go alone. What if they’ve returned? Or, you get there and they take you? They could. Look how easily they attacked the two of us last time. You can’t—”

  “I could go with him,” Jess said.

  I stared down the landing where she’d come out and joined Connor.

  “Tomorrow will be soon enough,” Nathan said before I could speak. “It’ll be morning in a few hours, and Ethan and Jess can go with Connor as backup. In the meantime, Jem, you should be sleeping.”

  • • •

  Thankfully, hunting with the entire pack and falling asleep as a group had accustomed me to sleeping observed. Under the watchful eye of Connor, I brought forth not images of Sean or any of the other boys, but of exactly what I’d like to do to Marianne when I caught up with her.

  I didn’t acknowledge the switch off of my brain until my conscious thoughts of her made way for unconscious ones. As the familiar setting of home faded out, an unfamiliar one took its place. A large house—indicated as such by the flight of stairs leading up and another leading down.

  On the far end of the landing from me stood Marianne.

  My eyes narrowed as she turned a key in a lock, one from an entire bunch which clanked with the movement. She tugged the handle, seemed satisfied when the door remained shut, spun and walked away.

  Teeth bared, I emitted the low growl I had brewing.

  She took the stairs that led down.

  I pursued, but almost lost my levitated balance when images flashed inside my mind and obscured the clarity with which I saw my prey.

  A black and white rectangle flickered on and off like a strobe light running on empty. I tried to focus on the plaque, on the black lettering it held.

  The image vanished, exposing Marianne at the bottom of the stairs taking a right turn.

  I copied her route and u-turned away from what I presumed to be the front door. Like an invisible sleuth, I shadowed her around a house I didn’t recognise.

  Travelling the length of the hallway, we passed two doors on the left toward a third door set in the rear wall—Marianne walking—me floating.

  She opened the door. Bright illumination bled around the gap. Voices carried through from the other side. Marianne disappeared, closing the barrier behind her.

  I shut my eyes against the oddity of travelling through solid surfaces and sifted to the other side—into a kitchen. The room sported no modernisation, as one might expect from a group of young girls. Only old, varnished surfaces faced me on three sides and from a huge floor-to-ceiling pantry in one corner. The white fridge stood out as conspicuously as a mod at a rockers party.

  “How are they?” As Stephanie entered through an open door from outside, my lip curled.

  Marianne gave a small laugh. “Dead to the world.”

  “I can’t understand the problem with the other one,” Stephanie said.

  “Me either. We treated him exactly the same as the others, gave him the same dosage. There’s no way he should have woken.”

  Little!

  I flinched at the mind invasion, blinking to remain focused on the two women. I couldn’t be disrupted, not when certain the witches were about to say something of importance.

  “I dread to think what could have happened if Zoë hadn’t spotted his altered position.”

  Marianne nodded. “We were lucky. Just a few minutes later getting him downstairs and . . .” She frowned. “You saw how he was when he woke. I’m starting to think we should leave the others under to perform the ceremony.”

  Stephanie’s lips pursed at Marianne’s suggestion, her hands resting on her hips. “I’m not decided yet. I must admit, I thought they’d be more domesticated than—”

  Hampton!

  In my mind, another word blasted out their conversation. I brushed at my dream head as though swatting a fly, tuning back into the witches’ conversation.

  “. . .you fed him yet?”

  “I’ll do it now.” Marianne crossed the kitchen and reached into a cupboard for a bowl. It hit the counter with a metallic bang when she dropped it down before stepping across to the pantry.

  As she returned to the bowl with a tin, I willed myself to move closer. I needed to pay attention. Every detail could be important, even if I couldn’t recall why.

  Little!

  I kept Marianne in my sights as she opened the tin and tipped the contents into a bowl. A smirk visited her lips when she shook the last dregs from the bottom of the can.

  I read the label. Meatballs in tomato sauce. Disgusting. My nose wrinkled as if I could smell the artificial spice and flavours of the meal.

  In anticipation of her next move, I drifted to the microwave, glaring as I waited for her to come to me. My fists tightened the longer I looked at her. A low rumbling within my chest held the potential to become an impressive snarl.

  My nonexistent eyebrows shot up when Marianne bypassed the microwave and approached a heavyset oak door.

  As soon as she produced her
jailer’s keys, I suspected she didn’t plan on feeding a pet. Bowl in one hand and keys in the other, a kick of her foot opened the door. The thickness of the wood showed on its inward swing. Beyond, a set of stone stairs headed down below the house.

  Hampton!

  I blinked the word away to watch Marianne tug on a string hanging from the ceiling. With a quiet click, an overhead bulb submerged her in light.

  I went to move forward, but halted as low, resonated groans and gasps bounced up to us. I’d heard those sounds before—a lot. I didn’t need to go closer to know they were the sounds of pain created by a change.

  Marianne hit the halfway step, continued down.

  Although incapable of finding scents, I inhaled.

  “God, that’s repulsive.” Despite her words, Marianne’s tone held only amusement.

  My eyes widened when I hit the underground room. A silent gasp left my lips. If not seeing it with my own eyes, I’d never have believed it.

  The cellar held even bigger dimensions than the one at home, but half of the space had been sectioned off—with thick bars, spaced four inches apart, stretched from one wall to the other, from floor to ceiling.

  They’ve bloody made a cage.

  Pots and pots of green, spiky leaves and unusual lemon flowers lined the front and back of the bars. Their presence seemed incongruous compared to the stark walls and concrete floor, the miniscule window that permitted a view of nothing but darkness, and the gasps that flew freely from the huddled heap almost cowering behind the metal rods.

  “Here you go, dog!” Marianne put the bowl of cold meatballs on the floor, kicked it toward the cage. “Dinner.” Splatters of sauce marked the vessel’s path.

  The form lifted his chocolate brown head. Dark eyes, full of odium, glowered at Marianne.

  Sean!

  Pain seared my chest as I took in his pulsating muscles, the shaggy coat that hadn’t quite retracted into his pores. My stomach knotted at the weight he’d lost.

  “Go …to …hell, Marianne,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

  She stood watching him, a smile playing on her lips.