Sweet Unrest

by Maxwell, Lisa

  I nodded, the hairs on the nape of my neck seeming to stand on end. There was an odd current running through the stillness of the room—a dangerous electricity.

  “Look like they’re more than just stories,” Mama Legba said. “Someone’s cursed him, child. His spirit’s been bound up tight.”

  “Is he dying?” I could barely force the words out.

  She shook her head. “Not yet, but if he don’t get help soon, he might.”

  “It can be no coincidence,” Alex murmured to himself.

  “What’s that?” Mama Legba asked.

  Alex paused, his face tense with concentration. He glanced at me briefly before he spoke again, and I knew he was about to take a chance he wasn’t completely comfortable with. “For the boy to fall ill so soon after Lucy took the charm from the old witch’s house—it can be no coincidence. They must be connected.”

  Mama Legba considered the information. “Nobody else knows about that charm, do they?

  I shook my head, but stopped short when I remembered how Chloe had caught me in the cabin. I didn’t think she knew I’d taken anything, and I couldn’t believe she would do something like this to my brother. Still …

  “This young man here might be onto something.” Mama Legba paused to consider her words. “There ain’t no reason to waste such powerful magic on such an innocent, powerless boy. Not unless there’s a bigger game at stake.”

  I’d been warned that something bad might happen if I destroyed the charm, but I hadn’t listened. “This is my fault, isn’t it?” I whispered.

  “No, Lucy,” Alex answered too quickly. His voice was soft and calming, but it didn’t have any effect on my bone-deep guilt.

  “I never should have touched that thing,” I said. “I never should have burned it—Mama Legba warned me, but I thought I was so brave. I never considered that the person who made it might go after my family.”

  “Lucy, ma chère. Please, calm yourself.”

  But I couldn’t calm myself. My chest felt tight, but my breaths came so quickly—I couldn’t seem to stop them.

  Alex muttered under his breath about being useless, while Mama Legba came over and wrapped her arms around me, whispering soft bits of nonsense in my ear until my breathing settled.

  “This ain’t the end, Lucy-girl. Things is bad, sure enough. But your brother’s gonna be just fine once we find out how to break the binding.”

  “You freed me,” Alex said. “There is no reason to believe we cannot free your brother as well.”

  I looked between him and Mama Legba. “You’re sure.”

  He nodded. “I am. But for now, you have to be calm.”

  “You gotta think, child.” Mama Legba patted my back softly as she rubbed it in slow, wide circles. “You gotta think for that little boy there. To bind someone, a conjurer needs something from the person they binding. I told you before, to bind a person’s soul is strong magic. Dark magic. They’s gotta have something more than personal—they gotta have something that contains a bit of the person themselves. You gotta think about who could’ve gotten to him and what they might have.”

  “It could be anything … ” T.J.’s room was a constant mess. There was no telling what might be missing.

  “Someone had to get to him,” Mama Legba said. “This ain’t magic that can be done from afar.”

  I wracked my brain for who that might be. We didn’t know many people in the area yet. “Maybe someone on the plantation?”

  Chloe, something inside of me whispered, but I pushed it away. She would never hurt him … would she?

  “It’s as good a place as any to start,” Mama Legba agreed.

  Alex brushed his hand over my hair, and I felt the now-familiar whisper of warmth settle over me. “You stay here with your brother and I’ll go search.” He looked at Mama Legba, his mouth tight as he considered her with narrowed eyes.

  “It’s okay, Alex,” I told him. “She helped me free you. I trust her.”

  He still didn’t look convinced, but he seemed to realize that he didn’t have any other choice. “You’ll stay with her?” he asked, wary.

  “I ain’t going nowhere, boy,” she told him impatiently.

  Once Alex was gone, Mama Legba looked at me with her too-perceptive eyes. “You doing fine, Lucy-girl. Might not feel like it now, but you gonna be all right in the end.”

  “Is that what the cards tell you?” I sniffed.

  “No,” she huffed. “I got eyes, don’t I? Can’t I see you making your way through all this?”

  “I’ve made a mess of things,” I told her. “I should have left that doll alone. Maybe T.J. would be okay if I’d just stayed away from it.”

  “You can’t be thinking in could’ves and should’ves and might’ve beens, Lucy-girl.” She patted me a final time and then stood up to have a better look at T.J.’s frail body. “All this started long before you stepped into it, child. Ain’t nothing you could’ve done to avoid it. But maybe you just strong enough to stop it.”

  “I don’t have any idea what to do.”

  Mama Legba clucked impatiently. “That ain’t exactly true, now is it?” she asked. “You knew what to do for that there boy you got running around for you.”

  “You told me to keep away from him,” I reminded her.

  “No,” she disagreed, the humor thick in her voice. “I think that was what he said about me. I just told you to mind yourself around him. Loosed souls can be a dangerous thing, child. But you seem to be doing just fine.” Her hand settled on my knee affectionately. “I thought I was done being surprised by what there was to see in this world, but I gotta admit, that there young man of yours, he might be something I ain’t never seen before.”

  “He’s not my young man,” I muttered, trying to ignore the flair of triumph that welled up when she called him mine. I knew this kind of thinking could only end in heartache.

  “You sure about that?”

  “He’s still in love with someone else,” I told her.

  “Told you that, did he?” She smiled warmly.

  I nodded. “But I saw if for myself too.”

  “Did you now?” Mama Legba’s brows went up in surprise.

  “Those dreams I asked you about? I’ve been dreaming about the past. His past.”

  Mama Legba considered me for a second, rubbing her chin as thought. “Ain’t nothing wrong with dreaming,” she assured me. “It’s only a problem if you don’t let yourself move on to your future.”

  It was dark by the time I got home. My mother was staying at the hospital for the duration, it seemed, but there wasn’t room for all of us in T.J.’s tiny room. They told me to go home and get some rest, but I didn’t want to leave them. I wanted to tell them everything, wanted to scream at the doctors that they were worthless, but most of all, I wanted to sit curled into my dad’s arm or hold my mom’s hand. I needed to touch them, to know they were still there, still real. Their warmth kept me anchored.

  Eventually, though, my father and I left together. On the way back out to Le Ciel, we didn’t speak much. Neither one of us, it seemed, could find anything to say. When the radio station we were listening to took a break for the local news—another girl’s body found in the next parish over, another murder without any leads—my dad clicked off the radio and we rode in silence.

  As he drove through the heavy Louisiana night, all I could think was that it was happening again. And that somehow, we had to stop it.

  The cottage was dark when we arrived.

  “I’m going to turn in and try to get some rest, Luce,” my dad said as he opened the door. He looked tired and worn, his face rough with a day’s growth of beard. “I want to get back to the hospital early. You’ll be okay?”

  I looked up to see Alex concealed in the dark room behind him. He was leaning against the wall, his shoulders slouched and his hands tucked into the front pockets of his pants. He looked worried, but all I could think was that he looked wonderful.

  I gave my father a hug a
nd kissed his rough cheek. “I’ll be fine, Dad. Go get some rest and I’ll lock up.”

  Alex followed me silently as I went through the house, locking the doors and extinguishing the lights. He watched from the doorway of my room as I flopped back on my bed.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked, my eyes closed and my feet still dangling to the floor.

  “No,” he said, “but that only means the workers who were here today are safe. There will be less to do tomorrow.” He came into the room then, slowly, like he didn’t want to intrude, and sat next to me on the bed.

  “If T.J. makes it until tomorrow … ”

  Alex leaned over, bracketing me with his arms and searching my face to make sure I was okay. “He will,” he promised.

  I felt my heart kick up. We’d never been that close before, and I wondered again what it would be like if he were really there and completely mine.

  He seemed unaware of the direction my thoughts had taken, though. “Are you sure there aren’t any others who might know you found the charm?” he asked, pulling away and putting a more proper distance between us.

  “Mama Legba’s the only one I showed it to, Alex.”

  “What about the girl who found you that day?”

  “Chloe?” My stomach sank. “No. She’d never … ” I had to believe that.

  He looked like he wanted to argue with me, but he decided not to. “There are others I can check tonight while you sleep,” he said, starting to rise.

  “No,” I told him as I reached for him, my arms finding nothing but slightly warmer air where his arm should have been.

  I’d had too much time at the hospital to think, and I’d spent many of those hours worrying about Alex off at the plantation by himself. I wasn’t ready to send him out into danger again yet. “When you go, I’m coming with you,” I said.

  “I can’t allow—”

  “But you will.” I smiled sadly. “It’s not like you can stop me.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Thisbe’s house stands in the shadows of the grove. The day is hot, still, and yet the bottles hanging from the trees clink together, stirred by an impossible wind. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stayed far, far away.

  And yet …

  There is no choice but to go forward. Onward.

  I’m approaching the steps when the old woman appears in the darkened frame of the doorway. She watches me with cloudy eyes.

  “Back so soon?” Her smile is vicious. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” I clasp the locket in a shaking hand. “Please. You must help me. You must undo it.”

  The smile is gone now, but still the old woman looks strangely pleased. “What’s done is done, child. I told you before, the magic in that charm can’t be undone.” The bottles rustle, clinking an uneven rhythm in discordant tones, and Thisbe gives me—Armantine—a slick, sickening sneer. But I don’t run. I promise the moon and stars and my entire being, and I beg.

  “Get off your knees,” Thisbe says finally. “Come on inside.”

  The cabin is cooler than the day outside, but the air is murky, filled with the cloying sweetness of some herb smoldering on the fire.

  “Sit,” she says, pointing to a three-legged stool by the table.

  I do as she says, my hands still clenched together in a half-prayerful hope. She will help me. She will fix the mistake I made and he will never, never have to know.

  Thisbe taps one craggy, arthritic finger thoughtfully on her chin. “You can’t just undo magic like this, girl. But there might be something for your problem. It’d be dangerous, but if you’re willing to try … ”

  “I am. I’ll do whatever I must.”

  “It isn’t magic that can be worked from afar. I’ll need to be close for it do any good at all.”

  “How close?”

  Thisbe’s mouth curves up into something that should’ve been a smile, and suddenly, I know. She—the girl in the dream—doesn’t know, but I know. Thisbe will never free him.

  “Close enough to touch,” the old witch says.

  Armantine’s thoughts race: how will she convince Alex to come here? She will do anything, anything, to undo what she has done.

  But I know. With an absolute certainty, I’m sure this is the beginning of what happened. This is the moment that determined every one that came after. That determined every day of every year that Alex has been trapped.

  But the moment tumbles and twists and I’m falling into nothing. And then into a room where a steamer trunk stands open. She sees each piece of clothing with French eyes. Every frock seems suddenly provincial, worn, and so most of them are left hanging like limp bodies in the wardrobe. She reaches for her canvases and paints, charcoals and paper. These are who she is. These are what she cannot leave behind.

  It is dark by the time we finally reach the docks. The night is so thick I can hardly see the ship that will take Armantine from the only home she has ever known.

  It doesn’t matter. She straightens her back, stiff against fear, and the small vial Thisbe gave her shifts against her skin.

  “Tomorrow, mon coeur,” he tells her, squeezing her hand. His eyes shine like emeralds, alight with anticipation. “Tomorrow, you shall be mine.”

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will be safe and we shall be wed, she thinks. Tomorrow it will all end, and tomorrow something else will begin.

  The ship’s cabin is small but comfortable, and happiness wars with nerves within her. The vial still feels cold against her skin. It will be over soon.

  He has brought them a dinner of cold chicken and bread slathered with thick, sweet butter. It will be over soon.

  She pulls the vial from her corset when he goes to find more wine. Thisbe is waiting for the signal. And then all will be well.

  But I know otherwise. And I hate her for not knowing as well.

  Armantine takes the bottle of wine from him when he returns and, turning her back on him, she opens it. She pours the scarlet liquid into pewter cups, where it sits dark as death. And then she takes the vial …

  And I scream, words that only I can hear. Pointless words to warn her. Because she’s opening the vial. She’s pouring one … two … three drops, as she’s been instructed.

  And I struggle, and I fight, and I scream for her to stop.

  And suddenly, unexpectedly, I’m not in her body any longer. I’m standing apart, watching with horror as Alex takes the cup. And drinks.

  Thirty

  When I woke the next morning, Alex was already gone, but the remnants of the dream from the night before still clung to me, pulled at me. I’d learned so much, and I needed to talk to him.

  I dressed quickly, throwing on a comfortable pair of shorts and a soft T-shirt. My room seemed empty without Alex’s presence, but I was glad for the moment to myself. I knew where he’d be when I was ready to find him.

  I took the path out to the pond, turning the entirety of the dream over in my mind. As I came out of the copse of trees and entered the clearing by the pond, I found Alex where I expected, sitting in the sun.

  “It was her, wasn’t it?” My voice was flat, dead.

  “You had another dream?” he asked. I noticed he didn’t deny it.

  I nodded and tried to put into words for him what I was piecing together from the still-disjointed images.

  “I don’t know why Armantine couldn’t see it,” I said. “It was so clear—the gleam in the old witch’s eyes. Nothing Thisbe told her was the truth. I don’t think Armantine wanted to hurt you. She didn’t know what Thisbe was going to do. But still, she set everything in motion with that love charm, and then she led Thisbe right to you.”

  He didn’t respond, just continued watching me as I spoke.

  “Why can’t I change it?” I moaned miserably. “I thought I changed it, but I couldn’t do anything. Everything stayed the same. I couldn’t save you,” I finished, my voice small and breaking.

  “What do you mean?”

&
nbsp; “When she went to drop the potion into your glass, I knew it was going to hurt you. I’m always trapped in her body,” I said, my voice shaking with frustration. “I can see what she sees and feel what she feels. Last night was different, though. I struggled, and somehow, I can’t really explain it, but somehow I changed perspectives. I wasn’t in her anymore. I was near her, watching everything play out like a bad movie.” I picked up a rock and threw it into the water. It sunk, hard and heavy in the center of the pond. “But I couldn’t do anything. I was like a ghost to them. They didn’t even notice me there, and I couldn’t stop her.” I looked up at him. “There was nothing I could do to save you.”

  I turned back to him, afraid to meet his eyes and see the disappointment in them that I felt in myself.

  He moved closer to me. “It is impossible to change our pasts, Lucy.” His voice was softer now. “We can only learn from them.”

  “What do you mean, ‘our’? This dream was about you.”

  His eyes were steady on me, but he didn’t argue.

  And then it clicked into place. The missing piece.

  “No.” I shook my head in denial.

  “Mon coeur. My love.” He whispered soft endearments to me, trying to calm me with his words.

  “No.” I repeated the word. “They’re just dreams. I can’t be her. I’m not her.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said gently. “You’re Lucy Eleanor Aimes. You are the daughter of Leonard and Sara Aimes, who raised you to be the strong-willed, beautiful woman you are. You live this life and you are this person. Wholly and completely.” His voice softened. “But there was a part of you, once, that lived a different life.”

  “I don’t believe in reincarnation,” I moaned desperately, as though that solved everything.

  “I would that much of this were different, but—” He shook his head. “It is not.”

  “No,” I said, more forcefully now. “No. It’s not possible.” I was grasping for something to hold on to.

  “Why not?” He shrugged again. “You are talking with a ghost, for lack of a better term. Who is to say what is and is not possible? A few weeks ago, you would not have believed that I was possible. You and I … ” He smiled gently. “Once, long ago, we found each other. Now we have found each other again. Perhaps one day, we will find each other once more. It is as simple as that.”