Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters)

by Fine, Clara

  Cam leaned forward until she could feel the sun-warmed glass pane against her cheek. It didn’t take her long to find the man that she couldn’t stop thinking about. He seemed more relaxed then when they had parted last. There was looseness in his broad shoulders, and from the tilt of his head Cam could imagine the lazy smirk on his face. She was almost tempted to join her aunt downstairs, just to see if the expression on his face matched the smile that she was picturing.

  That was ridiculous, of course. She had fought tooth and nail with her aunt to excuse herself from this picnic, purely because she wanted to avoid Brent and those horribly perceptive eyes of his.

  They were beautiful eyes though.

  And at that moment, almost as though she had called him just by thinking of him, he glanced up, and their eyes locked across the great distance between them.

  Cam gazed back at him coolly, dispassionately, and tried not to remember the way that he had touched her beneath her basque last week. She could tell from the grin on his face that he remembered. She was tempted to flounce away from the window, but that would make it seem as if he had won, and she couldn’t have that.

  So she kept staring down at him, and he kept staring up at her, and somewhere along the way Cam felt a treacherous smile steal over her face. She tried to turn away before he could see it. She whirled around and then laughed into her empty room at their childish behavior. She waited until she was no longer laughing and then glanced back out of the window to see if he was still there. He was, and something warm and almost… affectionate? filled her heart.

  He was going to draw attention to himself he kept standing there, obviously staring at her window. Marianne was downstairs and she would notice immediately. Cam knew that she should be alarmed by all of this, but all she felt was tempted to go downstairs and see what he had to say for himself.

  It wasn’t as if they’d be alone, after all.

  Surely if they weren’t alone there was no harm in it.

  And it wasn’t as though—

  Oh, blast. She needed her coin charm back anyway.

  ***

  Cam could see the victory in Brent’s expression as she joined her father’s guests on the lawn. Helen and Aunt Beth were off to one side, conversing with Mrs. Winthrop, while her father was absorbed by Mr. MacIntire. Brent stood alone, arms crossed, waiting with eyes that seemed to burn just for her.

  Marianne was eying him longingly, but the disgusting Mr. Hadley was talking to her and she couldn’t seem to escape him. He was a middle-aged gossip who was nearly impossible to get rid of. Despite the fact that he was married, he had his eye on all the young women. Cam had been cornered by him more than once before and had gradually grown adept at avoiding him.

  “Cam.” Brent said as she approached, and in that tone her name could have been either a curse or a prayer.

  “Brent.” Cam said in a more clipped tone. It was imperative that in this first conversation post-kiss she set a precedent that was distant and formal.

  He laughed at the look on her face. “Trying to set me straight are you? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of shocking your friends and family by kissing you again. I’m rather enjoying having your Aunt’s favor. I think she has plans for me.”

  “Sssh!” They were standing off to the side of the other guests, but she couldn’t be too careful. Girls’ reputations had been ruined over less. “We’re not going to discuss that,” she told him.

  He sighed, studying her face closely. “I can’t tell whether you’re actually embarrassed or toying with me like usual.”

  “I don’t toy with you.” Cam told him. Her Aunt Beth was coming over, so she didn’t dare to glare at him openly. Instead she shot him an angry look from under lowered lashes.

  “There you go again,” he told her.

  “Camilla?” Her Aunt sounded surprised and pleased. “I thought that you were indisposed?”

  “Oh, I… felt strangely better. I thought that I might accompany you to Mr. Anderson’s picnic after all.”

  “Excellent,” Aunt Beth said approvingly. “Well, we’re all ready if you are,” she looked eagerly at Brent.

  “Absolutely,” Brent said, and Cam wanted to groan at the way he gallantly gestured for Aunt Beth to lead the way. It was absolutely infuriating the way that he had most people wrapped around his little finger.

  “Also,” Aunt Beth added. “I invited Marianne Taversly to come along. You don’t mind do you? I felt sorry for the poor girl; I couldn’t leave her here with no one her own age to socialize with.” Aunt Beth was probably the only person in the world who could possibly feel sorry for Marianne Taversly. “It is alright, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely,” Brent said, this time a little less gallantly. Cam remembered some of their earlier discussions about Marianne, and couldn’t stifle the pleased thought—

  He prefers me.

  ***

  The picnic was painful. Cam struggled to ignore the dark aura that surrounded Brent’s house, but she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind. Aunt Beth and Marianne, an unpleasant combination, dominated the conversation. Aunt Beth bored everyone to death with the dullest small talk imaginable, Marianne managed to tell every embarrassing story from Cam’s childhood in record time, and they both slobbered all over Brent as if he were a god in their midst.

  Just because he looked like a god was no reason to treat him like one, Cam thought. And anyway, she knew for a fact that his nature tended more toward the devilish than the divine.

  Unfortunately she needed to find a way to be alone with the devil if she wanted her charm back. There was no appropriate way to ask him to return it in front of the others. She waited until Aunt Beth and Marianne had both excused themselves to freshen up, and then pointedly suggested to Brent that they go visit the old Wickers rose garden.

  Helen, who had been left behind to chaperone, closed her book at that point and moved to stand and accompany them, but Cam surreptitiously shook her head. Helen frowned, confused, but Cam shook her head again. If it had been Diana she would have insisted, but Helen nodded and returned to her book.

  Cam could feel the tension between her and Brent building as they strolled across the property, keeping an appropriate distance between them at all times— until Helen was out of sight. As soon as they rounded the bend and came to the rose garden (the former rose garden, actually, since for some reason all of the roses had died) Brent stopped and faced her with a stare that was so penetrating it was almost a caress.

  Cam couldn’t help herself.

  She took a step forward, staring at his mouth as though she was about to kiss him. But when his eyes burned and he moved forward, she shook her head and took a step back. “I’m here about something else,” she told him, and relished his frustration.

  Brent murmured a curse, and Cam hid her smile and instead readjusted her gloves primly

  He was right; she did enjoy toying with him. What she didn’t enjoy was when he suddenly turned the tables on her, guessing too accurately and straying so close to the truth that she felt as exposed as if she were standing naked, with her deepest secrets inked onto her flesh for the entire world to see.

  “Down to business,” Cam said finally. “Do you happen to have a silver coin?” Given where she kept the charm, he was the only person who could have taken it.

  Brent calmed a little. “I have a number of coins.” He told her flatly. “Are you thinking of one in particular?” He wasn’t going to make it easier on her, obviously.

  “There is one that I keep on my person at all times,” she told him primly. “It’s been gone since last week.”

  “What happened last week?” He asked, and his tone was innocent but his gaze was searing.

  “You took it. I think.” Cam added.

  “Oh, am I a pickpocket now?” He asked her, smiling almost savagely.

  Cam lost her temper. “Brent! I didn’t keep it in my pocket and you know it. Now, if you have it give it back!”

  He gave a bark of
laughter and then he reached into his own pocket. He produced his handkerchief, unfolded it and took out a familiar silver coin. “I didn’t even realize that I was clutching it in my hand until after you’d run home.” He tossed it to her and she caught it easily.

  “Thank you,” she bit out, but her tone was anything but grateful.

  “I’m afraid it’s gotten cold,” he told her. “You might want to warm it before you put it back, to avoid any discomfort.” Cam’s face burned, but she ignored him and slipped the coin into her glove. She wasn’t about to reach into her basque with him watching her like a wolf.

  “Mr. Anderson? Camilla?” It was Marianne.

  “Oh, marvelous,” Cam sighed, quickly glancing down at herself to make sure that she didn’t look as disheveled as she felt.

  “Don’t be too hard on her,” Brent said. “She’s rescuing you.” His gaze was heated and Cam shivered.

  “Rescuing me from what? Oh, hello Marianne.” She said as the redhead came sidling into the garden.

  “Oh, isn’t this spot lovely?” Marianne said, with ridiculous enthusiasm given that it was a wasteland of brown stalks and rotting flowers. She glanced from Cam to Brent with slitted eyes. “What are we doing here?” She asked, some of the sweetness slipping from her voice. She was really asking: what are you doing here?

  The question was addressed to Cam, and there was a warning in her eyes. The little snake really was afraid that Cam was stealing Brent from her. How strange. Diana had always been the Johnson sister that other girls feared and envied. Now that she had been knocked from her throne, some county girls were eying Helen nervously, but most had skipped Cam entirely. It was an odd feeling to have Marianne, the most popular girl in the county, afraid of her.

  “Is something wrong?” Marianne asked, fanning herself delicately. The movement was graceful and her smile was girlish, but her gaze was highly suspicious.

  “I lost something,” Cam said. “Mr. Anderson was kindly helping me look for it.”

  “Oh, may I help?” Marianne asked innocently, smiling becomingly from behind her fan.

  “No need.” Cam said quickly. “Mr. Anderson found it.”

  “Oh, what a gentleman!” Marianne fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Indeed,” Cam all but snarled, walking past Marianne without another word. She felt just a few minutes away from insanity.

  This is what society does to people, she thought miserably as she walked across the lawn. It gets inside of you and makes you want things that you shouldn’t want. Then other people who want the same things become your enemy, and you end up half-mad at the very times when you need to be most vigilant.

  With that, she stopped halfway across the lawn and tilted her head back, staring up at the Anderson house. Despite the almost oppressive heat of the day, a shiver traveled down her spine. And what is wrong with this house?

  Cam wasn’t like Mary, she didn’t have the girl’s almost uncanny talent for foresight. What she did have, however, were years of exposure to all kinds of conjure. The good, the bad, and the terrifying. Her senses were finally honed, and Cam trusted them implicitly. If the mere sight of the Anderson house was enough to make her ill, then something was rotten in Denmark.

  It’s too still, she thought, tilting her head still farther back and keeping a hand on her bonnet, though there was no wind to whisk it away.

  Brent’s new home was larger than Cypress Hall. It was also much more elegant, with graceful lines, slender columns and many windows. Spanish moss hung thickly from every branch of the tall oaks that stood on either side of the house, casting long, slanting shadows across the lawn. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it rode low in the sky, and darkness gathered beneath the trees, behind the ghostly white columns that supported the still, silent house. The windows on the second story were closed, the curtains untouched by the breath of nature. It must be like death up there, Cam thought, and shuddered.

  That was it. There was something morbid about the house, something ghastly. It was beautiful, but in the same way that a dying woman might be. Perhaps that was fitting, though, since it housed a dying woman. Was Hattie’s illness what cast such an aura of darkness over the property? Cam doubted it. Death was natural. What she sensed was not. It was twisted, potent, ugly and growing stronger, but it was not natural.

  It was conjure. Cam’s mouth popped open as she was finally able to identify the feeling had been haunting her ever since that first night with Diana.

  “Camilla.” Cam nearly jumped out of her skin when her aunt spoke from behind her.

  “Yes?” She responded as soon as her heartbeat had returned to normal. She turned to look at her aunt, who was practically beaming.

  “Isn’t it a lovely house?” Aunt Beth asked, lifting the brim of her sun hat so that she could admire it. “I think it’s one of the loveliest homes in Gaynor.”

  Cam bit back a snort. Aunt Beth hadn’t thought so back when the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Wickers owned the property. “It was so kind of Mr. Anderson to invite us to his home. We simply must return the favor.”

  “We must?” Cam asked. It was as though events were conspiring to keep putting her together with Brent. How was she supposed to behave around him when she kept thinking about their kiss, when she kept wanting him?

  “Of course, Camilla. It’s only polite. I think we should invite Brent and his family to dinner. His brother may have to decline, of course, but I think Brent should be able to attend. Doesn’t that sound delightful?” Aunt Beth looked happier than Cam had ever seen her.

  Cam stared at her aunt’s familiar, serene face, and wondered what it was like to fear only wrinkles and gossip. She had never been jealous of her Aunt Beth before, but suddenly she envied her aunt’s small world and smaller problems. “Yes,” Cam said finally, resignedly. “That sounds delightful.”

  The carriage ride home was quiet. Helen read (Cam could never understand how the girl could read in a carriage without getting sick) Aunt Beth discussed her plans for the dinner, and Cam brooded.

  ***

  When they arrived home it was late, and immediately after dinner Cam took refuge in the kitchen. Caro and Grandma were in good spirits. Even Mary was unusually cheerful.

  Caro was experimenting with her charms, adding new herbs to old recipes and evaluating the results. Grandma sat nearby, casting the bones and making note of the results in a thick black book. Ever since Mary’s dream, they had been trying every method of fortune-telling available to them, hoping to learn more about the nameless threat that Mary had sensed.

  “So don’t go to this dinner. Tell her you don’t like Mr. Anderson.” Grandma suggested, her fingers hovering over the bones as she analyzed them.

  But I do like Brent… she cast off the wayward thought. “Oh,” Cam shook her head. “I would dearly like to, but if Aunt Beth thought that I was snubbing the most eligible bachelor in the county, if not the state, she’d throw herself from the roof.”

  “What a tragedy,” Grandma said drily. She sighed at the results of her casting.

  “What are the bones telling you?” Cam asked, eager to turn the conversation away from Brent.

  “Nothing helpful,” Grandma said. “Perhaps I should try a different method.”

  “Are there any you haven’t tried?” Cam asked.

  “Here,” Caro pushed a bowl of water toward Grandma. “Why not try this again?”

  Grandma sighed. “Fetch me an egg.” She told Cam. “You know,” she added when Cam brought her the egg, “they say that if a young woman cracks an egg in dish of water under the light of the full moon, she will see her future husband in the water.” She offered the egg back to Cam. “There’s a full moon tonight.”

  “Oh no,” Cam quickly stepped back. “Not a chance.”

  “Don’t you want to see your future husband?” Caro asked in her low, rich voice.

  “I’m not doing it,” Cam said firmly.

  Grandmamma laughed. “Aren’t you curious?”

  “No, but I’m
sure Aunt Beth would be interested, perhaps I should fetch her.” Cam said drily. “Truly, I don’t think there’s a future husband to see. I’m certainly not bound for matrimony at the moment.” She gestured around the shadowed kitchen, and was surprised at the faintly wistful note in her voice.

  “Perhaps,” Mary said from where she sat, “perhaps you already know who you want, but you’re too afraid to see if he’s the one you get.” It was the closest to a challenge that Mary had ever uttered. Cam wondered what Mary had seen in her visions for her to have such a knowing glint in her eye.

  “Perhaps you should try it,” Cam challenged her right back.

  Mary lowered her gaze immediately. “I certainly won’t.”

  “Have you already seen your future husb—” Cam began, and then broke off when her grandmother shook her head. Caro glanced up as well, fixing Cam with a warning glance. Cam hesitated, perplexed. Clearly there was something afoot that she wasn’t aware of, and that was both unusual and irritating. “What’s that?” She asked instead, as Caro took something down from one of the highest shelves in the kitchen.

  It was an ornately carved wooden box, one which was only vaguely familiar to Cam. She remembered seeing it before, but many years ago as a child. Caro didn’t answer her. She set the box on the table and reached up on the shelf again, this time taking down a shallow silver dish. “Try this,” she said to Grandma, before moving to put the box back.

  “What is that?” Cam asked again.

  Caro sighed and lifted the lid. Whatever was inside all but shivered with conjure, and Cam took a few steps forward to get a better look. Inside of the box was a single bone, fragile and bleached with age.

  “What’s it from?” Cam asked.

  “Black cat.” Caro answered and closed the lid sharply.

  The bones of a black cat were said to bestow invisibility upon the one who carried them— if they were collected a certain way.

  “Haven’t used those in years,” Grandma said. She sounded as if she were reminiscing. She and Caro smiled, and Cam wondered what they were remembering.