by Fine, Clara
Alright, Mr. Hunter, let’s see you hunt what can’t be seen.
She crouched, loving how easy it was to move in a nightdress, loving the feeling of fallen leaves against her bare toes. Most of all, she loved the way that he kept gazing into the darkness, with the green flames in his eyes promising all manner of sweet torture.
“Not yet.” Her voice was whisper-soft, but his hearing was keen, and when his gaze lowered she knew he could hear her. “First it’s my turn.”
At first he didn’t respond and she was disappointed, but then she saw his eyes, the way that his pupils had dilated. He took a step forward, just one, holding out his hands with his palms facing her as if to prove that he wasn’t a threat, but she didn’t believe it. Not while his eyes had that gleam and his jaw was clenched tight enough to break, flashing white teeth in a crazy wicked grin. She inhaled deeply, thrilled by his response to her. She let him take another step closer, enjoying the way he tensed more with each step, his breathing growing ragged as though he was suffering from being so close without having her. Cam couldn’t stop her own grin. Big Bad Brent Anderson, the man who takes anything he wants.
Don’t you wish it were always that easy?
She wanted him mad for her, at least half as crazy as he was driving her. She didn’t care if it made him angry. She wanted to know that she had the same power over him that he had over her. “My life was never easy, Brent Anderson.” She told him, and her voice was so husky she barely recognized it. The ones who called Diana wanton were accusing the wrong sister. “But it has been a lot harder since I met you.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her, and there was a flash of sincerity in his eyes just before he lunged for her. Her heart pounded with excitement as she threw herself to her feet and ran with the wild abandon of a creature of the night.
“Prove it!” She tossed the dare over her shoulder, breathlessly. It meant catch me…
She had never moved so easily or run so fluidly. She glanced back and was exhilarated to see that he was following her. He wasn’t running though. Instead he was walking slowly, deliberately after her, almost as though he knew that she wouldn’t run far. She wanted him too much. And he knew that, she could see it in his eyes and the way that he moved.
Catch me catch me
She was leading him down to the old Wickers rose garden again. The roses were all dead but there was a gazebo there. Cam had played there as a child, and now she drew Brent there like she was one of the forest nymphs that she had once pretended to be.
She let him get closer to her as she lured him over the threshold of the gazebo. If he was confused by the fact that he could hear her but not see her, he didn’t show it. Perhaps the conjure was working on him, too, in some small way. Or maybe she was the spell that had enchanted him. Either way, he followed her into the moonlit structure. She sighed, happy with the new balance of power, thrilled to be the cat in this newest game of cat and mouse. She reached for him with a limb that was all shadow and wind. He should not have known exactly where she was, but he must have sensed her somehow.
In a movement too quick for her to follow, he pounced, wrapping his arms around her and trapping her in their muscled warmth. She gasped, half mad and half delighted, and then the oddest feeling filled her veins. The conjure was slipping away. Perhaps it was losing effect, or perhaps she had unknowingly willed it away. Either way, she could feel her face reforming, feel the filtered moonlight on her cheekbones and the shadows beneath her lashes. Her arms reappeared with one of her hands gripped in his. The rest of her body followed, already warm and throbbing thanks to Brent. He stared down at her in wonder, keeping her flush against his body.
“Cam.” The way he said her name was intimate, meant for her ears alone. “I knew it was you.”
“I don’t know how,” Cam said. She reached up with her free arm and fisted the material of his shirt, wanting to tear it away and feel him skin against skin. Instead she worked free the first button, her fingers tripping over each other in their eagerness.
His head dipped low, his breath skating over her face. She could feel his muscles bunching around her. “I’m always thinking about you. Even when I’m thinking about someone else I’m thinking about you.”
Cam had the second button undone by now, and she laid her palm flat against his heart, feeling the way that it raced. She looked up at him, feeling a devil’s-child smile overtaking her face. “I believe you.”
He cupped both of his hands around her face and kissed her, hard and then softly, savagely and then tenderly. None of her previous inhibitions were present. She pressed into him, gave her body over to him, kissed him back. Her hand traveled from his heart to his shoulder, still under the material. She moaned at the kiss and gripped him tighter. His hands moved. One arm wrapped around her to pull her closer, and his hand ended up near her breast. He caressed her over the cloth while his other hand snagged the hem of her gown and began to draw it up past her knees.
Cam broke the kiss and Brent froze, perhaps thinking that she wanted to run off again. But she wasn’t about to run away with these flames still licking at her, melting her from the inside and making her want to claw at her own skin. She kissed the side of his face, the slightly prickly shadow over his jaw bone. She moved lower, planting kisses up and down the column of his throat while his hand trailed higher up her thigh.
“Cam?”
She sighed against his skin, knew that he was asking her to be sure.
Are you sure Cam?
The desire in her was white-hot, more blinding than the Mississippi sun. She reached for him, her body crying out in need, and he met that need. The darkness swallowed them, keeping their secret by cradling them a night that smelled faintly of rose petals.
***
Afterwards the wind sighed above them, scattering fallen leaves on the roof of the gazebo. Cam lay on her side, the fingers of her right hand intertwined with Brent’s.
“How?” He asked softly.
“What do you mean, how?” Cam asked. “I don’t know. It just happened. I’ve never done it before.”
He laughed breathlessly. “No. I meant before. How? How did you keep from being seen?”
“You’re wondering about that now?” Cam asked disbelievingly, for want of a better answer.
He turned to fix her with a curious stare, one eyebrow raised. “Wouldn’t you?”
Fair enough.
Cam leaned over him, enjoying the feeling of being bare and breathless above him. “It was….” She leaned still closer, letting her eyes grow wider with childish wonder. “Magic!” She whispered and then clapped her hands over her mouth. She laughed and laughed at the expression of chagrin on his face.
“Is this… local magic?” He asked finally.
In other words… was it conjure? “Yes.” Cam said, swallowing the last of her giggles.
“I knew you were an enchantress,” he said almost reverently.
“Oh, hardly,” she said. “I’m just barely rootworker; my training was a bit spotty.” She wasn’t sure where her honesty came from; it had to be some lingering effect of the black cat’s bone. She shivered. There was a chill rising from the ground and she wasn’t used to being naked outside at night. Brent drew her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her and draping his shirt over her. Cam closed her eyes and felt safe, more anchored then she ever had in her life. As her eyelids drifted lower over her sweat-slick cheeks, she settled into him and decided that the world could spin on around them as it pleased, but nothing could touch her as long as she was with him.
***
Some hours later, the aura of the house slipped into her dreams and woke her. She was stirred from sleep with cold sweat on her palms. Before she had been so absorbed by Brent she had forgotten about the house, but now she felt it again.
Black magic.
She had just made love to Brent Anderson in the Wickers gazebo, just a stone’s throw from a cursed house. Cam moved to sit up immediately, but the feeling of a stron
g arm wrapped around her waist stopped her. Cam hesitated, suddenly desperate to get away, but afraid to wake him up.
What were you thinking?
Cam had been angry before, but now she was completely furious— at herself. She had shown a complete lack of discipline, of self-control. Somehow she had managed to do the one thing that would have horrified both her Aunt and her grandmother. To say nothing of her father. Cam felt raw and exposed. She had never allowed herself to get so close to someone, physically or emotionally. It felt like Brent’s name was stamped on her soul and body and suddenly all she wanted was to turn time back a year, before she knew who Brent Anderson was.
What have you done to me? This time her anger was directed at Brent as she eased out from under his arm. He struck her as the sort of person who slept lightly— it was hard to imagine him letting his guard down, even at night, but obviously their activities had exhausted him, because he didn’t stir. Cam leaned down to feel around on the floor of the gazebo for her nightdress, and she found it several yards away. She slipped it on easily and then began the lengthier hunt for her underwear. With the instinct to flee pounding through her veins, she was tempted just to leave them, but that was risky. She wanted to take all of the evidence that this encounter had ever occurred. If she was lucky, maybe Brent would think that he had just dreamed it.
Then an image from their lovemaking filled her mind, all tangled limbs and riotous ecstasy, and she knew that was too much to hope for. No one could mistake that avalanche of emotions and release for a dream. Finally, she found the light undergarment and donned that as well.
At last! Cam could feel the bone in her pocket trying to work its magic, but she refused to allow it to overwhelm her. She couldn’t. She had never realized the way that practicing conjure stripped her inhibitions away. Perhaps that was because she had never wanted someone the way that she wanted Brent. Whatever the reasons, Brent and rootwork were a bad combination. So Cam walked home perfectly visible and in a state of shock.
She was climbing in her window when she was suddenly overcome by remorse. How could she leave Brent there and run away? If he had done that to her she would be shattered. Then again, he was a man. They felt differently about those things.
Yes, men are different, Cam tried to convince herself as she closed her window behind her. Still, she couldn’t stop the sadness that welled within her at being apart from him. It would have been nice if things were different. It would have been lovely if she could have stayed with him until morning, stroking his hair and watching him as he dreamed.
There in the darkness, Cam allowed herself to think something that she would never admit aloud.
I love you.
Then Cam sighed.
I love you but I don’t trust you. And so...
Goodbye.
Then the tears came.
Chapter Nine
The next morning Cam was on a desperate mission to put all that had passed between her and Brent out of her mind. She skipped breakfast and went immediately down to the kitchen to scry and sew until her fingers ached. Both of the old women seemed to sense that something was wrong, but neither of them asked what. Finally, when Cam had been working for six hours straight, Daphne came and put her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stop now, Cam?” She said quietly.
“Just as soon as I’m finished this charm bag,” Cam said, trying to put in the last stitch and pricking herself with the needle instead. “Damn.”
“Why don’t you go out for a walk?” Caro suggested.
“I don’t want to go for a walk,” Cam said, “I want to work.”
I want to keep my mind off of him…
“Well, you can do both,” Grandma said, “why don’t you go collect some herbs?” She tried to pull the incomplete charm bag from her granddaughter’s fingers.
“Very well,” Cam said eventually, releasing the charm.
“I’ll call Mary to go with you,” Caro said.
“No!” Cam said quickly. Not Mary with her perceptive eyes and thoughtful questions. She would see too much and know immediately what was afoot. “I would like to go alone.”
Caro hesitated, glancing at Daphne, who shrugged. “Very well,” Caro said, and turned back to the bread she was kneading.
“Also,” Cam’s grandmother added, “I’ve already given Helen her charm bag, but why don’t you see if you can convince Diana to carry one as well? I tried before, but with no luck. That girl is stubborn.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Cam said, taking one of the completed charms. “I need to go back to the house to change my dress anyway.”
She met Diana on the staircase, and her sister already looked to be in a foul mood.
Cam sighed and squared her shoulders. Well, she’d been looking for a diversion, and arguing with Diana would certainly do the trick. Cam glanced around to make sure that they were definitely alone before producing the charm bag.
Diana took one look at the item and stiffened. “No.” She said immediately, before Cam could get in a single word. “No.”
“Diana, it isn’t optional,” Cam said. “There’s something out there and we want you to be safe.”
“There’s always something out there. Get that thing away from me!” Diana tried to edge around Cam to get upstairs, but Cam grabbed her sister’s wrist.
“Diana, please.” Cam said, but Diana strained against her grasp until Cam was forced to let go.
“I’m telling you, I don’t need it. Get it out of my sight,” Diana spat, her dark eyes flaming. Cam tried to stand in front of her sister, but Diana turned her face away and took another step up the staircase.
“Diana, listen to me,” Cam tried one last time, “there’s a black moon this month.”
Diana froze, her head bowed. Cam couldn’t see her sister’s face, but when Diana spoke there was a raw pain in her voice that was devastating. “You know, other mothers leave their daughters jewelry and dresses, or maybe a comb and a pair of gloves. Mama left us a nightmare.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Please take it,” Cam held out the bag, but her sister shook her head.
“I don't want it!” Diana exclaimed, and the only sound was the rustle of her black skirts on the stairs as she left Cam on the landing.
Cam stood there alone, and for a moment she was filled with something sad and soul-crushing. Despair, she realized. She had never felt this way before, but there was no mistaking the emotion. It was the kind of feeling that made her want to lie down and sleep the rest of her life away. Slowly, wearily, Cam climbed the rest of the stairs.
As soon as she entered her room, she sensed him. He was in the forest again, waiting and watching, and this time she knew that it was for her. It was a bittersweet reminder of all that had passed between them, but there was enough sweetness in the memory to dispel her sadness. Cam relived every moment they had spent together as she stood by that window, waiting for him to leave so that she could collect herbs for Grandma.
***
It was close to dusk when Brent finally left and Cam was able to go out for the herbs. She took an empty basket and lingered for a time in the deepest part of the woods, picking plants under a canopy of leaves so thick that there was hardly enough light for Cam to see the herbs by. It was peaceful and secret there, but eventually Cam had to leave that spot and move closer to the creek, where a few of Grandma’s favorite herbs flourished.
The trees grew thinner on the river bank, and Cam could see the sky. Dusky violet clouds shot with gold streaked an orange horizon, while over Cam's head a cloud the color of the coming night was sliding ever closer to the sinking sun. Cam stood for a moment to admire the colors, while the wind plucked at her skirts and scattered her hair across her forehead. Finally her eyes fell on a patch of lemongrass across the creek from her. It was the last herb that she needed, and then she could go home and let sleep rescue her from the worries and fears of the day.
She set her basket down by the riverbank and unlac
ed her boots, setting them on a flat rock near the river's edge. Her stockings came off next, after she glanced around to make sure that she was definitely alone. She stood, catching the narrow skirts of her simple dress in her hands, and set first one foot, and then the other, into the cold water of the creek.
Her feet were fairer than the rest of her, having been so rarely exposed to the sun, and in the water they looked almost pink. She placed each foot carefully. This part of the creek was rather shallow, barely reaching the bottom of her knees, but men fished farther upstream and it wouldn’t do to step on a hook that had been carried down the creek. Her blue checkered skirt billowed with the wind, obscuring her vision for a moment, and the hem of her chemise slipped from her fingers.
"Rats," she muttered, as the hem of the undergarment dipped into the water. She lifted it back out, shuddering as the cold, wet material slid up her skin. Why is it so cold? She wondered once she had the errant chemise bunched between her fingers with the rest of her skirts. It was August in Mississippi, and yet the creek was cold as ice.
She was halfway across, though, and almost to the lemongrass. She could almost smell Caro burning the herb as she neared it.
No, wait, Cam thought, lifting her gaze suddenly from the cold, clear water. She did smell herbs burning. She turned, to the right and then to the left, trying to pinpoint where the scent was coming from as the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She opened her mouth to ask who was there, but some vague fear made her stay silent instead. A cloud passed overhead and the whole world seemed to turn gray. Cam tilted her head up, looking for the sun, but somehow it had already slipped away as the icy creek water lapped at her thighs.
Resolutely, Cam turned back to the lemongrass, still determined to collect it for Caro, but a strange thought made her pause. Why was the water up to her thighs?
Dread ached sharply in her chest as she stared down at the water level, which had somehow risen almost a foot in the few minutes since she had stepped into the creek. It was now so cold that her skin stung. There was a strange current almost like a whirlpool, spinning around and around her, and when the water swirled up another inch, Cam felt as though her heart would stop beating.