Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters)

by Fine, Clara

  This can't be happening, she told herself, even as the heady onset of shock made her head swim and her hands shake.

  The scent of herbs, harsh and unfamiliar, burned her throat with every panicked breath as she released her skirts and tried to wade back to the shadowed riverbank behind her.

  Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, she urged herself with every pound of her pulse, but when her numb legs refused to budge and the water swirled ever higher, there was the strangest moment when she realized that she might die, and suddenly could not feel her body at all. There was only her mind racing around and around like a trapped rat.

  I must save myself…

  She grit her teeth and put every ounce of strength into trying to make her legs move, to lift her feet, to lean forwards or backwards. But while she struggled, she struggled silently. It was as though if she so much as gasped for breath, then it would all be real, the cold water and the coming night. The fact that precious minutes had slipped by and the water was higher, but she was still standing in that ghastly creek with silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

  There was a wild wind whipping through her hair, and the world seemed to be growing darker and darker, but perhaps it was her own terror that made everything fade away, because all she could think was that this was how her mother must have felt when the carriage house burst into unnatural flames and the devil came to swallow Solange Johnson whole.

  Reason abandoned her. She splashed and she floundered, she screamed and tugged, sobbing, at her frozen legs while the water slid up her stomach, sending icy terror singing through her veins.

  "Help!" At first in her horror she could manage scarcely more than a gasp, but when she drew in a ragged breath and tried again her scream echoed through the forest, her voice unfamiliar in its panic.

  Even as her cry for help pierced the silence of the forest, there was a movement under the water. Her heart lurched as something wrapped around each of her ankles, something that could have been a weed or could have been a hand. Cam knew what would happen before it did, and tried to scream once more before her feet were jerked out from under her and she was dragged backwards beneath the water.

  When the water closed over her chest she could feel the cold as a sharp pain in her heart. She gasped at the ache and her breath emerged as a stream of bubbles that shot through the water, up towards the surface, which Cam could barely make out as a lighter, silvery place above the black water that surrounded her.

  It was hard, so hard not to let any more of her breath escape, and when she tried to close her lips there was water in her mouth that slid down her throat and made her chest ache even more. She moved her arms through the water frantically, but her movements were futile. Somehow, she moved downwards instead of up, while green, swaying weeds closed over her head. Her hands found the slimy bottom of the creek, and she was oblivious to the sharp rocks biting into the flesh of her fingers as she tried to push off of the bottom and force her way back towards the surface.

  Her chest was burning for air, for sweet breath, and it felt as though there were a weight on her, as if her chest would cave in upon itself. She kept her lips clamped tightly shut, but she was in such agony, and with each movement the pain grew greater and she grew weaker. Each motion cost her, and every muscle in her face ached with the effort of keeping her mouth closed when her instinct urged her to breathe.

  She fell still finally, too weak to do anything but force herself not to open her mouth. Her vision was all but gone; she had to focus to make out the dark cloud around her face that had to be her hair, and to feel her body, her numb, broken body with the corset digging into her cold flesh and her skirt wrapped around her legs. It didn't feel like her body, it felt like the bloated, lifeless corpse that it was about to become.

  Her lips twitched, and she felt a bubble of air escape. Dear God, please…

  For a moment, she started to move again, forcing her arms through the water, but the burst of defiance was soon quelled by the great weight of the water above her, so much more water than there had ever been in the creek before. The terror was unbearable, but she could not cry. She wished, as she stared up at the water above her, that she were brave enough to open her mouth and let the water slip in and carry her away to her mother, or to whatever else waited. This agony was futile and unbearable, but still, she feared death too much to let go of that last breath, to surrender to the inevitable.

  Death would have to pry her last gasp from her, Cam thought, as the green weeds danced around her head. Another bubble escaped from her lips, and she longed to be that bubble, soaring through the water toward the surface. She wondered how soon she would lose consciousness and if swallowing mouthfuls of water would be more painful than holding her breath was. Who would find her body when—

  The thought was too painful to finish. Please don't let it be Helen, she thought, compelled to protect her little sister even as she drowned. Her eyes were closing, and she thought that she saw another bubble darting upwards as her eyelids sealed against her cheeks.

  Mama, I don't want to die.

  Then her lips parted and the water rushed in.

  ***

  Diana was sitting at her writing desk composing a letter to one of her cousins when the wind rose, rushing against the house and tossing dust and fallen leaves against her window. The sound of grit hitting the pane made her look up. Though the lawn looked much as it ever had, she saw something in the scattered magnolia petals and the sway of the dogwoods that made her frown, not from annoyance, but from a strange, creeping fear.

  All seemed well downstairs. She could hear her father and aunt talking, their voices quiet and their tones composed, but when she stood up for a better view of the lawn she caught sight of her father's hound standing beneath the cherry tree, staring into the forest, ears lifted and nose quivering. As the next gust of wind came, he barked once, and then did something that Diana had never seen before. He turned and crawled under the porch, belly to the ground and tail between his legs.

  ***

  Out in the kitchen, Caro heard the wind kick up just as she was taking a tray of biscuits out of the oven. "Listen to those horses," she said to Daphne. They were going wild out in the paddock, neighing and shaking their manes as though a storm was coming. She shuddered, then set the tray down and watched with surprise as goose pimples popped up on her skin. "Now why would I be getting gooseflesh? It's near to boiling in this kitchen."

  "I have it too," Daphne remarked, and Caro looked up to see the old woman inspecting the wrinkled skin of her forearm.

  "I guess we're getting as skittish as the horses," Caro said, scraping some chopped carrots into the bubbling soup which steamed fragrantly away on the stove.

  "Do you feel that?" Daphne asked, standing suddenly.

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the breath of the wind and the panic of the horses.

  Caro opened her mouth to ask what exactly she was supposed to be feeling, and then she did feel it: a shiver over her skin, a whisper of malevolence.

  "Is that…" Daphne began.

  "Conjure," Caro said, "got to be." Powerful work, and not good conjure either.

  "Where is it coming from?" Daphne asked, abandoning the charm bag that she had been sewing and standing at the window. "Out in the forest, I think," she answered her own question.

  "Well, at least it's not meant for one of us, then," Caro said, reaching for the ladle.

  "But, Caro," Daphne said, turning from the window with her eyes wide. "I don't think Cam's home yet."

  ***

  Helen was in the drawing room with her father and Aunt Beth, finishing her diary entry for the day, when she began to feel a little off. Her handwriting had been shaky for the last paragraph because her fingers were trembling, and for some reason that she couldn't explain, her heart was racing. At least she wasn't the only one who was unsettled. There seemed to be a storm coming, and it had certainly made all of the animals jumpy. Her canary was fluttering frantically around
its cage, and her father's hound had vanished. Helen picked up her pen and tried to finish her description of the evening sky, but she had to set it down again almost immediately. She felt wound far too tightly to even think about writing, and for the first time in years, Helen closed her diary without finishing her entry. Her father and Aunt Beth seemed perfectly calm as they discussed cotton prices, but Helen felt so nervous that when there was a roll of thunder she nearly jumped out of her seat.

  A sound from upstairs followed in the wake of the thunder, and her father and Aunt both paused as there were quick, heavy footsteps on the stairs. Aunt Beth frowned deeply as Diana darted through the room and into the foyer, leaving the house so quickly that she almost caught her black skirt in the front door.

  "Where does she think she's going when there's a storm coming?" Helen's father asked sourly as there was another boom of thunder.

  Helen walked to the window and watched her sister vanish around the corner of the house. "I think she's going to the kitchen."

  "Oh dear," Aunt Beth said, "I hope she doesn't start spending all of her time there now. Having one niece a permanent fixture in the kitchen is enough for me."

  Helen's father frowned. "Speaking of which, where is Cam?"

  Chapter Ten

  The wind struck the surface of the horribly swollen creek again and again, whipping it into a frenzy of foam and spray. Far beneath the surface, Cam's battered body remained undisturbed by the currents and untouched by the wind. On her still face was a pained expression, an echo of the agony of drowning, and the golden glow of her skin was being slowly overcome by a pale blue pallor. Her skirts floated in the water and her hair drifted about her face, but everything else, her head, her hands, her bare feet, hung lifeless.

  Having served its purpose, the creek began to recede. It was impossible to say where all of the excess water went, only that within minutes it was gone. But for the body that floated beneath the surface, the creek looked as harmless as it had when Cam had stepped into it not ten minutes earlier. The sky changed colors swiftly as the twilight progressed, but for Cam there was only blackness and the cold, which had spread within her veins since her heart had slowed.

  Suddenly, out of the cold darkness came hands. Large hands that caught Cam's arms in a fierce grip and lifted her roughly from the water. Arms that cradled her, gently at first, then roughly when she remained unresponsive.

  “Cam? Cam?” Brent’s voice was hoarse. He sloshed out of the creek, holding her tightly against his chest and calling her name. She was limp and cold as ice against him, almost as frozen as the fear that consumed him. He laid her down on the riverbank and scraped her hair out of her face, opened her mouth and pressed down on her stomach, again and again. The movements were mechanical, as he carried out the process that he had been taught as a child, but he could feel the futility of it. Cam was whiter than he had ever seen her, as if the vitality had been sucked out of her, leaving only a shell. He leaned down to breathe into her mouth and then kept pressing on her abdomen, mechanically, violently going through the movements even though he could feel her absence. It was like reaching out to grab someone’s hand and missing. He was touching her body but he couldn’t feel her.

  “Cam? Cam? Please…” His voice was broken, as shattered as a dropped mirror. He had missed her by just a few precious minutes, which was practically the length of time that he’d known her, and yet the thought of losing her was undoubtedly the most nightmarish fear he had ever faced. Unbearable. Unthinkable.

  “Come back Cam. Cam.”

  ***

  Cam

  The word was a whisper in Cam’s mind. The fog was parting and she knew her name, but not who spoke it.

  Cam

  The word was raw with feeling, and Cam could think of only one person.

  Mother?

  But no, it wasn’t her mother.

  It couldn’t be, because suddenly Cam knew that she wasn’t dead. Pain hovered on the edge of her consciousness, waiting for her to wake up so that it could consume her. She wasn’t yet in the afterlife, and it was one of the living who called her. Someone who was so connected to her that he could draw her back, even from the darkest corner of her mind.

  Brent

  Of course it was Brent.

  She had cried out for someone to help her, and he had come. Now he called her back to his side, and Cam could not deny him.

  Cam!

  He sounded as if he were in terrible pain, and Cam’s heart wept for him, even as she tried to beat back the blackness that kept her prisoner.

  I’m coming…

  Cam pictured the last thing she had seen before she had surrendered to the waves. She remembered the glassy surface of the creek, and how she had struggled to reach it. She summoned all of her energy, and then, finally, she fought her way to the surface.

  ***

  The world exploded around her. Cam could suddenly feel everything, hear everything. She didn’t know where she was or how she had gotten out of the creek. Someone was hurting her, pressing on her, and she didn’t know whose arms she was in, or who was touching her.

  Someone had hurt her terribly. Someone had tried to kill her. Cam’s eyes opened, and though she was desperately weak she lashed out at the dark figure that leaned over her. Before she could make contact she choked, felt water filling her throat and bubbling into her mouth. Instead of scratching her attacker, she leaned over and coughed. Half-choked sobs wracked her frame as she spat up more water. It streamed from her nose and her mouth. She choked until she was shaking and sick, but at last she could breathe in sweet air.

  She was only able to gasp in a few mouthfuls of oxygen before she was once again choking. She gagged and vomited more liquid. If she had eaten any meals that day they would have come up too, but as it was there was only water. More and more of that horrible water.

  As Cam was sick she became aware of a large hand on her back, a heavy hand which given her weakness was nearly enough to make her collapse. Whoever it was seemed to sense that, because after pulling her hair out of her face he looped the other arm around her middle, supporting her and keeping her from falling flat on her face.

  Finally, the gasping stopped and Cam was able to turn around and meet the gaze of whoever was there with her.

  It was Brent.

  Brent as she had never seen him before. His clothes were soaked and moisture glistened on his cheeks. There was something fierce in his expression, but the arms that secured her almost seemed to be shaking as he stared at her.

  “What…” Cam’s voice was too low to be heard, so she tried again. “What are you doing here?” This time her voice was louder, but the words scratched her inflamed throat painfully.

  “I was walking through the woods,” he told her, and he spoke in monotone, as though he was in shock. “I heard you scream… You’re shaking,” he told her, and leaned forward as if to draw her into his chest, but Cam leaned back.

  She was terrified, weak, disoriented. She remembered drowning, but everything was patchy and the patches didn’t quite go in order. Most of all, she couldn’t stop thinking about that moment before she drowned, when she had smelled the herbs. Even in her current, half-dead state, she knew what that meant. Conjure. Someone had used evil conjure to turn the waves against her.

  “Oh my God.” The words escaped from Cam involuntarily as she stared at Brent. Had it been him? Was he the one who had tried to turn the creek into her grave? It could have been. There was bad conjure at his house. He had been watching her lately.

  Then Cam blinked, focusing on Brent, on the relief in his eyes, on the way that he held her as though she was some precious object.

  Not Brent. It was unthinkable. It was— and then Cam couldn’t help herself. She started to cry. The sobs were weak and gasping, and Cam was fortunate that Brent was supporting her, because she could barely stay upright.

  “Don’t cry,” he told her, pulling her against his chest as he had tried to do earlier. “Don’t cry sweethear
t, it’s alright.” He repositioned her so that she was in his lap, and he rocked her as if she were a child. “Everything’s fine. You’re going to be fine.”

  Cam wanted to stop crying, but it was involuntary. She couldn’t halt her own tears any more than she had been able to free herself from the conjure that gripped her and pulled her under the water.

  “What happened?” Brent asked as he soothed her.

  “I was gathering herbs. I—” Cam broke off, gasping.

  “W-why didn’t it work?” The words burst from her in between her sobs. “Why didn’t it work?” She was thinking of the coin in her dress, which was meant to protect her.

  “What?” Brent asked as she pushed away from him with what little strength she had and reached to retrieve the coin.

  “I don’t understand,” her hands were shaking and her teeth were chattering and the tips of her fingers were almost blue as she pulled out the coin and stared at it. “It’s supposed to protect me.”

  “The coin?” Brent ducked his head, staring into her eyes as though he thought her brain was addled by the shock.

  “Why didn’t it work?” Still crying, Cam tried to struggle to a standing position, but her knees gave out and Brent had to catch her before she hit the ground. “It was supposed to work. I should have had a charm bag. Oh God, I should have had a charm bag. It’s my fault. The coin must not have been strong enough. I needed—” At that point Brent interrupted her by scooping her into his arms, carrying her bridal style.

  “You’re like ice,” he told her. “You need to go home somewhere to dry off. The McPherson plantation is closest.”

  “No,” Cam said, squirming in his hold. She brushed the tears from her cheeks and tried to get a hold of herself. She needed to be rational. Whoever had cursed her might still be out there and might try to harm her again. Since her coin charm obviously wasn’t enough to protect her against their magic, she needed to get back to where there were other rootworkers to strengthen her.