by Catie Rhodes
“By ‘passing the story,’ do you mean something magical? Some sort of spell?”
Reba thought it over. “Maybe. The keeper of the story had to live in this house. While I’ve lived here, I’ve been very lucky not to suffer the burglaries my neighbors did. Might be why they moved on, and I stayed.” She smoothed her fine, white hair with one crooked hand. “Back in the 1960s, when my daddy lived here, the neighbor behind us caught his house on fire. Daddy ran all the way home from work to get…it…out of the house.”
“What is it, Reba?” I stared at my old friend across the table.
“Let me tell you this story the way it was passed to me. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
I nodded.
“My grandfather was Robert Skanes. He met Priscilla Herrera when she was still a girl. Her mother worked in a brothel. She had died, and they wanted Priscilla to work in the brothel to pay off her mother’s debt to them. So she ran away.” Reba reached out for her tea but stopped and put her hand back down on the table. “Robert was traveling through, and she ran up to his wagon and begged him to help her. Promised he’d never regret it if he did. She said she’d earn him all the money he ever wanted.”
The story strung itself together in my head, populated by images I’d seen in historical pictures. Priscilla had the huge bun of black hair she’d shown me in my visions. Robert had a walrus mustache and smoked a pipe. I knew—without quite knowing for sure—that Priscilla must have taken on her mother’s mantle before she ran away from the brothel. She knew she could keep her promises to Robert.
“Robert said Priscilla always knew which towns to avoid, which people to avoid. They worked together until he was old and wanted to retire. He offered to bequeath the business to her but she refused and asked for a favor instead.” Reba opened her mouth for the next leg of the story, but I interrupted.
“Miss Reba, I appreciate you telling me this story.” My cheeks heated. I didn’t want to be rude to someone who was going to such a great deal of trouble for me, but I felt jumpy and out of sorts. I wanted to finish my business here and go get Wade. Mysti would be in Gaslight City by day’s end, and I wanted her confidence and comfort. “A friend of mine did a bunch of research on Robert and Priscilla, and—”
Reba’s eyes, which I noticed had a film over them, maybe like glaucoma, never changed expression.
Is she blind? And I’m too self-absorbed to notice? I could have kicked myself.
“Did this friend tell you the birds, the ones Robert called death birds, followed them everywhere?”
I sat up straight. “What about the birds? I see them all the time.”
Reba didn’t acknowledge my words. “Robert said Priscilla talked to the death birds and they to her. There was one she kept in a cage. She’d send it out, and it would come back. Robert thought it brought her information. She never would say.”
“The birds have saved my life.”
A shadow flickered over Reba, making her appear transparent for a split second. I pulled back from her, but then she was whole again, just as she had been. “The birds will belong to you now.”
“Memaw told me they belonged to our whole family. She left me this letter—”
“Samuel and Samantha—Priscilla’s children—came to this house after their mother’s death asking for the favor Robert promised their mother. The death birds came with them but didn’t belong to the children. The children and the birds simply traveled together.” Reba tapped one finger on the table the same way she’d done to get my attention when I rented a room from her. “One day one of the birds flew right in the house when one of the children opened the door. Went through the house and dropped a package on Robert’s desk. It contained a note and one other item, which was to remain wrapped. The note had instructions to keep the wrapped package for when Sam or Samantha came back asking for it. If they never did, Robert Skanes was to understand that a descendant of the Priscilla’s bloodline would come one day, and he would give it to that person. Priscilla would find a way for him to know that person was coming for it. As I said when you arrived, she let me know last night.”
Reba reached in the pocket of her housedress and withdrew a fabric wrapped bundle. She set it on the table between us.
The calico fabric was yellowed and faded and carried an odd, spicy smell. I flashed back on the first vision I ever had of Priscilla Herrera and remembered the dress she wore on the last day of her human life. Please don’t let this be the same dress.
My skin crawled at the thought of touching a dress someone wore to their own gruesome death. I might see her last moments, and I didn’t really want to. Not after the nightmares I’d had about the hanging, of me being on the gallows waiting to die a horrible, agonizing death if things didn’t go just right.
Something twitched inside the bundle. Then it moved inside my chest. I flinched and pushed my chair back. Maybe I didn’t want this after all. Maybe I wasn’t brave enough.
“You’re the one.” Reba pushed the bundle toward me. “It’s too late to run from who you are.” Her voice changed, became stronger and more commanding. “It’s already started. You have to finish it.”
The bundle twitched again, and the pressure in my chest twitched as though in answer.
What’s happening to me? Panic beat at my mind. I wanted to run out of this place, but it was like I was frozen to the chair. My hand went out, feeling cut off from my body, and pulled the package across the table. I unwound the twine holding it together and opened it. My stomach lurched. I clapped my hand over my mouth.
Inside the bundle were a few tattered, black feathers and a bird skull. Caw. Caw. Caw. The sound echoed in my head. Wanting to push the nasty mess away from me, I gathered it up instead and retied the twine.
“Miss Reba, I want to thank—” My words curled up and died in my mouth. There was an empty space across the table from me.
Dust covered the empty tea glass sitting in front of me. The imprint of my lips on one edge proved I’d touched it, put it to my mouth. What in good gravy did I drink? My stomach heaved again.
I shot to my feet, letting the chair slide across the floor, strewn with papers and boxes, evidence this house had been empty long enough for looters to come. I staggered back through the house, my ghoulish bundle hugged to my chest.
The door I’d come in hung ajar, the screen door long gone. Boards buckled up on the porch. They sagged and screamed under my weight. I stopped to stare at the sign in the yard saying the house was scheduled for demolition later that month.
My cellphone rang. I licked my parched lips and answered.
“Peri Jean, whatchu doing in Nacogdoches? Your time is running out.” Michael Gage giggled.
The harsh twang crawled over my skin and made it feel nasty and unwashed. How did he know where I was? Without giving it much thought, I took a close look at my surroundings, almost expecting to see Michael Gage peek out from behind an overgrown shrub and wave at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“You still there, girl?” Gage raised his voice.
“Get tired of trying to suck your own dick, Michael?” I strained to hear Hannah in the background. I didn’t want to hear her crying, but I wanted proof she was still alive.
“You’re a regular comedian, ain’t you? You think you can beat me? I know every move before you make it. Before this is over with, you’ll—”
Suddenly, I’d had enough. “I’m going to kill you. That’s how this’ll end.” I hung up on him.
I got in my car and drove back the waffle house. The scenery rushed past my window in a meaningless blur. The past, in all its horror and shame, was dead. It could only hurt me if I let it. I had to let it go. The girl that stuff happened to was a woman now, one ready to grind her oppressors into dog chow.
I pulled in the parking lot of the waffle house and spotted Wade. Head down, the big man paced across the parking lot, each step like several of mine. I pulled into the parking lot and he rushed at me. He yanked open the
door and leaned in.
“You all right? I knew as soon as you drove off I shouldn’t have let you go alone, I could tell it was…” He trailed off and sniffed the air. “What is that smell?”
“Get in.” I waited for him to stuff himself into the passenger seat, listened silently to his grumbles about cars for Lilliputians, and lay the bundle Reba Skanes’s ghost gave me on his lap.
He jerked when it touched him and used one finger to lift away the cloth. He snatched it, crunching it together, and leaned toward me. “You’ve gone too far. It’s too late to turn back.”
Without answering, I pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward Gaslight City. The growing feeling of pressure in my chest made my foot heavy on the accelerator. Not only was it too late to turn back, I had a feeling I was running out of time.
14
The first thing I saw when I pulled into the yard, which I still considered Memaw’s yard, was Mysti’s Toyota sedan. She sat on the porch, rocking back and forth in the swing. The last of the morning sunlight beamed straight down on her hair, lightening it to resemble a nimbus.
“Oh, goodie. It’s the hippie witch.” Wade glared at our guest.
“Try not to argue with her.” I didn’t feel like listening to them. The feathers and bones wrapped in the calico fabric Reba Skanes gave me twitched at regular intervals. The bird in my chest moved around with them. It probably wanted out. Whatever lay ahead was bound be unpleasant.
Wade launched himself out of the car as soon as he could and took off toward Mysti. I slammed the car into park in front of the yard and shoved the door open. The pain in my chest hit again. The world turned murky and bits of light sparkled in the edges of my vision. I sat in the car, hand clamped over my chest, and tried to catch my breath.
Wade reached Mysti and leaned over her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten her into?” His voice carried across the yard and probably into the next county. “She’s got to bind herself to her familiar now or she’s going to die.”
Mysti put aside her e-reader and took a swig of whatever health potion she had to drink, all without acknowledging Wade’s fury. She raised her face and said something too softly for me to hear. He doubled up one fist and held it aloft. Mysti faced him without blinking. She put her hand on the armrest and pushed to her feet. Wade backed out of her way. Face forward, shoulders back, she went around him and came to me.
I hurried to get out of the car, to show Mysti I was all right and could do this. Mysti rushed at me and hugged me to her. I breathed in the familiar scent of her lotion and soap and closed my eyes. She released me and held me at arm’s length, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. “Tell me what has him all upset.”
I told her about the poison I took on to get to the Mace Treasure clues, how doing it was the only way to convince Priscilla Herrera I was worthy of her mantle. Then, I told her about the raven sinking into my chest and my errand to Nacogdoches.
Mysti winced at the last part but went right back to her usual bright self. “The raven going into your chest was just the necessary magic to bind your familiar to you. You’ll have to get it out soon, but you’re not dying in the next ten minutes. Wade’s more dramatic than a woman.” Her gaze slid past me to the fabric wrapped bundle I left lying on my seat. “Is that what you went to Nacogdoches to get?”
I showed Mysti the raven skull and feathers. She frowned at them and made a face. “I had a spell in mind for you, but I think Priscilla Herrera may—”
The birds came out of nowhere. One second the yard was empty and quiet. The next, they surrounded us, flapping their wings and cawing.
“They’re ready.” Mysti kept hold of my arm, as though she feared I might take off running. “Are you?”
“I don’t know what to do.” The black opal pulsed on my chest, heating up.
Wade joined us and took my other arm. He fixed his hard, black eyes on Mysti, but only for a second. Then he turned to me. “You can do this.”
I stared at the birds milling around my feet. Some pecked at the carpet of grass. Others watched me, their sharp gaze boring into me. One cawed, and the rest took up the song. The air filled with the rough chaos of their voices. The noise calmed the seething crush of thoughts whipping around my brain.
“Breathe deep,” Mysti said into my ear. “Let them in.”
I did as she said and waited. It didn’t take long. White lightning flashed in my brain, and my knees buckled. The world wavered like heat baking off blacktop and then faded into nothing.
It was so dark I could see nothing but a few pinpricks of starlight in the sky. A match hissed and crackled against something. Dim flame flickered and caught. A lantern took shape and splashed feeble yellow light on a boy’s round face. I recognized him as Priscilla Herrera’s son, Samuel.
Tear tracks streaked Samuel’s face. He held up the lantern. His twin sister, Samantha, came into focus. She still wept, her hand held over the mouth.
“Quiet,” he whispered.
“They’re gone,” she said aloud.
“Be quiet anyway. What if they left someone to keep watch?” Samuel pushed open the door to the cabin and gasped at what he saw. Samantha’s sobs kicked up a notch.
The lantern cast most of the room in shadow, but everything visible was turned over or otherwise destroyed. Clothes and dishes lay all over the floor. The table lay like a dead animal with its legs in the air.
“Those sons of bitches.” Samuel stomped into the room, kicking things out of his way as he went. “They’ll pay.”
“Not from us. Remember what Mama said. Get out of here and never come back.” Samantha knelt to dig through the mess on the floor. She began a pile of small items. She turned to her brother. “Stop pulling a fit. Get what you want so we can go.”
“Caw.” The raven landed in the open window.
Both children turned slowly to face it, their mouths open.
“Cawwwww.” The raven sounded weak.
Samuel raised the lantern. “Orev? Are you okay?”
The bird flew into the cabin and landed on the overturned table. It made a slow circle, cawing softly the whole time. It walked three revolutions and fell over. Its legs twitched once, and it lay still.
Samantha clapped her hands over her mouth, fat tears squeezing out of her eyes. She ran to the bird and petted it as though her attention might bring it back to life. But the bird lay still. Samantha’s sobs increased in volume. She clutched the animal to her and rocked back and forth.
Samuel watched the spectacle, his round face blank. Finally, he went to his sister and patted her back. “Come on. We have to bury him and start walking. Find somewhere to hide before dawn.”
Samantha recovered faster than I could have. Maybe people were tougher a hundred years ago. She found her mother’s bag of scrap fabric and wrapped the bird in the same calico fabric of the dress her mother died in. The two children dug a hole in the front yard, put the bird in it, and covered it with a few stones.
They walked away with the clothes on their back and a fabric wrapped bundle each.
The vision faded, and I woke up in my own bed. Wade had dragged a chair from the kitchen table in and sat in it reading an unmarked spiral bound notebook, his big feet propped up on the bed. I shifted my weight and he glanced up.
“What happened?” I scooted back until I could lean against the headboard.
“The birds left and you stayed passed out. Your hippie witch said to put you to bed—”
“I heard that,” Mysti yelled. Her footsteps rushed down the hallway. She appeared in the doorway holding Priscilla Herrera’s spell book in one hand. “You okay?”
I nodded.
“Did you see what to do?” She came into the room, exchanging a quick glare with Wade, and sat on my vanity bench.
“Not really. But that stuff over there?” I pointed at the scrap of calico fabric on the dresser. “I think the rest of the bird is buried at Priscilla Herrera’s cabin.” I told Mysti and Wade about the vision.
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Neither acted surprised. Wade began nodding halfway through the story and patting his hands together.
“You gonna tell her what she needs to do, hillbilly healer?” Mysti raised her eyebrows at Wade.
I expected rage, but he smiled and nodded. “The bird in the ground is your familiar. When Priscilla Herrera died, the bird could no longer live. It’s animated by your magic and your life force.”
The raven tattoo on my arm twitched. “You’re saying it’s like a zombie?”
“Not quite.” Mysti set the spell book on my bed. “It’s a sentient being with a little extra. It’s more than an animal. But your magic is what will keep it alive.”
The tattoo on my arm twitched again. A glimmer of what would be required of me sparked in the back of my mind.
“That same bird has probably been passed through women in your family for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.” Wade glanced at Mysti. She nodded. They must have come to a truce while I was out.
The glimmer in the back forty of my mind became a glow and then a spotlight. My stomach lurched. A wave of denial followed behind it, but I already knew I had it right. “I’m going to have to bring the dead bird back to life, ain’t I?”
Wade swallowed. “You’ll have to now. The magic that animates it is already in you.”
“Why not just use one of the other birds?” I shivered, brought my legs up, and curled my arms around them.
“Those birds come on the command of your bird.” Mysti came to sit on the bed and opened the spell book to a page she’d marked with a scrap of pink paper.
“How’d you figure that out?” I tried not to look at the spell book. Priscilla’s spells, darker and more sinister than Mysti’s, made me feel like a t-baller playing against the Yankees. “Half the words in that book are in some language nobody can identify. Did I tell you Hannah and I took the spell book to a language expert she knows? The lady said she’d never seen anything like it.” The pressure turned into a crushing breathlessness. I whooped for air. Wade rushed to my side and grabbed my arm, but I got it under control and waved him away.