Bewitching Belle

by Debra Kristi

  Caleb.

  I jolt.

  Damn. I was supposed to ask Phillip to check on Mom’s old boyfriend’s incarceration. How could I have let the time slip past me? That was like a top priority action. I clench my teeth. First thing tomorrow, I promise myself. I’ll definitely talk to Phillip tomorrow.

  Dusk slips into full night, and the lights of the city burn bright. My pace varies between racing and taking my time. After all, I don’t want to show up on her doorstep completely out of breath and panting. It takes me a little less than thirty minutes to bike across town. At the edge of her house, I jump off my bike, lean it against the gate, and slip up to the window. The blinds are cracked and the interior lights ablaze. Several members of her family are present, sitting around the table, commiserating.

  I lean against the front of the house and drop my head. My insides are at war and the pain is stifling. I shouldn’t be here. Not after this morning. I breathe deep and raise my gaze. But I told Luna I would come.

  I extract the small lipstick from my front jeans pocket, remove the cap, and reach toward the bottom corner of the window, making every effort to keep my body out of view.

  A small X or circle, she’d said would be our signal. I draw a heart. It’s better.

  The front door flies open and my gaze snaps to the man stepping onto the front porch.

  “Hey you.” He points in my direction.

  I jump. Clutching the lipstick in my hand, I turn and dash down the street, slip along the side of one of the houses. Catch my breath.

  Thankfully, he doesn’t follow. He mumbles and goes back inside. I peek around the corner but choose not to leave the safety of my location. A minute later, the front door opens, and Luna steps out, descends the stairs and walks my way. Her gaze shifts to the lipstick heart I left on the window, then shifts to my abandoned bike.

  I sidestep into the open and wave. With a warm smile in place, she jogs the distance to my location. “Did my uncle scare you?” she asks, stopping in front of me.

  “If you mean the angry, yelling man, then yeah. He didn’t exactly warm his way into my heart.”

  She giggles and takes my hand, leads me to the front steps of the nearest house.

  “Hey,” she says, lifting my arms out wide. “You’re wearing it.” She motions to the apron she made me. Not only am I wearing it, but I have it fully stocked with my magick spices, thanks to the other night.

  “Sure am.” I beam. “I love it. Thank you for making it for me.”

  She smiles wide, swings our clasped hands, and pulls me to a sit on the steps. “Thanks for coming. I know it couldn’t have been easy after the way my mom treated you this morning.”

  “I kind of deserved it,” I say. “My timing was the worst.”

  “It wasn’t great, I’ll give you that.” She sighs and lays her head on my shoulder. My body stiffens, then gradually relaxes. “This has been a crap day if there ever was one.”

  “I’m really sorry about your crap day,” I say and weave my hands together. Drop them in my lap.

  “My dad’s family is still hanging around. My mom’s parents went home several hours ago. But not my dad’s. Maybe they’re just too sad to end the day. Like it’s too final, leaving them nothing more of my dad.” She fits her hand to mine and double, or triple, weaves her fingers through my already intertwined digits.

  She sighs and we both fall silent. Remain motionless on the house steps. The street is semi-dim, lit by an almost full moon and the golden glow of the streetlamps. But the air is heavy, weighted by our moods and further crushed by the devastating events of the recent past.

  “You know what’s strange,” she says, keeping her head resting against me. “I didn’t know a single one of these pallbearers, except for my uncle. Neither did my mom or my mom’s parents. But my dad’s family, they knew every single one. They even knew our coordinator…” she uses air brackets around the term. The coordinator being the escort. “By reputation, at least. They appeared to think rather highly of him, but I thought he was a total creeper.”

  “Creeper, indeed,” I agree and turn my gaze toward the night sky. Savor the moments before I need to steal away to the cemetery. Discover the truth of Luna’s dad. And from the sounds of things, her dad’s family is already in the know of his fate… be it done or yet to come.

  “I know the reason I’m so melancholy.” She presses her cheek to my shoulder. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I wasn’t under the impression I needed an excuse,” I say.

  “Well…” she hums. “You never need to make excuses with me, but it does seem like there’s more on your mind than what happened this morning.”

  “Because this morning wasn’t bad enough?” I ask.

  “You know what I mean.” She leans deeper into me. “You’ve done so much for me. If there’s something bothering you, I want to know. And help if I can.”

  “It’s just a family problem.” I dip forward and back, allowing my feet to tap on the cement. “I don’t want to bother you with it. Especially with all that you have going on.”

  “Bother me, please.” Her hand on mine tightens. “I’ve dragged you into all my drama.” I release a heavy breath but don’t say anything. “Please?” she side-bumps me and I huff.

  “There’s this thing, with my mom, and it’s pretty serious. I don’t know what to do. No one in my family does, really.” I press my elbows deeper into my thighs.

  “What kind of thing?” she asks and tilts her head toward my face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Doubtful,” I blurt and suddenly feel itchy, fidgety. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with my response. “Unless, of course, you have extensive knowledge of possession.”

  Luna jerks away from me and pins me with a hard stare. “Are you saying your mom is possessed?” She leans forward and whispers. “As in demon possession?”

  “Not exactly.” I allow the full force of my frown to take control of my features. “The person taking control of my Mom is still alive. So… definitely not the usual type of possession you hear about in movies and books.”

  “Oh.” Luna’s face morphs into something that suggests the concept isn’t completely foreign to her.

  “What’s that look mean?” I wave a hand at her, referencing her hint-of-familiarity expression.

  “Okay.” She presses to my side once more. Clasps her hands together and leans forward. Leans into me. “Here’s the thing. My dad used to talk about people being controlled against their will by other living people. Mom would always tell him to stop talking about such nonsense in front of me.” She sighs. “Wish I could ask him about it now.”

  So, do I.

  My mind churns around my mom and Luna’s dad.

  Of course, if Luna’s dad learned about the possession thing from his upbringing, then maybe his parents or brother know something that could be useful.

  “Do you think your grandparents or uncle know anything?” I ask.

  “Maybe.” She perks. “Do you want me to go ask them?”

  “Right now would be an awkward time,” I say. “Given what today is and all.”

  “Maybe it would be a welcome distraction… just like my time here with you.”

  “Is that what I am? A distraction?” I snort.

  “Well, yeah. A distraction. My friend. My lifeline.” She wraps her arm around mine and hugs.

  “Glad I can be all those things.” I glance at my watch. I’m cutting the timing close. I need to get moving. “But this distraction has to get going.”

  “Really? Already?” she frowns.

  “Sorry.” I stand. “I’ve got things to do.”

  Her face falls as if she sees straight through my deception. “What kind of things? I could help.”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “You don’t want to help with this.” I walk up the street toward her house and my bike.

  “Sure, I do.” She follows close at my heels. “How would you know unless you ask me first?”
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  “Nah. You really don’t.” I grab my bike and roll it to the center of the sidewalk.

  “Why are you being like this,” she asks. “Where are you going, and what are you up to that’s so secretive?”

  “I’m really sorry.” I push my bike up the street. Jump on with it already rolling forward. “I promise I’ll fill you in later, should anything come of this,” I call over my shoulder. “But right now… I really have to go.”

  Directing the bike into the street, I cross to the other side at an angle. Heading for the corner, and beyond, the route to the cemetery.

  “Wait up.” The call comes from behind me, causing my heart to jump into my throat.

  Dropping my foot to the ground as an anchor, I coast the bike to a stop, and glance back. Luna is on her bike, trekking up the street after me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I’m coming with you, and you can’t stop me,” she hollers.

  “It isn’t safe,” I counter.

  “Then you shouldn’t go alone.” She comes to a stop beside me, and I’m treated to a whiff of her lavender body spray.

  “Where I am going may be emotionally upsetting to you.” I steel my gaze on her.

  “I expected as much,” she responds. “I’m still going.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen, if anything.” I sigh. “It may be boring, or it could be a whirlwind of emotions.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I’m in.” She frowns. “Now stop yammering and lead the way.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her display of spunk. I had wanted to save her the emotions this night might stir, but truth be told, I’m glad to have a companion on this mission. I’m happy it’s her.

  We crank the bikes into gear and pedal to the cemetery. Stop in front of the entrance used earlier in the day. It’s locked.

  Luna leans against the gate and takes hold of the metal bars. “Do you hear that?” She presses her ear to the opening. “It sounds like people talking and… and some sort of banging.”

  All I hear is the heavy hum of the freeway nearby. The vibration of all the moving cars is rattling through my head like a box of tacks.

  I move closer and listen. Listen for whatever it is Luna hears. She’s right. I jerk back and stare through the bars. There are definitely people inside, and they are up to something. But the gate is locked, and, I don’t know about Luna but, I am no acrobat. The chances of me scaling the outer wall are little to none.

  “Look there.” She tugs on my handlebars and points down the center aisle. Two men are pushing open the gate on the far side. I yank her to the side, out of view. Her bike drops and she fumbles over the frame, tumbles into my arms. “What’d you do that for?”

  “We don’t want them to see us,” I whisper.

  “Right,” she says and peeks around the corner. Spins back toward me with eyes wide. “They’re pulling a car in. Backwards.”

  My muscles tighten. Flying ugly bats. I don’t want to be right about Luna’s father, but it’s looking like I am. This day is really going to suck.

  We both peek around the stone entrance. A green car is parked several yards from us and the three men—the two that opened the gate and the driver—are walking into the sea of tombs.

  “Come on.” I ride past the locked entrance and head for the corner. She jumps on her bike and follows. We ride around the exterior of the cemetery to the opposite gate. The men are gone, but they left the gate unlocked.

  In case a speedy departure is required, I think to myself.

  Within the cemetery walls, the earth—damp from yesterday’s storm—is exceptionally pungent. Mixed with the fumes of the parallel freeway, the air is pushing nausea into my gut. I wrinkle my nose and think of something else. The scent of freshly washed hair.

  Luna follows my lead every step of the way, and we hop off our bikes and walk them into the cemetery. We wrap around the corner in the opposite direction from where we saw the men go, following the wall and turning down the second row of tombs. A few markers in, we slip the bikes between two spots, the tombs snug against the bikes, both holding them and hiding them.

  With our heads down and our hands clasped, we make our way across the cemetery. Spots of mud speckle the ground, forcing us to move at a measured pace. Our shoes slide on the slick surface, and our hands scratch against the harsh cement of crypts in search of purchase. We follow the sound of muffled words and loud cracks, and that leads us to the back wall of oven vaults. Directly to the location of Mr. Flores’ resting place.

  “Daddy,” Luna whispers.

  I press my finger to my lips and shake my head no. We don’t know what we are up against, so we need to be smart, and safe, like my grandma asked of me.

  Of course, she would not approve of me sneaking into a cemetery after hours and spying on strange men up to no good. She would not consider such actions smart or safe. Not at all.

  The row of tombs opposite the back wall of oven vaults is at full occupancy, leaving a nice barrier for cover. We crouch behind one of the lower tombs and peer through the open spaces. Four men work together… sort of. Two men are swinging pickaxes, breaking apart the newly constructed closure of Mr. Flores’ tomb. The other two are standing around shooting the breeze and smoking cigarettes.

  “What are they doing?” Luna asks, her question clearly reaches beyond the obvious of breaking open the vault. She wants to know why they are breaking it open. What could they possibly want with her father’s body?

  I have the same question. Although, I fear I know the answer. Especially after my curious conversation with toothy girl this morning. They want to somehow use his body to channel his soul and use him as a supernatural battery.

  Sick.

  “Nothing good,” I say. “Nothing good.”

  “We’re there,” one of the men with a pickaxe says. The two chatty men drop and snuff out their cigarettes. Move in. A couple of the guys pull free the last few bricks by hand and then pull the casket forward, free of the vault. Together, the four men extract and lower the coffin to the ground.

  Luna gasps and I reach for her hand. Squeeze. I want to give her my attention, but I can’t afford to pull my gaze from the activity at her dad’s grave. I don’t want to miss anything the men are doing.

  One man stands over the casket, and two men lift the lid. The man standing, gazing down at Mr. Flores’ still body, reaches his hand out to the other man, who drops some something into his open palm.

  He kneels beside Luna’s dad, forces his mouth open, and drops the item into her dad’s mouth. Closes his mouth and holds it firm.

  My entire body tenses. I feel Luna’s muscles do the same. We’re standing on wired dynamite ready to blow. Little is holding us from exploding forward. Exploding into shouts and yells and wild swings.

  But nothing happens.

  The guy rises, steps away, spins around, and lights another cigarette.

  “Come on, man,” one of the guys holding the lid says. “I hate working in these conditions, and I want to be home in bed already.”

  “Quit your whining,” one of the other men says. “You want to end up like this guy?” Luna gasps again.

  “What does that mean?” Luna whispers at my ear. “What are they doing to my dad?”

  “I don’t know.” I lean into her but don’t turn my head away from the scene around the coffin. “But I’m hoping we figure it out soon.”

  Luna clings to my arm and cranes her neck for a better view.

  The man yet to participate, aside from handing cigarette man something to shove in Mr. Flores’ mouth, lifts Luna’s dad out of the coffin and over his shoulder.

  “This guy is heavy,” he complains.

  “Just get him to the car.” Cigarette man swings a finger in the direction of the car.

  The guy lugs Luna’s dad down the back row and turns the corner. Heads toward the center aisle and the car.

  “Oh, bat crap.” I yank Luna and we both drop to the ground. I’m praying
, praying, praying the shadows hide us from view. He moves past our row and keeps moving.

  “Be quick, will ya guys?” one of the men at the vault tomb says.

  Luna tugs on my arm to follow her dad, but first, I peek back, wanting to know what the others are up to. The men are shoving the empty casket back into the vault. One of the guys scoops a thick lump of mud into the opening, and I realize they plan to seal the opening back up so that it looks like nothing ever happened.

  My insides are a jumble. I don’t know what to do with this information.

  “Come on,” Luna whispers, yanking on my arm again.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I give, let her lead the way. We sneak from row to row, until we spot the man carrying Luna’s father. With the extra weight on his back, the man is moving slow and has only covered about half the distance from the grave to the car. We watch him from behind the safety of any and every available crypt.

  The man adjusts the body on his shoulder, and Luna’s dad jolts.

  “What was that?” Luna asks, pressing closer to better view the man carrying her dad.

  “A reaction to the force the dude applied,” I say. “Simple physics.” Not that I’m particularly knowledgeable in the subject.

  “I don’t think so.” Luna points, her arm extending across the roof of the tomb in front of us. The body slumped over the man’s shoulder jerks again. This time, the bokor’s henchman reacts with a jolt of his own.

  “Crap,” he mutters and drops the body. Luna chokes. “Um,” the man says and steps away.

  An odd, gurgling sound ruptures from the ground at his feet. Or, actually, from Luna’s dad. Mr. Flores moves… on his own. His hand presses at the ground, lifting him to his knees. His head swivels around in a ragdoll fashion, and he rises to his feet.

  “Yo. Elijah,” the man calls toward the back-wall vaults.

  Luna’s dad turns and staggers down the row of tombs, heading our direction.

  “My dad,” Luna says, hints of awe and fright in her voice. “He’s alive.”

  My lips remain sealed. I’m not ready to announce any judgement. I’m not crazy about what I’m seeing.