by Lyla Payne
I turn to go, my heart heavier than it was when I walked up the steps an hour earlier, then pause in the doorway. As horrible and interesting as all of this Allied Pharmaceuticals stuff is, there are other things on my plate. Family things. Things I can’t undo.
“Hey, Beau?”
“Hey, Gracie?”
“Your mom sort of banished me from Drayton Hall.”
“Didn’t she do that a while ago?”
“Technically, yeah. I still had ways of getting in, though, but not anymore. I need…” I swallow. “I can’t stop going. Not yet. Is there any way you could, I don’t know, convince her to go easy on me?”
He snorts. “My mother? Gracie Anne, you’ve met the woman. I doubt it, but I can try. For you.”
I lick my lips, finding the courage to look him in the eye. “Thank you, Beau.”
The next pause is the kind that means something will follow it, the one when you know the other person is wondering whether or not to say something but you know he will. I wait for it, trying to steel myself for whatever’s coming.
“I could go with you. If you want. To the Hall.” His words are halting, unsure, an offer that’s wavering and unfinished before it leaves his lips.
A runty, half-blind puppy uncertain whether its mother will embrace it or turn it away.
I want to cry. I want to tell him, Yes, please, come with me. Never leave me again. We can do anything if we’re a team.
I even believe those things, I do. But it’s too dangerous. Mama Lottie scares the pants off me, and Beau is a Drayton, representing everything she despises so much that she’s lingering in this world to do them harm. Besides, the last time Beau was at the plantation with me, he nearly died from a rare snakebite. There’s no telling what could happen if we chanced it again.
“It’s okay.” He smiles, guessing my answer and saving me from saying it aloud. “I get it.”
He doesn’t get it, not at all, but the truth is, after tonight, he and I have different priorities. Maybe we always have, and those are the tangled, choked roots of the troubles between us. Instead of explaining that even now, with Mel and Leo in trouble and the poor people in the Middle East being treated like lab rats, Amelia comes first, I back out of the den.
I remind myself that Beau said he was glad to see me, that he wanted to talk. My heart lifted at those words because it means things aren’t over in his heart. They’re not over in mine, either. For the first time in my life, though, I know with glaring certainty that it won’t be enough.
Chapter Nine
The last thing I expect to see when I get back to the house is my father sitting at the kitchen table, having spaghetti with meat sauce with my cousin. She’s picking mushrooms out as she eats, and they’re lined up like little fungi soldiers guarding the edge of her plate.
Frank, for his part, eats with gusto. The slurping noises alone would have sent her into a rage if it had been me making them, but she seems to be fascinated by him. I don’t want to know what they’ve been talking about, because I have no doubt it’s me.
His presence does some good, because in the face of him in the kitchen, the emotional exhaustion wrought by the confrontation with Beau recedes. Our meeting ended up more depressing than contentious, but there’s no time to cry about it. With everything else going on, it would be pretty damn selfish of me to feel sorry for myself. In the grand scheme of everything we’ve learned, my life is a peach.
“Frank,” I say by way of greeting.
“Graciela. I’m glad you’re home. If we’re going to summon this ghost of yours, I’d like to do it soon.”
“Yes, I imagine you’d like to get out of here before the fuzz shows up.” I walk over to the sink, grab a plate from the cabinet, and pile on some noodles and sauce. Hungry is the last thing I am, even though we all threw out more of our lunches than we ate this afternoon. My hands are shaking, a subtle reminder to take care of myself. I’m useless to everyone if I don’t. “Or more likely, you’d like to skedaddle before I get around to asking you what you know about Dylan Travis and my mother.”
“Grace, be nice,” Millie scolds. “Frank’s our guest, and he’s here to help us.”
I cast an incredulous look her direction as I sit down with my food but find only her stern, honest face. She’s right, of course. Frank is our best shot at contacting Mama Lottie, and pissing him off isn’t conducive to making that happen. Still…he’s the kind of person she normally abhors. A liar, a thief, a manipulator. She shouldn’t have an affinity for him, yet since he came back into my life, she’s been encouraging me to give him a chance.
It’s bothersome how so much about her and her life is a mystery to me now. What feels like a boulder lands in my stomach at the thought. Amelia is all I have.
Maybe that’s exactly why she thinks I need to give Frank a chance.
“Yes, well.” I clear my throat, trying to put the panic out of my head. “Sorry, Frank. I’ll play nice.”
He laughs. “I don’t want you to play nice, darlin’. If you did, how would I know you’re my daughter?”
That makes me crack a smile. The two of them finish eating and do the dishes while I cram as much noodles and sauce into my face as possible in my current state of high anxiety. My stomach turns with every bite, but I choke down enough to get me through the night.
“Okay,” I say, standing up from the table and handing my plate to my cousin. “Let’s do this thing.” My hands tremble at the mere idea of seeing Mama Lottie, so I stuff them in my back pockets, holding Frank’s gaze so he won’t notice. “How do we start?”
Frank wipes his hands on a towel and shoots a look at Amelia. “I think that your lovely cousin should adjourn, first of all. Pregnancy is tricky, the two souls in one. It complicates things for me.”
I can tell that Amelia is about to protest, and I close my eyes to prepare an argument. She doesn’t argue, though, surprising me for the hundredth time in the past few weeks.
“Fine. I’m tired, anyway.” She starts the dishwasher and walks toward me, stopping close to my ear. “I want to hear everything afterward.”
“Of course.” My heart hurts just thinking about the reason we’re doing this. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She smiles at my father. “It was nice to see you again, Frank.”
“And you, darlin’. Take care of the wee one, now.”
“I will.”
She leaves, and Frank pulls out a cigar as we listen to her putter through the living room and into the front hall. I know from experience that she’s locking the front door and then double-checking that both the knob and deadbolt are in place. My cousin isn’t any better than I am about admitting there’s not much the front door can do about keeping away the sort of evil that’s after us.
He doesn’t light the cigar, just rolls it between his teeth, which saves me from having to lecture him. Once her footsteps sound from the second floor, he levels me with a gaze. “Let’s go out on the back porch.”
“Why? It’s cold out there.” I’m whining but can’t bring myself to care.
“Yes, well, I’ve done some research on this spirit of yours and I don’t think summoning her to your home is wise. Unless you feel like taking a chance that she’ll return uninvited.”
I start to tell him that she’s been here before but stop because it’s not true. The little-girl version of Mama Lottie has been to the house, but she never came inside. The more I think about it, the more I agree about keeping her out, if possible.
I don’t think it is possible, though, since all of my ghosts have come in and out without permission. They’re not vampires, after all, but this is Frank’s area of expertise. “Let me get my coat.”
It doesn’t do much to stop my shivers once we’re sitting on the back deck. The evening falls quiet around us, the colder weather silencing most of the hoots and rustles that keep us company in the lowcountry summers. The sky overhead is navy blue and clear; our breath plumes out in hazy clouds as we both t
ake a moment to contemplate the shimmering blanket of a million stars.
I take only that one moment, because now that we’re out here in the cold, about to call on Mama Lottie, I want nothing more than to get it over with and deal with the fallout.
“Okay, Frank. We’re out here. What do you need? Some candles or something?”
The question is dumb. I’ve been on ghost walks with Daria and know that communicating with spirits who haven’t yet passed on doesn’t require any special equipment, no matter what the television shows tell you. Frank gives me a look that might be parental disappointment—hard to tell in the dim light—and if it is, it would be my first time experiencing that in a long while. Felicia gave up caring before I gave up trying to get her attention in any way possible. Maybe she never had. If Travis’s appearance told me anything, it’s that I know nothing about my mother. Not for sure.
“No, darlin’. I just need peace and quiet, and a few minutes.” His expression turns curious. “I know you’ve been spending time with that character Daria. Surely she’s taught you something about protecting yourself?”
“She taught me about grounding and asking for protection from my spirit guide,” I explain, trying to keep the doubt from my voice. I always follow Daria’s instructions because the things I’ve witnessed at her side freak me the hell out, but I’m still not sure exactly what I believe as far as spirits.
Except that they exist, obviously.
“Yes, well, we all use different terminology. It will be enough to do the grounding and then issue a statement to the universe about your intentions on this night. No mysticism involved.”
I muffle a laugh with a cough. “Sure. Now?”
He nods and closes his eyes. I follow suit and take a moment to shake off the mirth created by my father’s belief that he’s not into mysticism, then focus. Peace creeps in the longer I simply stand and breathe. The world around me goes still, even the cold air bouncing off my skin instead of penetrating. In silence, I tell the universe—and my spirit guide, just to be safe—that I’m here to do good, not to malign or take advantage of any lost souls wandering the earth.
I would take advantage of Mama Lottie like it’s my job if it meant saving my family. What’s left of it.
That thought encourages me to peek at Frank. He is family, regardless of the fact that I didn’t know he existed until a few weeks ago. But only by blood. Amelia is more than that. So are Mel and Will, and maybe Leo and Beau both at this point. Everyone ranks above my so-called father, yet he is here, going out on a limb for me when he doesn’t have to. That counts for something.
Finished preparing myself for what’s coming, at least to the best of my ability, I watch Frank. His eyes squeeze shut as his lips move, murmuring words too quiet to hear. I take advantage of the moment to search his features for any hint of my own but find nothing. What I do glimpse is a shadow of what could be Travis in my father’s coloring and thick eyebrows, his strong jawline.
Or maybe I’m grasping at straws. If my mother and Frank were involved and he had a child with another woman, the chances that Felicia would have been mature enough to handle the situation for them seems slim to none. My mother was many things, and despite my feelings sometimes, they weren’t all bad. But mature? Not that I’d ever witnessed.
Frank’s eyes—blue, not green like mine or gray like Travis’s—open slowly. He sees that I’m ready and nods, then takes a deep breath. “Just let me do the talking once she shows up.”
I keep my mouth shut for now. He’s not aware of everything that Mama Lottie needs to know, so I’ll have to talk to her myself. As long as he gets her here, I can do my part, even if I do feel dangerously close to crapping my pants.
My father says nothing else as he works his juju or whatever he wants to call it. I don’t dare close my eyes but do my best to stay zen, to focus on what we’re trying to accomplish instead of freaking out about how terrified the idea of seeing her again, even on my terms, makes me.
I sense Mama Lottie before she appears. There’s a smell on the air, like salt and smoke, with a tinge of some kind of burning herb that singes the back of my throat. My heart seizes, jackhammering to the point of making me breathless. It’s more than the scent, too. It’s the heavy, abrasive weight of power that settles around us.
Frank shifts closer to me, until our shoulders brush. Part of me wants to push him away, but the rest would snuggle closer. I stay still, my wide eyes searching the trees and the marsh and the deck for her heavyset, shimmering form.
When she appears, it’s not like it is at Drayton Hall. There, she saunters through the trees or up from the river at her own leisurely pace, snakes wound around her arms and the world bent to her will. Tonight, she pops out of nowhere as though pulled toward us by an imaginary rope tied around her neck.
I flinch at the image, too reminiscent of how Mama Lottie and her ancestors were treated at the hands of plantation owners in this country. The rage on her face, uncontrolled and flashing, sends me stumbling back several steps even though Frank stands strong. He appears to be unconcerned by the fact that summoning her this way looks to have brought up horrible memories. He stands in a relaxed pose, arms folded over his chest, but he’s not fooling me. No human being can possibly step into her presence and not feel dread tie tight around every bone.
“You dare summon me like a common dog?” Her voice is low and dripping with malice.
I swallow but force myself not to back up so far I’m back in the house. I can hear her easily, the way I usually can when Daria is around. Whether that’s a good thing or not remains to be seen.
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” Frank tells her. “It’s just how it works.”
“You think I haven’t heard that before?” The ghost steps toward my father. My respect for him grows as he watches her with a lazy gaze, then shrugs. “I know about you, Frank Fournier, but you do not know about me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Carlotta. I know quite a bit about you.” He pauses, then takes one step to the side so they’re not nose to nose.
Aha. He is unnerved by her resolved, malevolent presence.
“We’re not here to talk about you or me tonight, though. Miss Harper here has something to tell you.” He frowns, as though he realizes only now that his advice to me not to speak is impossible.
There’s no way around it now. Her head swivels toward me, just now deigning to acknowledge my existence. The fury in her gaze suggests that she saw me the other night, chose not to speak to me at the Hall, and is none too pleased to be forced into it now.
Nothing to do but say it. It’s my last chance to try to save the Drayton family and my own.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me…”
“Whatever would give you that idea?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her sarcasm, a little surprised by my response. It must be coded into my DNA. “Yes, well, I have information I think you need before you go through with…what I’ve been helping you with.”
She purses her lips, then shoots a look toward Frank. He doesn’t bother to pretend disinterest in our conversation, and her countenance darkens. No doubt she’s less than thrilled about letting someone else in on her personal vendetta, and honestly, I’m not terribly excited about anyone knowing that I’ve helped this vicious spirit place a curse on a local family.
We’re out of options. She might not know it yet, but we are.
“Your son, James, had a child with Charlotta Drayton.” She stops pacing. Just freezes, like when the Internet connection goes out in the middle of a Netflix show. Then she swivels only her head, her dark, bottomless eyes akin to that of one of the demons I glimpsed once with Daria.
A shudder works down my spine.
“What did you just say?” she asked.
Frank again closes the gap between us, as though maybe he believes we’re stronger if our bodies are touching somehow. Maybe he’s right, but if Mama Lottie decides she wants to hurt one or both of u
s, I can’t imagine anything on this whole earth would be able to stop her.
“Your son…James.”
“How do you know about him?”
The question confirms that she had taken care to hide the fact that she had a son, never mind that he worked with her at the Draytons’, from everyone. The glint in her eye says she might not even believe I’m telling the truth, but I do know his name. How good of a guesser would I have to be to figure that out?
“Charlotta Drayton’s diaries. She talks about him quite a lot.”
“Liar. My James never went near the Drayton children.” The untruth glimmers in her face, inserts the slightest uncertainty in her voice. She knows good and well that Charlotta and James knew each other, if she doesn’t know about their baby.
“But you did.” My curiosity creeps up, trumping my fear at least enough for questions to slip through, ones I’m dying to know the answers to. “When I see the younger version of you, she appears with another ghost, a little boy…Charles.”
“They weren’t my friends.” Her face twists with sour hatred. “They pretended to care, the lot of them, but they didn’t. They let me suffer in captivity, like a bird banging itself against the bars of a cage until its body is as broken as its spirit. James knew better. He knew.”
In that moment, Mama Lottie shows me her vulnerability—or at least, the kind she must have had in life. If her claims are true, she must have been a terrified child, ripped from her family and sold to another. Considered chattel even as they claimed to care about her. She built her reputation and protected what little independence it earned her with fierce fire. It made sense that she would forbid her son from befriending the people who, in her mind, had betrayed her every moment they refused to see and speak the truth they must have known—that she didn’t belong.
But I’ve read Charlotta’s diaries. That means I know something Mama Lottie doesn’t, something that a young, innocent girl never could have invented on her own.