by Wendy Wang
“What’s the second thing,” Jen said. She didn’t look convinced.
“You invited her in,” Charlie said.
“What? No, I didn’t,” Jen protested.
“You did, honey. Yesterday, when you told Ruby she couldn’t play in the playhouse till we got rid of the bat, she asked if Barbara Jean could go with her, remember?” Charlie said.
“Oh my gosh.” Jen held her head in her hands. “It didn’t even occur to me that she was real. You said she wasn’t real.”
“Hey,” Charlie said. She straightened her back and tightened her arms over her chest. “I did the best I could. This little spirit is used to being invisible, and probably stays that way most of the time.”
“Why can Ruby see her then?” Jen asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Ruby’s more attuned to her energy because she’s—” Charlie stopped herself.
“Because she’s what?” Jen said. She put her hands on her hips and took a step closer. The last thing Charlie wanted to do was to fight with her cousin. She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure if she should continue. “Because she’s weird?”
“I did not say that. Ruby’s not weird. Not any weirder than the rest of us,” Charlie said. “But she is lonely.”
Jen’s face melted and for a second Charlie thought Jen might cry. “Why do you say that?”
“I sense it from her sometimes,” Charlie said. She kept her tone quiet and calm.
“You do?” Jen said.
Charlie nodded. “And I think you do too.”
Jen sniffled and batted a tear away from her cheek. “I don’t know how to help her make friends. I mean she’s always been independent and in love with all that’s strange and wonderful in the world. It doesn’t exactly make her fit in.”
“I know.” Charlie held up one arm and motioned for Jen to move closer. Charlie draped her arm around her cousin’s shoulders to comfort her. “It’s okay that she’s different. Trust me. She will have friends.”
“I sometimes wish that she had a sister, or even a cousin, the way we did growing up, you know?” Jen said.
“I know,” Charlie said. “And she does have a cousin.”
“It’s not quite the same. I mean, Evan is wonderful, and I’m really happy that he wants to explore his magical roots. But it’s not like he’s going play dolls and have tea parties with her in her playhouse.” Jen said.
“He does care for her a lot though,” Charlie said.
“I know,” Jen said. She leaned her head against Charlie.
“You know, I had a strange encounter last night too. I debated about telling you, but just so you know, it was a good call not to let Ruby play in the playhouse, even if it means you invited in a spirit." Charlie said.
“Why?”
“A bat hit my bedroom window,” Charlie said.
"A bat? Like a furry flying bat?”
“Yep,” Charlie said.
“That is weird," Jen said.
"Weirder still that it seems to have done it several times. Enough to kill it." Charlie said.
"Are you serious?" Jen said, real concern in her voice now.
"Yep," Charlie said.
"And you think it was the bat from the playhouse?" Jen asked.
"Evan does," Charlie said.
"Why?" Jen asked.
"Just a feeling he got from the poor little creature," Charlie said.
"Maybe it was sick. A rabid animal can behave very aggressively, “ Jen said.
“Evan didn’t sense that,” Charlie said, “but I guess anything’s possible. The only way to know would be to have it tested for rabies.”
Jen nodded and let out a long, shuddery sigh. “Do you think Ruby's in danger? From Barbara Jean, I mean.”
"No,” Charlie squeezed her cousin’s shoulders. “I don't think so."
"Do you think Tom could help her move on?" Jen said.
“Maybe,” Charlie said.
Jen straightened up and stepped from beneath Charlie’s arm. “Will you help me move that rocking chair? It’s not heavy, it’s just unwieldy.”
“Of course,” Charlie said. “Who knows? She may follow it out to the playhouse.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Jen said. “Then we could cleanse everything tomorrow.”
"Sure,” Charlie nodded. “Any chance you’d let me take a crack at helping her first? Samhain's coming up, and the veil is at its thinnest then. She may just move on naturally."
"Samhain is almost three weeks away. You want her to just hang out with my daughter till then?"
"She won’t hurt Ruby," Charlie said.
"You don't know that for sure," Jen said. "Sometimes spirits can trick even you."
"I know," Charlie said. "And if it goes sideways, then I'll definitely call Tom in, and we will clear her out ASAP."
"And I’ll ward Ruby’s room first thing tomorrow," Jen mused.
"Hmmm," Charlie said.
"What?" Jen said. “It can’t hurt.”
“I know, but you and I reinforced the wards around the property after Tony Smoak’s spirit broke through back in May,” Charlie said.
“So?” Jen said.
"We should check them," Charlie said. "Maybe one of the jars got broken."
"I don't see how. I buried 'em," Jen said. She stared at Charlie a moment, her blue eyes blinking too fast. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Fine. We’ll check them.”
"If she becomes troublesome, we'll bind her to the playhouse," Charlie said. “We don’t have to see her to cast that spell on her.”
"That’s a good idea,” Jen said. “In the meantime, let’s get that rocking chair out of the house.”
"You know? I didn't ask you earlier. Where was Ben tonight?" Charlie followed Jen from the kitchen toward the stairs waiting for the answer.
"He had a job in Columbia. He should be back tonight. I wish they'd just hire someone to help him."
"Defenders of Light is hiring?" Charlie asked.
"Yep," Jen said. "Ben's putting a crew together that he can rely on."
"A crew? Really? Hmmm," Charlie said.
"Does that sound interesting to you?" Jen teased. "Charlie Payne, witch hunter?"
“That all depends." Charlie shrugged.
"On what?" Jen said.
"Whether they provide dental insurance or not," Charlie chuckled.
Chapter 10
Someone threw back the curtains and drenched her room with sunlight. “Stop, not yet,” she moaned and threw her arm across her eyes to block out the painful light.
"You gotta get up Miss Edwina," a woman said. A moment later cold fingers gently pull her arm away from her face.
"No. Please don't." The voice coming from Charlie’s mouth was not one she recognized. She squinted and then slowly opened her eyes. The face of a beautiful African American woman stared down at her. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a black uniform with a crisp white apron like the maids in old Saturday Evening Post cartoons. Charlie sat up with alarm. She glanced around at the room trying to find anything that indicated the time period. The maid’s uniform hit a couple of inches below the knee and her sensible lace up shoes reminded Charlie of mid-twentieth century shoes she’d seen in magazines and on television.
Duck egg blue silk wallpaper adorned the walls and wide crown molding painted gold enhanced the rich elegance. The mahogany four-poster bed squeaked a little when she moved.
Charlie looked down at her hands. They were small, and a gold wedding band flanked an obscenely large diamond ring. It sparkled in the streaming light from the large bank of windows to the right of the bed. These were not her hands.
This is a dream. Some part of her mind pricked up, trying to pay attention to the scene unfolding around her. These things came to her sometimes. An image that was part of a larger whole, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle where she had to match the colors and edges to get it to fit.
"Miss Edwina, please don't make me ask you again." The young maid wrapped her hand
s around her wrists.
"Your hands are so cold, Augusta," Edwina said. Her accent was full of an old Charleston lilt. Beautiful and quintessential and dying out.
Not here it isn't. Not now. Wherever here and now is. Charlie needed to know more.
"What day is it?" Edwina asked.
"You know what day it is," Augusta said, prompting Edwina to turn and put her feet on the floor. Edwina's legs dangled from the high bed.
"Humor me, Augusta," Edwina said.
Augusta went around the end of the bed and bent down. When she stood up, she had a mahogany step stool in her hands. She placed the step beneath Edwina's feet and held out her hand. Augusta sighed and gave her employer an exasperated look. "It's Thursday, Miss Edwina."
"What's the date? I can't remember the date." Panic was creeping into Edwina’s voice.
"It's September seventh." Augusta lifted Edwina's hand and placed it in hers. "Come on now. You're gonna be late."
"Late for what?" Edwina stood on shaky legs and took the one step down to the Persian rug covering the floor.
"We need to get you dressed. They're gonna be here soon, and Mr. Porter will have my hide if you're not ready." Augusta led her charge to the end of the bed where a blue dress and a white camisole and a matching petticoat had been laid out next to a pair of stockings and a garter. A cotton bra hung over Augusta's shoulder, and she reached for the edges of the fine cotton gown hanging to Edwina's knees. "Now come on let me get you out of this."
"What?" Edwina put her hands across her chest. "I don't want you to see me naked. I barely know you."
"Miss Edwina," Augusta began. Weariness filled her tone. "Please don't fight me this morning. You don't have anything I haven't seen before. Don't make me go get Mr. Porter. That won't end well."
The thought of Mr. Porter coming into this room, her room, filled her with fear. "No," Edwina pleaded. "Don't do that. I'll be good." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, before finally allowing Augusta to undress her. Augusta held open a pair of silky panties, and Edwina stepped into them, then held her bra up so Edwina could put her arms through the straps. Her small breasts fit into the pointed cups, and she held her breath when Augusta's cold fingers fastened the hooks in back. Augusta helped her into the garter belt making sure it was at the right place around her slim waist, then helped her hook the stockings to it. Finally, she took the petticoat and bunched it up so it fit easily over Edwina's head.
"Arms up please," Augusta said. Edwina complied, and the petticoat fell into place around her waist.
"What year is this?" Charlie said. She could almost hear her own voice beneath Edwina's. The two voices bled together like a bad harmony. Not quite hitting the right notes.
"Oh, Miss Edwina." There was so much sorrow in those words. Charlie wondered if it had been something Edwina had asked before. "Don't let Mr. Porter hear you say such things."
"Well, tell me the year and I won't," Edwina said. Augusta rolled her eyes and picked up the ice-blue dress and slipped the yards of fabric over Edwina's head.
"It's 1955, but you know that," Augusta said. "Now let's get you finished up before Mr. Porter comes looking for you."
The bodice of Edwina's dress hung open to the waist. The full, pleated skirt fell at an angle until Augusta made quick work of buttoning her up. Edwina held out the skirt then let it fall over the layers of petticoats until it bloomed into a beautiful silhouette. "I love this dress."
"I know," Augusta said brushing her hands over Edwina's back, smoothing the fabric. She spun Edwina around gently and buckled the matching ice-blue belt around Edwina's tiny waist. "Perfect. Slip your feet into your shoes. All right?"
"All right," Edwina said. She pointed her toes and wedged her feet into a pair of navy kitten heels. The woman's thoughts tumbled over one another making it impossible for Charlie to catch hold of who Edwina really was and how she really felt. Augusta took Edwina's hand in hers and pulled her toward the door.
"Where are we going?" Edwina asked.
"Mr. Porter is waiting downstairs for you," Augusta said. "Come on Miss Edwina. You’re gonna be late."
"Late for what?" Edwina asked, following Augusta through the door and onto the landing of the second floor.
"I haven't fixed my hair yet, Augusta," Edwina said.
"Don't you worry Miss Edwina, you look fine," Augusta said. "Now stop dragging your feet."
A tall gleaming banister made of polished mahogany led to a wide staircase. Charlie floated along in Edwina's head, looking for any chance to get a good look at the woman's body she was inhabiting in her dream. They passed a large mirror, but it had been smashed, and a large part of the silver-backed glass was missing or in jagged lines, cutting her image into a dozen pieces, distorting her features and making her look almost monstrous. The only thing Charlie could make out was that Edwina had dark wavy hair and large wild brown eyes, but even that was distorted.
When they arrived at the bottom of the steps, Augusta led Edwina to a heavy paneled door. "It's all right, Miss Edwina. You have to stay strong." Augusta rapped her knuckles against the door. A moment later, it opened, and a classically handsome man opened the door. He could’ve been Don Draper’s younger brother, with his cropped stylish hair and crisp gray suit.
"Come in Edwina," the man said. Charlie had a feeling she'd seen this man before, but couldn't place where. "I have a surprise for you."
"What's all this fuss about, Porter? You know I don't like surprises."
"Yes, yes," he said. "I've got it from here Augusta. Thank you."
Augusta's eyes grew wide, and she looked from Porter to another man standing by a heavy desk.
"Yes, sir," Augusta said. Augusta took Edwina's hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. Charlie could tell the young woman wanted to throw her arms around Edwina and hug her tight, but it wouldn't have been proper. Instead, she fidgeted and didn't do more than hold Edwina's hands,.
"You're gonna be all right Miss Edwina. And when you get home. I'll be here to take care of you. You understand?"
Edwina stared into Augusta's face. The young maid's dark brown eyes were watery with unshed tears and she didn't want her to go.
"Where am I going?" Edwina asked.
"That's enough," Porter said. "Thank you Augusta, you may go."
Augusta gave him a quick nod and disappeared into the hallway. Porter closed the heavy door behind Edwina. The sound of it sent a shudder through Charlie, and Edwina shivered. The heavy finality of it.
"Edwina, do you remember Dr. Koteas?"
"Of course," Edwina said. Her hands fluttered to her collar, fussing with it when the doctor offered his hand to shake. After an awkward moment, the doctor lowered his arm to his side. Edwina's jumbled thoughts washed over and through Charlie, drowning her in a tsunami of emotion. Edwina glanced back at the door. Could she escape the house before Porter could catch her?
"Porter, I don't want to go anywhere," Edwina said. Her voice sounded small and child-like.
"Edwina," Porter said. "We talked about this, remember? We agreed this was the best way to deal with what you've done."
A dull itch drilled into Edwina's head and her ears buzzed. Her hand flew to her forehead, and she tapped the spot between her brows then rubbed the skin. Harder and harder until her nails broke through the skin. Something warm and sticky dripped down her face.
What she'd done. What had she done? She couldn't remember. Every time she thought about that night her head filled with murky cold water. Nothing was clear. Nothing made sense. The itch grew stronger, and Edwina dug deeper into her forehead, through her macerated flesh.
"Stop it." Porter had hold of her wrist pulling her hand away from her face.
"No, you stop it!" she shouted. "I don't want to go!"
Porter's hands squeezed her wrists tight, so tight. It made breaking away from him impossible. “Look at yourself, Edwina. Just look!" He forced her to turn around and marched her to the thick, framed mirror hanging next to the floor to cei
ling shelves lining the long wall in this room. Edwina shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Open your eyes," he commanded.
"I don't want to," she whined.
Open your eyes, Edwina. I need to see your face.
Charlie listened to Edwina's harsh breathing, felt the heaviness of Porter's hands on Edwina's upper arms. His fingers squeezed against her soft flesh.
"Open them." He spoke to her through gritted teeth and shook her by her shoulders. The sound of his growling voice startled her. Porter never raised his voice at her in anger or frustration. He was always so sweet to her. Why couldn't he just be sweet to her? "Open your eyes. I mean it, Edwina."
One eye flickered open. Then the other. The onslaught of tears rushed over onto her cheeks mixing with the blood running down her face and into her eyes. Her pale skin stretched tight over her heart-shaped face, and sunken brown eyes stared back at Charlie. She looked so young. Too young to feel this desperate. This terrified. This ashamed.
"You need help, honey," Porter's tone softened. "You can't even look at yourself in a mirror since that night." He put his face next to hers and whispered in her ear. "No one but me knows what you did. And that's how it will stay, as long as you go quietly with Dr. Koteas."
"Porter, please." The words came out in a ragged whisper.
"I'm sorry, sugar," Porter wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. His arms crushed her in a vice-like grip making it hard for her to draw a breath. "This is for the best." He loosened his grip, and one hand snaked up to her face, cupping one side of it. She pressed her cheek into the warmth of his hand for a second. A rush of despair welled up inside her chest, coating her heart like thick, black goo, impossible to get off. Like tar or molasses. And she just wanted it all to stop. The haze. The sadness. These horrible feelings threatening to fill her mouth and coat her throat in sticky, black goo that would never come off. A whimper escaped her throat, and gently she pulled Porter's hands from her face and arm. The itch inside her head drove deeper. Her hands shook, wanting nothing more than to claw through her skin, dig into her skull until she reached it. Then she would drag her sharp nails through it, long and hard until it finally stopped. She hated the woman staring back at her. She barely recognized her anymore. What kind of woman would do the things she'd done?