“You said something about twins. What twins?” Briar asked.
I couldn’t imagine anyone, or anything, that could have Calista tucking tail and running for help.
Josephine answered for Calista, who looked furious at having been challenged. “The Dixon Brothers. Devonnaire and Dalton. Cousins of Marie Dixon. They’re powerful hoodoo practitioners. Root doctors.”
Another set of twins? I considered, and Briar gave me a look that told me I wasn’t alone in wondering if there was some sort of connection. She squeezed my hand.
“And they work for Ezekiel?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” Jo replied. “They work together when it benefits them, but they’re not exactly allies. There’s a long history there.”
“That seems to be a common theme in this town and in this world,” I answered. “But I don’t care about any of that right now, nor do I need another history lesson. All I need is to know that Fiona is okay.” Briar’s grip on my hand let me know she felt the same way.
21 Ezekiel
Ella Mae Dixon led Ezekiel Walker through the woods on foot until they entered a swamp. She deftly stepped from logs to roots to patches of dry land to cypress knees, avoiding the murky water, as Ezekiel struggled to match her lithe pace.
After a time, they reached a small rowboat. Ezekiel had never been on a boat, and nearly fell into the water trying to get on board.
Once they were both in, Ella Mae turned to Ezekiel and opened a small cloth bag. She sprinkled a fine, gray dust onto her hand and rubbed it between her palms. She then presented her open right hand to Ezekiel. “Spit on my hand, Ezekiel.”
“Ma’am?”
She nodded her assent. “Spit on my hand. I’m going to borrow your gift to navigate us through this swamp and back home.”
Ezekiel still seemed unsure.
“Men with dogs will reach the Walker Plantation soon. Dogs and guns. The steps I took to block the dogs from following us won’t last forever, and there will be so many that they may just luck into locating us. No matter what, we can lose them easily over the water. All the hounds will smell once they get this far are the gators and they’ll give up. You have to trust me, Ezekiel.”
Ella Mae nodded again, and Ezekiel cradled Ella Mae Dixon’s hand in his own and spat onto her dust-covered palm.
She closed her eyes, rubbed hand hands together once more and shuddered as Ezekiel’s power flowed through the goofer dust she’d prepared and transferred, temporarily, to her. Never, in her long life practicing dark magic had she felt anything like it.
She smiled at Ezekiel and held her open hand, fingers spread and palm down, outstretched toward the bow of the boat. Th small craft lurched to life, moving swiftly and silently between trees and vines, startled herons and cranes taking flight as boat approached.
A startled Ezekiel held tight to the sides. He’d spent his entire fourteen years on or near the Walker Plantation, and the swamp was an alien world. The brackish water nearby moved as unseen animals moved below the surface. Ella Mae felt the boy trembling behind her.
“You should fear nothing, Ezekiel. You’re an extraordinary young man. We’re safe now. You’re safe now.”
The swamp gave way to a creek and then to a river, and Ella Mae Dixon piloted the craft with her mind between barrier islands until she spotted a nearly imperceptible opening in the lush vegetation on the shoreline of one of the islands and she steered the small boat into a narrow creek.
“This is home,” Ella Mae explained. “Frogmore Island.”
As the boat glided silently up the windy creek, Ezekiel looked up at the branches which hung over the water – the deeper they travelled, the trees seemed to become alive with all manner of fauna. Birds and squirrels filled the branches. Along with a host of snakes.
Ezekiel withdrew bodily, into the boat. Some of the branches, heavy with Spanish moss, drooped to just overhead. A long, brown snake extended itself as far as it could from on such branch and Ella Mae Dixon reached out to caress its scales. Ezekiel’s shock was palpable.
“Miss Ella Mae don’t be touchin’ no snakes! I lost two cousins from copperhead bites just last summer!”
Ella Mae laughed softly. “Ezekiel, I told you, this is home.” You have nothing to fear here. Nor do I.” The snake wrapped itself around her wrist and disengaged from the tree completely. Ezekiel’s eyes were wide with fright, despite his newfound abilities.
“This serpent could no more harm me than it could fly to the moon. Our allies on this island are legion.” She gestured toward the creekbank, where several enormous alligators lounged in the sun. “You’re in no danger here. The creatures here are our guardians.”
Ella Mae bent down and the snake she held slid into the water and swam away.
At a bend in the stream, a house came into view. It was part of a plantation, smaller than the one Ezekiel had left in ashes, but unmistakably the property of a wealthy white family. And home to slaves. Ezekiel felt his rage build. He’d been betrayed, he just knew it. Ella Mae Dixon had tricked him.
He considered his options. Killing everyone on this new plantation would be at least as simple as what he’d done at the Walker place, but then what? Go into Charleston and find his mother and sister? Fight the militia? The military? The whole world?
He turned to face Ella Mae. “I don’t know who you really is or what you got planned fo’ me, but I gon’ give you one chance to take me away from here. I ain’t gon’ be a slave no mo’!” Ezekiel stood and began to levitate, his anger fueling his newfound abilities beyond his ability to control them. Wind whipped through the trees and the boat began to rock.
Ella Mae Dixon sat patiently. She looked almost bored by Ezekiel’s display. “Take another look, Ezekiel,” she suggested. “You’ll find no masters here.”
Ezekiel didn’t like the idea of turning his back on Ella Mae, but he took a glance over his shoulder. He blinked and shook his head before taking another look. He saw several children, all black, running through the grass and playing. A bit further up the creek, two black men sat on the shoreline, fishing.
“What is…” Ezekiel couldn’t finish. He was dumbfounded by seeing the kinds of people he’d only ever known to be shackled or bowed by the white man’s whip, living carefree and happy.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, Ezekiel. This Bluebill Plantation. This is home.”
22 Briar
“You two are impossible!” Calista scolded, but our minds were made up.
“Get Chantelle to safety,” Emma suggested. “Go find help. We’re going after Fiona, and that’s that.”
I was trembling as I ascended the staircase back up toward the library but having my twin right behind me gave me strength.
On the count of three, Bri,” Emma whispered to me when we reached the top. “I’ll be holding onto you the entire time. No matter what happens, I’ll keep healing you. You keep fighting off those… things. Let’s get across to the back steps and up to the bedrooms, hopefully we can find Fiona there. Maybe she got into a closet or something.”
I nodded.
“One. Two. Three!” We counted together and threw the trapdoor at the same moment Josephine activated the trick bookcase from down in the hallway. The library looked like a hurricane had swept through it.
Shredded pieces of books and furniture lay among bones and carcasses, with blood splattered on the floor here and there. When we appeared, the undead beasts attacked, but this time I was ready for them.
Shards of bone flew through the room like shrapnel as I tore the skeletal remains apart. We hurried across to our goal, the doorway leading to the back staircase to the upper floors.
Emma closed the door behind us, and we heard scraping and gnashing against the heavy wood almost immediately.
We took the stairs two and three at a time, bypassing the second floor for the third. We couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door, so Emma looked at me and raised a finger, then two. When she put up a third, I quietly
turned the knob and eased the door open, peering down the ornate hallway.
Everything we still, but I could hear an anguished sound coming from several doors down. A mournful, whimpering cry.
“That’s Fiona,” Emma hissed, and we both took off running toward the sound.
We were a door away when a figure appeared on our right, coming out of the study next to Calista’s room, which was where were heading.
“Boo!” Said a tall, slender black man with a shaved head and goatee. He smiled as we stumbled to a panicked stop, and then he tossed the contents of a small glass of water onto us.
Instantly, my limbs felt like they weighed ten tons, and I collapsed to the floor, barely able to move a muscle. Emma seemed similarly stricken, although I couldn’t even turn my head to look in her direction.
The man stepped around and over me, bending at the waist to study us. “Oh my. You two must be Ms. Virginia’s new girls. I’m Dalton. Here, I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of twigs. Withdrawing several, he crumbled them in his hands and let the broken pieces fall onto Emma and me.
Soon, Fiona wasn’t the only one crying.
23 Emma
Merritt sat next to me in the backseat. It was a beautiful, clear day, and a hot wind whipped through the car. Whenever possible, my father eschewed creature comforts like air conditioning.
The familiar desert rolled past, and my sister sang along to a Britney Spears song only she could hear through her headphones. It took until she got to the part about a “poison paradise” that I recognized it as Toxic.
A stack of book and magazines sat on the seat between us, and my mother was droning on about something Renoir and Matisse. My father was snapping into a Slim Jim.
I couldn’t be sure, but the scenery seemed like Nevada to me, somewhere near Death Valley. Tumbleweed bounced along the roadside and I could smell sagebrush on the air.
It was perfect.
Perfectly impossible.
I turned to look at Merritt, but she was lost in her music. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but my hand passed right through.
“Dad?” I called out, but although I could hear myself, nobody else seemed able.
Up ahead, a truck barreled down the desolate high way, probably bound for Las Vegas.
My blood ran cold.
I looked at my mom and back to the truck and all around, desperate for some way to change what I knew was going to happen.
A flash of white caught my eye, just as Zillah March appeared in the passenger seat next to the truck driver. He swerved out of shock, she vanished, and my mother screamed.
The collision seemed to take minutes, although it was over in the blink of an eye. Metal shattered and twisted and everything exploded, leaving behind the most horrific carnage imaginable.
When everything stopped moving, I found myself standing, unscathed, in the middle of the road. The driver of the truck hung out what was left of the windshield. He was clearly gone. My father bore the brunt of the impact, and I couldn’t even look at what was left of him. Tears streamed down my face as I turned to my poor mother. Her body had been mangled, but she was at least recognizable. Instinctively, I tried to close her eyes, but I couldn’t touch her.
I staggered to the side of the road, where the back of the car lay as if it had been chopped off with a giant axe.
Merritt was trapped there in the wreckage, a pool of blood behind her head. Her eyelids flickered as the merciless sun beat down on her face.
Footsteps echoed across the road, the distinctive click clack of high heels.
From behind the truck, came Zillah March, dressed in a short blue dress and matching shoes. She paused by my mother before continuing to Merritt.
“You bitch, you monster!” I screamed between sobs.
Zillah crouched down next to Merritt and cradled her face in her hand.
“Hello? Anybody in there?” She said, and Merritt mumbled a response. My tears would stop. I felt like I’d vomit at any moment.
“M-mommy…” Merritt rasped. I turned away, then fell to my knees and crawled nearer to her. “Help me… please help me… help my dad my mommy please…” Merritt begged and I wept. Zillah was as cold as the Arctic Circle.
“Where’s Emma?” She asked matter-of-factly.
“Ni-ni- *cough* did you call nine-nine-” Merritt struggled to speak.
“Nine-one-one?” Zillah replied. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Please… I want my mommy please…” Merritt struggled to focus, to hold it together. I seethed.
“I asked you a question. Where’s your sister? Emma. Where is she?”
“Hurts so bad please…”
Zillah stood up and surveyed the scene.
“She’s not here, is she? Come on stupid, where’s your sister?”
Merritt looked so confused. I was blinded by my tears. I retched, but nothing came up.
“H-home,” Merritt managed. “She stayed home.”
“Of course she did,” Zillah answered. “She’s to blame for all of this, you know.”
“Stop it, Zillah. Stop it you evil bitch,” I protested, despite knowing it wouldn’t do any good.
Zillah crouched down again so she could look right into my sister’s eyes. “Emma could save you. All she’d have to do would be to touch you. Your mother, too. So not only was she the reason this happened to begin with, she’s not even here to clean up the mess she made. She’s useless, no?”
“Did y-you can you help… please help,” Merritt begged feebly.
“Oh, you need help?” Zillah stifled a laugh and then began to shout my name into the empty desert. “Emma! Em-ma!”
I was gutted, and my brain disconnected from my eyes and ears. I could take no more.
When I woke up again, I found myself sitting in the back of a car, cruising through the desert. I looked over to see my sister, Merritt, sitting next to me, rocking out to music I couldn’t hear.
“You’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under…”
I wanted to cry, but I was completely out of tears. Off in the distance, a truck approached from the opposite direction.
24 Briar
Emma lay next to me, weeping. She wailed inconsolably, and all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around her and hold her until whatever awful thing was happening stopped.
Instead, all I could manage was to hook my pinky finger around hers. The way we’d fallen, her left hand landed atop my right, pinned between us, and I hoped she was receiving some sort of comfort from that small measure of human contact I was able to afford her.
Fiona continued to cry in the next room.
“Well now, you’ve got to fear something, young lady,” said the man standing over us. He knelt next to me and looked into my eyes. “I don’t want to give you too much, there may be no coming back from it. Hmm.” He seemed perplexed by my lack of anguish. I was terrified by our predicament, to be certain, but evidently something wasn’t working according to his plan.
“We’re finished here,” came a male voice from down the hall that I couldn’t see. It sounded just like the man Emma and I had been dealing with, so I assumed it was his twin.
“One last thing,” Dalton said. He withdrew a small knife and used it to sever several strands of my hair. From what I could see of his hands, he did the same to Emma. “Strong medicine,” he said while looking down at me. The second Dixon brother came into my field of vision and the two of them stood there chatting.
“You sent that one somewhere awful, sounds like,” Devonnaire said to Dalton, glancing in Emma’s direction.
“She did that to herself,” Dalton insisted. “I just showed her the way. Can’t figure why this one hasn’t taken her own trip though.” He gently kicked my shoulder to indicate that he was referring to me.
“I told you, that root doesn’t work on everybody. You shouldn’t use that old blackjack oak and sassafras anyway. Turkey oak works much better. Watch.”
Devonnaire selected a few twigs from his bunch, snapped off several small pieces, and bent to lay them gently on my face and neck.
The effect was immediate.
“No, Merritt, it’s not your turn! Go ahead, Briar. Any of them with the green wrapping paper, okay?”
“My turn now!”
“You’re lucky Santa didn’t see this display, young lady,” a man’s voice said behind me. “Now come over here and sit between Mommy and me. I don’t trust you so close to your pile.”
A pouty little girl in reindeer pajamas trudged over to a couch and plopped down between a man and woman, both clutching steaming coffee mugs. A Christmas tree twinkled in the corner, a pile of gifts beneath it.
“Hurry up, Briar, so I can go,” came a pleading voice to my left. I looked for the source, and it was… me. Or not me. My tw- … It was Emma. Wearing the same reindeer pajamas Merritt wore.
Oh my God.
A small voice in the back of my mind screamed something about somebody named Fiona. Dixon brothers. Belles. Gibberish. Nonsense.
It was clearly Christmas morning, everybody was happy, well, everybody except little Merritt, but who could blame her? What four-year-old has an ounce of patience, especially on Christmas morning?
I selected a box wrapped in shiny green paper, with a fancy white bow. I started gently, popping the tape along a seam, but before long, my eagerness won out and I was shredding.
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