"No, let me go," he urged, pressing her back down.
Shamefaced, Lydie turned to Abby.
"I'm so sorry, Abby. I can't believe I said that."
"It wasn't your fault, Lydie," Abby promised.
She watched Sebastian trot down the stairs and out of sight.
"My mom is..."
"Cuckoo for cocoa puffs?" Oliver asked, but he smiled warmly and gave Abby's hand a squeeze across the table.
"Yeah, exactly. Now you know why visiting her on Christmas was a last minute, and obviously terrible, idea."
"She needs help," Oliver offered. "I'm sorry about the champagne. I thought she might feel more comfortable."
"She might if she hadn't already downed half a bottle of gin at home."
"She did?"
"I saw a bottle on the floor next to her bed. I could tell she'd been drinking, but don't let that fool you. She can launch into a complete rage totally sober."
"That must have been crazy to grow up with," Oliver added.
"Yeah, it was."
"What did she mean about slithering monsters that eat little girls?" Lydie asked, frowning.
"I don't have a clue," Abby admitted. "Creepy though."
Their waitress appeared and began to mop up their spilled drinks.
"Heard you guys had a bit of a showdown over here," she said lightly. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, we're okay," Abby said, wanting to leave and drive back up north without a backward glance. Every time she returned to her hometown, she received a thunderclap reminder of why she had fled.
"No luck," Sebastian apologized, returning to the table. A red welt showed across his cheek and Abby grimaced.
"She slapped you?" she asked, appalled.
Sebastian touched his cheek.
"To her credit, I tried to pick her up and carry her back from the bus stop."
Oliver snorted.
"Was she upset?" Lydie asked.
"More self-righteous than anything. Even after I confessed that I was a mere mortal, she still insisted on calling me a warlock and wagging her finger in my face. Fortunately the other patrons waiting for the bus looked equally unhinged, so I'm not sure anyone will be reporting the incident."
Abby moaned and put her head in her hands.
"I'm sorry, you guys," she told them. "I obviously didn't think this through."
"Why are you apologizing?" Sebastian asked, incredulous. "I'm the one who insisted on the family Christmas trip. At least now I can say, I've met your mother."
The waitress brought fresh drinks and a plate of appetizers.
"No live oysters, thank the Goddess," Lydie said, grabbing a piece of bruschetta from the plate.
****
"Abby!" Abby's dad wrenched open the door of his condo and pulled her into a hug.
The condo occupied one half of a small yellow building in Mason, a rural community south of Lansing.
"Hi Dad." She hugged him back.
He pulled away and looked her up and down.
"Your hair is longer, but I could have sworn it was short the last time I saw you?"
She smiled and touched a curl.
"Yeah, I found some miracle grow shampoo. Pretty amazing, huh?"
"Sure is. Could use some myself." He touched his mostly bald head and smiled.
"Hi, I'm Sebastian." Sebastian thrust his hand forward and Abby's dad shook it vigorously.
"Nice to meet you, young man. Is this your fella, then?" he asked. "Or that one there?" He cocked his head toward Oliver, who stood next to the car with Lydie.
"This is the one," Abby said, wrapping her arm around Sebastian's waist. "We're engaged."
"Whoa, engaged? Well congratulations then. Come on in. Dessert's all ready, and I think I have a bottle of wine floating around here somewhere."
They followed him inside.
"This is Oliver and Lydie, Dad," Abby told him as they walked through the door.
"A pleasure." He smiled at them. "You look a bit young for college though, little lady. Are you one of those super geniuses who becomes a doctor when she's thirteen?"
Lydie laughed and blushed.
"Oliver is my brother. I'm just tagging along."
They had made up the lie on their drive down.
"Well that's an awfully nice brother to let you do that."
Abby surveyed the condo. Very plain with neutral colors. It revealed that Abby's dad still hadn't accepted that he could pick his own decor. Not that he was a decorator. Though she imagined if he truly tapped into his secret interior designer, they'd be looking at blown-up photos of golf courses and not much else.
Becky had not allowed Jim much space to have anything of his own. The one time he tried to bring a reclining chair home, she marched him right back to the store and returned it. "A hideous monstrosity," she had called it.
Abby saw a similar chair in his sitting room. It accompanied a stiff-looking tan couch and a pair of homely end tables.
"I like it," she told him honestly, following him into the small kitchen. It didn't have much flair, but something about the space felt safe and easy.
"It's plenty big enough for me, and I got a great deal on it. No fees since I worked as my own agent."
"How's business?"
Abby's dad had been a real estate agent since before she came into the world. He loved his job, though Becky needled him constantly about selling mansions instead of welfare housing.
"Oh it's super. Look at this." He led her to a small office, tucked into the corner of the kitchen, with a desktop that folded down from the wall. A laptop sat on the surface along with a stack of her dad's brochures. He touched the mouse and his screen came to life.
"Newest software on the market. It's called Rate my Realtor. It's a social media platform for buyers, sellers, agents, you name it. I've got 4.7 stars!"
"Wow, congratulations," Abby told him, watching over his shoulder as he clicked on his profile. An image of her father standing next to a "sold" sign appeared on the screen.
"So what happened with you and Mom?" she asked, glancing behind her to make sure the others had stayed in the sitting room. She didn't mind if they heard, but knew her father would be reluctant to open up with strangers nearby.
He sighed and closed the laptop.
"After Sydney's funeral she just became impossible. You know I love your mother, Abby, and I have no intention of speaking ill of her now, but I couldn't live with her anymore. It's that simple. The moods, the rages. Sometimes I would come home from work and she'd attack me. Not just with words either, like she used to. She'd be throwing dishes at me before I even made it through the door."
"I'm so sorry, Dad."
He shrugged and held up his palms.
"She never handled change very well. I think you moving away and Sydney's death just became too much. But I have faith in her, you know? I think she'll work through this stuff and then maybe..." he trailed off.
Abby knew what he wanted to imply, but also sensed that he did not truly believe it. Neither did she for that matter. Once you escaped from someone like Becky, you were unlikely to ever go back.
"It's okay," Abby told him. "It's okay to do what's right for you."
He smiled at her and nodded, but he stared at the floor for several more seconds. When he looked up, Abby saw the sorrow in his eyes.
"She's had a hard life, you know. I never knew all of what went on, but I think something horrible happened to your mom when she was a little girl. I think she never got over it."
Abby frowned.
"She never said anything like that to me. What do you think happened to her?"
"I don't know. I tried to ask her a few times, but you know your mom, if she doesn't want to talk about it, she's not going to."
"What about this Cody character? Why on earth did she let him move in?"
Jim grimaced and a flash of anger passed over his normally placid features.
"He's an opportunist, a total user. He worked delivering p
ackages for Anni's Custom Goods, you know that furniture shop on the west side of town?"
"Yeah, I remember it."
"Well he came by four or five times to drop off more of your mother's purchases, which has gotten out of control, by the way. Why Sydney left your mom all that money is beyond me."
"I don't think she intended for it to go that way."
"No, of course, you're right. What a tragedy. But I don't believe Rod killed her. Your mom was never fond of him, but I once saw him run into the street to pick up a turtle that was going to get run over. Not the kind of guy to murder anyone, let alone his wife, but then what do I know?"
"I don't think he did it either," Abby assured him. "Tell me more about Cody."
"Oh yes, Cody," he said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "He started bringing your mom coffee with the deliveries and then cigarettes. He would stay and chat with her. After a couple of weeks, he quit his job and moved in. I hadn't been living there for a while so I didn't know right away. I stopped by every few days to check on her. One day he answered the door."
"It's not romantic?"
"No, no, at least I don't think so. Your mother would never..."
Though he didn't finish the thought, and Abby knew he felt as unsure about what Becky would do as she did.
"I tried to kick him out," Jim admitted, sheepishly. "I threw a bunch of his stuff out on the front lawn, called him a freeloader. Becky called the police. Can you believe that? They told me that I had to leave and he could stay."
Jim ran a hand anxiously over his freshly shaved chin.
Abby's heart ached for the complete bewilderment etched on his face.
She moved forward and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, stiffly at first. Hers had never been an affectionate family. They stood that way for several seconds and Abby felt her dad finally relax against her.
"I'm sorry, Abby," he said into her hair. "I'm sorry that I let it go on for so many years. Your mother needed help."
Abby felt tears slide down her cheeks. She fought the sobs that seemed always to be hovering lately.
"I'm sorry too, Dad."
"Can I help?" Sebastian asked, walking into the kitchen. "Oh."
He started to turn away, but Jim stopped him.
"Sure you can," Jim exclaimed. He moved back toward Sebastian and opened a cupboard. "Got bowls right here if you want to get those out. Abby, biscuits are in the oven."
****
"I feel lost, Elda," Helena confided.
They stood in the scallop-shaped greenhouse that bordered the second lagoon. The glass windows were fogged from the warmth. Helena perched on a high stool and carefully trimmed a bonsai tree, searching for a calm that always seemed just over the next cut, breath or moment.
"It will take time, Helena," Elda soothed. She brought Helena a cup of tea from the thermos Bridget had prepared that morning. It contained a special blend of oils and herbs to aid in Helena's physical and emotional healing.
Helena took the cup and sipped it, looking toward the sky and wishing the sun would break through the clouds.
"I want to help. I want to dig into the curse. I want to track down Dafne. I have a thousand desires, but they are all locked in some chamber within me, and I appear to have lost the key."
"Your body knows better than your mind, Helena. Sometimes the only way to slow us down is to literally slow us down." Elda nodded toward Helena's cane.
"I don't want to be left out, though. I heard you and Faustine in the library. He went to see the Lourdes. Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because he didn't want to alarm anyone, dear. We're not hiding from you. We'll discuss our findings soon. Julian will reach out to Oliver and Abby and find out if they have any new information. It can't happen overnight. Not uncovering this curse, and not your recovery."
"Even Bridget is so involved. She's made a thousand of those powders that Julian created. She has two cupboards of anti-venom. I've never seen her so determined."
Elda chuckled, "I know, it's a terrible motivator, but it has brought us all screaming awake from our sleep."
"Why did Oliver and Lydie go back to Abby's?"
"Because I asked him to."
Helena frowned.
"I asked him to keep an eye on Abby. I'm concerned that this curse is working behind the scenes. More so, I'm afraid that the fire in the cave marked some transition and we're unaware. Abby drank the blood from that bottle, Helena. No one has talked about it, but Sebastian found it clutched in her hand and empty. That blood is part of the Vepar's ritual. How did she come upon it in the woods, in that blizzard?" Elda shuddered. "Something led her to it and she drank it and I'm positive that she has no memory of doing so."
"You think we walked into a trap?"
Elda looked far away and when her gaze returned, she appeared frightened.
"I think that Tobias, Alva, and most importantly Kanti got exactly what they wanted."
Chapter 10
"A VW Bus?" Abby laughed when Oliver and Sebastian drove up to the house.
They had returned from Lansing several days earlier to prepare for their road trip. Sebastian and Oliver had gone into Trager that morning to rent a vehicle for their adventure to New Orleans.
"Interesting rental choice."
"I bought it," Oliver said with a shrug, his eyes twinkling. "I need to be more portable."
"Ooh, a hippie van," Lydie squealed, catapulting from the porch into a giant snowbank that nearly swallowed her whole. She stood and shook her hair from side to side, flinging snow from her blonde tresses.
They all laughed. Abby realized that Lydie did need a vacation. In fact, they all needed an opportunity to get out of Michigan.
Once officially on the road, Abby settled comfortably into the crook of Sebastian's arm and dozed off. She felt a little tug in her heart as they pulled away from their new house, but also looked forward to the time with friends. It felt like a pre-witch experience, road tripping. Oliver drove the first shift with Lydie as copilot. They picked up Victor and Kendra in Chicago.
****
Victor offered up an iPod and Lydie found a playlist of Aerosmith and turned it on.
"Shouldn't you have picked the Jonas Brothers or something, Lyds?" Oliver teased.
"They're too naive," she said simply. "I prefer people who have done bad stuff. They understand more about the world."
Oliver grimaced, but didn't respond. In truth, he didn't want to know how deep Lydie's sadness ran. He had not told Elda about the road trip, despite his promise to communicate everything that was happening. He knew she would resist the idea and he didn't want the flack.
****
Helena returned to the library and settled into a chair by the fire. She shivered and layered an afghan over her lap. Despite the warmth in the room, she still felt a chill. The chill didn't often go away since the attack. She spent most of her time in heavy sweaters and layers of skirts. Sometimes when she grew really cold, the scars burned cold too.
She lifted a stack of journal pages that she had brought in from the vault. There were hundreds of them, and the discovery process would be slow even with Victor's scanning contraption. Helena felt sure that the heart of their woes lay in those boxes.
The journal she read had been kept by a man named Christopher. Tiny cursive writing filled the pages. Helena closed her eyes for a moment and asked for clarity in the words and then returned to the pages. She skimmed through the first fifty pages, reading about witch sightings. Christopher himself had never seen a witch, but had been compiling stories from all over the state. People who claimed a woman cured their terminal illness with a tiny, sweet-smelling poultice, or a man who insisted his foe had vanished during a duel rather than fire his gun. Helena grew tired and blinked to stay awake. Only when her eyes drifted across the name Kanti did she suddenly snap back to focus.
Date 17 October 1856
I recorded this story by an Ojibwe elder:
He took her in
broad daylight, the Algonquian man told me. Swept her into the woods like a shadow. Her mother woke, feeling the aching in her womb at the absence of her most magical child. The tribe searched the woods for days, weeks, months. They traveled to other tribes, they sent word along the trade lines, but not a speck of her remained, not a sighting or a detail. Only a single witness existed, Mukki, youngest son of Nootau. He told the mother and father of a giant covered in fur that snatched Kanti from the fireside. The boy was so terrified by the hulking beast, he'd burrowed back into his skins and fallen deeply asleep. Only later would he wake to the camp's hysteria and tell the others. By then it was too late.
What do we know about this Kanti? Was she a witch or merely a special tribal woman? She has appeared in the journals of others and I cannot help, but feel that she is important. When we find a piece of her history it is like discovering a small treasure, but having nowhere to sell the piece, it is valuable only to us, the collectors of history. We can only document it. But who was Kanti, and why she is woven into the history of the witches of the north?
The journal ended just five pages later. A few more stories and two short reflections by the author. Had the author died? Simply begun writing in another book? Helena set the journal aside, making a mental note to show the excerpt to Elda.
****
"It's huge," Lydie whispered, peering out the window at the towering Victorian Gothic house they had rented for the week. Lydie and Abby had spent most of their drive through the neighborhoods of New Orleans gushing over the sprawling mansions.
"It's beautiful," Abby added, surveying the bushes bursting with deep violet roses. They watched it through a black, wrought-iron fence with tiny spires poking toward the spider-like cypress trees.
"And spooky," Oliver said.
Sebastian pulled into the driveway and parked the van.
The house rose two stories with white Corinthian columns flanking the grand entrance.
While the group unloaded their bags, Abby went to the little black box over the door and typed in the house code. A metallic click sounded and she opened the heavy front door. Inside, the house smelled of lilacs. She slipped off her boots and padded over shining wood floors in her socked feet. She took a few steps and then slid. The floors, freshly polished, weren't quite as slick as an ice rink, but close enough. She trotted and then slid again.
Born of Shadows- Complete Series Page 71
