Sarah’s heart plummeted as fast as it had risen. “How could that be?”
“She’s going to escape her imprisonment and likely flee Salem, tout de suite. When you go back—and you’ll obviously want to go back once the hysteria is over, and they’ve stopped the hangings—Ayotunde will be long gone.”
Sarah collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands. Through her sobs, she heard Marie offering gentle apologies and felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. She composed herself and looked up. “Can you bring Ayotunde here?”
“Say what? Moi? Oh, cherie, once again, that’s Morgan le Fay’s department, not mine.”
“Madame Laveau, pray, please help me. I cannot bear to go on if I’ll not see Ayotunde more. Conjure her forth, and she shall help my friends and me do Morgan le Fay’s bidding.”
“Hmm. It would be nice to pay homage to my mentor in person,” Marie said pensively. “Have you run this by Morgan? She tends to get a little testy when anyone tries to usurp her domain.”
“She hath refused me. She fears it may create a portal for other demons.”
“Valid,” Marie said, scratching at her cheek in thought. “However, we practitioners of voudon are a little more efficient at conjuring than the witches. Of course, they’ll never admit it.”
Sarah’s heart lifted in hope. “Then you will send for her?”
“I’ll try,” Marie said cautiously. “I’ve never attempted this level of magic before, but I’ll be sure to include some safeguards to ensure that nothing except Ayotunde makes it through.”
Sarah dropped to her knees, held Marie’s hand, and covered it with kisses. “Thank you, Madame Laveau. Thank you. I shall be forever in your debt.”
Marie freed her hand from Sarah’s grip and smiled. “A fact that will no doubt come in handy some century.”
The unusual phrase caught Sarah off guard. “Some century?”
Marie studied her quizzically. “You do know I’m a ghost, don’t you?”
* * *
Once Sarah had come to from the shocking news that the woman she’d been talking to in the salon had not actually been a flesh and blood woman, Sarah picked herself up from the floor, received Madame Laveau’s instructions, and headed out on her night journey. Just before dawn, she located Marie Laveau’s tomb, guided to it through the orange gloaming by a secret sense or preternatural lure of some kind. She placed a small, mangled bouquet of snapdragons and a blessed and anointed candle at the foot of the tomb as an offering; how she obtained them was a matter that would require penance, but that was to be reconciled at a later date.
Recalling Marie’s incantation instructions, she faced the front of the tomb, pressed her hands flat against the cold white stone, and recited a prayer first for her own deity, the Lord’s Prayer, to cleanse her spirit.
Then she removed from her jacket pocket a crudely fashioned poppet representing Ayotunde that Marie had given her before she embarked on her journey of several blocks to the cemetery. She plucked a blossom from the snapdragon bouquet and rubbed its pollen over the doll as she recited the binding spell:
“With this dust, I bind thee to me, Ayotunde.
In heart, in mind, in body, you shall transcend;
I forge this image in mind, and will it in soul;
I bewitch your body to lift, to fly, to appear,
Bound to me;
Spirit of the heavens, conjure it! Spirit of nature, conjure it!”
She closed her eyes and clutched the doll to her chest with both hands, reciting the Lord’s Prayer again. She then used the anointed candle to light and burn the small poppet down to ashes. When the fire died out, she dipped her fingers in the ashes and scrawled an X on the front of the tomb near the numerous other ones around Marie Laveau’s engraved name.
With hands still trembling, she glanced around the cemetery through the pinkish glow from the rising sun. Why hadn’t Ayotunde materialized before her? Had she not performed the spell correctly? Overwhelmed with disappointment, she leaned against the tomb and buried her head in her hands. Marie Laveau’s spell was her only hope of ever seeing Ayotunde again, she thought as her breath escaped in short whimpers.
Furthermore, she’d incurred God’s wrath in seeking help from the voodoo priestess. Was there no way of turning back? Had she condemned her soul for all eternity on a fool’s errand? Her tears escalated into unrestrained sobs. “God in heaven, please, do not forsake me.” She wailed into the insentient dewy dawn until collapsing unconscious at the base of the tomb.
“Them be the tears of my Sarah,” the voice whispered. “My ear know the music of that sweet voice.”
Sarah opened her eyes, and a figure in a long bulky frock and bonnet rounded the corner and continued toward her. “Ayotunde?” Sarah whispered in awe.
“Aye, my sweet.” She knelt down and caressed Sarah’s chin.
Sarah struggled to her feet and cupped Ayotunde’s warm face in her hands, then traced its familiar edges and contours. “Ayotunde, promise me this be not a cruel dream.”
“If it be, I dream it, too.” Ayotunde closed her eyes as if spirited away by Sarah’s touch.
Sarah scooped her up in an embrace, lifting her off the ground. “If my eyes deceive me now, may they never see clearly again.”
Ayotunde laughed as Sarah returned her to the ground. “You did it, Miss Sarah. You sent for me. You learnt of the powers you possess.”
“I beseeched the voodoo queen to teach me to send for you,” Sarah said, with a mix of pride and sheer delight. “And it worked.”
The light of joy extinguished in Ayotunde’s eyes, replaced by terror. “No, no, Miss Sarah. No voodoo.”
“Yes, Ayotunde. ’Twas the only way. Madame Laveau hath instructed how to conjure you to me. Were it not for her, we should never see each other more.”
“I rather never see you then you be beholden.”
“Oh, my Ayotunde.” Sarah stared into her troubled eyes. “And I would rather choose to be beholden.”
She lifted Ayotunde’s chin and kissed her gently on the lips, supple kisses that filled her heart with a light God’s word had never illuminated with such brilliance.
Chapter Twelve
Just before dawn, Raven jumped from her bed and retrieved her blade from under the pillow before her feet hit the floor. She turned in circles, trying to make out whatever entity had entered the room during her fitful sleep. The only sound she heard was her own bare feet on the ground and her labored breathing. The sweat on her neck and arms started to chill her, an eerie reminder that not everything was as it seemed. She flipped on the light and allowed a moment for her eyes to adjust. The room was empty. She’d learned a long time ago to pay attention to her instincts because they were almost never wrong. Something might not have been there with her in that moment, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming. The realms hadn’t calmed since she brought Hazel and Sarah to Morgan. She could feel the energy shifting more rapidly now.
She thought briefly about going to Morgan but changed her mind. Morgan’s arrogance sometimes blinded her from what was happening. Her age brought with it the luxury of apathy, something Raven had never been able to settle her mind around.
She opened her door and looked down the hall. The dim lighting cast shadows against the old wooden floors, teasing Raven’s reality. She watched Hazel’s door for several seconds as her mind and heart battled for position. She wanted to go to her, to make sure she was okay, but she stayed rooted in her spot, the weight of Morgan’s words about her eternal solitude and loneliness like cement around her feet. She’d given in to Hazel earlier, the warmth of her breath and the softness of her eyes lulling her into a sense of possibility that would never come to fruition. There was no happily ever after for Raven. She’d always sensed it; Morgan’s words simply solidified the feeling of emptiness she’d felt her whole life. Entertaining any other possibility was simply the hollow musings of naiveté, and that wasn’t her style. She’d entered every romantic encounter
with the same gusto she brought to picking out what to eat for dinner: to satisfy a need. Whatever was happening between them had to stop before she played any part in hurting Hazel. She could send a million cursed souls back to Hell, but she didn’t think she’d be able to look at herself in the mirror if she brought pain to Hazel.
Raven closed the door and got back into bed, keeping the blade in hand instead of tucking it under her pillow. She couldn’t be sure of what was coming, but she’d damn sure be ready. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to replay the look in Hazel’s eyes from earlier. She remembered the way her eyes had grown darker and her hands slightly trembled the first time she’d touched Raven. She recalled with fervor the buzz of electricity that had charged through her when their lips finally met. Hazel’s body emitted a literal pulse when her emotions were teetering on the edge. The power that coursed through Hazel was palpable; once she finally learned to harness it, she’d be unstoppable. That was where she could safely keep Hazel, in her mind without the possibility of hurting her. Hazel didn’t need the distraction, and Raven couldn’t bear the inevitability of losing her.
A few hours later, Raven woke to the smell of lilacs and the feel of summer warming her body. It was a pleasant, almost giddy sensation that could only mean one thing: witchcraft. She opened her eyes to see Morgan sitting in a chair across the room. Her legs were crossed, and she was dragging her finger around the top of a coffee cup, a soft hum coming from the ceramic mug.
“I thought only crystal made that noise.” Raven rubbed her eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard.
Morgan raised an eyebrow and sipped from the mug. “It does. That was simply for you.”
Raven got out of bed and threw on her jeans and shirt. “Thanks? So, what’s up? You never wake me up personally.”
Morgan stood and walked to the window, her white nightgown flowing tantalizingly across her body. “Despite what you might think, it doesn’t bring me any pleasure to keep you in my service.”
Raven walked over and took the mug from Morgan’s hands, taking a sip. “It brings you a little pleasure.”
Morgan smirked and glanced at her. “I do enjoy you, yes.”
Raven focused on the large weeping willow tree in the backyard. “I know you have bad news, so I’d prefer if you just say it. I don’t like idle chitchat as camouflage.”
Morgan cupped Raven’s face. “If only we had met in a different lifetime.” She kissed Raven’s cheek and ran her thumb over the area. “Come downstairs.” She kissed her other cheek and let her face linger next to Raven’s. “Hmm…your witch is waiting.”
Morgan had been suffocating Raven with the sensation of euphoria, but the thought of Hazel being nearby cut through the haze. “She’s not my witch.”
Morgan took a step away and gave her a sad smile, an obvious attempt to hide whatever else she was feeling. “Some things are true whether you believe them or not.”
* * *
Hazel had gone to get Raven before coming down for breakfast but changed her mind when she saw her at the window with Morgan. She hadn’t expected to find them in such an intimate encounter, and now, as she waited for them to come down, she wasn’t sure how she felt or how she should feel. Her skin was prickling, almost vibrating. She looked at her fingertips glowing white. She shook her hands, wanting the sensation and the change to go away as she paced around the living room.
“You can’t stop it. You can only learn to control it,” Morgan said from the stairs.
“What’s happening to me?” Hazel closed and opened her fist repeatedly, hoping it was an illusion.
Morgan was in front of her instantly. She took Hazel’s hands and stared at them. “Your powers are growing stronger. You don’t know how to control them yet, so they’re seeping out of you whenever your temperament is altered.”
Hazel jerked her hands away. “I want it to stop.”
Morgan laughed as she led Hazel to the dining room table, the sound seeming to rise up from deep in her belly. “Oh, sweetheart. Denying who you are, trying to ignore it or push it down, will only end in self-destruction.” She waved her hand. “You’re a witch. It’s time to embrace what you are and what you’re meant to be.”
Raven came downstairs and briefly made eye contact. She made her way to the table and put several pieces of fruit on her plate. “Where’s Sarah?”
Morgan looked between them. “She’s not upstairs?”
Raven shook her head.
“I thought she woke up early and came down,” Hazel said.
“Then where is she?” Raven said.
Two sets of footsteps came down the hallway, heading toward the staircase outside the dining room.
Morgan closed her eyes and then opened them again, a look of rage igniting on her face. “Not so fast, Hutchinson,” she roared. “I’d like a word.”
Hazel moved away, the intensity of Morgan’s emotions pushing her backward like heat from an oven. “What’s wrong?” She wasn’t sure what her aunt had done to incite this type of anger, but it couldn’t have been good.
Morgan lifted both hands and flung them downward. Every plate and serving dish on the table floated up and then fell back down to the table. A few pieces shattered while others teetered before regaining their balance.
“She defied me,” Morgan said through clenched teeth. She waved her hand again, and every door in the room opened and slammed shut.
Sarah appeared in the archway to the dining room, flitting her hand at something behind her. “Good morrow, all. ’Tis is a glorious gift from God the weather be.”
“I know what you’re up to, Sarah,” Morgan said. “I can see her poofy skirt behind you.” She ran her hand through her hair in apparent frustration. “Fucking Marie Laveau. I’ll have her catfish-eating, voodoo-loving ass for this.”
“I’m not sure what’s happening right now,” Hazel said.
Morgan poured a glass of orange juice, took a sip, and then shook her head. A bottle of vodka floated toward her hand. She dumped the contents into the juice before turning to Hazel. “Your darling aunt has failed to see the import of obeying my strict orders about ushering anyone else through from Salem. It seems she’s taken it upon herself to visit the Voodoo Queen to have her girlfriend summoned into the present.” She whipped her head toward Sarah. “Didn’t you, Sarah?”
“What?” Hazel and Raven said the same time.
“Ayotunde is here, hiding behind Sarah.” Morgan drank the contents of her glass in one gulp. “Because we don’t have enough shit to worry about. Well, come on, show yourself, Ayotunde. Now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
Ayotunde crept around from behind Sarah. “How do you do?” she said timidly and followed her greeting with a cautious smile and a curtsey.
“Un-fucking-real,” Raven muttered in astonishment.
“Madame le Fay,” Sarah said, her hands clasped over heart as if in prayer. “Pray, do forgive my grievous transgression. I shall commit to whatever penance thou wouldst demand of me. I just…I just couldn’t let Ayotunde…”
Hazel made a move toward Sarah to comfort her, but Morgan apparently had other plans as an invisible force pitched her into her seat. To struggle against it, she knew, would be in vain.
“Look, Sarah,” Morgan said, clearly endeavoring to remain calm. “Why don’t you take Ayotunde upstairs and find her something to wear that’s a little more stylish and a little less smells like it hasn’t been laundered in three hundred years.” She forced a smile and encouraged them away with a gentle flapping of her hand.
Once they were upstairs, a door flew shut, and Morgan turned to Hazel and Raven. “I’ve confined them to the room till I have the time and patience to deal with this latest snafu.”
Still dazed, Hazel motioned for the vodka bottle and poured herself a shot.
Morgan turned to Raven with a grave expression. “Sarah and Ayotunde need to go back, and they need to take whatever came through with them. The realms are shifting. Damage the likes of
which we’ve never seen before is occurring, and it may soon be irreversible. I’m not powerful enough to stop it alone.”
Raven leaned forward. “What do you need?”
Morgan opted out of the juice this time and filled her glass with vodka, finishing it again in one gulp. “There is only one night with enough mystic energy to send everything back where it belongs.”
“All Hallows’ Eve,” Hazel said absently, then tried to ignore the way Raven’s eyes studied her face.
“Smart girl.” Morgan lifted her glass in salute, and it filled with vodka again.
“That’s only three weeks from now,” Raven said and sipped her coffee. “Not a lot of time for this type of mission. It has to happen on that exact date?”
“Yes,” Hazel said. “Samhain, or Halloween, is the most powerful night of the year, the night when the barrier between the earthly world and the spirit world is at its most vulnerable, so if your goal is to drive all of the evil entities back at once, it has to be on Halloween.”
Morgan and Raven stared at her, seemingly impressed into silence.
Hazel shrugged. “My degree is in occult studies.”
“Indeed. Past, present, and future become one for a single wisp of time,” Morgan added. “And it’s our only opportunity to achieve our goal.”
Raven nodded. “Just tell me what you need.”
“You need to entice the entities back to the portal through which they entered: the hallowed ground of Salem.” She leaned toward Raven, the gravity of the situation flaring in her eyes. “First, you must track down all three demons that followed Sarah though. We need to know what they’re planning in order to draw them back to Salem.”
“We already know where Lucien McCoulter is,” Raven said as she rose from the table. “The others can’t be too far off.”
The thought of Raven going against the creatures they’d met a few days before without assistance nearly paralyzed Hazel with fear. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t.” Morgan slid another glass of vodka in front of Hazel. “You’ll stay right here with me. You need to learn how to master your abilities. I can’t have a rogue witch running around amidst all the other chaos. Most importantly, I need you to form a coven, master this spell, and rid the realm of these things.”
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