“Sight to see and wisdom to hold,” they chanted, “let us see what the future unfolds.”
Around them, the candle flames shot into the air, the girls suddenly encased within a wall of fire. The coldness disappeared; they were cocooned by a warmth that swathed their skins like a quilt. Bryar’s body took on a rosy glow; her cheeks flushed prettily.
Liza leaned forward and gazed into the dark water and Bryar followed her. With their heads bent together, they waited while something took shape. At first, it was too dark to see anything. Then the water began swirling, a powerful motion that rocked the cauldron and threatened to knock it from their hands. Bryar gripped it tighter and murmured something soothing that Liza couldn’t understand. The movement settled.
When the water cleared and the candles shone brighter, an image began to form. Liza had difficulty making it out at first, but soon she realized that the odd-looking machine, the clear bag with liquid, and the dozens of buttons and foreign objects were all part of a hospital room. Someone was in a bed, moaning in pain, but she couldn’t see their face.
Almost as quickly as that image came, it was gone and replaced by one of blood. The red puddle started small then grew bigger and bigger until the women were looking at a sea of redness. In the middle of it stood Bryar, face ashen. Her hands were at her side, a knife clutched tightly in one of them. Bryar yelped a little but Liza shushed her quiet. They weren’t finished yet. Bryar and the blood were replaced by a rushing river, the water brown and murky. The water flowed quickly, knocking down trees and bushes in its path. In its muddy depths Liza was sure she could see people dragged under the currents, their arms and legs flailing helplessly. Masses of garbage floated beside them. Now it was her turn to cry out. Like the others, however, it vanished as quickly as it emerged. They were left with a deep chasm, as though the earth had opened its mouth and was waiting to swallow someone whole. The muddy edges began crumbling inwards, filling the cavity with a landslide of dirt and stones.
Then the water darkened again.
* * *
“ARE YOU DRUNK?”
Liza did a little spin around the room and landed on the bed. Her feet went straight up into the air and she giggled as she threw her hands out to her sides. She couldn’t believe how quickly the room was spinning.
“Liza?” The goofy grin on Colt’s face was so hopeful Liza almost lied to him.
“Nope, not drunk. You know rituals always make me a little loopy,” she all but sang.
When she held out her hand to him he plopped down beside her, making her bounce on the bed. “Whee!”
Colt laughed. He still wore his old hat and boots. She rarely saw him without them. “And here I was, hoping I was gonna get lucky.”
“Now I didn’t say that wasn’t gonna happen,” she laughed, rolling over and straddling him.
His stomach was firm and hard under her legs. She was envious of his flat stomach, of the muscles that rippled when he moved. He’d never stepped foot inside a gym. All his buildup was from work.
“I reckon I ought to go clean up first. I smell like horses and trees,” he said with a smile, brushing her hair back from her face. “Pretty girl.”
“Nah. I like you smelling like horses and trees. You smell like a man,” she said. “You know what Mode smelled like?”
“Normally I wouldn’t want to hear you talking about your ex-husband while you’re on top of me, but since you’re about to criticize him, I’ll bite,” he grinned.
Liza leaned down until they were nose to nose. “He smelled like vanilla ice cream,” she whispered. “And not the good kind with the vanilla beans in it. Or Breyer’s. Just plain old cheap vanilla ice cream from the dollar store.” With that, she gave Colt a peck on the nose and straightened.
Colt laughed, lifted her by the hips, and with one fluid movement turned her so that she was lying beneath him. His body covered hers and she could feel his warmth soaking into her skin. Giggling, Liza lifted her head and nuzzled his neck. “I might be the one who needs to shower,” she said. “I hiked up to the top of the mountain and I’m a sweaty mess.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “You know what you smell like to me?”
“What?”
“Chocolate ice cream. With almonds and marshmallows. The good brand.”
Liza ran her hand up his back and smiled. “It was cold up there tonight. I like to have froze to death.”
“That jacket I gave you of Bridle’s not warm enough? I could’ve let you wear mine. I knew I should’ve found those gloves for you.” The sudden concern, almost fatherly, touched Liza. Above everything else, he was her friend. He cared about her, worried about her in a way nobody else ever had.
“No, it was fine. As long as I had it on.”
“Say what?” Colt raised up on one arm and looked down at her through the slits of his eyelids. “You sayin’ you was nekkid?”
“Yep,” Liza replied.
“Huh,” Colt said, appearing to give the idea some careful consideration. Then, “Bryar Rose nekkid, too?”
Liza laughed and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “We saw some things tonight that bothered me.”
“Wanna talk about them?” He was serious now. She could tell he really wanted to know.
“Maybe,” she said as she chewed on her bottom lip. When she bit down too hard, she winced. “But not right now. I don’t think I want to talk right now. I’m still trying to process it and kind of reeling from the energy we made up there. It’s nice, you know? Doing something with your sister like that.”
“Well,” Colt said, “I can’t say I’ve ever been naked with my sisters on top a mountain but I’ll take your word for it.”
“Let’s just stay right here for awhile, okay?” Liza asked.
“Right here?”
Liza wiggled a little and pulled him back down so that they were nose to nose again. “Right here.”
He was right. He really did smell like horses and trees. She thought if she could bundle it up, she’d make a million on Etsy.
Chapter Thirteen
“Have you heard anything about Twila or May?” Liza asked.
The woman whose back she was currently pounding on turned her head to one side. “Still the same. Gwen was moved to ICU, though. Hospital’s about to have a cow. They can’t handle everyone.”
Liza nodded and gritted her teeth. Things seemed to be getting worse every day.
“Hey Taffy, how’s your sister? You know I took over her committee for the festival. Until they kicked me out, that is.”
Taffy snorted. “That was baloney, doing that to you. Like you could hurt a fly.”
“Well, I think I was actually only guilty by association. It was my sister they were afraid of.”
“Well, even if she did do something it’s not your fault,” Taffy spat with indignation.
Liza paused, surprised. “You think Bryar Rose might be responsible for the sickness?”
Taffy shrugged and folded her hands under her chin. “Honey, I know lots of women who would love to turn some of these people in town into toads. Or snakes. If only they could. I wouldn’t begrudge your sister for throwing a little voodoo around–as long as she don’t throw it at me.”
“Bryar didn’t do this,” Liza said, her voice firm with steel. “This isn’t her doing.”
“Okay honey, if you say so,” Taffy said soothingly.
Bryar really hadn’t done anything that bad. She didn’t know why people were being so quick to crucify her.
“My sister, though, she was a little under the weather herself. Probably the flu. She’s up in Ohio, you know. Been up there a few weeks. She’s feeling a lot better. Got over whatever it was,” Taffy said, going back to Liza Jane’s question.
“Well, that’s good.”
Later, as Taffy was paying, she reached up and touched her hair. “You got any of that natural shampoo that’s good for color-treated hair?” she asked.
“I do, yes,” Liza replied. “You need some?
”
Taffy’s hair was a dull orange, just a shade or two short of being tangerine. Liza couldn’t imagine why she would want to preserve it.
“I need me some of that,” Taffy nodded. “Got my hair did at the beauty shop just last week. Had it dyed Marilyn blond. Always wanted to look like Marilyn…”
Liza had to stifle a giggle at that. She’d have to remember to tell Filly about it. Taffy was in her late fifties, as round as a bowling ball, and had a face that looked like a road map. Still, she was her most loyal client.
“Well, you hair looks nice,” Liza called over her shoulder as she walked to the shelves that contained her lotions, shampoos, and conditioners.
“Horseshit,” Taffy called back. “I look like a circus freak and you know it. My hair started out blond. Marilyn Blond, it was. I waited a full twenty-four hours to wash it but not two days later it started looking like this. Brassy. Sheila over there that does hair says that it’s because my hair’s naturally dark. Said it wouldn’t take to blond–that going brassy was just what I’d have to deal with.”
Liza had heard that too. Bryar told her that she knew women in Los Angeles that spent hundreds of dollars at the salon, going every two weeks to get touch-ups, to keep their hair blond, their roots invisible, and the orange out. “So she wouldn’t fix it?”
“No she would not. Said it would just turn brassy again. She don’t know what the hell she’s talking about,” Taffy snapped. “I’m goin’ over to Lou’s as soon as I leave here. She’ll fix me up right and now I got this shampoo to keep it from fading.”
Lou Jenson was married to the county court clerk. They lived in a double wide in one of the valleys. Lou ran a makeshift beauty parlor out of her kitchen. Liza had visited her once, to deliver some products she’d ordered. When she’d walked through the front door she’d been accosted by the overpowering scent of home permanent solution and Hamburger Helper.
“Well, good luck Taffy,” Liza called as Taffy started out the door. “Good luck to you, too, my dear. Try not to let your sister kill anyone else!”
* * *
LIZA COULD HEAR Bryar Rose before she was all the way through the front door. She could tell she was on the phone–Bryar was talking a mile a minute and her voice was more animated than Liza had heard it since she’d arrived in Kudzu Valley.
When Liza got inside she found her sister pacing back and forth, hands-free set on, her face alit with pleasure. Liza threw up her hand in a wave but Bryar ignored it and kept talking. Without the phone plastered to the side of her head, it appeared as though she was having a very lively discussion with herself. Liza heard her throw out phrases like “auto tune” and “block of time” and shook her head. She knew nothing about Bryar’s work, or her world. It was all Greek to her.
To give her sister some space, Liza went to the back of the house. Her grandmother had built a canning room onto the back when Mabel was a little girl. Rosebud would spend her summers and fall out there, picking vegetables and then bringing them into the small room where she’d wash them, boil them in a big pot on top of the stove, and pack them away in tall Mason jars. Liza could remember the room always being hot and steamy, almost stifling in the heat of summer. The overhead fan and windows did little to circulate the air. Still, in the stuffiness there was always the earthy smell of fresh vegetables. Even now, with the room cleaned out, she could still smell the heat, with an occasional whiff of green beans.
Colt had turned it into an office for her. He’d reinforced the walls, patched them where needed, and added insulation. He’d also installed a portable heater and A/C window unit. When she’d needed a desk, and didn’t have the funds to go out and buy one, he’d rooted around in the barn and found an old door and two kitchen cabinets leftover from the kitchen remodel. These he sanded, painted, and attached together for her.
A bookshelf from Wal-Mart held guides on running your own business, filing your taxes, and herbal remedies. On the top shelf she’d placed three jars of Nana Bud’s canned tomato juice. It wasn’t any good now, of course, but she didn’t care. She’d keep it until it started molding and stinking up the place.
Liza was deep in bookkeeping when Bryar came bouncing in, her eyes bright and her smile wide. “Guess what?” she sang, throwing her arms around Liza’s neck.
Liza stiffened, not used to physical displays of affection from her sister. She wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. (“Ice Queen,” high school friends had called Bryar.)
“You seem happy,” Liza smiled.
A creeping sensation of sadness began rumbling around in her tummy, though. She knew before Bryar spoke that her happiness meant she would be leaving. Liza knew things were tough at the moment, and knew that the town thinking Bryar was trying to kill them didn’t exactly make for a warm reception, but she was enjoying having her sister there with her. Mostly.
“I am happy,” she all but squealed. “I got a job! A good one, too. It’s going to pay well.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
Bryar took out a fold-up chair ($5 at the local flea market) and pulled it up next to Liza. “So you know Weed?”
“As in pot?”
“No, as in music.”
“Not personally, but I know his music,” Liza said.
“Weed”, real name Marcus Jenkins, was a well-known mogul in the R&B world. Not only was he a successful singer and entertainer in his own right, he owned a record label and had been instrumental in giving a lot of the recent big names their start.
“He’s doing this reality TV show where he’s looking for a girl band to produce. He wants the whole shebang–girls who can sing, dance, and write songs. So once he has his four or five girls they’re going to record an album and go on tour. He wants me to produce their album!”
“Wow, Bryar, that’s awesome!” Liza refrained from bringing up Bryar’s last televised appearance. It just didn’t seem like the time.
“It’s a really big deal, you know,” Bryar said. Liza thought there was just a hint of combativeness in her voice. She didn’t know where it might be coming from. “Weed doesn’t work with a lot of women. Actually, there aren’t that many women on that side of the glass to start with. Did you know that?”
Liza said that no, she didn’t know, even though Bryar had told her that a million times.
“It’s true. I’m kind of a big deal that way,” Bryar said, her eyes hardening. “Producing has always been a man’s job. It’s hard to name five women off the top of your head who are known for it.”
Liza could only name one, and that was the woman sitting across from her.
“Well, that’s great that he asked you,” she said, trying to force happiness. She hoped that in Bryar’s excitement she wasn’t able to read what Liza was really thinking.
“Yes, it is,” Bryar snapped, taking Liza aback. “It’s a very big deal that he wants me. And I’ll be working with the girls through the whole process. He doesn’t just want me at the end. We’ll be recording throughout the whole thing, to see how they handle singing together, working in the studio, and stuff like that. Some people are good singers but they don’t record well.”
And some people record well but aren’t good singers, Liza thought. But she kept her mouth shut about that, too.
“Well, I am very happy for you. I’m sure Mom will be as well.”
Bryar rolled her eyes. “I already called and told her. She spent the whole conversation trying to sell me nail wraps. She’s selling Whamberry this month.”
Mabel had quit her job with a national pharmacy when she’d remarried. For the past ten years she’d been following the fads of the masses. She was always hosting some kind of party, whether it was for thick plastic kitchen dishes or pastel-colored drinks that were meant to make you lose weight and fight fatigue.
“Well, that’s Mom,” Liza said lamely.
Bryar got up and started pacing the room again. She was jittery and upset but Liza couldn’t figure out why. She knew Bryar certainly didn’t want t
o remain in Kudzu Valley. Heck, at that point they were both afraid for her to go into town–Bryar was still convinced she’d be tarred and feathered. (Liza wasn’t worried about that, but was concerned that someone might see her and key Liza’s truck. She couldn’t afford a new paint job.)
“So when do you leave?” Liza asked.
“Next week. Wednesday,” Bryar answered. “So I guess I just have to lay low until then.”
“I guess so,” Liza replied. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep helping me try to figure out what’s going on? I mean, I think it’s better with you working with me. And we still need to talk about what happened the other night, about what we saw.”
Bryar stopped pacing and glared at Liza. The pictures on her office wall, framed photographs she’d taken down around the railroad tracks, trembled on their nails and threatened to come crashing to the floor.
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
With that, she turned on her heel and marched out, slamming the door behind her. The beam of light Liza sent spiraling across the room caught the image of the railroad bridge just before it hurtled to the ground. Holding it in midair with all her strength, Liza jumped up and crossed the floor. She grabbed the frame and re-hung it just before her concentration broke.
“Who took the marshmallows out of her Lucky Charms?” Liza muttered, patting the picture with affection.
Her sister really needed to do something about that temper of hers.
Chapter Fourteen
“It’s ridiculous, really,” Whinny complained. “Filly told me that there’s a post on Topix about Bryar, about how they could legally run her out of town. It’s a wonder that the poor girl hasn’t just upped and left on her own.”
Liza grunted as she dragged the bag of fertilizer the four feet over to the next pine. She, Mare, Bryar, and Whinny had all volunteered to help Colt with the fertilization of his trees. Even though the weather was a nice, even sixty-three degrees she was still sweating.
Broommates: Two Witches are Better Than One! (Kentucky Witches Book 2) Page 13
