Not Quite Clear

by Lyla Payne

  “You need to go see her.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you let my cousin go.”

  “No. You’re going to the river, and I’m going to wait here. With Amelia.” The ghost runs a creepy hand down my cousin’s forearm, eliciting a shudder but no facial reaction.

  I want to argue, to refuse, but what’s the point? Carlotta’s a ghost, and as part of Mama Lottie, she must benefit from her power. Unlike my father, I can’t force the spirits to do what I want. If Mama Lottie thinks I tried to double-cross her, or that it’s my fault her stupid awful curse isn’t working, there’s no telling what she’ll do.

  I glance at Amelia, thinking that’s exactly why we’re standing here like this. She’s telling me she can get to Millie. She almost forced my car into an accident and hurt Leo. No one is safe until she’s satisfied, and apparently I fucked up somehow.

  Maybe Anne and her merry band of half-rotted men are at fault. I doubt Mama Lottie cares who put a damper on her plan, only that it’s not going as expected.

  “Fine.” I point a finger at the child ghost, summoning strength that’s nowhere inside me right now. “If she’s not herself again by the time I get home, you can forget your curse. She’s the only reason I’m doing this.”

  Her smile turns ghoulish, like a deranged jack-o’-lantern. “You said you would help me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You sound like a broken record, kid.”

  I push past her, taking care not to jostle Millie as I rush inside. Once my keys are in my hand and shoes are on my feet, I drive toward Drayton Hall as quickly as possible. There’s no time to call Jenna and make sure I won’t be seen coming or going, so on the twenty-five-minute trip, I rack my brain on other ways to go undetected.

  There’s restricted marshland that runs to the east of their property…I would be able to get to the river that way. It’s also full of snakes and rats and heaven knows what else, but it’s better than being arrested. Again. Especially with everything that’s going on with Leo. The last thing I need is to put myself in a position to be questioned by the Charleston PD.

  Instead of pulling onto the private lane, I park my car on the side of the road a half mile or so away. I’m wearing yoga pants and tennis shoes instead of shorts and flip-flops, which plays in my favor, and I try not to think about what exactly could be underfoot. The compass app on my iPhone keeps me moving the right direction. A couple of moments are touch and go as far as me having a heart attack, but the rustling and hooting and scratching stay in the darkness where they belong, and I make it to the river.

  The cameras at the back of the house don’t reach quite this far, according to Jenna, so as long as I leave the same way I came, no one should be the wiser.

  One problem down, one major one to go. Where is Mama Lottie, and exactly how upset is she that the collection of genetic material I provided is apparently flawed?

  Unlike the last couple of times Daria and I came looking, Mama Lottie doesn’t take her sweet time to show up. She’s pacing underneath her big tree, her favorite spot, her ghostly face twisted in fury. Not one but three of those damned giant snakes curl in the mist—one in the tree, one draped over the ghost’s arm and shoulders, and one half obscured in the tall grasses by the water.

  I clear my throat, and when she sees me, she shrieks. The piercing sound rips away my plan to act as though I’m not about to shit my pants, and I cover my ears, my mouth falling open.

  The ghost flies my direction, stopping inches away and hisses like one of her pets. “Who do you think you’re dealing with, baby? I’m Mama Lottie. I have more power in my little finger dead than you’re ever going to have in your entire life.”

  Spittle shoots my direction. Some of it sticks to her dark chin, and her eyes flash with lightning, as though it’s coming straight from the gods.

  “I…I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer, trying my hardest not to scream, cry, or run when I want to do all three. Not necessarily in that order. “I did what you said.”

  “No, you didn’t.” My jar, the one I left for her, appears out of thin air. She thrusts it toward my nose but stops short of busting it. “If you did, if they were all here, my curse would be working.”

  The scent of sandalwood and leather, some sort of medicinal oil and herbs, rises from the mist. It’s unclear where it’s coming from, or if I’m imagining it, until it visibly curls around Mama Lottie in a cloud. She raises a hand and the cloud surrounds it, whirling faster until it turns into a purple, star-shaped amulet. It’s hollow, and inside is a tangle of twine and leather, and what looks like items from my jar, surely the source of the smell. The curse?

  “Do you think you can fool me? That you can find a way for you and your horrible lover to thwart the consequences of his family’s actions? To live happily ever after?” She’s screaming now, eyes snapping, the amulet slicing through the air as she gesticulates. “He will not be given something that was taken from me. None of them will. Do you know what matters to this family? Nothing but prosperity and legacy. Anything else is no concern. Anyone gets in the way, swipe them to the side.”

  I don’t say anything. She’s not even talking to me. She’s ranting, losing her shit. Maybe it should make me feel better, her not being able to keep it together, but it doesn’t. All I can think of is Millie at home with some part of this insane, ranting, powerful ghost. Of Beau, on the receiving end and about to bear the brunt of her wrath, to do penance for a woman he never met, who died centuries ago, who maybe didn’t even do anything wrong, for all I know.

  The memory of the magical night we spent here last month, the first time I met Mama Lottie, stutters through me. I thought she’d be my savior because she’d warned me about that snake…but she let it bite Beau. Maybe that hadn’t been an accident. Maybe none of this had.

  “I’m going to take it away,” she hisses. “They took the thing most dear to me, my freedom. I’ll take what’s most dear to them—their legacy. Their education, their status. Watch. And you’re going to help, whether you like it or not.”

  The ghost focuses on me again, crooking one finger to indicate I should come closer. My feet obey as I try to hold them back, and no matter how hard I dig in my heels, my body moves toward her, ensnared in some kind of spell.

  “Stop. I told you I’d help you and I did. I swear. There are twelve family lines directly descended from Sarah Drayton. They’re all in there. I don’t know why it isn’t working.”

  “Figure it out. The problem isn’t with my curse, baby girl. You start over if you have to.”

  “But I don’t… How?” I swallow, latching on to what’s really important. “What about Amelia and Jack? What about our curse?”

  “You think I’m going to help you break that flimsy thing when you can’t follow the simplest of directions? Think again.”

  “But you’ll leave Amelia alone,” I choke out through dry, cracked lips. I lick them, grasping for control. “While I figure this out.”

  Mama Lottie appears to have calmed down, at least somewhat. She’s no longer shouting but continues to pace, nearly trampling her snakes as they jerk out from beneath her manic feet. Her fingers clutch the useless amulet as it swings at her side. It’s several moments before she answers, whirling on me with such force I stumble back a few steps and almost land on my butt in the weeds.

  “Five days to figure it out, or there are no promises between us anymore.”

  She disappears, along with the jar and the snakes, but leaves the amulet on the ground at my feet. I guess she figures it’s not working and she’s going to have to make a new one once we figure out why, but my fingers peel it out of the mud without a second thought. After months of amateur sleuthing, I know a clue when I see one.

  No matter how bad I’m shaking, or how many tries it takes me to get it into my palm, no way I’m leaving it behind.

  Then I run.

  It takes me half a dozen attempts to hold onto my phone long enough to dial Daria, not caring that it’s way pas
t what anyone would consider a polite hour to call. She doesn’t answer. I leave a tearful, humiliating message and drop the phone on the console between the seats, giving in to the wash of panic and terror that’s been begging for release since Amelia sleepwalked out onto the porch next to little Carlotta.

  Tears burst out of me, run down and drip off my chin. The steering wheel sticks to my forehead, and my palms sweat in their death grip on the squishy leather. The amulet sits in my passenger seat like a traitor, a little piece of witchcraft that ruined my life. More.

  I don’t know what to do. Witchcraft, spells, curses, voodoo…I have only the slightest inkling of what makes any of it work, so how am I supposed to figure out why it doesn’t work in less than five days? I agreed to all this knowing it would cost me the man I love so that Amelia and Jack would be okay, but now it looks like I get neither.

  Like a little kid throwing a massive tantrum, I let myself melt down over the unfairness of it all for the next five minutes.

  My whole body is shaking, but the sobs have subsided now, leaving weak limbs and blurred eyes when my phone rings, startling me. Daria’s name shows up on the Caller ID and I snatch it up, wiping the snot off my face with my forearm in the process.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you okay?” To Daria’s credit, she sounds concerned. Not amused or ready to toss me in the loony bin after that message.

  “No. I’m not okay. Can we talk?”

  “Now?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “I’m about to go on a walk. Do you want to come?” She pauses, and the sound of ice tinkling in a tumbler brings back some much-needed normalcy to my night.

  Even so, I definitely do not want to chat up any more ghosts tonight. Two is more than enough, even if they are sort of one.

  But I want to talk to Daria.

  “I’ll go with you, but I’m not walking with you.” My voice trembles, unsure. Begging.

  It could be what wins her over, or maybe she doesn’t care one way or another. “Sure. Do you want to meet me here or at the place?”

  “If you can wait fifteen minutes I’ll meet you at your place.” I let out a wet laugh. “I could use a drink.”

  We hang up, and I force my muscles into action, putting the car in reverse to head back toward Heron Creek. Daria’s little psychic shack-slash-house is a welcome sight. It’s a little strange to realize how important she’s become, how often and how hard I’ve leaned on her since she started helping me come to terms with my gift. Talent. Personal curse. Whatever.

  She answers the buzzer with an anxious expression but doesn’t ask me a single question until I’ve downed half a gin and tonic. Not my typical fare, but it’s prepared and it’s booze, two things that are not to be discounted right now.

  “I’m normally against using such turns of phrase, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I want to hear what happened, but I really need to get going. Never know how long these things will take, and the homeowners want to be back by five a.m. to start their day.” She runs a hand through her hair and takes both of our glasses, heading toward the sink. “Who starts their day at five a.m.?”

  “Normal people,” I mutter, backing up toward the door. “Can you drive?”

  “Planning on it.”

  We’re out the front door and in her car, which isn’t any newer or nicer than mine but doesn’t have quite the same smell, in a matter of minutes.

  “Okay, spill.”

  It takes the entire drive out to James Island to relay everything that happened since we last talked—how I gathered what Mama Lottie had asked for, where I left the jar, the appearance of the younger version of Mama Lottie not once, but three times, and how none of them had been particularly positive experiences. I told her what happened tonight with Amelia, the threats against my cousin and Beau, how Mama Lottie freaked out because the amulet she made didn’t work.

  “How can she be sure it didn’t work?” I ask, peering more closely at the morbid little bauble.

  Daria shrugs, pulling off onto a short lane that leads to a house set off the road. “I suppose she knows, somehow. She’s a crazy powerful witch. She’s not used to her spells not working on the first try, I’d guess.”

  “What’s with the younger ghost version of herself?” I’m bursting with questions. There’s still so much I don’t understand.

  “I don’t see it too often, where the dead can choose how they appear to the living. I’m going to sound like a broken record, but she has enough power to pretty much do whatever she wants. Tear off pieces and send them around town. Project different exteriors so that people see what she wants them to see. Anything.”

  “Then why does she even need me?” I wonder aloud, frustration oozing everywhere. “If she can wander as far as she wants and do whatever she wants, why not get the things she needs for the curse herself?”

  “That’s an excellent question. Especially since Anne and the other pirates collected some things on their own. We know it can be done.” Daria’s lips twist in thought. “Unless it’s not working because you’re not the one who got all the pieces?”

  She puts the car in park and gets out, leaving me alone to ruminate on that possibility. The amulet is cold and hard between my fingers, taunting me with question after question but not one single answer.

  I roll down the window, already sweating in the stuffy car. Daria looks back, eyebrows raised. “Change your mind?”

  “No. What’s going on in there?”

  “You know I don’t like to talk about it until I’m done.” She starts to walk toward the old, slightly run-down farmhouse, then stops. “I think you should go ahead and open up with me. Make sure the spirit guides are here and you’re grounded. You’re too close to be sure something won’t wander out here.”

  The way she says something chills me, stalls all the protests on the back of my tongue. Or it could be the fact that I have negative amounts of energy left after the adrenaline rises and crashes of the past several hours. Or days, really.

  I get out of the car and close my eyes with Daria, making sure my feet are pressed into the ground. Meditate, talk to my still-invisible and possibly imaginary spirit guide, then watch my own personal guru shuffle off toward a haunted house. Nothing seems out of order or particularly spooky from my perspective out here, but the simple memory of the last walk we went on, the horrible things we witnessed, is enough to keep my eyes unfocused and on the tree line.

  Instead of wondering about what’s going on in that house or how long we’ll be here, I try to puzzle out what’s happened with Mama Lottie. Could Daria be right and the curse has something to do with me directly? That would explain both why she insists that I be the one to help—that maybe she even tricked me into it by planting one of her own snakes along the river that night—and the reason the amulet’s not working. I didn’t do all the legwork myself.

  Or it could have nothing to do with me. She could have picked me because I have the most reason to help her. She knew—somehow—about the curse on our family and used that to her advantage. Maybe there’s some dead witch network where they share tips and tricks for ruining the lives of the still-breathing and she heard about the curse there and figured, Hey! Leverage.

  Frustration builds in my gut, swelling into a storm of impotence and anger. Any way I slice it, that bitch is using me to hurt my boyfriend’s family. The rage dissipates as fast as it burst out, because like it or not, she and I need each other. Mama Lottie might be using me. I’m using her. All I can do now is try my best to figure out what went wrong so the ghost and I can get back to the business of helping each other.

  Despite the late hour, I can’t wait any longer to dial Amelia. When she answers on the third ring, I almost burst into tears from the relief.

  “Grace, why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Where are you?”

  “I had to do something with Daria.” It’s not a lie, but the next part will be. “I just had a bad feeling and needed to hea
r your voice, that’s all.”

  “Well, aren’t I the lucky cousin! I get to be woken up because of your feelings.” She’s grumbling but that she’s lucid enough to grumble makes me smile.

  “You can go back to sleep now. I’ll be home later and fill you in tomorrow morning.”

  “This morning,” she snaps. “And who knows whether I’ll be able to go back to sleep.”

  “Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” I tease, some of the tension unwinding from my shoulders and back.

  “I said I want to go back to sleep, not that I want to go rigid with horror. Good night, Grace.”

  “Good night.”

  It’s about an hour before fatigue starts to creep in. My eyelids grow heavy, as though lead runs through my limbs instead of blood. There’s no sign of Daria as I roll my head toward the house. The moon is still close to full and bathes the night in a cool, milky blanket. Dew glistens on the long grass. An owl hoots, a frog belches.

  And in the trees around the house, figures draped in shadow hunker down on the lowest branches. They have no features, no distinct frames, but where there should be eyes are glowing orbs shaped like walnuts.

  My body goes cold. I get out of the car and check my door, remind my spirit guide we’re still in this thing together, and take a few steps toward the house. I’m not sure why going close to figures that resemble demons seems like the thing to do, but nevertheless, closer I go.

  I can now see they have long fingers, tipped with claws. They’re curled around the tree branches as the creatures crouch there, watching me with eyes that flicker between an amber light and a reddish one the nearer I get. They make no sound, no significant movement, yet a blackness that feels as though it is rolling off them clouds my mind. It makes me cold all over, flooding my veins as horrific images flash in my mind—dead animals, murdered children, atrocities of war, natural disasters.

  As badly as I want to move, I can’t. It’s as if I’ve stepped inside a magnetic field that’s tuned to my entire body and it’s impossible to back up.