by Sable Hunter
For seven days, she had carried the seeds in a red flannel bag next to her heart. At the end of the week, she’d taken them down to the bridge and thrown them over her left shoulder into the Mississippi. She stood there and recited the 23rd Psalm and then walked away without looking back. This would be the seventh night since the culmination of the ritual and now the answer had come. She was heading to Texas for more than a few days, but at what cost?
* * * *
Arabella had taken care of Rachel as best she could. She made meticulous notes of all the information she’d managed to garner from her readings. Rachel wanted her to come over to her house and see if she could pick anything else up, but Arabella had insisted she have the police investigate first. If the house and yard was truly a crime scene, she surely did not want to be the one who contaminated or obliterated crucial evidence. Rachel had said she understood and had gone home alone—lonely and scared. There wasn’t too many more hours before the police would consider the situation more seriously and come onto the property to see what they could find. After they had done what they could, then Arabella would be glad to go over and help out in any way Rachel would let her. She knew from experience, however, not many on the police force welcomed the type of help she could provide—so the longer she could stay in the background the better.
Knowing she had done all she could, Arabella turned her attention to more pleasant things. The day had been eaten up by Rachel Townsend’s sadness and the rest of the time had been spent in Austin buying the supplies she would need for her cooking and baking. Last minute gifts were purchased and Arabella had also gone by the University Co-op to pick up some T-shirts and a backpack that sported the Longhorn emblem for her cousin Evangeline. Angelique, Nanette’s companion, would be coming, as well as Arabella’s mother Elizabeth.
Arabella’s father, Thomas Landry, had been gone for over five years now—the victim of an offshore oil rig accident. Not a day passed that she did not recall her dad’s kind face and his loving smile. Elizabeth’s and her families’ powers had not scared Thomas. He had been confident enough in his own strength to view their unique abilities as something to cherish and protect instead of fear and avoid. Not all men were like her Thomas, Arabella knew this from experience. She missed her father.
Arabella’s mother, Elizabeth, was still young, vital, and extremely attractive. Happily settled in Galveston, Texas, she spent every spare moment cleaning up and rebuilding her beautiful home, which Hurricane Ike had devastated. Storms had dealt harsh blows to their families, Ike had taken Elizabeth’s home, but Katrina had taken Arabella’s grandfather Alcee and Evangeline’s mother Aimee. The tragedy had been over five years ago, but the pain was still fresh enough to bring her grandmother to her knees.
She had seen a great flood in the scrying waters on Winter Solstice of 2003 but after almost a year past with nothing bad happening, Nanette had let her guard down. Then Katrina came. Surprisingly, the great hurricane passed without completely devastating New Orleans, but then the levees had failed and the floods rose quickly with deadly results. All that year, Nanette had kept Alcee and Aimee away from Ponchatrain and away from the river, but the black waters had flowed down their own street and caught them by surprise.
Fighting back unpleasant memories, Arabella turned her mind to the sweet prospect of reuniting with her dream lover. When it came time to go to bed, Arabella got ready for sleep as if she were preparing for a date, or more truthfully, a romantic interlude. She had bathed in scented water and pampered her body with lotions and creams. Pulling every trick she could think of out of her magical bag of tricks, she had constructed a dream pillow of purple cotton and stuffed the small square with lavender and mugwort. Mugwort, known as the witch’s herb, filled not only the dream pillow, but she also used the herb to make smudge sticks and walked about her bedroom letting the smoke fill every nook and cranny. Two bundles of lavender hung from the bedposts and she enjoyed a cup of tea made from the same two herbs. Angelique had taught her that if you don’t usually dream, mugwort will help you dream. If you can’t remember your dreams, the herb will allow you to recall more details than you normally would. People who usually remember their dreams can also use mugwort to dream consciously, in other words, to be able to control your actions while dreaming. The latter was Arabella’s intent; she wanted her dream to be as real as possible.
Despite all the work she’d put into her dreamtime, sleep took forever to come. The events of the day had been unsettling. The disappearance of Kathy McLemore and her daughter had put a damper on Arabella’s spirits and the whole atmosphere of her usually happy home.
Arabella lay restlessly, trying everything she could think of to hurry the onset of sleep. The more anxious she became, however, the more elusive slumber proved to be. Finally, she gave in, turned on the light and reached for a book. Maybe she could read herself into her dream lover’s arms. After a few pages of a mystery, drowsiness began to set in. Arabella laid the book down and turned over on her side to face the sketchpad propped on her nightstand. The light of the moon shone on his beautiful face. Her eyelids became heavier and heavier, slowly she willed herself back to the dream state in which she’d encountered her intriguing companion.
A strong wind began to blow and the cry of a hawk floated on the air current. The brisk breeze picked her hip length, dark hair up and caused the black curtain to whip around her face. She looked around to try and recognize where she was standing. A sense of familiarity dawned on her. She recognized this hill, a dome actually. Arabella stood on the top of a pink granite mountain near her home called Enchanted Rock. She’d not been there in years, but when she attended high school this had been a favorite place to hike and picnic.
A noise startled her, and just as she started to turn, warm hands slid around her waist from the back. They slipped underneath the silk nightie and moved over her breasts, cupping them gently. Recognition flooded her body as did a total welcoming.
“Hello, beautiful. I’m so glad you came.” Still holding her securely, he eased her back against him. His hands began a slow dance over her swollen, sensitive breasts. Her nipples hardened and became diamond points of sensitivity. His fingers circled, massaged, lifted and teased the grateful mounds of flesh. Weakness flooded her lower regions and she felt as if his hands on her body were the only thing tethering her to the earth.
She raised her arms over her head and found his face, moving her fingers over his features as if memorizing them by touch. She tried to shift in his arms so they were face to face, but he kept her anchored where she stood. He continued to make love to her breasts with his hands, a steady circling, rubbing rhythm that ended every few moments at the end of her nipples, slowly distending them before beginning the sensual ritual all over again.
“That feels so good,” she panted. Her world condensed, until the manipulation of her breasts and nipples became the focus of her universe. An intense heat began building and adding to her torment, his lips and tongue began kissing the curve of her throat and shoulders. A tightening began in her vagina and even though he never touched her there, her slit began to dew in delightful anticipation. Never before had she known so much joy could be gained from touch alone. When the shivers began, his hands finally moved lower and slid beneath her silken panties to find the hot waiting folds, which vibrated ecstatically to his lightest touch. Her hips jerked uncontrollably as she rode his hand, tiny mewls of passion escaping from her lips.
Flushed with release, Arabella relaxed completely into his big, hard body. With a slight pressure, he turned her around and captured her lips with his. As she touched his waist, attempting to gain access to his manhood, his hands grasped hers intertwining their fingers.
“Not enough time,” he whispered. A vacuum of pressure seemed to pull him backward. “Find me.” These final words were spoken as the wind picked up once more and the night enclosed them in nothingness.
When day broke Arabella found dampness on her pillow. She had cried during the ni
ght, after he had gone. Her greatest regret was the fact she did not have any more information now than she had yesterday. Guilt tormented her, if she could have just kept her head about her and talked to him she could have asked questions. But his touch had been so intoxicating, she hadn’t been able to keep her mind on anything but how he was making her feel. The only clue she could remember was the location—Enchanted Rock. What significance the pink granite mountain had, she did not know.
Despite the disappointment in her failure to garner his name or anything else about him, she felt absolutely wonderful. Her reaction to this man went beyond anything she had ever considered herself capable of feeling. At his slightest caress, she had been primed for passion. Arabella couldn’t comprehend what an actual physical encounter with him would be like, but she had hopes of one day finding out.
She went through her morning regime on automatic, considering what step to take next. Could it be her destiny to find him? Were her nighttime visions a precursor to a future meeting? Did he have any knowledge of her or were they just destined to meet in their dreams? Arabella pondered all of these questions in her heart and prayed the answers would bring her the happiness she’d been denied so long.
* * * *
After Evangeline had arrived at Nanette’s elegant old home on Constance Street in the Lower Garden District of New Orleans, carefully controlled chaos had been the order of the day. Angelique had insisted time be taken to adequately pack everything she thought would be needed for the trip.
Her grandmother had allowed Angelique to have her way, but the older woman had done her part to pack items she felt the younger two would overlook. She gathered her spell books, plenty of broken glass, nails, a case of canning jars and a five-gallon bucket of red brick dust. These things would be necessary for the protection ritual she intended to perform upon her arrival.
Not knowing how long they would be gone, there was no question the cats had to be readied for the trip. A young boy brought the two large, black cats to their house one night. His parents would not allow him to keep them and he knew the Beauregaurde house would be a safe haven for the felines. Both of the cats were boys and Evangeline had named them ’Two-Bits’ and ‘Slim Pickins’ after two rappers she admired. Although Bits was heavier than Pickins’, Pickins’ was certainly not slim. While they were beloved, the cats could not be classified as familiars. However, when a spell or ritual was being carried out the toms were usually close by, so who could say whether they lent power to the workings or not.
They loaded the black Jaguar sedan quickly and gassed up before leaving New Orleans. Angelique had driven out of the Crescent City about midnight and had headed west on Interstate 10. She hadn’t stayed on the interstate, but cut up north through the middle of the state and crossed the Sabine River as the sun came up.
Evangeline took over the driving for the last five hours as they headed through the pine forests of East Texas. Nanette had dozed for several hours and Evangeline had rested for a little while, but Angelique remained alert. She constantly watched everything they passed—seeing things no one else could see.
Angelique had a gift. She knew all gifts had their reasons, but this gift carried with it a great burden. Angelique could see and speak to the spirits of the dead—and the dead were everywhere. New Orleans seemed awash in the dead. The Katrina dead were the most active in New Orleans at the present. Mercifully, Alcee and Aimee had never made an appearance. The hurricane’s victims who lingered behind were angry over what had happened to them and what had happened to their city.
Even in the home on Constance Avenue, the dead walked besides the living. Nanette’s mother, Patrice, still resided with the family–even though she had died thirty years previously. She and her grandmother were usually unaware of her presence unless she insisted Angelique pass a message to her daughter or her granddaughter.
Angelique didn’t pretend to understand all there was to know about being dead, but she did know the choice to haunt or go beyond the veil didn’t seem to always be theirs to make. Moving on or going to the light didn’t seem to be an option for everyone. Some souls seemed to be tied to a location as if by an unseen rope. Despite her exposure to Catholic doctrine, Angelique suspected reincarnation waited for a soul once they let go of their earthly bonds, but she’d seen some souls who had been ghosts for hundreds of years. There were just some things one didn’t find out until you became a ghost yourself.
Driving down the road, even in the dark, Angelique could still see ghosts. Despite the cliché, it was true, they glowed—they gave off their own ethereal light. Sometimes they moved as orbs or incandescent balls, when they were in that form Angelique didn’t notice them as much. Modern day ghost hunters had discovered the orb phenomenon in digital photographs, but Angelique could see with her natural eyes what even the cameras at times couldn’t.
While driving down the road from New Orleans, their car had passed ghosts standing on the side of the highway at scenes of tragic car accidents, which had taken their life years ago. They passed homes where Angelique could see the dead standing in the yard or sitting on a porch swing. To Angelique’s eyes, cemeteries were especially unnerving after dark, because she could see the glowing forms of the residents walking among the graves. During the day, there was a difference—the glow of the dead was not as evident and they looked like anyone else from a distance, unless the clothing or the oddity of their movements betrayed their status.
They traveled steadily, stopping only for coffee and a bathroom break in Lufkin, a small town in East Texas. During the needed break, Nanette called Arabella to let her know they were on their way. Evangeline noticed her grandmother seemed nervous. “I can’t let death steal another member of my family,” she worried out loud. As they resumed their journey, she kept looking out the window. “My, I don’t like this part of the road. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Angelique looked on either side of the narrow highway. The bleak road was lined with thick, pine forest on both the right and the left. “Something bad happened here.”
This intrigued Evangeline. “I’ve never envied you your gift, Angelique. I enjoy looking at my world unburdened by the reality of spirits and specters. But today, I’m curious. What do you see?”
Angelique spoke softly and evenly without displaying any emotion whatsoever. Apparently, these things bothered her much more than she let on. “I see pioneers or settlers; there are also covered wagons and horses—but something has gone terribly wrong. The people are bloody and torn, victims of a massacre. I hear them wailing a horrifying tale about being attacked by Indians. Even now, they stand in an eternal vigil pointing the way to safety.”
Nanette had been sitting there quietly, but it seemed she could sense the murdered dead also. “They think they are protecting people who travel this way. Forever they linger here to warn of a danger that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Evangeline shivered a bit; glad her gifts differed from her grandmother and Angelique. Her magical talent was truly unique. She could read the living, as she had in the magick shop—but that ability was rather common among her kind. The truly great power Evangeline possessed had to do with the weather; she could make rain or stop a downpour. With just a few words of a psalm and an offering of rice and water, Evangeline could raise a storm and call down lightning. Perhaps she could even make snow—she had never tried. Maybe, during this Yule, calling up a snow event would be fun. Evangeline had inherited this gift from her great grandmother Patrice who had used it to great benefit on the Louisiana farm where she had lived.
They were getting close, going through Austin on Interstate 35; they passed the University of Texas on the right as they were heading south toward San Antonio. She could see the tower that was always lit up in burnt orange lights when the Longhorns were victorious. This same tower had been the scene of one of the first major school shootings in 1966. An engineering student had taken a deer rifle to the top of the tower and opened fire on the innocent and unsuspecting who
walked across campus at just the wrong moment. Sixteen people were killed and thirty-two injured—and Texas had never forgotten. Nearer to the freeway stood the Daryl K. Royal Memorial Stadium where the Longhorns played their awesome game of football. If Nanette were not so tense about what she had seen while scrying, Evangeline would have brought up her desire to transfer to UT again. Maybe after all of this was worked out, she could make her case again. The miles were passing quickly; soon they would be at the exit that would take them to Wildflower Way.
* * * *
The call Arabella received from her grandmother had not come as a complete surprise. She was thrilled to welcome her family to Wildflower Way for an extended stay; this big house could be lonely at times. One thing bothered her, however. Between her grandmother’s concern for her family, and the turmoil over poor Kathy and Lea’s disappearance, there would be very little time left to concentrate on him. Memories of last evening’s midnight interlude were still fresh enough and hot enough to cause her to break out into a proverbial sweat.
Arabella was sorely tempted to drop everything and head out to E-Rock to see if she could pick up on anything from just being at the scene of their encounter. Right now, that would be impossible, she just had too many irons in the fire—but she would not forget him. Finding out more information about him was high on her list of priorities. One thing she desperately wanted to know was his name; thinking of her dream lover as ‘him’ didn’t feel right anymore. Maybe she could get Evangeline to travel out to Enchanted Rock with her later today or tomorrow.
