Through the Veil

by Isobel Bird

  Annie punched him in the arm. “Oooh,” she said. “You are just like all the rest of them.”

  The lights dimmed then, and she sat back in her seat. Music began playing and then the dancers came onstage. They were dressed in flowing white robes. Annie watched, entranced, as they began dancing. Their movements were fluid and hypnotic, and as she watched them she found herself drawn into the story they were telling with their bodies. She knew the whirling dervishes were part of a mystic tradition of Islam and that they saw the spinning dances that gave them their name as a kind of meditation. Watching them spin, their arms held out and their heads back, she felt herself drawn into a place of light and warmth. It was the way she felt when she did her Wiccan meditations, and she wondered about the similarities between the two things.

  When the last dance ended and the lights came up, she felt as if she’d been dreaming. She looked around, reminding herself that she was sitting in an auditorium. She felt much calmer and much more peaceful than she had when she’d sat down.

  “Can I have my hand back?”

  Annie looked over at Tyler, who was smiling at her. Then she looked down and saw that she was holding his hand. She let go of it and drew her own hand back.

  “How did that happen?” she asked.

  “You reached over halfway through,” Tyler said.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Annie, confused. Why had she done such a thing?

  “It’s okay,” Tyler said. He got up and pulled on his coat. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah,” Annie answered, still slightly confused.

  She drew her own coat on and followed Tyler out of the building. As they walked along the street she kept her hands firmly in the pockets of her coat.

  “That was really amazing,” Tyler said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Me either,” said Annie. She wanted to talk about the dervishes and about what she’d been feeling while she watched them dance. But she was still too embarrassed about having grabbed Tyler’s hand. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. What had come over her? You were just feeling really relaxed, she told herself. It didn’t mean anything.

  She stole a glance at Tyler. He was walking along beside her as if nothing unusual had happened. Most guys probably would have been all weirded out if a girl had just grabbed their hand. Especially a girl who was the best friend of their girlfriend.

  But it didn’t mean anything, Annie reminded herself. It was just some hand-holding, and she hadn’t even known she was doing it. She rubbed her hand against her leg through her coat. It was still a little warm.

  Suddenly she wondered what it would be like to go out with Tyler. He’d been right—he wasn’t like other guys. He wouldn’t dump her because she was Wiccan, like Brian had. He would go to museums with her, and to dance performances. He would listen to her talk about her life, and he would tell her about his. She’d shared a lot of things with him since they’d started hanging out, and he felt like a good friend to her. Not the kind of friend that Kate and Cooper were. That was different. Tyler was something else. He was a boy, after all. But he was also her friend. She couldn’t deny that.

  He’s a boyfriend, she thought suddenly. I mean a boy friend. But what was the difference? The difference is that he’s Kate’s boyfriend, she told herself.

  She sighed. Why did the one guy who really seemed to like her for who she was have to be her best friend’s boyfriend? It wasn’t fair. She didn’t like that many guys. Why did the one she seemed to get along with the best have to be someone else’s?

  “Well, here we are,” Tyler said.

  They’d reached the bus stop for Annie’s bus. Tyler lived in the other direction.

  “This was fun,” Tyler said.

  “Yeah,” said Annie stupidly. “It was fun.”

  “Tell Kate it was awful, though,” suggested Tyler. “We don’t want her to think she missed something great.”

  Kate’s got something great, Annie thought. She’s got you.

  The bus approached the stop. Annie looked at Tyler. “This is me,” she said.

  She looked into Tyler’s eyes. She wanted to apologize again for holding his hand. She wanted to let him know he was special to her. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she knew what she was doing she had leaned forward and kissed him. She just couldn’t stop herself. She put her arms around him and kissed him, not a friendly kiss good-bye but the kind of kiss she’d seen in the movies.

  When she pulled away the bus was waiting with the doors open. Tyler was staring at her, a surprised look on his face. Annie put her hand to her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Tyler didn’t say anything. He just looked at her. Was he angry? Annie couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem to be.

  “I should go,” said Annie.

  She got on the bus. As the doors closed she turned around and looked at Tyler. He was still standing there, looking at her with that strange expression. As the bus doors closed Annie collapsed into a seat on the side of the bus away from the windows. She didn’t want to see Tyler as they pulled away.

  Now you’ve done it, she thought as everything fell into place and she understood in one startling, horrible moment why she had taken Tyler’s hand during the show. You’ve fallen in love with your best friend’s boyfriend.

  CHAPTER 15

  Cooper dialed Jane’s number and listened as the phone rang. As she waited for someone to pick up she couldn’t help but think about the last time she’d called a number written on a scrap of paper. It had been a number dropped by Amanda Barclay, the newspaper reporter who had written about her during the time when Elizabeth Sanger’s ghost had been contacting Cooper. That number had turned out to belong to a pay phone used by the man who had killed Elizabeth and who then tried to kill Cooper when she got too close to the truth. What would calling this new number bring? she wondered. After all, she didn’t really know anything about Jane except that she could play the guitar and sing. What if she turned out to be crazy?

  “Hello?”

  The sound of a voice speaking to her brought Cooper back to the moment. For a moment she thought about hanging up, but she didn’t. “Hi,” she said instead. “Is this Jane?”

  “Could be,” the voice replied. “Who’s this?”

  “Cooper Rivers,” answered Cooper. She assumed that it was Jane speaking. “We met last week when you were playing the guitar outside the drugstore on Commercial Street.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jane said, sounding as if she was happy to hear from Cooper. “How are you?”

  “Okay,” Cooper said. “I was calling to see if you might want to get together sometime. Maybe play a little or something.”

  “Yeah,” Jane said. “That might be cool. Do you want to come over here?”

  “Where’s ‘here?’ ” asked Cooper.

  “Lansdowne Street,” Jane replied. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Sure,” Cooper said. “Behind the post office downtown.”

  “Right,” Jane said. “It’s number forty-two.”

  “When would be good for you?” Cooper said.

  “How about now?” answered Jane. “I’ve checked my appointment book and I believe my schedule is open this evening.”

  Cooper laughed at the affected accent Jane had put on to sound like some kind of snobby society lady. “All right, then,” she said. “I’ll come right over.”

  She hung up, grabbed her guitar and her notebook of lyrics, and headed out to her car. It was Wednesday evening. Her mother had a meeting at school, so Cooper was on her own. T.J. was practicing with Schroedinger’s Cat, and Cooper was glad to have something to do. She was still sad about no longer being part of the group, and although she really believed that quitting the band had been the right thing to do, she couldn’t deny that she missed playing with them.

  As she drove to Jane’s house she looked at all of the Halloween decorations people had put up around town. Plastic skele
tons hung from doorways, and pointy-hatted witches adorned many of the windows she passed. Someone had even hung a scarecrow from the branch of a tree in a front yard, a rope tied around its neck. It swung in the October wind, its brightly painted face looking oddly out of place on what was supposed to be a dead body.

  Cooper had always loved Halloween. It was her favorite holiday, and as a kid she’d spent hours coming up with different costumes before deciding on one for the big night. But it wasn’t the trick-or-treating she liked; it was that Halloween seemed to be a night when anything could happen. She always hoped she really would meet a ghost or a goblin or some other kind of creature. You were witchy even way back then, she told herself, laughing.

  But looking at the Halloween decorations now, she felt a little sad. Now she understood that Samhain was more than just costumes and getting candy. It was a solemn time of year. It was too bad that more people didn’t understand that, she thought. It was like people had to make the holiday into something comical because they didn’t really understand it. But I guess we’ve done the same thing to Christmas, she reminded herself. Now it’s all about presents and Santa Claus.

  The Samhain ritual and party were only three days away. She had to get working on her costume. As she turned on to Lansdowne Street and looked for number 42, she wondered what surprises Sophia and the others had come up with for them. Instead of having the ritual at the bookstore or at someone’s house, it was going to be held at an old stone church that had been turned into a community center. Cooper knew that the members of the covens organizing the event had spent all week getting it ready. At class the night before, she and Annie had tried to pry some details out of Sophia, and then Archer, but neither of them would say a word.

  Cooper found number 42 and pulled up to the curb. It was a small house, painted white with green trim. There was a small tree with bright red leaves in the front yard, and Cooper saw the dried remains of flowers along the path that led to the front door. The letters on the mailbox spelled out GOLDSTEIN.

  Cooper got out of the car and walked to the front door, carrying her guitar and her notebook. She rang the bell, and a moment later the door was opened by an elderly man. He peered out at Cooper for a moment.

  “Who are you?” he asked, sounding a little confused.

  “I’m a friend of Jane’s,” Cooper said. “Is she here?”

  “Jane?” said the man, as if he’d never heard the name before.

  “It’s okay, Grandpa,” Jane said, appearing in the doorway. “This is a friend of mine.”

  Jane opened the door for Cooper. “Come on in,” she said.

  Cooper entered the house. The old man stood beside Jane, staring at Cooper with a mixture of fear and interest.

  “Grandpa, this is Cooper,” Jane told him.

  Cooper smiled. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

  Mr. Goldstein didn’t say anything. He continued to look at Cooper, his hands clasped together in front of him. Then he reached out tentatively, his thin arm extending from the sleeve of his blue sweater. Cooper reached out and took his hand. As she did, she noticed what looked like numbers written on his wrist. The old man saw her glance at them and pulled his hand back.

  “He’s sort of shy around people he doesn’t know,” Jane said to Cooper. Then she turned back to her grandfather. “Cooper and I are going to go to my room for a while,” she said. “Do you want to watch some TV?”

  Mr. Goldstein nodded. Jane took his hand and led him into the living room, where Cooper saw him sit in a big armchair while Jane turned on the television. A cooking show was on, and Cooper saw the perky host showing the audience the best way to dice a chili pepper. Cooper couldn’t imagine Mr. Goldstein’s being all that interested in cooking, but he seemed to be perfectly happy watching the program.

  “He doesn’t care what it is as long as it’s cheerful,” Jane said to Cooper as she came out of the room. “Come on. I’ll show you my palace.”

  Jane walked down the hall and opened a door at the end of it. Cooper followed her inside, and Jane shut the door behind them.

  “This is it,” she said, waving her hand around.

  “It’s amazing,” said Cooper, looking at the room. Every wall was painted with a mural. The entire room had been transformed into some kind of magical forest, with trees and flowers everywhere. The ceiling had been painted to look like a bright summer sky, complete with clouds. But the most amazing part was that peering out from behind some of the trees were figures straight out of myth. A faun stood behind a towering oak, while several elfin figures played among the flowers.

  “You did all of this?” Cooper asked Jane.

  Jane shrugged. “I got tired of plain old white walls,” she said, smiling.

  Cooper turned around and around, finding new details everywhere she looked. “It’s amazing,” she said.

  “My grandfather taught me to draw and paint when I was little,” Jane said. “He’s also the one who taught me to play the guitar.”

  “Is it just the two of you living here?” asked Cooper.

  Jane shook her head. “My parents live here, too,” she said. “But they travel a lot for business. My two sisters are both in college. I stay here and look after Grandpa.”

  Cooper wanted to ask Jane another question, but she didn’t think it was a polite one.

  “You’re wondering about the numbers, right?” Jane asked.

  Cooper nodded. “What are they?”

  “A tattoo,” said Jane. “My grandfather was in a Nazi concentration camp during World War II.”

  Cooper didn’t know what to say. She’d heard all about the Nazi camps, of course, but she’d never met anyone who had actually been in one. The war had always seemed to be something that had happened to people she would never know.

  “Most of his family was killed,” said Jane. “He stayed alive because the camp commander found out my grandfather could play music. He had been a violin teacher. The commander had Grandpa put together a string quartet to play at dinners for the Nazi soldiers. He and three other prisoners had to play whenever they were told to.”

  “That must have been really horrible,” Cooper said, knowing it sounded trite but also thinking that it must be the truth.

  “He doesn’t talk about it very much,” Jane said. “Now that he’s old I think it’s hard for him to think about what happened. Almost everyone he knew was killed in the camps, and now even the ones who lived are mostly dead. He has nightmares about it a lot. I’m just glad I can be here with him. And I’m glad he taught me to play and to paint before he couldn’t do it anymore. No one else in my family was really interested in it, and I think it made him feel good to teach me.”

  Cooper looked at Jane as the other girl went and got her guitar from the closet. It was amazing, she thought, how people had so many different stories to tell. Just by looking at Jane, Cooper would never have guessed any of the things she’d just been told.

  “So,” Jane said as she came back and sat on the edge of her bed, “tell me about you.”

  Cooper pulled out the chair that sat in front of Jane’s desk and sat down on it. “Let’s see,” she said. “Nothing quite as interesting as your grandfather’s story. But I do live in a haunted house.”

  Jane raised an eyebrow as she continued to tune her guitar. “Do tell,” she said.

  Cooper told her about Welton House and about how the ghost of Frederick Welton supposedly walked its halls. “My mother says that when I was little I used to see his ghost all the time,” she concluded.

  “So you live with your parents?” asked Jane.

  “For the moment,” said Cooper. “They’re sort of separated while they figure out what’s going on. Right now it’s me and Mom in the house.”

  “And the ghost,” Jane added. “Don’t forget about him. They don’t like to be ignored, you know.”

  “You believe in ghosts?” asked Cooper.

  “Do you?” Jane countered.

  The two of them watche
d each other, each waiting for the other to answer. Cooper had a feeling that they were playing a game of chicken. Was Jane trying to figure out if Cooper was into the supernatural? That’s what she was doing. After all, Jane had written her phone number on a piece of paper torn from a flyer from Crones’ Circle. And her songs had a definitely witchy vibe to them. Cooper suspected there was more to Jane than she was letting on. But Jane wasn’t giving anything away, and Cooper decided that if she was going to find anything out she would have to give in first.

  “Yeah,” Cooper said. “I do. I believe in all kinds of things.”

  “Like what?” Jane asked.

  “No fair,” said Cooper. “You never answered my question about ghosts.”

  Jane smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “I believe in them, too.”

  “From personal experience?” Cooper pushed.

  “Maybe,” Jane said. “Let me ask you something—what’s with all the questions about this stuff?”

  Cooper figured it was time to ask the big question. She liked Jane, and she hoped they could remain friends whatever her answer was. But now that the time had come to actually ask, she found herself hoping that Jane hadn’t just had the Crones’ Circle flyer by accident.

  “You wrote your number on a piece of paper from a flyer about a Samhain ritual that’s coming up,” Cooper said.

  She noticed that Jane didn’t seem confused by her use of the name Samhain. But Jane also didn’t say anything about where she’d gotten the flyer.

  “The flyer came from Crones’ Circle,” Cooper continued. “I take a class at that store. I was just wondering if maybe you’d been there.”

  Jane paused a moment. “I go in there sometimes, yeah,” she said. “What’s this class you take?”

  Cooper grinned. “Now you’re the one asking questions,” she said. “I take a class on Wicca there,” she added after a moment.

  Jane looked at her, and Cooper knew that this time it was Jane who was dying to ask a question but was holding back.

  “No, I’m not a witch,” Cooper said, answering it for her anyway. “At least not yet. We have to do the class for a year and a day. Then we decide whether we want to be initiated or not. Are you weirded out by that?”