Something like Voodoo

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Then it hit me: these were the songs we wanted to listen to if we might never hear music again.

  I reached over and snapped the player off. “We’ll be okay,” I said, trying to convince myself. “I have to believe things will work out.”

  “And if they don’t?” he asked. When I didn’t respond, he added, “You don’t have to do this.”

  Ah, yes. The mantra of our relationship.

  I shook my head. “I do, though. Knowing what I know now, I absolutely do. Because I may be the only one able to change things.”

  Noah stole a worried glance in my direction. “But what if you’re not?”

  Tension hung thick in the air between us, until finally his gaze swung back to the miles of pavement stretching ahead.

  “Maybe not,” I murmured, staring as a drop of rain slid down the passenger window. “But I still have to try.”

  Hazel said we needed to perform the ritual at the asylum because that was where one of Sarah’s ancestors had died. This meant her “impression” would still be around. Which was the same reason Sarah’s energy could be recharged at that location as well. I asked what an impression was, and our witch doctor explained it was something like a spirit. Only the spirit wasn’t really there.

  The black-haired ghostly girl with bangs that had showed up at my Dad’s house? One of Sarah’s ancestors who was the last to tap into voodoo, apparently.

  Problem was, as far as I knew, none of my ancestors died there. So how would I channel them?

  “You won’t use voodoo,” Hazel had said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Then what?”

  She smiled and handed me a small wooden box with strange carvings. “Something like voodoo.”

  The magic was still there, in my blood, but it had to be expressed another way, she explained, due to the circumstances. This was my “edge.” Something I knew, thanks to Hazel, that Sarah did not.

  Hazel explained how to do the binding spell, much like my ancestors had done, only my spell would be incanted through witchcraft, not voodoo. I would still need something from Sarah, same as she must have taken something from Noah.

  A lock of hair. A fingernail. Blood.

  I cringed at the thought.

  When we arrived at the asylum, I tucked away the incantation Hazel had given me to memorize on the ride over. I had read it a hundred times, but had I memorized it? My stomach churned. My mind had kept drifting to other things, the words read but unabsorbed. Now my time was up.

  After Noah parked, he helped me out of the truck and backed me up against the cold metal door. He kissed me hard on the mouth, melting away my worries over the incantation. His warm coconut smell was intoxicating, but the moment couldn’t last.

  The kiss said everything I wanted to say – that I was afraid, that I cared deeply for him, that I knew I was walking into the fight of my life. When he pulled away, Noah’s intense gaze burned into mine – a storm in his eyes.

  “When this is over,” he said firmly, “nothing else will stand between us.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “I know.”

  He didn’t move. “Do you think I’ll still be the same person?”

  I touched the side of his face. “Of course. I mean, well…” I stopped and shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Me, neither. But for the first time in a long time, whoever I am, I’ll be in control.”

  Sarah’s rule over Noah had dominated most of his young adult life. His childhood had been tormented by that mark – one I now realized his parents must have had as well – but nothing compared to being someone’s high school puppet.

  “It will happen,” I said. “Soon.”

  His gaze fell to the side. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I tilted my head, the muscles in my forehead tightening. “I don’t understand.”

  He pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arm around me. “Don’t worry,” he said into my hair. “It doesn’t mean anything right now.”

  I shook away my confusion as we faced the fence surrounding the institution.

  “Lead the way,” he said. In his voice was something new – a new strength, a new determination.

  I could be miles ahead, and still somehow I’d be following him. Maybe he didn’t realize it, but he already had some control in this world. He had since the day he met me.

  We snuck in the same way I had entered the aslyum the first time I visited. I was fairly certain there was more than one way in, but I didn’t know of any other entrance. Hopefully we could find another way out, if necessary.

  Inside was as cold as it’d been outside. Each breath we exhaled puffed out in a small cloud. As we headed down the first long corridor, I thought I heard music. A few steps later, I was certain. Notes faintly carried from somewhere in one of these rooms.

  As we kept walking, the music heightened. Soft and crackling, the haunting voice of an older man’s rich vibrato reverberated through the main hall.

  “I put a spell on you…because you’re mine.”

  Noah and I exchanged a glance then stepped timidly into the room. Sarah was screwing with us. This was probably a trap. But if we went where she wanted us to, we would find her, so it had to be done.

  On the other side of the hall, a lone record player rested in front of an open window. Tattered, once-white curtains billowed behind the stand. As we stepped closer, broken glass crunched beneath our shoes.

  “I just can’t stand it, babe…the way you’re always runnin’ ’round.”

  With each crackling note of the song, my heart sunk deeper into the abyss that had become my stomach. Where was she? My eyes scanned in every direction, but I didn’t see her.

  Some of the lines of the song were punctuated with hoots, groans, and maniacal laughter. Sarah was out of her ever-loving mind. Noah stood before the vintage turntable and lifted its arm. The music stopped dead.

  He turned to me, then looked around, same as I had. Before long, Sarah would try her magic on us. Noah strode back to my side then pulled me against a wall, gripping my hand.

  “Stay by my side,” he ordered. “I’m no good to her dead. If you stay close, she won’t hurt you.”

  I figured we both knew staying close through all of this would be impossible. Nothing would stop Sarah from trying to hurt me, so I left the thought unspoken.

  We continued out of the room and down the next corridor. Sarah’s voice echoed like a whisper behind us, the overlapping cacophony of her words dream-like.

  Love me.

  Love me.

  Love me.

  An almost-transparent Sarah blew by us, her blonde hair whipping behind hazily, giggles echoing. It was as if she was everywhere at once, but of course she wasn’t really here. This was more of her magic – more of her illusions.

  If I wasn’t so freaked out, I might have felt bad for her. Talk about mentally ill. If I knew anything for certain, it was that magic couldn’t make someone love you, and hurting him certainly wouldn’t change his mind.

  The closer we crept toward the next room, the tighter my fear constricted my lungs. This was it. I could feel it. Just like my drawings had promised, this wouldn’t end well. But it was our only hope.

  As we stepped through the next doorway, Sarah’s ritual place – at least for tonight – came into view. Along one wall was an altar with a book on top, tons of pictures of Noah tacked to the wall above. Sarah was nowhere to be seen.

  “No way she accidentally left this stuff here,” I whispered.

  It wasn’t put away in private, like the book in her locker had been. I wasn’t stealing it; I’d found it. There was a difference.

  Right?

  Ugh. Was this a risk I needed to take?

  Probably.

  I picked up a small, leather-bound journal and opened it to where a ribbon bookmark had saved a
page. The faded writing slanted at odd, uneven angles, but I made out enough of the text to see what it said.

  “This is her ancestor’s journal.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  I skimmed through it. The first few pages read like diary entries from the woman I’d seen in the images I’d drawn at Noah’s house – the woman who had been beaten and whose child had been killed. The later entries talked about this asylum. A shared journal, passed from one generation to the next. A torn page at the front was missing, which I imagined was the page my mom had stolen about my dad’s ancestral history.

  “I think at least a couple of them,” I said quietly. “The ancestor who started the curse, and the one who died here. Sarah must have learned everything from this journal. A few pages even have spells and symbols.”

  Talk about family tree research gone horribly wrong. That was the only way to explain how Sarah learned about all this. Or so I thought until I read farther and discovered Sarah’s entries.

  She’d found out about this almost on accident. The whole thing started the way Heather had told me. Ghost-hunting with some older boys. Checking out “haunted” locations from WeirdNJ.com. But she’d felt something here. Something that led her to this journal, as if by supernatural force, showing her things beyond what these pages revealed.

  Noah was the goal. The voodoo she performed on him had been intended as a means to an end. What’s worse, the other It Girls thought Sarah had given them power and popularity. The latter might have been true, but all Sarah did was show them how to tap into their own powers, something she’d done as a way to intensify her own magic. Which meant they didn’t need Sarah. Sarah needed them.

  Every last bit of this went as far back as Salem, when Sarah’s own ancestors used people in the town the same way. All those families had practiced voodoo, which meant they’d been equals. But Sarah would never let the It Girls in on that secret. They were her puppets – not through voodoo, but through good old-fashioned manipulation.

  When I got to the part about what Sarah had planned for me that day in New York, I could feel bile rising at the back of my throat. Noah hadn’t shown up because of a bond we had; he’d shown up because Sarah had wanted him to witness those men who were supposed to attack me. Wanted him to see what would become of any women who tried to “steal” his heart from her. I snapped the book closed and took in a small gasp of air. Mind officially changed. I didn’t want to stick around to see what Sarah planned to do tonight.

  Noah took the journal and paged through it, but when I put my hand on his forearm and shook my head, he nodded and set it down. His hand froze with the book on the table, and I followed his gaze to a small, burlap-skinned doll.

  He lifted it, then immediately dropped it and cursed. “Burns.”

  I poked the doll. It didn’t burn me, so I picked it up. My one hand, now bandaged, still ached from the doorknob, but the care Hazel had given me helped.

  I tore a small piece of stitching away, revealing a secondary layer of moss. “Is this –”

  “Mine?” he asked.

  I worried at my lip. “You probably expected this, though.”

  “It’s different to see it.”

  His voice was calm, but his body tensed. His eyes flashed with more anger than I’d ever seen. I returned my attention to the doll. Behind the moss were small, frail bones – maybe from an animal? – tied together with twine. Then I found a small chamber buried inside the doll. Before I could discern what I was looking at, Sarah appeared beside me.

  I jumped back, startled. Noah stepped up behind me. Sarah’s image flickered between her and the pale, raven-haired young woman. Both of their eyes were completely black.

  Now what?

  Hazel hadn’t prepared me to fight a ghost.

  25

  A DEAL IS A DEAL

  Unsure whether it was really Sarah standing there, I lunged anyway. I needed a piece of her for the spell, and I couldn’t risk any opportunity, real or imagined. I made impact, tackling her to the ground.

  Her head thunked, and her body went still.

  Holy hell. Had I killed her? Her head hit the ground pretty hard.

  My heart pounded faster in my chest. I shook her, but she was limp. Noah was saying something behind me, but it was as though my ears were stuffed with cotton.

  Then Sarah laughed and pushed me off of her. As she tossed me, I grabbed her hair, yanking out a few strands.

  Grasping her scalp, she called me some not so pleasant names. Certain her attacks wouldn’t remain verbal for much longer, I fumbled with my messenger bag to retrieve the doll Hazel had given me for the spell. As soon as I shoved Sarah’s hair into the little pocket at its back, she backhanded my wrist and sent it flying from my hand.

  Moments later, Noah dropped to his knees, arms pulled tightly over his stomach and groaning. My attention shifted between him and Sarah.

  “You’re hurting him!” I screamed.

  Her face was calm, her eyebrows rising gently. Noah doubled over more. “No,” she said. “You’re hurting him. Walk away, and his torment will end.”

  “I’m not leaving him with you,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Noah made a wailing sound behind me that sent a stampede of chills over my skin. My stomach twisted, though not literally as his seemed to be. I couldn’t stop staring at the tortured expression on his face. There was nothing I could do to help until I cast the spell. But every time I tried stepping closer to the doll Hazel had made, Sarah upped her game.

  Noah started coughing, then hacking. Blood splattered from his mouth, dropped over his lips, dribbled from his ears. After his coughing fit, his eyes shot wide open as he gasped for air.

  “Stop it!” I yelled again, charging toward her.

  “Boo hoo, don’t hurt my boyfriend,” she whined. “Wah wah.” One of Noah’s fingernails popped off. “Go away, Emily!” she cried out. “GO…AWAY!”

  As she screamed, the doors to the room banged open and shut. All the chairs on the other side of the asylum started trembling, then slid across the floor toward me.

  I dodged out of the way – or tried to. One of them smashed into my toes, knocking against my shin. I cursed as I threw the chair aside with the mess of others now overturned on the other side of the room.

  This wasn’t Sarah. She wouldn’t hurt me directly and risk shifting the balance. Her cronies were behind the scenes. That’s why Sarah needed them. To do her dirty work.

  As she laughed, I took the opportunity to run for the doll, trying not to look at Noah, reminding myself that whatever he endured, he would live. She needed him, in some sick way. She wouldn’t kill him.

  Unless she killed him by accident. Like she had my mother.

  I tried to keep a level head. Get the doll, cast the spell, then stop Sarah once and for all. This wasn’t about my mom. Thinking of her would only cloud my judgment.

  As I neared the doll, Noah’s body floated in front of me. I screeched and jumped back. He was suspended in mid-air, as though he’d been draped lifelessly over invisible arms.

  As I reached for the doll, his body plummeted to the ground with a sickening crack, his ankle twisting in the wrong direction.

  “Oh my God! Noah!” I ran to him instead, gathering him up in my arms. “Noah, are you okay?”

  My whole body shook. I had to get him out of here.

  Sarah strolled over. “Broken bones heal, Emily. As do broken hearts. Leave, and I promise he’ll be okay. Leave and stay away, and I won’t hurt you or your father. I don’t think you can afford to lose another parent.”

  Although Heather had once told me Sarah never lied, her promises meant little now. Wasn’t this the same person who had told my dad we were friends? Maybe she didn’t lie as much as me, but she was no less a liar.

  Perhaps I should walk away. Not forever, but long enough to stop N
oah’s pain.

  When I peered down at him, the same markings I’d seen on him that day in the cafeteria covered his body. He no longer seemed in pain, but he was aging rapidly – his earlobes elongating, his jaw receding, his hair turning gray and falling out in clumps onto my lap. His white-painted skin folded in wrinkles, erasing the dimple in his left cheek. His frail body trembled. Even his bright-blue eyes had faded to distant clouds.

  Sarah stood over his helpless form, screaming. “Why don’t you love me, Noah?” Her pale blonde hair shivered with anger. “Why can’t you be with me?”

  Resting Noah at my side, I hurtled to my feet and pushed her. She tumbled back and fell beside the altar but pulled herself back up in time to grab some sort of ritual knife from beside a candle.

  Then, letting out a bellowing screech, her face deforming to something between her own and her ancestor’s, she flew toward me, almost literally. Noah jumped between us – the illusion gone, his younger self returned just in time for her knife to plunge into his shoulder.

  I cried out and Sarah froze, the color draining from her face. Suddenly, she was as pale as her ancestor’s ghostly impression. Noah stumbled back into me, the knife pulling out of him again. I caught him in my arms. When he brought his hand away from his shoulder, there was blood on his palm and fingers.

  “Sarah,” he said hoarsely. “You need to stop.”

  She pushed her shoulders back. “I don’t have to do anything, Noah.” She glared at him. “You owe me. Your whole family owes me.”

  He shook his head. “No, Sarah, we don’t. We are not our ancestors.”

  She stepped closer. “This is my right,” she hissed. “And I am my ancestors.” Her gaze snapped over his shoulder to me. “Do you love her?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked. “I want to be with her, and I don’t want to be with you. Don’t you want someone who wants to be with you?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “Of course I do. I want you to want to be with me. And we could have been,” she said, “if not for her.”