by Cecy Robson
“The triangle in the water isn’t moving,” Danny insisted. “If it moved right or left, I could tell you where to go, just as I did to get you to Plainfield in the first place. You have to be in the right place.”
I remained on alert. I’d never expected to return to the same city where my parents had been killed, and where I’d avenged them. But there I was, thanks to Danny’s mystical navigation system. He’d pricked our fingers and added our blood into the clear bowl with North, South, East, and West printed at its base with marker.
Nothing happened until he placed our only photo of our parents in front of a lighted candle and chanted a few words I couldn’t make out. The small triangle of paper spun and shot to the “east” side of the bowl and off we went, scared and pressed for time but determined to see matters through. Taran had driven, while Danny instructed us via cell phone. I almost hurled when we veered off Route 22 and took the Plainfield exit.
Emme said, “Is it possible the compass needle—or whatever you called it—didn’t stop because the spell ran out of power?”
“Ouch!” Danny yelled.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Uh, yeah. I tried to move the paper—the compass needle, I mean—back to the edge to test Emme’s theory. I don’t think the spell liked being doubted. The paper … stung me and returned to the center, where it’s been floating.”
“The little piece of paper bit you?” Taran didn’t wait for Danny to answer. “Shit, then what’s this goddamn bind thing going to do to us if we ever find the altar?”
“Hi, Celia.”
I don’t know who jumped higher, me or Emme. No one snuck up on me. Ever. And yet there stood a young woman with two waist-length pigtails and large-framed red glasses with lenses thicker than Danny’s. Crap, she was thin. Knobby knees poked out beneath a long pink T-shirt big enough to serve as a dress; its V-neck accentuated her bony chest and barely there bosom.
She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. I’d never seen eyes as light as hers. The green tinge in them was barely noticeable. If anything, they appeared colorless, like a blank canvas waiting to be filled.
She returned her glasses to her face. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you, Celia?”
My sisters gathered beside me. “How do you know my name?”
She smiled gently, though it appeared more of a polite gesture than anything genuine. She seemed tired. More tired than a twenty-something girl should look. Deep blue veins gathered around the creases of her sunken eyes. She lowered her voice. “Everyone in the family knows who you are. Even though we’re not supposed to speak of you, or Taran, or Shayna, or Emme.” Her attention bounced to my sisters with each of their names until she returned it fully to me. “I’m your cousin Nieve.”
“Nee-yeh-vay?” Emme asked slowly. “As in ‘snow’?”
Nieve nodded, but stopped smiling. “I’m surprised you’d return here. Especially after all that’s been done to keep you away.”
“You know about us—about our curse.” Taran’s voice was as hard as marble and just as cold. “How is that possible when we don’t know a damn thing about you?”
Sadness dulled Nieve’s unusually fair skin. “I told you. We all know who you are. You’re the ones who weren’t meant to be.”
Taran huffed and crossed her arms. “So we’ve heard. Are you going to tell us more, or are you having fun pretending to be all mysterious?”
Shayna nudged Taran, fearing her attitude would intimidate Nieve. She recognized that Nieve was our only lead and how much we needed her then.
Nieve kept her head lowered, appearing to choose her words carefully. “My grandmother told me Tía Griselda never liked your mother. Tía was the one who riled the others against your mother and accused her of bringing the darkness.”
My fists clenched and so did my jaw. I had to work not to growl. “If that’s the case, Griselda lied. Our mother was kind and good. There was nothing dark about her.”
A tear slid from Nieve’s eyes, but my instincts told me her reaction didn’t stem from fear of me. “Truth doesn’t always matter, Celia. Especially if there are enough willing to believe the lies.”
“And especially against one who’s already ostracized,” I added, trying to soften my tone.
Another tear streaked Nieve’s cheek. “You’re right. Tía Griselda carried evil in her heart, and her spirit, but she made sure her poison wasn’t so obvious that it warned others away. She would smile and say all the right things, attracting with her looks and her sweet words, all the while demonstrating power no one could match or hide from. Dark power only dared spoken of in whispers.”
Taran kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. It rolled beneath our sedan. “This Tía Griselda, I take it she’s the batshit crazy bitch who cursed us?”
Nieve glanced around as if waiting for someone to appear. “None of our relatives possessed magical abilities. She became the first when she married into our family. She was a well-known witch—born and raised of magic. Many found her fascinating, and the majority who knew her sought to win her favor. But anyone who tasted even a speck of her power rightfully feared her. No one messed with her or her children. Horrible things happened to those who attempted to stand against them.”
Shayna stilled. “There’s more than one—besides Griselda?”
Nieve pressed her finger to her lips. “Shhhh. It’s best not to speak of them too much. Tía Gris is dead. But her legacy continues.” She shuddered. “Her children are not kind souls. Like Tía, they evoke respect through fear. Believe me when I say you don’t want to get on their bad side.”
Nieve inched away from me as I watched her closely. “Why are you telling us this?” I asked. “If you’re this afraid, why get involved?”
She played with the ends of her long braids. “There are a few in our family who believe your mother was harshly condemned. These same recognize Tía Gris’s power as the darkness she accused your mother of harboring. I think Tía saw something in your mother. Something she felt would threaten her and her lineage. Maybe it was the four of you. I can’t be certain. But whatever it was, she meant to stop it. She liked her power, and she wanted to keep it. But in lashing out against your mother, she created you. Beings who weren’t meant to be.”
“Because we threatened her power,” I finished for her.
“Maybe,” Nieve said. “Maybe not. But her actions seem to say as much.”
Emme stepped forward and attempted to take Nieve’s hand, but Nieve jerked from her reach.
“I’m sorry, Nieve,” Emme said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. But you seem so … weak.”
Nieve rubbed her arms as if cold, but didn’t comment.
Taran clasped Emme’s arm and pulled her back, her stare narrowing with growing suspicion. “You didn’t answer Celia’s question. You’re obviously scared shitless. So why are you involved? Why are you feeding us all this information? And don’t tell me it’s just because I asked.”
Nieve pressed her lips tight as she appeared to gather her courage. Her voice cracked when she spoke, revealing the depths of both her sadness and her fear. “Because curses are meant to be broken. It’s time you broke yours and embraced the full scope of your power.”
* * *
“Son of a bitch, I don’t like this,” Taran said as she and I walked side by side, behind Nieve and in front of Shayna and Emme.
“I don’t like this either, Taran. But she knows more than we do.” I swore. “If Quennel and Danny are right, his father doesn’t have much longer.”
Shayna hurried to catch up. “Do you think his dad’s already dead?”
“I don’t know. If he’s not, he soon will be.” The thought made me walk faster.
“What if it’s a trap?” Emme whispered.
That question had crossed my mind several times. But each time I considered whether it was best for us to hightail it out of there, I reached the same conclusion. “Danny’s in a lot of trouble—and so are we if we don’t break this
bind trapping us. We have no other leads right now and therefore no choices. But just in case, stay sharp.”
“This whole thing is horseshit,” Taran grumbled. She stared ahead at the rows of once majestic Victorians that lined either side of the street, two blocks from the apartment complex on Madison Avenue where we first began our search. Now the homes waited impatiently for a fresh coat of paint, a new roof, and tenants who would care enough to tidy their garbage-strewn yards.
Two men in gang colors made an exchange—money for a clear package filled with white powder—while the little girl in the yard with them skipped rope. The men watched my sisters and me, knowing we weren’t from around there. They ignored Nieve, who strolled in her bare feet and oversized shirt as if she’d walked along this street a thousand times. Shards of glass littered the sidewalk, but she simply skipped around the slivers.
Nieve didn’t act like a mature young woman, nor did she take much pride in her appearance. Her braids, although neat, were tied with rubber bands, and her T-shirt was old and stained. Though she was intelligent and articulate, something about her suggested she knew little about life. Strange considering the harsh and dangerous area she lived in.
“Hey, blondie,” one of the men called to Emme. “Do you want some of this, boo?”
“No, she doesn’t,” I said.
The initial hard stares the men shot my way contorted into looks of surprise and instant fear. My tigress had risen to the surface the moment Nieve had arrived. And while my inner beast hadn’t perceived her as a threat, she did the men. With a growl that thumped against my throat, she urged me in their direction.
The moisture in my mouth building from the thought of tasting their blood made me ill. And still she moved us forward when one of the men lifted his shirt to show me the gun shoved into his waistband. Tough guy. Ballsy even. Or so he thought, until my tigress poked out enough to show a hint of her eyes and a glimmer of fang.
My new pals found somewhere else to be. The idiot with the piece bolted down the street while the addict grabbed the little girl and raced them both into the house. They would probably dismiss or minimize what they saw later. But for now they had believed the threat, just as my beast had intended.
Nieve didn’t turn around when she spoke. “Your fearlessness will take you far, Celia. Especially for what awaits you.” She cut a sharp left, up a small incline, and into a yard where patches of yellow grass intermixed with the clusters of dandelions. Steps led up to a ramshackle house competing for the title of most likely to hide dead bodies and serial killers. Four to five smaller apartments made up the Victorian. Tarnished metal bars covered every window, while tarp and pieces of nailed-down plywood covered part of the roof. A family of pigeons gathered near the crumbling chimney, cooing at the setting sun. It saddened me to see a once lovely piece of architecture reduced to scraps, but what saddened me more was knowing that people actually lived there.
“This is it,” Nieve called over her shoulder.
Shayna wrenched her head up as we advanced. “Holy creepy mansion, Batman.”
Yup. I only wished Batman had come along for the ass-kicking.
But Nieve didn’t hurry up the wooden steps like we expected. Instead she remained on the grass, walking alongside the wraparound porch and into the side yard. We trailed quickly behind her until she stopped at the rusty gate of an old chain-link fence.
Nieve stared ahead at what appeared to be a converted garage. Strips of peeling white paint barely clung to the graying wood, and grime coated the narrow windows. The building was smaller, and in many ways in better condition, than the main house. But something about it colored my mind with images of bleeding walls.
Nieve motioned with a small jerk of her chin, keeping her trembling voice soft. “Tía Gris was known to worship in there. It houses remnants of the spells she cast—remnants of her power. The altar you seek may be in there, since it would require her energy to maintain, especially now that she’s dead.”
“Is she for sure dead?” Shayna asked. “I mean, if she was as strong as you say, I find it hard to believe she’s not still kickin’ around.”
“Oh, I’m sure she would still be with us if it hadn’t been for the incident.”
“Incident?” Emme asked almost inaudibly.
Nieve nodded. “She angered a werewolf and he tore out her throat.”
“Oh,” the rest of us answered in unison, our voices unusually shrill.
I rubbed my hands together, trying to work through my rush of adrenaline. “Okay … okay. Say the altar isn’t in there. Then what?”
Nieve shuddered. “If it’s not there, it’ll be in her old house.” She backed away from the gate, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I’m sorry, primas. I won’t go there.”
“Then let’s just hope the altar’s inside. Come on.” Taran reached for the gate’s latch. The minute her hand connected, her blue eyes bleached to white. Pure white. No irises. No borders. Nothing but space.
Shayna’s and Emme’s mouths popped open. I shook Taran’s shoulder, hoping the color would adjust. Nope. “Well, it looks like we’re in the right place.”
Taran threw the gate open and shook out her hand. “No shit, Celia.” She blew out a very deep breath. “Friggin’ hocus pocus. Let’s do this and get back to Danny.”
No one moved. Except Nieve, who raced to the front of the house. “I’ll wait here, primas,” she shouted. “Good luck.”
“Th-that’s kind of sweet that she refers to us as ‘cousins,’ ” Emme said in lieu of charging into action.
Shayna’s head jerked from the old garage back to where Nieve had disappeared. “I just hope she won’t refer to us as dead primas before this is all done. Man, that building looks totally Freddy Krueger.”
As if on cue, a flock of bats—that’s right, bats—soared from a large hole in the crumbling garage’s cupola. We dove onto the ground as they flew over our heads in a mess of snapping fangs and flapping wings, screeching with angst. My flesh crawled along my bones. There was spooky, and there was this. Good Lord, I wanted to race to the nearest church and douse myself with holy water.
The minute their disturbing squeaks died down, Taran scrambled to her feet. “Screw this!”
I latched on to her elbow when she attempted to flee. “Taran. We’ve made it this far. If this binding spell does exist, we have to break it. For us and for Danny.”
Her crumpling face told me how very frightened my usually tough sister was. I didn’t want to force any of them, but this curse affected us all.
“Please, Taran,” Emme pleaded. “Danny needs us.”
Taran nodded at Emme and I squeezed her arm reassuringly. No matter what, they would make it out of this mess. Even if it meant without me.
Shayna ignored all of us and dug around the shrubs. Something had caught her attention. I expected her to withdraw a stick she could convert into a sword with her power. Instead she pulled out an old wooden Louisville Slugger and transformed it into a giant battle-ax.
“What?” she asked when we all gaped at her and her weapon of mass destruction. “Did you see those little flying critters? Evil’s afoot, dudettes. I’m not walking in there without my little friend here.”
“Uh, okay.” I cleared my throat. “Emme, call Danny and put him on speaker. Then tuck your phone into your back pocket with the speaker out so we can all hopefully hear him.”
She nodded and did as I asked.
Danny answered immediately. “How’s it going? You girls okay?”
“We’re here,” Shayna said, mimicking the little kid from Poltergeist. She yelped when Taran smacked her arm.
I stepped through the gate, wondering if anyone would follow. By some miracle, each of my sisters did, with Shayna skipping ahead with her battle-ax. Sometimes, I really wondered about her.
“We’ll leave you on speaker in case we need you,” I said.
“All right, but please be careful. This altar has to be destroyed by your hands in order to f
ree you from the bind.”
“How will we know if it’s the right one?” Emme asked hesitantly. “What if it’s someone else’s altar?”
I groaned. “Emme has a point. I don’t want to accidently free hell’s minions. We’re in enough trouble.”
“I think you girls will know for sure. Everything I’ve read says altars designed to bind are identifiable to those held. It goes back to the rule of maintaining balance. If it’s cast on someone, that person has to at least be given the opportunity to recognize it.”
“Well, let’s hope you’re right.” I reached the garage and stood on my tippy-toes, trying in vain to peer through the grimy and darkened glass. “I can’t see anything. It looks like there’re plastic garbage bags taped to the window. Let’s go around. There has to be a side door.”
Shayna skipped ahead, finding a door around the corner. Deadbolts lined almost the entire rim of the wooden door. “Can you break it, Ceel?” She lifted her battle-ax. “If not, I can use Junior here.”
Taran pointed at her. “What I think you should do is calm the hell down. You’re a little too excited, princess.”
Shayna grinned. “I just know we’re close. We’re going to get control over our magic and save Danny’s dad. I’m sure of it!”
Taran huffed. “I just don’t want to be eaten. Son of bitch, is that too much to ask for?”
Emme inched closer to Shayna and her little friend, peering over her shoulder. “I hope not,” she mumbled.
I held up my hand to silence them. My gaze cut side to side and my ears took everything in, focusing on our immediate surroundings. For a crowded neighborhood within a large city, all seemed a little too quiet. “I think I should break it down in case there’s something waiting for us inside.” I took in the number of locks I needed to bust through. “But it’s going to make a lot of noise.”
Taran rolled her eyes. “You’re worried about someone reporting a breaking and entering out here? Trust me, these peeps learned to keep their mouths shut a long time ago.”
