by Maher Tegan
The house itself was glorious—a two-story soft-green bungalow with a large wraparound porch and white trim. Red and white petunias spilled from hanging pots at perfect intervals, and neat hedges grew in front. A porch swing floated in the breeze at one end of the porch, and a wicker patio set sat at the other end, the chairs lined with red-checkered pillows that matched the petunias. Lacy white curtains adorned the windows and added to the cheer of the place as they stirred in the ocean breeze.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Jake said, leaning up between the front seats to get a better view. “If you’d asked me to guess what her place looked like, I’d never in a million years have described this.”
I lifted a shoulder as I let off the brake and continued up the drive toward the house. “I don’t know what I expected, but I’m not surprised. You’re way too judgey.”
Eli huffed a breath out his nose. “Speaking of judgey, you can’t honestly say this is what you expected.”
He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it when I had the moral high ground over Jake. “She’s always been perfectly nice to me when I’ve run into her in town.” That much was true.
The drive circled a manicured large mound of plants and colorful flowers, and I pulled around and parked behind a vintage canary-yellow convertible Cadillac.
“Nice ride,” Jake said with a low whistle of appreciation. Whereas I was more into muscle cars—thus the Mustang Shelby we were currently sitting in—Jake was all about vintage luxury. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen it around town.”
One of the lacy curtains by the door stirred and I realized we were sitting in front of the house like a bunch of stalkers.
“C’mon,” I said, opening the door. “Let’s go talk to her rather than sit here and admire her house and ride. Sitting in front of somebody’s house gawking isn’t the way to make nice.”
I climbed out and popped the back seat up so Jake could disentangle himself from my miniscule backseat, then brushed off my shirt and ran a hand over my hair. Every time I’d seen Sybil, she’d been put together. Perfect hair, gorgeous—if dark and outdated—clothes, and makeup that looked like it had been done by a professional artist even if that artist was prone to Goth looks.
We climbed the steps of the verandah, and Jake shoved me forward to knock. Eli stepped to the side so I could take point, and I scowled at both of them.
“What?” Eli asked with an innocent shrug. “You’re the brawn, I’m the brains.”
I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung open before I could. An old man stood there, hunched and stoic in his butler’s uniform.
“Yes?” he said, his voice stronger than I’d expected. He looked at the book in Eli’s hand. “If you’re selling something, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”
“Come now, Luther,” an amused female voice said from inside the house. “You know they’re not here selling anything. Let them in and let’s see what they’re really here for.”
The old man grumbled but swung the door wide. “Please come in. Madame will—”
“Madame’s right here,” the disconnected voice said. It was starting to weird me out a little. “If you could bring us tea to the parlor, that would be marvelous.”
“Yes, madame,” he said, turning and shuffling through the foyer and down a hallway. I stepped inside, and my cowardly cohorts followed. I felt like Velma leading the way with Shaggy and Scooby riding my coattails.
There was nothing sinister about the inside of the house at all. Wood floors were polished to a sheen, and various pieces of Colonial furniture including a bench designed to sit while removing your shoes gave the foyer a homey, welcoming feel. The woman herself wasn’t imposing, either. Rather than dark clothes, she seemed to prefer when shopping, she wore a pair of white linen slacks and an expensive-looking green silk blouse. Her makeup was flawless as always, though a bit heavy around the eyes.
“Please,” Sybil said, an amused smile curving her maroon lips, “come in. I don’t get many visitors, and honestly, I prefer it that way.” She tilted her head and appraised us, curiosity shining in her dark eyes. “But I have a feeling you three will entertain me. I could use that, as I’m a bit bored.”
I glanced at Eli when she turned away from us, but he just shrugged in a way that said, well, at least she hasn’t tried to throw us in stew yet.
We followed her into a large parlor also decorated with Colonial furniture, and the collector in me drooled. She had some of the finest, most well-preserved pieces I’d ever seen, and I found myself wanting to explore the whole house. Instead, I took a seat on the pewter-colored, velvet flared-arm sofa, and Eli and Jake joined me on either side. Sybil relaxed back into one of two matching winged armchairs, her posture much more at ease than ours was.
“What brings you to my home, young witches?”
I raised a brow, surprised that she knew that and also that she used the term witches for all of us rather than gendering it.
Sybil waved an elegant hand. “Of course I know who you are. You two,” she said, motioning to me and Jake, “are Devin and Deidra’s offspring. Sage and Jacob, yes?” She turned her gaze to Eli. “And you, my dear, have to be Sophia’s get. You look just like her. How is she? We haven’t visited in ages.”
“She’s fine,” Eli said, his tone a little wary. “She still teaches at the university.”
“Ah, yes. Her love of all things ancient.” She turned her attention toward the book and one corner of her mouth curved up in amusement. “You’re Eli, correct? An interesting coincidence, considering that you come carrying a book that you suspect is of great importance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eli said and handed it to her. “Sage and I found a chest while we were diving the bay yesterday that we assume was uncovered by the storm. It gave off some ... concerning vibes, and we need to know if the contents are dangerous. We were hoping you might know something about it since you’ve been around town for ... a while.”
“A while,” she repeated, still smiling. “Yes, that’s an accurate statement. I’ve been here since before it was a town. I was a member of the coven that settled the area.”
That caught my attention because the origins of the town were murky. Just as with the dates, nobody knew for sure where the original founders had come from, either.
“Wait,” I said. “You said coven. None of our lore suggests the town was settled by witches. Everybody says pirates.”
She huffed an indelicate breath through her nose. “Pirates, indeed. Yes, they’d built a disorganized shanty village consisting of bartering shops, pubs, and cat houses, but it didn’t take us long to run the superstitious fools out of town. All it took was summoning some lightning in broad daylight, sinking a couple ships on the shoals, and casting some illusion spells to make them think the place was haunted. Child’s play. They didn’t last three months after we decided we wanted to settle here. Their time was about up, anyway; we just pushed the process along a bit because we liked the area. We built the mercantile in 1687.”
I was glad when Luther entered the parlor from a rear doorway carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and four glasses of ice. My mouth was so dry, it was all I could do not to pounce on him and drink straight from the pitcher.
“Three years before the Salem Witch Trials,” I mused, nodding my thanks when he handed me a frosty glass of cold deliciousness. “Is that a coincidence? Where did your coven come from?”
“You do know your history,” she said with approval. “Good. We came here from Connecticut when those morons spouting Leviticus were spooling up for another round of persecution and executions. We’d lived through it once and weren’t about to watch more innocent people die. Not a single person they “tested” was even a witch, and we decided that none of us could witness it again without doing something.”
“So rather than expose yourselves, you left,” Eli said, his tone soft.
“Yes,” she replied, “though we wanted to fight, we knew that if we gave them proof,
they’d loose the proverbial hounds of hell on more of their own citizens.” She shook her head. “I was tired of hiding who I was, anyway, sneaking off to have our ceremonies, and curtsying and mouthing platitudes to those pompous fools who treated women like livestock. It was time to find our own haven, and so we did.”
“So what’s the deal with the book and trunk?” Jake asked.
She shook her head. “Ah, yes. The trunk. It’s a long story, but shortly after we settled, a group of Romani came through the area. They liked it and wanted to stay with us, but as with every other group, there was a handful of socialites in our coven who decided they didn’t want them here. They stopped serving them, they ostracized them, and they wouldn’t let their children play with the Romani children. We had several meetings, but things came to a head when the elitists on the council met late one night and decided to run them out of town the next morning before word could reach the rest of us. It was shameful, especially considering where we’d come from.”
Being the history buffs all three of us were, we’d lost any reservations about Sybil we’d had at first and were now leaning forward with our elbows on our knees, eager to hear what came next.
She took a long pull from her tea, then shook her head. “Anyway, they left in the middle of the night when word of the coven’s plans reached them. The next morning when the idiots went to chase them off, they found boxes of belongings that they thought had just been abandoned. They took them almost as spoils of war, but it didn’t take them long to realize it was the Romanis who got the last laugh; they’d cursed the items. Every single person who’d ended up with one of the items ended up dead, maimed, possessed, or otherwise injured.”
I glanced from Eli to Jake. That wasn’t good at all.
“So why didn’t they break the curses on the items?” Jake asked. “It’s kind of a weenie way out to toss them in a box and sink them.”
Sybil rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. I tried to get them to do that, but after a few feeble attempts, they decided to take the easy way out. Toss them in a box and chuck it in the ocean , they said. It’ll be fine , they said.” She huffed and waved her hand. “And yet here we are, three hundred years later, and I suspect you’re about to tell me the items are on the loose again.”
I nodded. “I’m afraid we are.”
“Well then,” she replied, draining her glass of tea, “I suggest you get right on that before somebody dies.”
My phone rang just then, and a cold finger of foreboding slithered down my spine.
Sybil sighed. “You’re going to want to get that. I’m afraid you’re already too late for at least one person.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and closed my eyes when I saw that it was Willow. The feeling of foreboding got worse as I slid to answer.
Chapter 10
“H ey, Willow,” I said , still grasping at the fading hope that she was calling to tell me she was feeling better or that Mom wanted us home for an early family dinner. “You’re on speaker, and I’m here with the guys and Sybil Blackburn.”
“Sage! Oh, thank the gods you answered,” she said, breathless. “I had Kylie pull the sales records for the morning. It turns out we sold a diadem, a pocket watch, and a ruby pendant. The first two were cash sales, so we don’t know where they went. The person who bought the pendant paid with a card, though, and left his number for us in case we came across anything else like it. His wife apparently has a thing for rubies and old jewelry. Anyway, I called him, and apparently something’s happened to his wife.”
“What kind of something?” I asked, heart racing. “Is she dead?”
“No, not yet. She’s ... well, it sounds like she’s possessed.”
I raised a brow, but before I could say anything, Eli cut in. “What makes you say that? You know what the actual odds are of that.”
Though the movie industry has made millions off possessions, there have been few actually documented throughout history. Even the ones that looked legit often had better explanations the more science got a grasp on mental illnesses.
“Actually,” Sybil said, cringing, “the odds are pretty good. If you’re talking about a teardrop ruby set in filigreed silver, I’d almost guarantee it, in fact.”
“That’s exactly the one!” Willow exclaimed. “What should I tell him to do? He thinks she’s lost her marbles and is about to take her to the hospital, except she’s resisting him.”
Sybil pulled in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Tell him a professional psychiatrist is on her way and to keep the woman there even if he has to tie her down.”
“You’re not serious?” Willow asked. “I can’t tell him to tie his wife up.”
Sybil rolled her eyes. “I love the whole women’s lib thing and that society is being forced to treat everybody as equals, but sometimes it’s a real pain in the tookus. Tell him to do what he can. What’s the address?”
Willow rattled it off, and we disconnected.
“What are you thinking?” Jake asked Sybil. “You don’t have to get involved in this. We didn’t come here to rope you into anything. Just tell us what to do and we’ll do it.”
Sybil was already grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “No, you won’t. I don’t have time to walk you through the intricacies of an exorcism, and you probably don’t have the strength of will to do it, anyway. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
That was a little insulting, but since I’d written possessions off as a bunch of hooey up until thirty seconds ago, I didn’t feel like I had enough high ground to get my butt on my shoulders about it.
“We can take my car,” I said as we dashed out the front door and down the veranda steps.
She took one look at it and shook her head. “No, we absolutely cannot, and we don’t need to drive both yours and mine. Just one will draw enough attention, and we might need to use some stealth. Follow me.”
She hung a right and headed toward a garage built on the edge of where the yard was cleared, digging through her purse as she did. Before we made it halfway there, the door was rising, and I got my first peek at what she had inside. Jet skis, a boat, and—most importantly—a non-descript Town Car.
“Madame!” Luther called, shuffling behind us. “Shall I drive you?”
I groaned as I stepped up the pace a bit to keep up with Sybil. Surely she wouldn’t let the old man chauffeur us. He looked like he’d turn to dust if we hit a bump, and we needed to make hay while the sun was shining, not take a Sunday stroll. I couldn’t believe her answer.
“That would be delightful, Luther,” she said, tossing him a grin over her shoulder.
“Are you sure—” I asked as we made it to a sleek black Town Car with windows tinted so dark that I couldn’t see into them.
“Hey!” Jake said, a little out of breath from the sprint, “I’ve seen this car around town. I didn’t know you owned it.”
“Great,” a deep voice said, “and yes, we do. Now get in. Unless I heard incorrectly, we have no time to dally.”
I jumped as a strong hand reached around me to open the back door to the car and blinked when a tall, handsome man with green eyes and dimples smiled at me. “Let this be your first lesson, Miss Parker. Things are not always what they seem. Now, if you’ll climb in, I believe we have an exorcism to perform.”
“Shame on you, Luther,” Sybil said, sounding a little miffed as she shoved Eli into the passenger side of the rear seating compartment. “If you wanted to do a grand reveal, you could have waited until they were already in the car. We don’t have time to deal with slack-jawed, undereducated witches right now.”
I gave myself a mental shake and climbed in, too surprised to take offense at her comment. Jake followed me and took the seat facing me. Ten seconds later, we were roaring down the driveway, hellbent for leather. I leaned sideways a bit so I could see around Jake and out the front window. Magically, the overgrowth and brush cleared, and the drive became smooth all the way to the gate.
&nbs
p; “You have your driveway booby-trapped with weeds and potholes,” I said, scowling at her even though I had to admire the idea.
“Of course, I do,” she said, cocking a perfect black brow at me. “I told you I don’t like visitors, and I don’t want people snooping around the place when I’m not home. When I leave, I glamour two logs on either side of the gate to look like gators, too. I’d rather people decide for themselves that they don’t want anything to do with me than have to deal with them on my front stoop.”
“You’re a star in my book,” Eli said, waggling his brows, “but who’s the marvelous example of manhood in the driver’s seat?”
I scowled and elbowed him. “Rude.”
He glared at me. “What? Are we all going to pretend Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yummy wasn’t Sir Bent, Gray, and Musty five minutes ago? Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking it.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t planned to say it out loud. Glancing up, I caught a set of laughing green eyes in the rearview mirror.
‘I’m Luther VonDrake, at your service. I’m Sybil’s companion.”
“Companion?” Eli echoed. “What does that mean?”
“It means he keeps me company,” Sybil said with a faint trace of irritation. “Now, shall we get down to business?”
She flipped the book open and leafed through the pages until she came to a chapter with a picture of exactly what she’d described—a ruby pendant wrapped in silver filigree—at the top of the page.
“The Rathsborn Ruby,” she said with a shudder. “Oh, yes. I remember this one now. At least we’re getting one of the nastiest ones out of the way first.”
“I know we need to get straight to the ruby,” Jake said, “but I think a little understanding of these objects might be a good idea. Were all the curses put on them by the same person? Are the curses all the same? Are they lethal?”
“The answer to all of those questions except the last is no,” she said. “Some of them are lethal, but if I remember correctly, some are meant to teach lessons or wreak havoc. The Romani people were decent human beings. I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to bet that the rom baro—their leader—had no idea what they did.” Her gaze took on a faraway expression. “It seems some things never change.”
