by AJ Salem
“Gemma. Gemma?” Thom’s voice was loud, breaking through my panic.
“I can’t get on that.”
“Tell me.”
“I just can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
I fell to the ground and curled up in a ball, shutting my eyes tight against the memories that were flooding back and the deluge of blood that plunged me into my worst nightmares.
“Tell me, Gemma.” His voice held a mixture of authority and compassion.
I wiped my eyes free of tears. He was sitting beside me, cross-legged and waiting.
“It comes back every night. The blood.”
“What blood?”
“Brian’s. The accident. It was so awful.” As hard as I tried not to cry, I couldn’t stop the heaving.
“Relax.” He put a hand on my back and I was filled with warmth. It soothed every muscle in my body and just as it was starting to burn, he took it away.
I looked at him, trying to find a sign of what he truly was but whatever mask he wore was firmly in place, and I didn’t see a hint of him sharing that part of himself.
Maybe if I opened up, he would too?
“It was the beginning of summer. It was me, Brian, Jenny, and Mimi. I forgot whose idea it was but in the end, we headed to Jenny’s lake house. It couldn’t have been any lazier. We did nothing but lie in the sun and eat junk. On the way back, it all went to shit. The truck came out of nowhere and we were tossed over the side of the highway like a tin can.“
“Your brother. He was your twin.”
“Yeah. He was my best friend. I know that sounds weird. We fought like cats and dogs but it was all a joke to us.”
“Sounds nice. To have had a brother like that.”
“Had. That’s the operative word. He’s gone. I’m alone. And can’t seem to get myself back on the horse,” I said motioning to the bike. “Can’t get in a car, bus. Train. When I try, the blood fills me until all I see is red and I think I’m going to choke on it.”
“Do you trust me, Gemma?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Smart girl.” He smiled. “But I’m telling you that in this case, you can.”
“Yeah?”
“If I told you that you are going to put on that helmet and get on the bike with me and that I will protect you, would you believe me?” All the humor had left his face, leaving an intensity that made him seem wise beyond his years.
“Do I have much of a choice?” I asked.
“If I gave you one, would you do it?”
“Probably not.”
“Then I won’t.” He stood, bringing me up with him, and placed the helmet over my head. He pushed open the visor and stared. “Your job is to get on the bike and hold tight. I’ll protect you. I give you my word.”
He turned the ignition back on and I took my place behind him, wrapping my arms around his strong back and resting my head against his shoulder blade. I felt the power of his muscles as he put the motorcycle into gear. Then, with a turn of his wrist, we were off.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We started off slow. I could tell that he didn’t want to jump the gate and scare me. As I loosened my vise-like grip on him, he went a bit faster. I alternated watching the blur of trees go past and squeezing my eyes shut so that I couldn’t see a thing. Before I knew it, we were in front of my house and Thom was rolling the bike up the driveway. When we came to a stop, he jumped off, helped me down and gently removed the helmet.
“We made it.”
“We did.” I smiled, proud of myself that I had taken the chance.
“Now, take me to your spirit.” He took the grimoire out of the black leather saddlebag, tucked it under his arm and handed me a plastic bag. “I brought the candles just in case you hadn’t any.”
“This way,” I said and led him to the back of the house.
We set up all our supplies on the patio table. Ghosty moved from his spot on the lounger to hover behind us as we flipped through the pages of the grimoire.
“How are we going to find the right demon?” I asked. “All their powers overlap and on top of that, not everyone is cooperative.”
“Do not despair. We will find him or her soon enough.”
The leaves rustled in the background and I watched a squirrel race across the ledge onto an overhanging branch. Ghosty was starting to sway back and forth in the breeze, something I had never seen it do before. When it caught me watching, it darted to the stairs and began its descent then paused halfway. I stood up and looked down. It continued down to the grass and headed towards my running trail.
“Not now,” I yelled back at it. “I’m busy.”
“You’ve been talking to it, I see.” Thom crept up behind me. We watched as Ghosty waited by the first tree of the dirt path.
“Should we follow it?” I asked.
“Might be a good idea.”
“Might be a bad one,” I said. “But it hasn’t bothered me yet.”
“Then let’s go.”
We dashed across the yard and as we reached Ghosty, he darted away into the woods. When we got to the fork in the trail, Ghosty went left.
“I usually go right,” I said through heavy breathing.
“It wants us to follow.” He leaned against a pine.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why the hell not?” he asked.
“That place gives me a bad feeling. Always has. Forget it.”
“Oh come now. You’re an all-powerful summoner in training. Scared of the dark, are you?” He laughed.
“Fine. Come on. Before we lose it.”
At the end of the densely-shaded path, there was a clearing where we found Ghosty hovering in the center of a ring of boulders. The ground was mostly mulch that smelled like fresh organic decay and the recent rain. The canopy of branches that extended overhead had dimmed whatever sunlight was left to the day. The large rocks, however, shimmered with a blue incandescent glow.
“What is this place?”
“It’s the shit hitting the fan,” Thom answered. He walked over to the boulder closest to him, knelt beside it and brushed away a layer of moss.
“You see, I was right. This place is bad news. Wait,” I said, seeing a familiar arrangement of lines and circles. “Isn’t that a sigil?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said.
“Care to elaborate?” I said in my best fake British accent.
When he looked at me, his eyes were stone cold.
“This is no joke, Gemma. This is a chamber.”
“And a chamber is?”
He frog leaped from stone to stone, revealing each one’s markings.
“It’s bad news. It means that Harrisport is in danger. A chamber is the only way for demons to get back onto this plain without being summoned. If they know about this, they can have someone open the chamber, releasing whatever demons are tied to it.”
“So it’s like a portal.”
“What do you know about portals?” he said with a chill in his voice.
Proceed with caution, Gem.
“Suppose, hypothetically, that I had traveled through one.”
“Then I would, hypothetically, kick your arse and tell you to stay the hell away from them.”
“Then it’s a good thing this conversation is all theoretical.” I turned away and pretended to examine one of the etchings. The sooner I shut up, the better.
“It better be.” He kept his eyes on me and it took all my energy to resist the urge to tell him about Ian, the club, and the new necklace.
“Does that mean there’s more than one chamber?” I asked.
“There are seven, each one closing off a different sect of the Otherworld. Open all of them and you’re basically creating a hell on Earth.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence. I’m sure no one knows about it. I’ve been living here all my life and it’s the first time I’m seeing this.”
“And your Dybbuk over there got us here in a matter of minutes.”
“I see your point.”
“I’m hoping that means no more arm-twisting when it comes to the summonings. I need you on board. Fully committed.”
“You got it.” I walked to the center of the ring. The ground felt no different from the surrounding area. “So how do you get one of these chambers open?”
“That’s a mystery in itself. I doubt many know.”
“So we stay on course,” I said. “We summon the right demon and get rid of the Dybbuk. Whatever this chamber needs seems to stem from them. No Dybbuk, no problems.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said brushing the loose soil from his knees.
Me too.
Thom left soon after, assuring me that he would ask around and find the demon we needed. I told him I was staying at Charlotte’s that night but that I was free the rest of the weekend to work whenever he needed me.
Back in the house, I packed a bag with toiletries, what I liked to call public-pajamas (the kind you could answer the front door in) and a change of clothes.
When I was finished showering and had changed into what I referred to as fancy-sweats (the kind you never exercised in), I heard a commotion in the kitchen.
“Hey Dad,” I said, unsure of which father would be greeting me today.
“Hey, pumpkin,” he said, looking normal but weary, scouring through the junk drawer. “I thought I would throw on some steaks.”
“I’m on my way to Charlotte’s house. Remember, the sleepover.”
“Right. I forgot. I’m sorry. Can I offer you a ride without fearing for my life?”
I looked out the window and it was already dark. Charlotte’s house was more than a mile away. I could have managed on my own but I couldn’t risk seeing my dad’s other face, especially after having gotten on a motorcycle with Thom.
“Sure. Yeah that would be great.”
He smiled and grabbed his keys off the small tray he emptied his pockets into every day.
“Come on,” he said, and I braved myself for the second trip of the day.
When we drove up to Charlotte’s house, along the neat pattern of pavers and passed the elaborate bronze fountain and birdbath, the moon was already heavy in the dark night sky.
“See you tomorrow,” I said, planted a kiss on my dad’s cheek and bolted up the stairs. He waited until the front door opened and I stepped in before he waved and drove away.
“Gem, did you just do what I think you did?” Charlotte asked. She was wearing a baby pink cashmere slouch sweater and gray crop leggings.
“What?”
“Like get in a car.” She shut the large wooden door behind me.
“Oh yeah. Figured it was about time to give it a try.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“I’m not anyone.” She squeezed her cheek to my arm and led me passed the formal dining room and kitchen to the casual, yet professionally decorated, den. It was the kind of room that was meant to be cozy and inviting but was way too put together to give it the real lived-in feel. I knew that the Senator usually locked himself in his library with a tumbler full of scotch in one hand and the whole carafe in the other. Charlotte’s mother, Patricia, was either at a fund-raising meeting or shopping, drifting from one champagne glass to the next until she came home and blacked out on her bed, surrounded by bags filled with her designer purchases that would probably end up with the tags still on, never to be used.
“True,” I replied. “So where are your parents?”
“I kicked them out for the night,” she answered. “Here, make a plate.” She passed a square of white porcelain and I filled it with the bite-sized sandwiches and appetizers that had been thoughtfully arranged on the large, wrought-iron coffee table.
Charlotte flipped through the channels while we waited for Emma and Morgan to show up. “I wanted tonight to be intimate,” Charlotte said, explaining the short guest list.
“I hope you didn’t do that for me?” I said, biting into a miniature-sized burger.
“Nah. It’s because of the surprise I have planned. Super exclusive and hard to get. I couldn’t have more than three other people.”
We were halfway into a juicy episode of True Life “I hate my plastic surgery” when the doorbell rang. Charlotte brought Morgan and Emma through and we all vegged out while debating who was the most underrated celebrity.
The next time the bell rang, all of us, except Charlotte, was caught by surprise. “Oh wow. That must be our surprise.”
“How is it your surprise if you know what it is?” Morgan asked, tossing a piece of caramel kettle corn at Charlotte’s head.
“Is it a stripper?” Emma asked in a tired voice. I could tell though that she wouldn’t complain if her night involved a lap dance by a hot, built, topless, preferably Italian, guy in a G-string.
“Nope. This is even better.” Charlotte ran back to the front of the house and returned with a woman who looked like she could be any one of our mothers.
“Um, hi.” I waved.
“I’m going to let you introduce yourself,” Charlotte said to the petite woman with spiky bleached hair.
“Hello, girls. My name is Sylvia Nicks and I am a psychic and medium.” Charlotte pulled a chair for her and she sat down between the two overstuffed love seats that Emma, Morgan and I had divided ourselves amongst.
“I’ve seen you on TV, right?” Morgan asked.
“Yes. I’m asked to share my gift sometimes.” She smiled.
Charlotte took the empty spot beside me and whispered,
“This part was for you.”
“Let me pull some tarot cards out first while we wait for any spirits to come forward. Sometimes it takes a little time. Who would like to go first?”
“Birthday girl,” Morgan squealed.
“Yeah, Charlotte. You should go first,” Emma seconded.
“Oh wow. This is too cool.”
“Please cut the deck and focus in your mind’s eye the question you are putting out to the universe.” Sylvia handed her the large deck of cards. They were double the size of playing cards and decorated in an ornate curlicue pattern of deep red, blues and silvers. I noticed that her manicured nails were done up in the same colors as the cards.
After a short silence, Sylvia drew ten cards, placing some in a cross-shaped pattern to one side and the remainder in a straight line on the other. One by one she turned each card over, displaying their pictures and positions on the coffee table.
“This is the three of swords and it is the heart of the matter. You are unable to reconcile certain new parts of your life.”
“Ohmygod. That is so true,” Charlotte said, leaning in closer to the table and the cards she thought would hold all the answers to her life.
“The next card is the hanged man. You are trying too hard to please others and work to their benefit instead of your own. You need to focus more on yourself and what you want.”
The rest of us crowded in on the reading. It was starting to get good.
“This is the Queen of Pentacles and it is a practical woman in your life that is getting in the way of true success.”
“That’s totally your mom,” Morgan whispered.
“Shush,” Emma blurted, edging closer to Sylvia’s chair.
“The five of discs shows that you recently tested this new you and have had measurable success. And this,” Sylvia tapped on the card with a beautiful woman seated on a throne holding a sword in one hand and a scale in the other, “is Justice. Your future is filled with a balancing act. It is up to you to keep both sides equal.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asked.
“Wait a minute. Someone is coming through the veil.” Sylvia placed three fingers to her temple and looked off to the side as if she were listening to someone speak. “Yes, I understand. Does anyone know of a girl with a J name? A Jennifer, Joanie?”
“Jenny?” I asked. I didn’t want to be too forthcoming and make her job a
t snowing people over too easy but I couldn’t resist giving her that bit of information with the hopes that she could actually commune with the dead.
“Yes. Jenny has a message for all of you. She said that she is at peace and didn’t feel a thing. That she passed on quickly and that her grandmother was there to bring her over to the other side.”
We all looked at one another and I found my surprise reflected on everyone else’s face. I remained quiet, not wanting to sever whatever connection Sylvia had with our friend.
“She also wants you all to know that it wasn’t Gemma’s fault and that you should stop letting her take the blame for it.”
I nearly choked on the cracker I had mindlessly put in my mouth. I grabbed a can of soda and washed down the dry flakes that had coated my throat.
“What does she mean by that?”
Sylvia continued to listen and nod her head. “She says that Gemma will tell the rest of you when its time. Whew. That was a doozy.” Sylvia took a napkin and wiped the sweat form her brow. “She was a strong one. Now where were we?”
Sylvia continued her vague predictions of Charlotte’s future and then Emma’s. Morgan passed, claiming that she didn’t really want to know her future.
“Ditto,” I said. My mind was reeling with the message that had come through from Jenny. The fact that Sylvia was even able to get that detail proved to me that she had a gift of some sorts.
How come it wasn’t Brian?
“Okay, so how about we move on to something different?” Sylvia asked and we all nodded our heads in unison. “Let’s start with you, Morgan. Since you didn’t want to see into your future, how about we pick through your past lives.”
Morgan perked up. “Sure.”
“I’m going to need a little more space for this.”
Charlotte, Emma and I all squished onto one couch while Morgan lay on the other, her head close to Sylvia’s chair.
“Have you ever gone under hypnosis before?”
“Nope,” Morgan answered.
Sylvia lowered her voice and began soothing her with words, reassuring Morgan that she’d be sliding deep within her psyche to reconnect with her past selves. I watched as Morgan’s eyes grew heavy and shut. Her hands, palms up, relaxed into the pale green paisley cushions.
