Banish

by Nicola Marsh

  SETH TEXTED ME ten times that night, the infernal beeping annoying the crap out of me until I turned off my phone.

  I didn’t want to talk to him.

  More precisely, I didn’t want to answer his inevitable questions, the main one still echoing in my head hours later.

  Who’s Noah?

  Despite the fact we’d dated for five intense months, I couldn’t answer that.

  Noah had been lightness shaded in dark, a do-gooder dogged by demons he never discussed. That’s the part I’d been attracted to, the darkness, for it matched the shadows overhanging my life.

  I’d told him about Mom but he’d never opened up about his family, not once. He preferred our time together to be filled with everyday normality, like long walks and shared sodas and reading in the park. Townsfolk used to rib us about spending so much time with our noses buried in books while lounging around in the gazebo in the main square but we hadn’t cared, as long as we’d been together.

  We’d been comfortable and I’d really liked how he’d never pressured me for sex. In fact, our make-out sessions had petered out towards the end, when Noah’s darkness had clouded everything. He’d alternated between moody silences and angry outbursts, increasingly manic until I’d ended it.

  I guess break-ups tend to stick in most people’s minds, but the day I called it quits with Noah is indelibly etched into mine.

  We were supposed to meet in the park for a picnic. I’d rushed through two English assignments to make it, had gone all-out with the food, packing his favourites: raspberry soda, pretzels, bagels with cream cheese and capers.

  I’d laid it all out on a blanket I’d scrounged up from our laundry basket at home, and waited.

  For fifty minutes.

  No call, no text, no email, nada.

  When he’d eventually rocked up, stoned out of his head, I’d lost it.

  Not my temper, but any last ounce of respect for the guy who’d once made my pulse race by holding my hand.

  He’d been angry too, mumbling nonsensical stuff about lies and betrayal and the police, refusing to elaborate when I asked.

  Seething, he’d stomped around, kicking rocks and benches and the grass, swearing and shaking his head and clenching his fists like he wanted to thump something.

  He’d been so wired, so out of it, I’d given it one last shot, trying to grab his arms to prevent him from staggering away.

  That’s when he’d pushed me.

  Hard.

  Hard enough to land in the middle of the food I’d laid out, hard enough to hurt my back when I hit the ground and crack my head so I ended up with whiplash.

  I’d scrambled up, waiting for an apology, or for him to help me, or for a reason so I could forgive him.

  He’d stared at me with dull, lifeless eyes filled with regret as he ripped the yang half of the necklace I’d given him for our three-month anniversary from his neck and flung it at me before walking away.

  I’d yelled at his retreating back, told him to keep walking and never come near me again.

  He didn’t.

  While on an early morning jog the next day, Sammy found his body swinging from the gazebo.

  I’d been justified in dumping him—no-one should put up with violent shit, ever. But that didn’t make the reality any easier.

  News of our break-up had spread through the town before nightfall, so no prizes for guessing who everyone blamed the next day.

  I could have revealed the truth to my closest friends but I didn’t. Nothing about Noah’s deterioration or his actions the day before his suicide made sense. How could I tell them if I couldn’t figure it out myself?

  Logically, I believed there was more to it—how distraught he’d been at the park, the fact he never did drugs yet turned up stoned, pushing me around.

  But all the logic in the world didn’t change facts.

  And now this.

  I didn’t believe in magick.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts.

  So how the hell could I explain how some anonymous medium had contacted my ex?

  CHAPTER TEN

  AT SCHOOL THE next day I managed to avoid Seth through algebra, Lit and biology. Unfortunately, he sat next to me in chemistry so I had no choice but to talk to him.

  He shrugged into his lab coat before perching on the stool next to me. “You didn’t return my messages last night.”

  “Sorry.” I didn’t glance up from the beaker in front of me, mortified by the way I’d overreacted at 666. “I was majorly embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be.” He glanced at my open textbook and flipped his open to the same page. “You were having a bad day.”

  Make that a bad year.

  He wriggled his fingers into protective gloves. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

  Way to go with making me feel even worse for ignoring him.

  “I did, thanks.” I concentrated on adding hydrogen peroxide to the beaker, stirring carefully and jotting the resultant colour and smell in my notebook. Maybe if I avoided looking at him long enough, I wouldn’t have to see the speculation in his eyes. For there was no doubt he would be wondering why I’d freaked. I hated that the only friend I had at Fields had witnessed me falling apart like that.

  “You can’t keep up the silent treatment forever.”

  I snuck a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “Wanna make a bet?”

  He laughed. “We’ve got a lot of work to get through today. Talking would help.”

  I threw my pencil down and finally looked at him for the first time all day. “I’m ashamed, okay? The way I acted…how I took it out on you at the end…” I shook my head. “I know you were trying to help but that spirit stuff freaks me out and you were there to see it.”

  He nudged me with his elbow. “We’re buddies. Don’t sweat it.”

  But I was, and until I gave Seth some semblance of the truth to explain my over the top reaction when Noah’s name had popped up, I knew there’d be tension between us.

  I huffed out a long breath and rested my elbows on the benchtop. “I freaked because I’ve had experience with that crap at home.”

  He whistled low. “You said your mom was into ghosts and stuff, so you mean spiritual—”

  “Yeah. Wouldn’t have mattered what name Tabitha pulled from thin air, I would’ve lost the plot.”

  I hated lying, considering the front I’d put up for the town to protect Mom, but this was different. Seth didn’t need to know about my past. I had enough to handle, like figuring out how Tabitha had performed her trick and what she had against me.

  I grimaced. “Guess that mention of a person’s name starting with A and madness and staring into my eyes already had me on edge, so when she spelled out a name, I lost it.”

  “Understandable.” He chewed on the end of his pen, contemplative. “Didn’t help you with the dead body thing, huh?”

  “Sssh.”

  I glanced around, hoping no one had overheard. That’s all I needed, for rumours to spread that the new chick was psychic or crazy, or both.

  Seth pulled the pen from his mouth with a pop and grinned at my paranoia. “The thing is, Tab seems really clued in with this stuff. Maybe you should meet with her one-on-one?”

  “Forget it.”

  The thought had already crossed my mind, before I’d dismissed it as toying with fire or playing with the devil, or whatever other cliché summed up how ludicrous it was.

  I didn’t care how clued in Tabitha was. I cared about how she managed to know the name of my ex. Not for one second did I entertain the thought that she might actually be able to contact spirits. How could I, when I didn’t believe?

  As a kid I’d seen Mom communicate with her goddess through rituals. I’d sat through Lammas and Mabon and Samhain festivals every year, offering food for the health of the earth. I’d even soaked in a lavender and salt-infused cleansing bath during Imbolc—a cross-quarter holiday mundanes know as Groundhog Day—to wash away the negativity
of winter.

  If Mom hadn’t succeeded in getting me to believe in my early years, what hope did some stranger have?

  “I could go with you. Sit in…?”

  “And see me make a fool of myself again?” I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  “Your call.”

  Thankfully, he returned his attention to finishing our latest experiment and we made it through the double chemistry period without further discussion about spirits and my mini-meltdown. But the events of yesterday had taken their toll and, rather than meeting at our study corral after school, I begged off and headed home. Seth didn’t seem to mind. Probably wanted to meet up with his friend Tabitha and chat about his other loony friend: me.

  Meeting up with Tabitha again might not be a bad idea, but I was scared. If she could actually summon spirits and Noah really had popped up in New York, what other gems could he let slip? And would I have the guts to ask her about the dead body and what that meant?

  No closer to a solution, I dragged myself up the few steps to Angie’s brownstone, and noticed a small package tucked behind the vervain plant she kept on the top step. I liked the plant’s purplish-blue flowers on the contrasting spikes. According to Angie, vervain was a highly magickal plant that could smash hexes, reverse nasty charms and change bad luck to good.

  I tentatively touched a spike. Admitting to superstition was okay, it was the rest of the stuff I had a hard time believing. Besides, I could do with a change in luck.

  Wrapped in plain brown paper with a card addressed to me, the flattish box looked like it could be a CD cover and my heart skipped a beat. Maybe this time Ronan had settled for playing the song and not filming it?

  After what had happened with the last clip? Doubtful.

  I palmed the parcel and waited until I got inside to open it, scurrying to my room and slamming the door before ditching my satchel and flopping into the bed. I loved surprises—bar the nasty one I’d got last night. Presents were a rarity in our household once Mom spiralled out of control, so when I received a gift I took my sweet time opening it and this one was no exception.

  I turned over the plain white card: nothing but my name in large block letters, tied to the parcel with brown string. Typical of a no-frills guy with music on his mind rather than decoration.

  I slipped a finger beneath the seal at one end, then the other, unfolding the stiff paper and peeking in the end. Yep, definitely a CD cover. I eased off the rest of the paper, eager to listen to my boyfriend’s latest masterpiece.

  A flat black cardboard square resided beneath the plastic cover and I flipped it open.

  It took me less than a second to realise there wasn’t a CD inside.

  And another second to process what was.

  Bile rose in my throat as I flung the packet away, my hands jerking so much I could barely grab the trash can as I heaved into it.

  I retched until I had nothing left and still the waves of nausea rolled over me, exacerbating the dizziness.

  I wished I could black out, that I didn’t have to look at proof of my madness lying on the floor like a coiled cobra ready to strike.

  Seeing the dead body on the video, seeing Noah’s name spelled out at the séance, paled next to the enormity of this.

  The necklace I’d given my ex, the one I’d buried alongside him for sentimental reasons, on the carpet at my feet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I HAD TO get out of my room and away from it.

  I couldn’t look at it let alone touch it, so I picked up the trash can and headed for the bathroom, the grossness almost welcome as I took my time cleaning. When it was so shiny I could have eaten out of it, I trudged back to my room, easing open the door with my hip and almost reeling from the stench.

  I covered my face with one hand and slammed the trash can on top of the necklace with the other. Still holding my breath, I slid the window up to let in some fresh air.

  If I didn’t want Angie asking why I vomited in my room, I needed to air it out before she got home. And I didn’t want her asking, that much was definite. I hadn’t told her about the séance and Noah. And I sure as hell couldn’t tell her about this.

  She’d assume I’d crossed to her side for sure. A side that might possibly hold answers I wasn’t getting elsewhere, for there was no logical explanation as to how the necklace I’d buried alongside Noah had appeared on my doorstep.

  The only good thing to come out of it was the necklace was solid, tangible proof I wasn’t going insane. The dead body and the séance—all very nebulous. But the necklace was concrete, which gave me hope. Hope that I wasn’t imagining all this, hope that someone was out to get me.

  The latter wasn’t such a great option but it was better than the alternative: developing symptoms like my mom.

  I couldn’t approach Angie. She’d definitely jump to conclusions and have me standing naked in a pentagram before I could say abracadabra.

  I didn’t want to go near Tabitha again, not until I found out more about her. Which only left one choice: I’d have to investigate this on my own.

  I grabbed a pen off my desk, nudged the trash can away with my foot and picked up the necklace with the pen’s tip. I held it at arm’s length, the dangling yang pendant a perfect match to the one I’d buried alongside Noah a week after his funeral.

  My arm shook as I turned it around and saw the engraving on the back, verifying it as authentic. I’d gone for something simple, inherently unsure after our first three months together.

  For Noah,

  Love Lyssie.

  I didn’t like nicknames as a rule but Noah had been my first boyfriend, the first guy to make me feel special, so I’d allowed “Lyssie”. He’d called me that from the first day we’d met and I’d been so gaga over him I’d never asked him to retract it.

  Now I got called Lys and Lyssa, more sophisticated abbreviations, but nothing made my heart bleed like Lyssie.

  I’d given him the yang half of the necklace on our three-month anniversary, after dithering over it for weeks. Would he read too much into the gesture? Would he think it too much? Too immature? So I’d showed him yin/yang in a magazine and he’d said it was cool. Problem solved.

  For some reason, the necklace had blown him away. It wasn’t expensive, far from it, just two halves on two separate black strings with a silver-plated clasp. For a guy six years older, I’d half expected him to humour me, to wear it the first day then profess he’d kept it in a safe place.

  But he’d never taken it off and I’d often caught him absentmindedly rubbing the yang, making me feel warm and fuzzy. Interestingly, even when our relationship headed downhill and before his final meltdown, he never took it off. Which led me to believe he’d been going through some serious shit apart from me dumping him. And despite him flinging it at me that final time in the park before he’d walked away, I’d held onto it. I’d even slept with it under my pillow after Noah died, wishing I could feel close to him one last time.

  But a necklace couldn’t bring Noah back and a week after his funeral I’d conducted my own private ceremony and buried our matching necklaces alongside Noah’s grave. It hadn’t erased the pain but it had given me some kind of closure.

  Logic demanded I should get rid of the necklace as soon as possible—get the thing away from me. What if Noah graduated from communicating through flimsy séances to demanding his necklace back in person?

  But I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t throw away something that had meant so much, despite how we’d ended. I slid open the top drawer of my desk and flipped open the one gift I had from my dad, an old cloisonné jewellery box the size of a paperback. I carefully tipped the pen and when the necklace landed in the box I closed it, shoving it to the farthest corner of the drawer and slamming it shut.

  My anxiety should have eased. But it didn’t. I needed answers.

  Only one way to get them.

  Thankful I had hours until Angie came home, I headed for the Wicca room—I had to call it something—where she’d
done the tarot reading for me. Stupid thing was, every time I stepped into it calmness enveloped me, like someone had an arm draped across my shoulders and wasn’t letting go for anything.

  I hadn’t told Angie. She would have immediately waffled on about spirit guides or guardian angels or fairy godmothers. Maybe not the latter, but she believed the goddess was within metaphorical touching distance for everyone, we just had to reach out to her. No thanks.

  I also loved the cleanliness of the room, the ottomans and cushions stacked in a neat pile in a corner, leaving floorboards covered in a beautiful rug of rich, deep cream with maroon and emerald green peacock feathers embossed into it.

  My toes dug into the thick pile as I padded silently across to the antique armoire. Guilt skittered through me for a second before I slid my finger into one of the black metal rings and opened a drawer. I had no idea what I was looking for but hoped I’d know when I found it.

  The first drawer contained silk pouches of various colours and I quickly shut it. Bad enough I was peeking through Angie’s stuff, I didn’t want to rifle the drawers too.

  The next drawer contained a numerology and iridology chart. Yeah, like I needed a bunch of numbers correlating with my birthday and a spot in my eyes to tell me my life was a mess.

  Candles in another drawer, incense in the next, crystals, chalk, ink, copper wire, dried rose petals, a pink velvet pouch, charcoal sticks, black pebbles—all very intriguing but nothing that jumped out at me and said “use this for answers to bizarre, unsolvable problems”.

  Until the last drawer. It stuck at first and I jiggled it gently until it opened an inch and I could stick my fingers in and push down whatever had it stuck. I encountered pages. By pressing them flat, the drawer slid all the way open and I gently lifted out a book.

  I wished a spark would zap me or a wisp of smoke would appear or something equally significant would happen, telling me in no uncertain terms that this would help me find answers. Sadly, the book remained inert in my hands. Considering none of the other drawers had yielded anything, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at what the title-less book contained.