Ghosts of Bliss Bayou

by Jack Massa

  Fiona walks to a corner outside the boundary of the circle. She opens a large book that sits on a lectern, then consults in whispers with Adam and the others. They are preparing to begin the ritual.

  I close my eyes and take deep breaths. In my mind, I drift back to the fifth Spring. I step beneath the silent waterfall, feel it flowing over me, bathing me in Bliss.

  I start to feel calm. And an icy determination.

  One thing I know for sure: unlike Annie, I’m not walking helplessly off that dock. They’ll have to shoot me. Or tie me up and throw me in.

  But that won’t look like suicide. That won’t fit with their plans.

  “No good. No good!” I hear Margaret beside me. “Her will is unbroken, defiant!”

  I open my eyes. Across the room, Fiona stares at me, her mouth hanging open.

  “She is warm with love for that boy,” Raspis says. “But there is also something else.”

  I feel his mind probing me. “Agh! She has drunk from the fifth Spring—this very day! The waters of Bliss flow in her spirit. They protect her from despair.”

  Fiona steps back into the circle. “What shall we do?” she asks them. “What can we do?”

  “Find a way to break her,” Margaret says.

  Raspis seems to fade out of the room for a split second, then reappears. “Yes. There is a way. Besides the boy, there is another whose love gives her strength. One who is far more important. The grandmother. She must die first.”

  My knees go weak.

  “Yes,” Margaret says. “Then this one will despair!”

  Blank terror takes hold of me, blotting out the calm resolve.

  “How?” Fiona asks.

  “We cannot strike from afar,” Raspis says. “Too much protection around the house. You must go there, get close to her.”

  Fiona sucks in her breath. “No. I couldn’t do that.”

  “You must! You must!” Margaret cries.

  Raspis lays a hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “It is not hard. You only need to touch her skin. A handshake, a finger on the wrist. Then she will die in the night. We will guide you…”

  Fiona is frightened. “It’s too risky.”

  Raspis’ hand is still touching her. “There is no other way.”

  “You can’t do it, Fiona.” I hope my words will add weight to her doubts.

  But they seem to have the opposite effect. She turns on me, frosty cold. “Yes, I can. I can do whatever I have to.”

  “Fiona! What is happening?” Adam calls.

  She looks at the three men, who are watching in confusion from outside the circle. She sets her shoulders and walks toward them.

  “There is more preparation I have to do. I’ll be gone awhile, maybe an hour.” She points at me. “Keep her inside the circle. And wait for me.”

  Fiona hurries down the stairs. Adam shakes his head, obviously annoyed and scared. Deering and Tyler look at each other and shrug.

  Margaret and Raspis have disappeared. I realize they have gone with Fiona, to guide her, to compel her.

  I have to stop them. But how?

  First, I need to calm myself again, to squeeze down the fear. I sit on the floor, close my eyes, and breathe.

  In a few moments I hear noise outside the circle. I look to see that Adam and Deering have gotten out folding chairs and sat down. Elston Tyler leans against the wall, watching me.

  I shut my eyes again. In my mind, I go back to the Spring of Bliss.

  I try to think. Fiona will need to change her clothes, then get in her car and drive over to Granma’s. All that will take maybe twenty minutes. Then she’ll need to find a way to touch Granma’s skin. It might not be easy. Granma may be on her guard. And Molly’s there, too.

  So I might have time. But I’ve got to get out of this attic.

  The three men guarding me are frustrated, confused by Fiona’s absence. The night is not going as they expected. They’re nervous. Is there a way I can distract them just long enough to get past them and down the stairs? Is there some magic to put them to sleep or into a trance?

  I think about how Raspis stopped time earlier this evening. That would be perfect. Was there a formula for that in The Book of Lebab? I wish I had the book with me now.

  But the book is inside me. I hear a voice confirming that thought—Lebab’s voice. “You gave your blood to the book, Fighting Eagle. It is yours now, whenever you need it.”

  In my mind, I’m back in the rare books room. The Book lies open on the table. As I watch, the pages turn on their own, fluttering as if blown by the wind. When they stop, I lean over and read:

  A Formula for Stopping Time

  The power to stop time might seem unattainable. But recall that all magic takes place in the mind and nervous system. To halt time, the adept must simply arrest the sense of time in the minds of those present. You may then proceed to act in the normal time stream, while those around you wait in suspension. This effect will last for as long as you can hold the mental construct. In practice, a minute or two is the longest span achievable, before the strain becomes unsupportable.

  It sounds fantastic, and I’m no adept. But what choice do I have but to try?

  I read the instructions carefully, then open my eyes and stare into the room. I’ll only need a few seconds to get out of the attic and down the stairs.

  First I call upon the Elementals of water, whispering to myself: “Good friends of water, you sprites that flow beneath the moon, wild ones of sea and stream, I, Fighting Eagle of the Circle of Harmony, pay you my reverent respects and ask that you aid in my working.”

  In answer, their power seeps into me, lifting me like I’m floating.

  I focus the power, use it to form a mental sphere—outside my body, but surrounding the bodies of the three men.

  When I feel the sphere is firm and real, I whisper the chant:

  Wild ones of sea and stream,

  Make time stop as in a dream.

  I repeat the chant over and over, feeling more and more power rise. When the power’s so strong I can no longer hold it, I cast it into the sphere.

  A current of energy ripples across the space between me and the three men.

  I stare at them.

  They’re very still.

  Cautiously I stand up. They don’t react at all. They look exactly like figures in a paused video.

  Oh my god. If Molly could see this!

  Focus, Abby. Keep the sphere intact.

  I lean down and take off my flip-flops. I don’t want any noise to break the charm.

  Then I tiptoe across the floor, slipping between Phil Deering’s chair and the place where Elston Tyler leans on the wall. They stay in suspended animation.

  I reach the stairs and go quickly down. The door at the bottom is open. There’s a key in the lock, on the inside. I slip out the key, shut the door, and lock it.

  I throw the key away and run.

  

  Downstairs, I rush to the kitchen and unlock the storeroom door. As I’m yanking it open, Ray-Ray’s already on his feet.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “We’re getting out of here.”

  We run to the entry hall.

  “Wait. Do you have a phone? One that works here?”

  Ray-Ray checks his pockets. “They must have taken my phone.”

  Figures. I left mine in Granma’s minivan. It probably wouldn’t work here anyway. And I don’t remember seeing any landline phones in the house…

  I hear pounding on the attic door upstairs.

  “Listen, we’ve got to get to my Granma’s house. Fiona’s gone there to kill her.”

  “Molly’s there too.”

  “I know. If you get there, don’t let Fiona touch anyone. Understand? She can’t touch their skin.”

  Ray-Ray nods. “Okay.”

  We rush to the front door. I open it quietly, and we creep outside. The full moon is shining through the trees. The road curves in fr
ont of the house. At the edges of the curve, I can see the two Wainwright boys guarding each side of the property. Ray-Ray’s truck is parked behind one of them.

  “We’ll have to go out the back,” Ray-Ray says. “Cut through the woods.”

  But I know that’s no good. “Casper will be back there.”

  From upstairs I hear a crashing noise. They’re kicking down the door.

  “The dock,” Ray-Ray says. “Swim across to your grandma’s. You can swim, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Come on!” He grabs my wrist.

  We jump down the porch steps and run, bent low.

  I see that he’s right. Our only chance is to get to the water. Of course, throwing myself into Bliss Bayou is exactly the thing I planned not to do tonight.

  We dart across the road and splash through puddles. We run over the boardwalk and onto the dock.

  Someone yells from the front porch, “They’re on the dock. Stop them!”

  Ray-Ray grabs my shoulders and points me upstream. “You go that way, I’ll go the other. Swim underwater, quiet as you can. Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He propels me to the edge. I jump off and hit the water.

  

  I’m back in my nightmare, sinking into freezing black depths.

  For a second I wonder if it’s all been one crazy nightmare—Harmony Springs, studying magic, Raspis. Will I wake up, gasping, in my bed in New Jersey?

  Or will I really drown this time?

  No. This time is different. This time I’m not paralyzed.

  I move my arms and kick against the sluggish current. I swim underwater as far as I can, then fight my way to the surface.

  As I suck in air, I see the dock thirty yards downstream. The two Wainwright boys are there, joined by the guys in robes. They’re all staring in the other direction.

  I hear splashing down there. Two of the men raise rifles and shoot.

  Ray-Ray is making noise on purpose, drawing their attention away from me.

  I pray to the Goddess Who Shapes All Things: Please protect him.

  Then I dive and swim underwater, making for the opposite shore, the fastest way to Granma’s property. But when I surface, I’m disoriented. The moon’s passed behind a cloud. It takes me a moment to spot the Aldens’ dock. I’ve gotten farther upstream, but no closer to the other shore.

  Worse, I’m starting to tire. I’ve gone all day on adrenaline, and my body’s reserves are draining fast. Already my legs ache from the cold water.

  I have to get to shore, or I’ll drown for real.

  I stay on the surface, breaststroking for the nearest bank.

  In about a minute, I’m able to touch bottom. It’s cold and mucky under my bare feet. I grab at the tall reeds, then pull my hand back, hissing. I put the hand to my mouth and taste blood.

  That’s why they call it sawgrass.

  The shore here is swampy and covered with the stuff. Getting to dry land won’t be easy. Of course, there might also be snakes or a gator.

  I just want to lie down and cry.

  But I think about Granma and Molly and Ray-Ray. I have to hurry. I cast a sphere of protection around myself, then slog upstream till I find a little gap.

  I push toward the bank, shielding my face and parting the sawgrass with my arms. Finally I reach a sandy patch and drag myself onto it. The moon’s out again, and I can see shrubs and pines in front of me. Somewhere ahead is the road and Granma’s minivan. I move as fast as I can, shoving aside the ferns and low branches.

  Up ahead I see a clearing, bright in the moonlight. As I get closer, I realize it’s the old circle at the mouth of Bliss Bayou—the place where I saw the vision the day I went kayaking with Molly.

  I reach the edge and stop. Strands of white mist drift across the clearing. In the center, I spot the gray stones set up like an altar.

  Standing in front of them are Margaret and Raspis.

  “Come in, Renshaw,” Raspis says in his slimy voice. “We’re waiting for you.”

  They were drawn here. They sensed my escape and had to leave Fiona—to come here and stop me. Then, with a flash of insight, I perceive that we were all drawn here to this circle, at this hour, under this full moon.

  By the Goddess Who Shapes All Things.

  Thomas Renshaw’s ring hangs over my heart. I touch it and feel it pulsing with magic.

  I know what I have to do. I square my shoulders and walk with confidence, as I’ve trained myself to do on the track when I march up to the starting line.

  I’ve made it through the preliminaries. Time for the last race.

  I’m a muddy mess, soaking wet, bleeding, exhausted. But as I get closer, I sense they’re the ones who are afraid. I’ve given them a lot more trouble than they expected. They certainly hadn’t planned on confronting me here.

  I stop a few yards in front of them. The mist is thickening, forming into a circle that hovers around us, white fog with sparks of gold.

  “Your time has come,” Margaret snaps. “You’ve escaped us for the last time.”

  “No. I think your time has come.”

  Margaret snarls. “You stupid girl! You are nothing compared with us. You have no wand, no circle.”

  “But I’m alive, and you’re not. I belong in this world, and you don’t.”

  “Strike her!” Raspis shrieks. “Strike her now!”

  Margaret thrusts her wand at me. The jolt knocks me back a step. I feel terror and despair. An image of drowning myself in the bayou comes to mind. It feels comforting, an end to all the struggle and pain.

  But I know it’s only an illusion.

  “No,” I say firmly. “It won’t work anymore.”

  “Who do you think you are?” Margaret screams.

  “Me? I am Fighting Eagle, True Magician. And I am Abigail, the last of the Renshaws. And I am here to end the curse.”

  Margaret lowers her wand. She looks staggered, unsure.

  I point two fingers at the shadow. “I banish you, Raspis, by your own true name, from this place and from this world, forever and ever.”

  He stiffens and falls back a step. But then he sneers. “You cannot defeat me. You’re just a frail little girl.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Your father died and left you. Your mother has abandoned you. Your friends are all going to die. You’ll be alone. Just as you are in this moment.”

  His words strike a new terror in me. I feel my confidence slipping.

  “Alone,” Raspis says. “All alone!”

  “She is not alone.” A voice comes from behind me. I turn my head. Annie is there in her white robe, holding a wand.

  “She is not alone.” Otis steps from the ring of fog beside her.

  “Not alone, you bastard!” George Renshaw, my grandfather appears.

  I look around. More people are stepping out of the mist, from all directions. Men and women in magic robes or Victorian dress—members of the Circle of Harmony going all the way back to the founders. And then still others, Native Americans wearing ornaments of feathers and shells.

  All the people who have lived and practiced their magic by the Springs.

  Margaret looks appalled. She collapses to her knees. Raspis stands frozen with shock.

  The spirits form a circle around us. I hear Annie and the others start to chant. I recognize their words from the first page of The Book of Lebab.

  By the Sun who daylight sings,

  By the Moon beneath Her Wings,

  By the One Who Shapes All Things,

  I raise the Power of the Springs.

  The native shamans use different words, but the power is the same. I join the chant, and it grows louder and stronger.

  “No,” Margaret moans. “No!”

  Raspis stands with his arms thrown out, like the limbs of a dead black tree. Then his arms start to shake, like branches creaking in the wind.

  The chant g
oes on and on. I feel the power of all these magicians focused in me, flowing up through my feet. I point my hands, not at Raspis, but at the earth, envisioning the source of the Springs deep underground, the crystal-blue water rising, higher and higher.

  I fling up my hands and shout one last time, “Raise the power of the springs!”

  The power bursts out of the ground, an explosion of blue light. Raspis shatters into fragments, blown away into the sky.

  Blue light falls back into the clearing like a gentle rain.

  No, like a fountain.

  The chanting has stopped. Everything is still. I peer around at the ghosts. They look…satisfied.

  Then I hear a rumbling coming from deep below. It grows closer, and the ground trembles. The rumble turns into a deafening roar.

  The ground heaves, and I’m thrown off my feet. I black out for a second or two.

  Then I’m rolling over, getting to my hands and knees.

  The clearing is quiet again. I stand up and look around. The ring of mist is still there, but the spirits have departed.

  All except three.

  The ghost of Margaret Alden lies on the ground, weeping softly. She’s no longer the fierce mature woman. She’s the young Margaret again—Maisie—in a white blouse and long skirt.

  From beside me, Annie and Otis walk over to her. They help her stand.

  “It’s all right, Maisie,” Annie says. “It’s over now.”

  She looks at them, teary-eyed, baffled. “Annie, Otis…I thought I’d lost you.”

  “No,” Annie says. “It was all just a dream.”

  “We’ve come to take you with us,” Otis says.

  “But I remember…I was alone for so long. I did bad things—terrible things.”

  “Don’t think about it anymore,” Annie says.

  Maisie looks from one to the other. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace beautiful,” Otis says. “We’ll all be together.”

  The ring of mist has been shrinking, contracting around us. Now the three ghosts step into it and begin to disappear.

  Annie turns back to me and raises her hand. “Farewell, dear Abigail. And thank you. We owe you much.”

  “Well…I owe you a lot too. Will I see you again?”

  She smiles, looking happier than I’ve ever seen her. “You only have to call.”