The Artisans

by Julie Reece

  “Yeah,” I say. A slow smile spreads across my face. “He does.” I wonder how Dane would react with being compared to a kitten. I think I’ll keep that tidbit to myself. I’m so relieved I’m almost giddy.

  “All right, then. Now that that’s out of the way, what about you and Maddox?”

  “We have some stuff to work out. First off, he’s in trouble. I think it has something to do with Desiree and Cole. Gideon mentioned magic along with his being an Artisan—whatever that even means. Initially, I thought he was joking or being poetic, but it’s more than that. I know it is, and he won’t talk to me. According to Cole, the answer is in these books. I won’t quit until I know the truth.”

  “Gonna save him, too, are you? I’m going to start calling you Joan.”

  “Who?”

  “Joan of Arc.”

  I smack her arm. “Stop it.”

  Her smile fades. “No, really, I’m afraid for you, Rae. Enough is enough. If you don’t back down, you’re going to get hurt.”

  “I won’t if we can get rid of Desiree. Cole says I can free them. I’m hoping that means Gideon, too. He’s mixed up in this and he’s almost as stubborn as I am. I know I don’t have much time. We need to keep reading.”

  “Okay. But I’m doing this for you, not for them.” Maggie squeezes my arm. I thread my fingers through hers, and turn my attention back to the dusty ledgers.

  ***

  Maggie sleeps at my side. It’s four in the morning, and both my friends are out cold. My eyes water with fatigue and my throat is raw and swollen, as though someone scrubbed it with steel wool. I set the ledgers down and stretch. My foot bumps Edgar at the end of the bed. He gives me a grouchy meow and shifts, revealing the diary I’d found in the bottom of the crate upstairs. I’d forgotten about that one. With a groan, I reach for it. Edgar complains as he slides off the end of the leather bound book. Too bad, dude.

  I open to the first page and start reading.

  Spring, 1865

  Today, Gordon confided, while dressing me for dinner, that he overheard the cook and deliveryman discussing the death of Mrs. Lawrence. Her bruises apparently so plentiful, she was rarely seen in public this season. Having missed her presence at both the Sales Hollow Christmas Ball and the Johnson’s cotillion, I believe it must be true. My poor, sweet Emma.

  I honored her right to choose Jonathan over me, but I will not stand idly by and see her murderer go free. That dog of a husband killed her, truth plain as day, and all because she could not carry a child to term. Pushing her around in her delicate condition, Jonathan Lawrence be the cause of the unborn deaths, too. I know Judge Patterson, the scoundrel. It’s rumored he accepted a bribe that let Jonathan go free.

  I traveled to The Grey Horse Saloon again two weeks prior to this entry and met with one Professor Pan, the magician. No price is too high. He will give me the means to avenge her death, though the path gives me pause. It’s a clever plan, to send Jonathan through the rabbit hole where no one may follow. Were I to make a bargain with this devil, Pan, I’ll trade one evil for another. Even risk my soul. Yet your blood calls to me from the ground, dearest Emma, and I cannot bear the sound. Take heart, beloved. Jonathan is as vain as a peacock. The whole of Colleton County knows he cares more for his white gelding than you, my darling. Let them rot together, then.

  I will stand in the graveyard of Pan’s ancestors and speak the words he gave me. Those with power enough to unlock the door between worlds. To bring justice. To be together again.

  One simple photograph with the enchanted camera traps him for an eternity. A gilded frame will be his cell, the walls of my house, his jail. He will spend his prison sentence ruing the day he hurt you and crossed the man who truly loved you. The one whose heart you hold for all time.

  Mathias Maddox

  My pulse races. Mathias Maddox, I remember you. His portrait hangs in Gideon’s office along with all his other great, great, great, whatever grandfathers. What did you do, old Mathias? Who was this Pan and what did he sell you? The Judge mentions a camera. Gideon has a camera. An old one. I’ve seen it once in his office and downstairs, too. The day I met him, it was set up and pointed right at the door.

  And he was expecting Ben.

  Anger roils in my belly. What did you have in mind, Gideon?

  My fingers tremble as I thumb forward and find an entry made by Judge Nathan Maddox, Gideon’s father.

  2011

  As decreed by my ancestors, I hereby record another use of the Camera.

  Professor Gamble called. The boy Cole Wynter insists the accident wasn’t malicious, a prank gone awry, but this isn’t the first time. He’s been expelled for his crimes, but it’s not enough. Expulsion will not erase the humiliation my son experienced at Wynter’s hands all year, not to mention mine. Plans are set in motion to get the boy here. As an Artisan, I simply cannot allow the deed to go unpunished. The ruthlessness of his crimes is shocking, as he is a youth, but my actions are naturally warranted and necessary nonetheless.

  Gideon’s come home, of course. I’ve promised he need not return to school. All I feel is anger and shame. Imagine my disgust, hearing my sniveling son admit that he has no friends. His weakness must invite such continuous abuse from other children. This time, an explosion in his locker burnt a third of the skin on his face.

  The medical expenses I incur are nothing. I can’t have people staring at Gideon’s scars in addition to his loathsome limp. He is fragile, but he won’t stay that way. I’ve already employed the necessary people to toughen my gentle son. His mother’s influence, no doubt, God rest her soul.

  My father would roll in his grave if he saw what I saw today. A Maddox male returned home from abroad, hung his head in my presence and cried.

  It will never, ever happen again.

  Nathan Maddox

  Tears splash the page, my sheets, the back of my hand. The truth rolls across me like a gigantic wave, bowling me over. Artisans, Cole, Gideon, it’s like I see them all clearly for the first time. I can’t quite wrap my head around the forces drawing us all here, to converge at this one point in time.

  I haven’t figured out how Desiree fits into the story yet, but I have a pretty good idea who to ask. She’s sweet, makes fantastic cookies, and knows a hella lot more than she’s admitted. Considering Desiree’s creepy confession in the attic about being into her own stepson, it’s not a stretch to think someone caught on to her less-than-motherly affections and took her picture. Sicko.

  The anger I felt for Gideon drains, leaving me hollow and dry. Nathan Maddox was a monster. No pity. No compassion. How can a father hate the sight of his own child? Cole, a vicious kid who tortured Gideon at school, yet saved me, helping me on more than one occasion. I’m unsure of my feelings. There’s little time to process them either. Gideon will be home today, Desiree wants to kill me, and Ben is supposed to move here in a few days.

  I shake Maggie and push Dane’s feet off the bed. “Wake up, you guys. I need your help.”

  “Again?” Dane moans. His head lifts, one eye opening to a slit. It’s not a friendly slit.

  “We’ve got some things to talk about. Then you and Maggie need to leave, go home, shower, and meet up again. You have things to talk about.”

  “We do?” His other eyelid rises.

  “Yes,” Maggie agrees, stretching. “We most definitely do.” There’s a sexy edge to her voice when she addresses Dane I’ve never heard before. Her tone is teasing, tantalizing. At least, she affects Dane that way because he hasn’t once shut his gaping mouth. He rubs his unshaven jaw against his shoulder, as if he’s developing a tic.

  Overjoyed for my friends, I can’t help my grin. I know what’s coming for Dane later, and it’s going to knock his socks clean off.

  His gaze darts from me to Mags and back. “What are you guys plotting, and why do I feel like I’m being set up?”

  “Because you are.” Dane opens his mouth, but I talk over him. “Zip
it, you’re in good hands. Before all that though, I have something to read to you. Trust me. You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Should you be reading?” Dane’s eyebrows arc. “You sound like a hundred-year-old smoker with a Godzilla complex.”

  Nice.

  “Shut up, Dane. You’re always saying crap like that,” Maggie scolds. “You’ll make her feel bad.”

  “I already feel bad.” I shove the diary into Maggie’s lap, flip to the first page, and point. “Read.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After thirty minutes spent convincing my friends I wasn’t leaving the Maddox mansion, I watch them drive off. Maggie scoots across the passenger seat and lays her head on Dane’s shoulder. I can imagine his raised eyebrows, the hitch in his breath, the hope in his widening eyes, and I smile.

  How one mind can hold so many thoughts, one heart so many emotions, I’ll never know. I tiptoe back into the house, wondering how much I can take before mine blows apart. As I head upstairs, I organize my goals for the day. I’m happy for Dane and Mags, but I’ll be happier for them later. Right now, I have to focus on my plan, and number one on that list is a bath followed by finding Jenny.

  Hot water runs in the copper, claw-foot tub in my bathroom. I pour in a capful of lavender oil. The scent permeates the room as I lower myself into the frothy mix. I breathe deeply, already feeling more relaxed. My head rests against the rim of the tub. The water is chin deep. My muscles unknot under the effects of the heat, and I blow out a long breath.

  A faint hiss answers. Something slick bumps my knee that I assume is a floating bar of soap. Another hiss and I crack one eye open. There, at the other end of the tub is a dark object. Black body, black and white striped belly, but the hood is unmistakable, a cobra. I tense, muscles petrify. A woman’s deep laugh reverberates against the white tile. Panic grips my brain, telling me to run. My skin tingles. I fight the impulse to splash the thing and get the hell out of here, but I’m frozen in place. Logic says I won’t be fast enough to avoid its deadly bite.

  The snake rises, head bobbing, hood fully opened. I swallow my scream and will myself to hold still. Releasing a shaky breath through my nose, I pray for help.

  A gurgle under my feet signals the water draining, though I did nothing to cause it. I stare at the snake, trying to decide if it’s real. The hard tub under my butt, the heat of the water, the intricate pattern of overlapping scales on the cobra’s body, all seem real enough.

  Another swish against my leg has me doubting my bar of soap theory. I stifle a cry as the water recedes, and the culprit shows himself. A second snake emerges, this one a ball python. Dane had one for a while, so I recognize the ornate pattern on his skin. Not that the snake and I were close, mind you. Mostly, he scared the crap out of me. At least he’s not venomous, but the idea of his scales on my skin is loosening the sanity-screws in my head.

  A tickle on my foot and the head of a smaller, lime-green snake appears. His head rests on my big toe and God help me, my limbs tremble. He might be a garden snake except for his arrow shaped head. I think that means he’s a viper. When the python sees the green snake, he rears up and lunges across my shins. The last of the tub water drains with a final slurp.

  The viper’s fangs emerge as he bites into the python’s neck, but the larger snake is determined. He coils his body around his victim, muscles convulsing and undulating on my skin as he rolls. I bite the inside of my cheek until my mouth fills with blood. The rusty, iron taste slides down my throat. My eyes squeeze shut forcing salty tears down my face.

  When I open my eyes, I blink, clearing my vision. More snakes slither up from the drain and over my feet. The cobra moves up the rim of the tub toward me. I glance at the python. His jaws unhinge, ready to feed on the smaller snake in his grasp. The viper’s eyes roll white; his struggle is in vain as the air is crushed from his lungs. As the python devours his prey, I feel his muscles convulsing in a repugnant steady rhythm, and I gag.

  The cobra reaches my shoulder. His tongue slips out as he tests the air, tastes my scent. Sweat drips from my temple, down my jaw, smacking the skin on my breast. The cobra must be seven feet long. My hair parts as he forces his way through the damp strands. His body winds around my shoulders, my neck. I wait for a prick. Any second, his fangs will pierce my skin, injecting liquid death into my bloodstream, and then I think … is this happening?

  The cockroaches weren’t real, though I felt the fear and pain. I feel the snakes, but what if I’m dreaming? If I move I’m dead, but I see no other way out. It’s worth the hope.

  Wake up, Raven. Wake up …

  The snake slithers down my arm and across my stomach. All the muscles in my abdomen go rigid under the slick, moving scales of the animal. He turns to face me. His head stops between my breasts, though I’m not Cleopatra, and I’m not committing suicide. Am I? The cobra hisses. His pupils mere slivers inside deadly yellow eyes. Jaws lined with white fangs in a membranous, pink mouth gape. He rears back, darts forward.

  Wake up. Wake up, Raven, now!

  I jolt, sending a gallon of water over the edge of the tub. Steam rises from the skin on my arms. “Leave me the hell alone, Desiree!”

  No laughter. No snakes, just the echo of my demand and me alone in my bathroom.

  ***

  I hear Jenny in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around on the cook stove. “Good morning.”

  She whirls to face me, saucepot in hand. “Lord bless me, child. You gave me such a start!”

  “I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you. Can you sit with me a minute?”

  “Now?” Her eyebrow twitches. “I’ve got breakfast to cook, and quite a lot of chores waiting.” Impatient, I toss my hair back. Still wet from this morning’s unfortunate bathtub drama, it sticks to my shoulders. “Saints preserve us, what happened to your neck, girl?”

  Bingo. “Sit, Jenny. It’s time for some straight talk.”

  Blue eyes grow as big as bubbles. She places her pot on the counter, picks up a dishcloth, and scurries to the nearest chair at the kitchen table. I sit across from her. Running a hand through my hair, I gather my thoughts. When I glance up, her round face is a mix of concern and fear. I’d give anything not to upset her, but I have no choice.

  “Jenny, there are ghosts in this house.” When she opens her mouth, I raise my palm. “I don’t just hear them, Jenny, I see them. Cole Wynter, the man in uniform, a horse, a hound, Desiree, and others.” Jenny frowns, but I don’t stop. “Last night, Desiree attacked me. Did this …” I lift my chin and ease my damp hair away from my throat again. Jenny presses her lips together. “Please don’t lie or pretend this isn’t what it is. You have to tell me what you know. Everything. I’ve survived being pushed from a tree, near strangulation, and a bathtub full of … well, never mind.” My skin still moves as though snakes crawl on it. “I think Gideon’s in serious trouble, and I want to help him.”

  Jenny twists the towel in her lap as though she means to punish the material. “Saints preserve us, child.”

  “I found ledgers in the attic, and the Artisans’ diary. Last night. That’s when Desiree tried to strangle me.” Jenny’s sharp intake of air is all I allow before continuing. “In the diary, it explained that there is a magic camera, used to trap people in this house. For generations, the Maddox family has taken it upon themselves to punish people when they feel there is an injustice. Isn’t that true?”

  A tear rolls down Jenny’s pink cheek. “You don’t understand.”

  The wail in her voice tears at me, but I won’t back down. “I’m beginning to. It’s why no one was allowed in the attic. The only other place you didn’t want me is in the cellar. What’s he hiding down there?”

  “I can’t. Promised, I did. Jamis, and me, our parents, and grandparents. We’ve worked, loyal to the Maddox family for years. He’s as dear to me as my own son.”

  I grip her arm. “Then help him! It’s wrong, Jenny. You must feel that. Sure
ly you don’t want him involved in this … nightmare. It’s indecent. Can you help me?” My eyes plead. I send up a silent request that she’s capable of seeing reason. “Tell me.”

  Her shoulders slump. “Very well. It is as you say. The old camera is hexed. Long ago, an ancient magician made a deal with the first Mr. Maddox of this house. By taking their picture with this special camera, one traps their essence in the photos, all kept on the walls upstairs. Their bodies are stored, separated from their owners, so they are forced to live half-lives in another world.”

  I shudder; amazed this nice old lady would agree to harbor such a horrific secret. “Have any been released?”

  She shakes her head. “None that I know of.”

  “Where are the bodies?” Really? In all my life, I never thought I would utter that sentence. Jenny’s gaze shifts to a door in the back of the kitchen. “Will you show me? Please.”

  A long pause. “Yes.” She sniffs, dabbing her eyes with the dishtowel. “God help us, yes. I will help you.” She stands, withdrawing the ring of keys she keeps in her pocket. I follow her to the pantry.

  For some reason, I think of pantries as dry, dusty places but this one is as neat as a pin. The tile floor gleams, reflecting sunlight from a small, lead glass window. It smells of flour, apples, and dried goods. Against the back wall, a line of stainless steel baker’s racks sits end-to-end on caster wheels. Jenny rolls out the center rack. A narrow door hides behind the rack stacked with canned vegetables. No one would ever guess the door’s location. I can’t help but wonder what lies beyond the slender opening, and if it means me harm.