We thanked him and headed up the steps to the remains of the front porch. It looked just as I remembered it.
Calista approached the front door, leaned into it, and nothing.
She stepped back and wrinkled her nose in concentration, but still nothing.
“The house should recognize me.” I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to hearing the Belles ascribe human qualities to inanimate objects. Like houses. “Why don’t you two try?” Calista offered.
Emma gave the door handle a jiggle, but she made no progress. I fared no better, despite throwing my shoulder against the door multiple times.
“What about a back door? Or breaking a window?”
Calista gave me her favorite look, the one where I must be the biggest idiot to have ever walked the Earth.
“If the house won’t let us in, it won’t let us in. We’re welcome or we’re not. There’s no sneaking in. What part of that concept are you struggling with?”
“Never end a sentence with a preposition, Calista,” my twin muttered.
Emma waved to Fred, our Uber driver, who hadn’t gone far, probably out of concern for our safety.
“You all must work for one of those house-flipping shows on tv, right?” He asked when we climbed back inside his van. “I mean you look like movie stars, but I guess movie and television aren’t so different, right?”
“Exactly right,” I replied. “My twin sister and I have a tv show. Calista here is our production assistant.”
Calista’s stare was icy as midnight in Antarctica.
“Congratulations,” Fred offered. “I look forward to watching it. And good luck with that, forgive me for saying it, but that dump on Montagu. It’s going to need a lot of work.”
“Thank you, Fred. We definitely have our work cut out for us.”
We arrived back at the Embers estate to find Darla on the phone.
“No, it makes sense. As much any of this does, I mean. Yes, baby girl. Yes, of course. Thanks again.”
We listened as Darla finished her conversation, after which she turned to us.
“Stoneberry. Does that make any sense?” Darla asked.
“Stoneberry Plantation, yes Ma’am. Deep in the Francis Marion Forest, out in Berkeley County,” Dr. Ibis replied. “It belongs to Ezekiel.”
“Lukas and Palmer are there. So is Henry. My daughter, Maureen, couldn’t locate Aleta or Virginia, or Ezekiel. But as of ten minutes ago, your two mermen and Big Bird were all at Stoneberry.”
“What about the Dixons?” I asked.
Darla shook her head, no. “But they may well be there. If they don’t want to be found, they won’t be found. But they’re ultimately no friends of Ezekiel’s. Think of them as mercenaries. Working with him would only have been to further their own personal agenda.
“And this Stoneberry is deep in the woods?” Emma asked.
Dr. Ibis nodded.
“Sounds like the perfect place for a trap,” my twin observed.
“Indeed.” Dr. Ibis agreed. “But it’s also the only lead we have, and we’ll have to take that chance. What’s the word from Montagu, Ms. Calista?”
“It looked normal from the outside, but we couldn’t get in.”
Dr. Ibis fixed her with a worried stare. “That’s bad. That’s very bad. Ms. Virginia and Darla and I put layers of protection on that house, but it should always be open to any of you girls.”
“The door wouldn’t budge,” Calista replied. “For any of us.”
Dr. Ibis pulled some black beads that resembled rosary beads from his pocket and he shuffled around and rolling them between his fingers.
“Would any of you recognize possum bones?” He asked. “Frogs would be better, but I didn’t notice any when we went through the house. But possum will do. As many as you can find, the fresher the better. Oh, and start a pot of water boiling. Biggest one you can find. And I need it hot.”
He wandered into the side yard and then into the garden in back, scanning the ground as he walked.
Emma and I shrugged at one another.
“Sure thing. Yes. In my taxonomy class junior year, we did an extensive study of the musculoskeletal makeup of the common opossum opossum,” I answered. Emma chuckled. Calista rolled her eyes.
Josephine looked hopeful. Bless her. “Really? That’s so cool. You’ll be able to find lots, I bet.”
“I love you, Jojo,” I said, hugging her.
“The man said he needs possum bones, and we ain’t gonna find any out here,” Darla said. “Come on, time to get our hands dirty.” She led us back inside the house, into the demolished library, where most of the shattered remains seemed to be. As we began our morbid search, Darla went into the kitchen to scrounge up a pot and get the water started.
A hunk of white fur caught my eye under a leaning stack of reference books of reference books, and I discovered a relatively intact possum.
Josephine found one that was more skeleton than anything else, but it’s distinct tail remained intact, so we collected that one as well, using broken table legs to push everything into a pile near the door.
A few minutes later, Dr. Ibis returned carrying an assortment of clippings and
“It isn’t ideal, but I can work with these ingredients. Thank goodness Ms. Chantelle grows such a wonderful herb garden.” He stopped to examine our findings, and he bent down to go through the mess with his hands. “Hmm. Not much to these bones,” he said regarding the one Josephine found. My claim was much more exciting to him. “Oh, goodness, plenty of marrow in this one. This will do nicely. Well done, young ladies.
We returned to the kitchen, where Darla had a huge pot bubbling on the stove.
Skin, hair, and all, Dr. Ibis threw the remains of the possum into the water. Poor Emma gagged and I thought breakfast we coming back up.
“I need that marrow to liquefy. Darla, could you get this a bit hotter for me, please?”
Darla approached the boiling pot of water and rubbed her palms together. She blew into her hands and then shook them out before placing her open hands on the sides of the pot. I winced, imagining how hot it must be, sure she’d burn herself.
The scalding metal, however, didn’t seem to bother Darla in the least, and within moments the water was bubbling furiously.
Dr. Ibis busied himself chopping, dicing, mincing, and scraping, preparing by hand and by sight the ingredients for his potion, a variety of leaves, flowers, stems, and stalks. He tapped the contents a small vial of yellow powder into the cauldron.
He finished his concoction with a handful of tiny eggs, thrown in shells and all. When he noticed me watching, he smiled and said, “Hummingbird eggs, child.”
“Were you expecting eye of newt, Briar?” Darla asked with a chuckle.
“It wouldn’t have surprised me,” I countered.
Darla walked over and dipped a ladle into the brew, raising it to her lips and having a taste. “Oh!” She remarked, with a slight grimace. “You could have used half as much helichrysum. But the flavor of that bloody dock really comes through. And I can taste Joe Pye in there, too. Did that come from Chantelle’s garden?”
“It did. But too many cooks will spoil the soup!” Warned Dr. Ibis with a wild cackle. “Now shoo, you old witch, we’ll compare recipes when this is all over with. Let me finish this off so we can get moving.”
Darla walked back over by us. “He always goes overboard with the helichrysum.” I pretended to have a clue what she was talking about and nodded my head.
Josephine gathered what undamaged bowls and mugs she could find, and Dr. Ibis spooned out six servings for us. The mixture was dark and cloudy, and it was so hot the mug in front of me was almost too hot to touch.
Sensing my reticence, Darla comforted me. “It’s boiling hot, hotter than that, actually, but it won’t burn your mouth. I promise.”
She lifted a soup bowl to her mouth and slurped it down noisily.
When it went down her throat, she trembled and did an adorable little dance
.
“Think of this as a Monster or Red Bull, but with a magical kick,” she said with her typical wide smile.
Josephine sipped hers and Calista knocked back a mug and held it out for a refill. Dr. Ibis ladled her a second helping and then drank his own small cup.
Emma and I were last. Our hands were near each other on the countertop, and she hooked my pinky finger with hers. “Let’s do this, Bri,” she said.
“But it has possum marrow in it,” I said, scrunching up my face.
“And hummingbird eggs!” Dr. Ibis reminded me with his trademark laugh.
Bottoms up.
30 Emma
The liquid in the cup was still steaming, minutes after leaving the pot. But once it hit my mouth, it was the pleasant warmth of hot chocolate on a cold day. The flavor was earthy and slightly bitter, but not bad.
It took a moment, but when it hit, it felt like I’d been struck by a lightning bolt made of caffeine.
“Yikes! “ I exclaimed, shaking out an intense tingling in my hands.
“Hel-lo,” Briar said. “Where was this stuff every Sunday morning I had to get up to serve brunch at The Dixie Garden after a night out at The Tattooed Moose?” She asked rhetorically.
We all took a moment to come to grips with the effect of Dr. Ibis’s home brew before we stepped outside.
Darla lit her pipe and blew an impossibly large cloud of smoke. “Join hands everyone. Next stop, Stoneberry Plantation.”
I took hold of Briar with one hand and Josephine with the other, and we walked into the cloud of smoke. We emerged on the other side in small clearing among tall trees in a thick forest.
Dr. Ibis raised a finger to his lips and he disappeared into the trees off to our left. He returned moments later with two squirrels winding their way up and down his arms and around his neck, tickling him.
“My friends here are going to do some scouting for us,” he said. He raised his right arm and they ran to the end of his hand, leapt onto the nearest tree, and rapidly scampered to the top and began a death-defying dance between the branches until we could no longer see them.
“The house is that way,” Darla said, pointing in the direction the squirrels had gone. “There are barns and outbuildings as well. It’s a rather large property. We’re safe here, but it’ll be difficult to stay hidden when we get closer.
“This will help,” Dr. Ibis said. He produced two rocks from his satchel, one white and the other like charcoal. He rubbed them together and then kneaded them in his hands like a pitcher with a new baseball.
One by one, he approached us and gave us several smudges, white and black, at various places on our exposed skin. All of us got it on our foreheads, the backs of our hands, and below our left ears.
“It won’t be perfect, but we’ll be able to get much closer this way,” he explained.
As the group began to move toward the plantation, I paused and asked, “Shouldn’t we wait to hear back from the squirrels?”
“Oh, child, I’ve been talking to them since they left. I’m seeing everything they are. All’s quiet.”
We slipped through the trees single file until we could see the property. As described, there were two large barns and a series of smaller buildings built around a large, impressive house.
The ground beneath us grew soft and swampy, and water ran to our right.
“Cooter Creek,” Dr. Ibis said. “If we get separated, follow it downstream and eventually you’ll hit a road. Rangers patrol it pretty regular.”
I’d be lying if I said I felt reassured.
The “path” we followed ended at brackish swamp water, so we made a left turn and headed for a stone bridge that looked like it could have been built right around the same time the pyramids were.
While the rest of us slogged, Calista and her Jimmy Choo’s hovered above the muck.
Dr. Ibis had just set taken his first step on the bridge when he stopped suddenly.
“Oh… oh, no!” He exclaimed. “Back to the trees, quickly!”
We turned to go back when the bloody bodies of two squirrels fell from the sky in front of us.
We looked up but saw only blue sky.
When we tried again to head for the trees, the forest in front of us… closed.
Branches swung down and interlocked like fingers on a hand, blocking our access completely. At the same time, heads began to appear in the swampy water, lizard men announcing their presence. The only route available was the bridge, so we took it.
“Head for that barn,” Calista shouted, indicating the nearest structure. “I’ll take care of these wretched scaly bastards.”
She rose fifteen feet into the air, turning to face the menacing shifters as we made for the barn.
The air crackled with Calista’s energies, ready to be unleashed. Until it didn’t.
She shrieked oddly one time and I turned back just in time to see a bird, an enormous bird, beating its silent wings as it sailed away, clutching Calista’s limp form in its talons.
We were steps from whatever safety the barn would afford us, but the lizard men were closing fast with no Calista to fear.
“These Inzignanin will spill no blood today!” Darla declared. She reached into a pouch and pulled out a handful of porcupine quills.
Josephine, Dr. Ibis, and Briar reached the door to the barn and slipped inside. I stood by Darla, the shifters so close I could almost smell their foul breath. “Darla!” I implored.
She took a deep breath, took up the entire bunch of quills, and drove them deep into her own upturned wrist. She gasped as the pain hit her, but she shook it off and extended that same hand toward the nearest lizard. Out of the tips of her fingers, at almost blinding speed, quills flew and grew, becoming the size of arrows at impact.
They tore through the tough, green scales, and three of them fell before the rest broke off pursuit and retreated, at least temporarily, to the swamp.
“How did you…?” I asked as we backed toward the barn, scanning for more targets.
“I hate that spell,” she said, pulling the quills she’d jammed into her wrist back out with a wince. Instinctively, I reached out for her wrist and transferred my healing energy into her.
“Oh, that’s delightful,” she smiled. “Please don’t waste an of that on them,” she said, cocking her head toward the fallen shifters, who in death had reverted to human form.
I nodded, and we entered the barn.
“What happened to Calista?” Briar asked. “That wasn’t Henry, was it?”
“His body, yes,” Dr. Ibis said. “His mind, no. I hope not. But if he’s being controlled, he may have gotten to Ms. Virginia. She would have trusted him.”
“Might want to keep those quills handy,” I suggested to Darla.
31 Briar
I don’t know what I expected to find in the barn, but it was just a simple wooden structure with a few scattered farm implements and a loft with a few bales of hay visible from the floor. All the stalls inside were empty.
Josephine stole to the other end of the barn and peered out the open door. No other structures stood between us and the main house.
Darla and Dr. Ibis looked out the door facing the bridge. “They haven’t gotten their dander up again just yet,” Dr. Ibis reported.
“The coast is clear this way,” Josephine confirmed from the other end.
We joined her there, mindful of our friends behind us in the swamp.
“is Calista okay?” I asked. “Can anybody tell? Darla, can’t you do what Aleta can do?” “I can walk. Aleta can sprint like Usain Bolt, relatively speaking,” Darla explained. “She screamed out in pain, psychically, but then she went silent. That could mean any number of things.”
“Any of them good?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Darla replied.
We huddled in the doorway, scanning the fifty or so yards, dotted with trees, between us and the house.
“That side door,” Josephine said and pointed. “Is probably a serv
ant’s entrance from the original house. Should give us access to the everywhere.
As a group, we moved quickly and quietly to the first large live oak. When we turned to make the second of three “checkpoints,” we were joined by a visitor. From above.
Henry swooped down and landed just steps away from us, shifting into a half-man, half-bird form, covered in feathers, standing on two legs, and possessing talons in place of hands. His beak had receded into a human mouth.
“No one else has to die here today,” he said. His voice was shaky and unconvincing.
“No, Henry, they don’t, Josephine replied.
“What’s wrong?” Darla asked. “You aren’t yourself.”
The feathers on Henry’s neck and head ruffled, then shrunk, then grew out again, as if he was torn on which form to take.
“There’s a houngan in there with him,” Darla declared. “New Orleans is always bad news,” she continued, shaking her head.
“Houn-who?” I asked.
“A houngan is a high priest of voodoo,” Emma answered.
“Oh, that houngan,” I countered. If I ever got picked to go on Jeopardy, my twin was definitely taking my place. The chances of me being picked seemed greater than my odds of surviving my visit to Stoneberry Plantation.
Josephine approached Henry cautiously, extending a hand. “It’s okay, Henry,” she said in a calming tone. “Whatever’s happened, we can fix it.” As she got closer, the bird form asserted itself, his wings growing and spreading before shrinking back down. It was his talons that worried me the most.
Dr. Ibis withdrew something from inside his shirt next to me, one of his ubiquitous pouches. Darla held porcupine quills in her hand. Everyone was on edge.
Josephine reached Henry, and she reached up to gently stroke the feathers on his face. “Come back to us.” She reached down with her other hand and touched his talons, stained crimson with what I prayed wasn’t Calista’s blood.
The seconds dragged like hours, but the more Josephine touched and spoke to Henry, the more human he became. He shook his head and blinked, the feathers on his face and neck vanishing in bunches, leaving a tall, angular man behind.
Carolina Conjuring Page 15
