Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (18 page)

“Is that dangerous?” I ask.

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe we should talk to her,” says Averil. “See if we can sort of ease her out of it.”

“I’m not sure that I want to talk to her,” I admit. “She’s pretty scary.”

Averil sort of laughs. “I’m not afraid.”

So as we follow Averil back to my room, I whisper to the other woman that I can’t remember her name.

“Rebecca,” she tells me. “I’m not as brave as Averil.”

“You and me both,” I say.

We stand in the doorway, watching as Averil tries to reason with Caroline, or whatever it is that seems to be inhabiting Caroline. And, honestly, it feels like a scene right out of
The Exorcist
. I know because Augustine and I watched it on the old movie channel just a couple of weeks ago.

Finally, Averil shakes Caroline, who wakes up and immediately begins to sob. Then all three of us go in and sit around Caroline’s bed, asking if she’s okay and if we can get her anything.

“It was so horrible,” she says as she wipes her nose with a tissue. “I can’t explain it, but it was horrible.”

“Were you channeling?” I ask.

She just shakes her head. “I don’t know . . . I’m not sure. This happens sometimes, usually when I’m very tired or have been through something emotional. But I don’t know if it’s channeling or not.”

“Do you remember what you said?”

“No.” She looks down at her hands. “I’m sorry if I said anything bad. I know that happens sometimes. My mother told me I said some horrible things in my sleep once, when I was home for Christmas.”

“Are you able to go back to sleep now?” asks Averil.

Caroline nods. “Yes, I’m so sorry for bothering everyone.”

“It’s okay,” says Rebecca. “I hope you can sleep now.”

“We have a couple of hours before it’s time to get up,” I point out.

So we all say good night, and I get back into bed, turn out the light, and attempt to go to sleep. But I can’t. I’m wide awake now. And I can feel that whatever was troubling Caroline is still lurking somewhere nearby. Definitely in this house, and possibly even in this room. I really want to get up and turn on the light, but it sounds as if Caroline has finally gone back to sleep and I don’t want to disturb her. So I just sit up in bed and wait for morning. It feels like the longest two hours of my life, and by the time I see the gray dawn in the window, I’m exhausted.

Still, I get up and get dressed. Feeling like a zombie, I go down to breakfast. Caroline seems perfectly fine, almost as if nothing happened last night. And even when I see Averil and Rebecca, they act totally normal. I almost start to think that I imagined the whole thing. I feel dull and lethargic as I go to my first morning workshop.
It’s on herbs and minerals, and I keep myself awake by taking lots of notes. After that, I go to Sienna’s class on séances. But, again, I have a hard time focusing. Willow is in this class too, as an observer, she points out at the beginning. And midway through Sienna’s class, Willow challenges her on something to do with her technique. I’m not totally sure what it was because I probably wasn’t paying as close of attention as I should.

“I think it’s different with everyone,” says Sienna. “You have to find what works best for you.”

“But you’re here as the expert,” points out Willow. “Surely you can be more specific than that.”

Sienna looks a little miffed. “As the expert,” she says in an irate voice, “I’m saying that speaking to the dead is very much an art, and like any other form of art, it can be subjective. Is that clear enough for you?”

Willow narrows her eyes now. “I suppose if that’s the best you can offer us. I suppose I’d expected a bit more.”

Sienna looks hurt now. And I feel sorry for her.

“Sienna made contact with my mother,” I say quickly. Everyone in the workshop turns and looks at me now. “It was really amazing,” I continue. “And to be honest, I was a little skeptical at first. But I could tell it was the real thing. And when we got done, I was pretty amazed.”

Willow gives me a questioning look, then stands, excuses herself, and leaves.

After the workshop, Sienna takes me aside, speaking quietly. “I hate to say this to you, Heather, but Willow may not be all that you think she is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t trust her.”

“Oh.” Of course. Why should she when Willow obviously took an instant dislike to her? But I don’t say this.

“Anyway, I just wanted to warn you to be on your guard against her — ”

“Against who?” says a woman’s voice from behind us. We both turn to see Willow in the doorway.

Sienna stands up straight, looking Willow in the eyes. “Against you,” she says to Willow.

“How dare you?” says Willow, taking a step closer to her.

“I’ve heard things about you,” says Sienna now. “I tried to put them out of my head because it seemed like you were helping Heather, and then you invited me here. But now that I’ve met you . . .” She glances at me. “I know what I’ve heard is true. And since Heather’s my friend, I want to protect her.”

Willow laughs. “You want to protect Heather? You should think about protecting yourself. I’ve heard about you too.”

“What?” demands Sienna hotly. “What have you heard?” Willow shrugs. “Nothing that needs repeating.”

“That’s because you’ve heard nothing.”

“That’s because I know how to keep my mouth shut,” snaps Willow. “Hopefully you will do the same.”

Sienna just glares at her now.

“I assume this is good-bye then,” says Willow. Then she adds sarcastically, “Thank you so much for teaching your workshop. Your check will be in the mail.”

Sienna gives me a glance, then storms out.

“Watch out for that one,” says Willow. “She’s trouble.”

I don’t know what to do now, so I do nothing. Then Willow leaves and I look out the window in time to see Sienna loading some things into her old van. I decide to go out and ask her what’s going on.

“That just happens sometimes,” says Sienna as her coat whips in the wind. “Some people are threatened by other people’s powers.”

“Willow is threatened by you?”

“Possibly. You see, we live in close proximity and our practices are very different.”

“What do you mean by very different?”

“Willow profits from her practice. I happen to believe that’s wrong.”

“Oh.”

Sienna reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Of course.”

“See you in ballet class,” she says with a sad little smile.

I wave to her as I run against the wind and go back into the house. But once I’m inside, her warning seems to reverberate through me, and I wonder if I really want to stay in this place. I mean, I suppose I’ve learned some helpful things, when I was paying attention, but mostly I feel frustrated and tired, not to mention confused. And the thought of another night of being awakened in the wee hours by my possessed roommate is rather unnerving.

And so, as everyone else is heading to the dining room for a buffet lunch, I decide to make a fast break. I write Caroline a short note, which I put on her pillow, then quickly pack my stuff and make a quiet exit. I feel sort of bad when I consider how I’ve wasted Dad and Augustine’s money, but I also know that I can’t stand to stay here through another meal, not to mention another night. And that stupid argument between Sienna and Willow just seemed to seal everything for me. What was up with that little scene anyway? Shouldn’t we, the keepers of the power, be able to get along better than that?

As I drive home, I feel lonely and confused. More than ever, I’m missing my mom. I’m wishing I could talk to her, ask her what she thinks about all this. I remember how Sienna made contact with her a couple weeks ago, and I replay the things that Mom said to me through her. Most of them made sense, except for that warning. I still don’t get that. But suddenly I’m thinking that maybe it had to do with Willow, sort of like the way Sienna was warning me earlier. Maybe Sienna knows more than she’s saying. Maybe I should be careful of Willow. And when I think of how much money I’ve spent at her shop and then for this seminar, which as it turns out was a waste, well, I can’t help but wonder about Willow’s motives here. It doesn’t really make sense that someone profits from this — like magic is for sale. How can that be right? And how can I ever figure this all out?

O
N MY WAY HOME
, I
STOP BY
Y
AQUINA
L
AKE
. I’
M NOT EVEN SURE WHY EXACTLY
, maybe just because things seem to be heating up over this development lately. Or maybe it’s because I’m still slightly obsessed over this thing with Liz and her parents running roughshod over everyone. Or maybe I simply hope that perhaps my mom’s spirit might be hanging out here. Maybe I can make contact with her and she will set me straight on the meaning of the universe.

But when I park the car in the deserted parking lot, I feel like an intruder. And when I get out of the car, it’s clear that the wind is picking up and dark clouds are rolling in, and I’m sure there must be a storm on the way. Even so, I stand on the dock, looking out over the steely gray lake as gusts ripple the water, and I long for my mother to speak to me. I try to remember how Marie tilted her head back just so, closing her eyes and focusing. With wind whipping my hair against my cheeks, I try to do the same. I try to center myself, to empty myself, to wait for something to come — to fill me and answer my questions.

And suddenly, to my complete surprise, I feel a presence. But it’s not warm and comforting like I’d expect my mom to be. This is cold and icy and harsh, and the impression I’m getting is to throw myself into the lake. Over and over I get this feeling that I should
plunge into the lake and simply be done with it.
“Give up. Give up. Give up.”

I snap out of it with a gasp, and the cold air is like a knife in my throat. Then, with trembling knees, I back away from the water, then turn and run straight for my car. Fumbling with the key to unlock the door, I finally get inside and attempt to suppress the voice that continues to tell me,
“Give up!”

As I drive, I turn on the radio, cranking up KRNK until it finally drowns out the sound of the voice.

I
PREPARE MYSELF FOR
A
UGUSTINE
’
S QUESTIONS AS
I
DRIVE INTO TOWN
. I’
M
thinking maybe I should concoct some story as to why I came home early. But, really, I tell myself as I turn down my street, why should I even care what anyone thinks? It is, after all, my life. I’ll simply tell Augustine the truth. If the story of my possessed roommate doesn’t inspire some sympathy, what difference does it make? Hopefully Dad will understand.

I notice a blue BMW in the driveway and try to remember where I’ve seen this sporty little car before, and then it hits me that it belongs to Augustine’s artist friend Jonathon. Well, he might be the perfect reason for me not to explain too much. I’ll simply say hey, then head up to my room without explaining a thing. And then I’ll take a nice long nap. But when I go inside, I don’t see them. The kitchen is pretty messy with glasses and food plates here and there, almost like someone had a party. I peek into Augustine’s studio, but it’s quiet and dark with the shades still pulled. Still, I did see her car in the garage, so I know she must be here. Maybe they’re outside, although the weather’s not too inviting.

I quietly head on upstairs, thinking I’ll just avoid them completely as I duck into my room unseen. But before I get to my door, I hear sounds coming from the master bedroom down the hall.
I pause and listen. At first I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess what’s going on in there. Even so, I am totally stunned. How can this possibly be? How would Augustine dare to do something like this? And in our house? I head straight for the master bedroom door, thinking I’ll barge in and confront them, catch them in the act. But then I stop with my fist raised in midair. Seriously, what would I say? And how embarrassing would it be for everyone? Maybe most of all me. I lower my fist and take in a deep breath.