Red House (13 page)

Go back out there. Knock on his door. Find out what the hell he was doing with another woman. All thoughts that made sense, but making sense had just gotten booted off the agenda. By the time I arrived home I had a plan.

Chapter 10

I paused outside Daniel’s closed door to listen. The only sound was the double-time rhythm of his fingers flying impossibly fast over his laptop keyboard. That meant he had his headphones on, listening to no telling what, while he blogged. I locked myself in my room at the opposite end of the hall.

The first thing I did was tear through my supplies and ingredients to see what I had that would work. No coriander, no cherry bark or catnip or honeysuckle. I did have rose petals and plenty of angelica though, as well as High John. Those last two had long since been some of my favorite all-purpose ingredients to add power to any trick.

Even in this state I had to admit to myself what I was doing. There’s a difference between casting a spell and laying a trick. This would definitely be laying a trick. Laying it all over Blake Harvill until all he could do was cry my name like a prayer while he walked on his hands and knees to beg for my presence.

I was no Wiccan. I didn’t believe in that new-agey threefold law stuff. The only thing that would come back around on me was exactly what I aimed for, which was Blake’s undivided devotion. After this night there would be no question of who held the upper hand.

A pair of lodestones and a chunk of Queen Elizabeth root were hidden in a shoebox under the bed, along with a few hairs I’d taken from Blake’s old apartment for a locator spell I’d done months before. Rozella’s best and last student knew better than to let something so valuable out of her grasp. I’d saved Blake’s personal concerns with no thought of doing anything with them, but one never knew. Now it would come in handy. Be vital to the working, in fact.

Next I gathered paper and pen, two red candles and red thread, and a small empty red flannel bag. Then a sachet of powders I placed next to a plate on my makeshift altar.

Ingredients arrayed around me, I sat on the floor in the dark, glasses off. An hour earlier I’d felt exhausted. I would have said there’d be no more magic out of me the rest of the night, and maybe the next day too. Energy was not a bottomless pit. Somehow I found a reserve. I opened myself up to the magic that ran like a river through everything around me. Calling on the moonlight and the wind, the hint of rain carried by the cool night breeze, the earth still shifting from so much floodwater, all the heartbeats of all the creatures that added a little of their own magic to the land. And yes, the chaos too that still rumbled under the surface of everything, feral and unknowable. But not untouchable. If I pushed away my fear and good sense I'd be able to reach out and skim across the top of a vein of untamed nature. I should have been scared and in the morning I’d probably want to kick myself. But just then, I was the kid who sticks her finger in the light socket.

Magic flared in the room, showing up in arcs of red and blue in my auric vision. I drew it into me like a breath, feeling it sizzle in my veins. A reckless euphoria overtook me. The spell I had in mind might not be strong enough. Blake had a stubborn nature and plenty of power of his own. He might be able to resist. I had something to give the spell an extra dose, though. Something certain to work in my favor and counter any resistance from Blake.

I withdrew a small locked box from under the bed, retrieved the key from its hiding place in my underwear drawer, and opened the box. Inside was an old book, a leather pouch with small animal bones and other curios, a few other items, and a glass jar of dirt. Using graveyard dirt from the grave of a loved one was an old and powerful way to boost spells designed to bring a boon. The dirt in that jar came from Rozella’s grave.

For a long moment I sat with the jar in my hand, asking myself if I really wanted to do this. The jar had not been opened since I collected the dirt years before. This decision felt like a precipice and I hovered at the edge. Thinking of Blake, admitting that I wanted something for myself for a change instead of always doing for others and working magic for others, sent me over the edge. I opened the jar, scooping out about a tablespoon of dirt onto the plate. Quickly, I sealed up the jar and replaced the box under the bed, checking the lock twice. There were things in that box that did not need to fall in the wrong hands.

I went to work, laying down a trick for the first time in years. By the end I felt depleted, so thoroughly exhausted I could barely move. Skipping the clean-up could leave a working in a nebulous state so I heaved myself up. The little red trick bag went between the mattress and box spring. I scraped the mess of powder, graveyard dirt, and melted wax from the two candles I’d tied together onto a scrap of cotton fabric, then rolled it up and tied the bundle, slipping out of the house with it tight in my hand.
      
Clouds raced across the sky, flickering moonlight lighting my way. I went to the far edge of the yard, just into the woods, and found a spot to bury the bundle. I had not brought any tools with which to dig, wanting to sink my hands into the earth and ground the last remnants of the spell’s energy ping-ponging inside me. The task finished, I leaned against a tree to rest.

* * * *

It was almost midmorning before I woke. Disoriented, I sat up in a near-panic, not sure where I was. Then I remembered why I wasn’t in my own bed, in my own home, and collapsed back into the tangle of sheets.

The shower blasted the last of the sleepy cobwebs out of my head. Maple Hill and the research I needed to do filled my thoughts. I wanted to know more about the land, for one thing. As far as some of the house’s new occupants, that was going to be complicated. One in particular, I had no idea how to evict.

Dressing quickly, I went to check on Daniel. There was no sound from his room. He was usually asleep this time of day anyway so I didn’t bother him. After a bagel and the first cup of coffee, I booted up the laptop kept in the downstairs office and went to work.

Maple Hill not only had an official site but a wiki as well. I didn’t know how common it was to find that for a bed-and-breakfast or if the information would be any good, but I bookmarked it anyway. I read the same paragraph three times before giving up.

There were no new voice mails from Blake. Had the spell failed? Was he with that other woman now? We’d never had time to talk about his past relationship with an evil demon. Was that just a onetime thing or did he always go for the femme fatale types? How could I possibly compete with all the sexy bad girls that would throw themselves at a man like Blake?

I tapped the keypad of my cell, wondering if I should call him. No, I needed to work. Besides, that spell would bring him to me. Eventually.

Once again I found myself unable to concentrate on the research. All I could think about was him. His low sultry voice, his dark chocolate eyes, the hard muscles of his chest and arms. Closing my eyes and leaning back in the chair, I pictured his aura. A quick glimpse of it was the first thing I'd seen of him and it was the first thing about him that intrigued me. At that time it looked like black velvet shot through with stars and daubed with the ethereal colors of nebulae. Now the black had shifted to a deep twilight blue. I wanted to know what that meant, not just theorize.

My phone rang. I snatched it up and opened it without even looking at caller ID. A hesitant female voice said, “Um, hi, can I speak to Roxanne Mathis please?”

If this was Blake’s goth chick, I was sending Daniel over to deal with him. “Who’s calling?”

“My name is Shelby Conrad. My granny hired you to, uh, do some work for Maple Hill.”

Mentally I breathed a sigh of relief, then a completely different kind of concern grew. “This is Roxie. Does Julia know you’re calling me?”

The girl took her time answering. “Well, she did say you needed information about the house. I’ve got a lot of stuff so I was thinking we could meet and you could look it over.”

Having caught a glimpse of her aura the first time I met Julia, I knew the kid had some sort of magical or perhaps psychic ability. She might be able to tell me some useful things about the house. But I had to consider more than that. It’s one thing to hire someone like me when having a problem, it’s entirely another to have someone like me in the family. I didn’t want to make trouble for the kid and I didn’t want Julia to freak out. Maybe if I spoke to Julia, see if I could feel out what she knew about her granddaughter’s possible abilities, then I could decide if I should talk to the kid. “Look, why don’t you let your granny have whatever you’ve got and she can get it to me.”

“I really think we should talk. I’m the one who found out about you. I talked her into calling you.” She sounded far too self-possessed to be a teenager.

“It’s not that big a deal for me to talk to your grandma first.”

“I’ve seen him! The new one, the one that likes to hurt. That soldier ghost, he’s bad, but this new one…I don’t know, it’s just different somehow. He came after me one night.”

I took a deep shuddering breath. “Did you tell your grandma about this?”

A deep sigh of consternation was her first answer. “No. I wasn’t sure she’d believe me. Then the bastard killed her kitten and I was able to talk her into calling you. Look, I have a lot of research on the house. Can I at least show it to you?”

How did this kid even know about me? There was no way I could meet her, not without her grandmother knowing about it. I had relatives who didn’t allow me around their children because of "witchery and strangeness", as they called it. Before I talked to this kid anymore I needed to talk to Julia. “I’m gonna call your grandmother tomorrow and set it up with her for us to talk. You can tell me about what happened then.” My answer was met with a petulant silence. “Look, it’s the best you’re getting today, kid.”

Shelby snapped, “Do you have an email address?”

“Yes,” I answered, taken aback.

“Then give me your email address and I’ll send you some stuff on the house.” She spoke as if to a slow child. Honestly, I kind of felt like one right then.

I went ahead and gave her my email. She said she’d send me what she had right away and hung up, clearly frustrated with me. Remembering what that time was like in my own life, I felt bad for the kid but I also felt like it would be better for everyone if Julia gave me permission to speak to her. She’d mentioned the girl was about to start college so she was probably legal age but I still preferred to be cautious.

Shelby sent me a zip file of documents and photos. I printed out the documents and kept the folder of photos open on the laptop. The first thing I noticed was the similarity between her overview of Maple Hill and the house’s wiki page. A few clicks got me to the contributor’s page. There was only one, with the username OpheliaBlue1, which was also the name on the email address Shelby used to send me her Maple Hill file.

OpheliaBlue1–God, I so did not miss being a teenager.

Shelby had a comprehensive history of the house beyond just what she’d posted online. The file included copies of deeds, genealogy information from family bibles and census records, and best of all Susan McCrickard’s letters to her husband. Susan was very careful not to spell out explicitly what happened, but reading between the lines it was easy to confirm the version of events Julia had told me. Reading through some of the other letters, it was clear Ester had been in charge of an impressive herb garden which included several things that could be used any number of ways in folk magic.

I’d missed the connection when Julia told me Susan was originally from South Carolina, but looking at the genealogy information, it hit me. Susan, and the maid she brought with her to Tennessee, were from Beaufort County, South Carolina. “Ester had to have been Gullah,” I said aloud.

The Gullah people of coastal South Carolina and Georgia were slaves who were able to retain much more of their traditional African culture due to being fairly isolated. The antebellum plantations in those semi-tropic Low Country areas primarily grew rice, with most of the white owners and their families withdrawing inland during the mosquito-infested summer months that brought widespread malaria. Between how labor intensive rice production was and the “white flight” of half the year, blacks were actually the majority population. With less interference from the white owners, slaves were able to hold on to more of their African customs and beliefs. One of those customs was having root doctors in the community, folk who worked with herbs, roots, and the spirit world to create magical charms. Charms for protection, good health, love, gambling, crossing an enemy–the same kind of stuff as the hoodoo thriving underground throughout the Mississippi Delta region and other places. The same kind of hoodoo Rozella taught me.

Rozella’s practice was a lot more traditional than mine because I had always been reluctant to cast spells for people. I’d never called myself a root doctor. Ghosts and the like had always been easier to deal with than crafting potions and mojo hands for people having trouble with love or the law. It seemed less messy, less personal. Rozella used to have people call her up or knock on her back door at all hours of the day and night. Most of those people were black, but plenty were white. Her son didn’t want to take over the practice. No one really batted an eye when she took on a white apprentice. I had to hide it from my family, of course, and wound up having to leave town.

I hadn’t thought about all that in a long time. Pushing it away, I focused on Maple Hill. It didn’t surprise me that Susan would have known about Ester’s practice and given it tacit acceptance. Having a better idea of what kind of magic was used to protect the house helped but I still needed to know a lot more. The flood created the instability leading to Maple Hill’s problems but what led Haschall to that location? I was pretty sure he wasn’t the only ghost who wandered in after the flood, either. Something must have drawn them to Maple Hill, other than merely the house being unprotected for the first time in almost a century and a half.