Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (12 page)

It
wasn’t until she undressed that night that she realized the coin she kept in
her basque was gone.

***

The
next morning Cam couldn’t think of anything that didn’t somehow involve Brent.
If her cheeks weren’t heating with the memory of their kiss, then she was
wondering why he was watching the house and what he was up to. It wasn’t until
lunch that Cam suddenly made the connection between Brent’s behavior and Mary’s
vision of someone watching and waiting. Cam’s heart immediately leapt into her
throat. Whoever Mary had seen in her vision was almost certainly malevolent. If
that person was Brent then he would have to be dealt with immediately. As
infuriating as the man was, Cam hated the idea of Caro and her grandmother
cursing him.

With
that in mind, Cam decided to speak to Mary privately first, without getting the
older women involved. Mary wasn’t judgmental. She thought first, acted later,
and she could keep a secret. When Cam wandered down to the kitchen she encountered
only Caro, who was busy preparing salted pork for dinner. “Hello child,” Caro
greeted her from where she was sweating over the stove. It was another
hellishly hot day, and the drone of the flies was so loud and monotonous it was
almost unbearable. “If you’ve nothing to do you might as well work on some
charm bags,” Caro said, after glancing around to make sure that Aunt Beth
wasn’t nearby to hear her giving Cam orders.

“Are
we making new ones already?” Cam asked. The charm bags tended to lose their
potency every few moons, so they had to make them frequently, but it seemed
like it had been just a few weeks since Cam and Mary had finished the last
ones.

“After
Mary’s vision? Yes.” Caro said. “She sensed a new threat, so we are taking
extra precautions. You won’t find our herbs there,” she added to Cam, “I’ve
moved them.” She pointed to a cabinet across the kitchen from where Cam was
rummaging around for the herbs to go into the charm bags.

“I
see,” Cam said, and moved to fetch them.

“Cam?”
The voice was Mary’s, and she stood just outside the doorway with a basket of wet
laundry. “I was on my way to hang these to dry, but I sensed that someone was
waiting for me.” It was strange sometimes, the things that Mary sensed. Some
days she could sense even the slightest disturbance— a broken teacup or a lost
cat, while the next day she might miss a murder. It had to be maddening for
her.

“Yes,”
Cam said quickly. “I’ll be back in just a minute to work on the charm bags,
Caro,” she said quickly. She led Mary a few steps away from the kitchen door,
in order to be certain that Caro wouldn’t catch even a snatch of their
conversation with her keen ears.

“What’s
wrong?” Mary asked her, gazing at her as though she was trying to read the
answer off Cam’s face. She probably was, come to think of it.

Cam
cleared her throat. “The vision that you had,” she whispered.

Mary
visibly stiffened. “What of it?”

“Could
it have been Brent? Could he have been the one under the tree?”

“Brent?
Brent Anderson?” Mary frowned. “Unlikely… No.” She said. “No, I don’t think so.
I haven’t yet had a vision of Brent Anderson, though I have seen his brother.
Whoever it was, they were… different, somehow. But no, I don’t believe it was
Brent.”

Cam
had barely had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief when the sounds of her
grandmother and aunt arguing drifted down the lawn towards her.

“Really
Daphne, I just don’t understand why you can’t-”

“What?”
Cam’s grandmother barked. “Conform? Perform? Dance like a little trained
monkey? Go out in front of all the guests and show what respectable,
well-mannered old woman I am?
Sorry
. My days of pleasing the public are
over. These days I only please myself.”

“That
much is obvious,” Aunt Beth said in one of the most sharply disapproving tones
she ever used.  “Don’t you even think about the girls? What about Cam? Helen?”

“Don’t
talk to me about Cam and Helen. They’re
my
granddaughters.”

“And
they’re
my
nieces,” Aunt Beth said, “and I don’t think you appreciate
how precarious their position in society is right now.”

“Oh
lord,” Cam muttered, exchanging a glance with Mary, who looked amused. “Hello
Grandmother. Hello Aunt Beth.”

“Don’t
interrupt Camilla,” her aunt snipped. “It’s most ill-mannered of you.”

“Oh
well, welcome to the family,” Daphne said loudly, “we specialize in
ill-mannered
.”

At
that, Aunt Beth could only throw up her hands and shoot Daphne a glare that
could have killed a cat. The old woman retreated into the kitchen, leaving Aunt
Beth and Cam staring at each other. Mary whispered something about the laundry
and abandoned Cam to her aunt.

“I
am sorry you had to hear that, Camilla,” Aunt Beth said, reaching up to smooth
her hair. “I do have good news, though.”

“Really?”
Good news sounded like a welcome change.

“We
have received an invitation to join a few other families on a visit to the
Wickers plantation next week. Brent Anderson himself issued the invitation.”

“Did
he?” Cam managed, although this hardly fit her definition of good news. It was
as though Brent was closing in for the kill.

“Oh
yes. In fact, he mentioned your name especially, Camilla.”

“Really?”
Cam said, in as sunny a tone as she could muster. “Wasn’t that kind of him?”

Aunt
Beth smiled. “He also expressed an interest in getting to know the rest of the
family— but your father is otherwise engaged on that day. He is entertaining
several families here, and your grandmother,” at that point Aunt Beth raised
her voice so that Grandma would be able to hear her from inside of the kitchen.
“Your grandmother has refused to attend.”

“Well,
won’t you and Helen be there?” Cam asked, trying to soothe her aunt’s ruffled
feathers.

“He
is already acquainted with us,” Aunt Beth said.

“Well,”
Cam said, running out of patience. “There’s always Diana. I’m sure she’d love
an outing.”

“Oh,
Cam,” Aunt Beth sniffed, and then she was marching back across the lawn,
without another word. Cam waited until her Aunt had vanished into the house
before she slipped into the kitchen to consult her grandmother.

Caro
beat her to it. “What’s this about the Anderson boy?” She asked before Cam had
even closed the door behind her. “I hear he has invited you to his home.”

“Me
and Helen and Aunt Beth, apparently,” Cam said. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean
anything.”

“I’m
not.” Grandma said. “Be careful Cam.”

Cam
sighed. “I have no intention of attending, anyway.”

“No?”
Grandma squinted. “Why not?”

“Because
he’s up to no good,” Cam answered readily.
And because we kissed the other
night and now I can’t face him ever again for as long as I live.
“Aunt Beth
can’t argue if I beg indisposition.” 

“My
god, Cam,” her grandmother suddenly laughed. “You must be indisposed more often
than any other woman in the county.”

“Probably,”
Cam said, echoing her grandmother’s laughter. Her mirth didn’t last long,
however. Whether she was willing to admit it or not, part of her wanted
desperately to accept Brent’s invitation.

***

Cam
expected to fall asleep as soon as she lay down, but for whatever reason rest
eluded her. Her breathing was uneven and restless. Her heart beat too quickly.
When she closed her eyes she was haunted by the notion that someone was
watching her, but when she opened them there was only the portrait of her
mother and the soft darkness of her room. She stared at the picture, noting as
usual her resemblance to Solange, and tried to calm herself by following the
curves of her mother's face and neck. The picture was the only reason she could
remember what her mother looked like, but now when she pictured her mother she
could only imagine Solange as she appeared in the portrait: young, no older
than Cam, with her face lovely but impassive and her eyes dark and unreadable.
Night after night Cam had tried to imagine her mother's face with different
expressions, crinkled with laugh lines or warm with a smile. She hadn't once
succeeded in picturing anything other than that wide-eyed stare immortalized in
paper and black ink.

She
rolled over and tried to sleep without facing the portrait. For a few minutes her
anxiety only grew. Then, as if sleep had snuck up and caught her body unawares,
her eyelids slowly sank lower and lower until her eyelashes rested on her
cheeks.

For
a time, there was only blackness in Cam's dreams, a dark fog.

Then
light pierced the darkness, the red-gold of a bloody sunset. Material, the
rich, soft cloth of brightly colored gowns, whirled and twirled to the tune of
an old song. Laughter and whispers hummed beneath the sound of the music, and
Cam could smell cigars and crushed flowers.

It
is a beautiful evening.

And
a dangerous one. Before she sees the women, Cam can hear their voices and feel
their anger. Most of all, she scents conjure in the air. Cam sees the aggressor
first, a blue-eyed mad woman, with dark hair and very white skin. Cam hasn't
seen Kat Varennes since she was a child, and has never been able to remember
her face before. But because this is a dream she recognizes the rootworker immediately,
from the insanity in her eyes and the violence her words promise.

The
other women is taller, quieter, and in danger. It is only when Solange turns
away from Kat angrily that Cam recognizes her mother. For a moment, Kat and
Solange might as well be the only ones in the room. The air is thick with Kat's
threat and Solange's denial. Later people will whisper that they quarreled over
a man, but this argument is about power, not lovers. The words that have passed
between them are pure venom, and both women have the power to do exactly as
they threaten.

Solange
will go home early, put her daughters to bed and force herself to forget the
argument.

Kat
Varennes will not let go of her anger, and beneath the black moon she will seek
revenge.

This
night has doomed them both.

***

The
darkness seems too beautiful to be sinister on the eve of the black moon, and
Solange Johnson and her husband return late from a carriage ride together.
Solange has none of the fear that her daughters will live with all of their
lives. She is confident in her abilities and unsuspecting of any attack. She
lets her husband go to the house ahead of her so that she can tend to the
horses alone. Solange loves animals, just as Helen will.

Mr.
Johnson whistles as he walks and passes Sam on the path up to the house. They
exchange a glance and nothing else passes between them. The black man walks
slowly, enjoying the night as much as Solange is. Neither man notices as Mary,
a skinny little girl in a faded nightdress, stumbles out of the kitchen. The
beauty of the night isn't what draws her. She has woken from a terrible dream,
and is stepping outside to assure herself that there is no fire.

“You
were only dreaming...”

That
is what Mary tells herself, but she has already begun to notice that her dreams
are different, that they tell her more than she cares to know about what lies
in store for all of them. She wraps shaking arms around herself and tries to
forget her nightmare, breathing in the soft night air. The breeze washes
against her face like the tide, once, twice, a third time. Then the tide
changes.

The
wind that brings Kat Varenne’s evil conjure into their midst howls and whirls
like a cyclone. Mary recognizes it from her dream, and she is frozen with fear as
the wind reaches the carriage house. It rushes against the building and seems
to vanish into it. There is a moment of silence and everyone but Mary is still
calm and oblivious. Then the flames come, springing to life not in one place,
but in a complete ring around the carriage house, growing with each second and
lapping hungrily against the building. Mary wants to scream, but she can hardly
breathe. She struggles for a moment as Sam stares at the flames. He knows what
they are, he can feel their evil essence, but doesn’t understand why a
rootworker would burn down an empty building. It is only when Solange cries
out, her voice high and piercing, terrified and pained, that he understands and
springs into action. He races towards the carriage house, pulling off his coat
as he runs. The fire is progressing unnaturally quickly, and the scent of the
burning carriage house already fills the air. Mary finally finds her voice as
Sam leaps through the flames, using his coat to beat them back, and screams out
“FIRE!” as loudly as she possibly can. The panic in her little voice helps it
carry, and her aunt Caro wakes immediately.

Caro
runs to her little niece, at first thinking that the child is having another of
her nightmares. She finds Mary’s bed empty and when she steps outside to look
for the child, the blazing carriage house has turned night into day.

All
that follows passes in a blur. As every man on the plantation tries to fight
the flames, Caro clutches the sobbing Mary and screams for her son. Mr. Johnson
appears in his nightclothes, too shocked to be of any use, while Daphne runs
for the carriage house and has to be restrained by three people.