Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (17 page)

“How?”
He asked softly.

“What
do you mean, how?” Cam asked. “I don’t know. It just happened. I’ve never done
it before.”

He
laughed breathlessly. “No. I meant before. How? How did you keep from being
seen?”

“You’re
wondering about that
now
?” Cam asked disbelievingly, for want of a
better answer.

He
turned to fix her with a curious stare, one eyebrow raised. “Wouldn’t you?”

Fair
enough.

Cam
leaned over him, enjoying the feeling of being bare and breathless above him.
“It was….” She leaned still closer, letting her eyes grow wider with childish
wonder. “Magic!” She whispered and then clapped her hands over her mouth. She
laughed and laughed at the expression of chagrin on his face.

“Is
this… local magic?” He asked finally.

In
other words… was it conjure? “Yes.” Cam said, swallowing the last of her
giggles.

“I
knew you were an enchantress,” he said almost reverently.

“Oh,
hardly,” she said. “I’m just barely rootworker; my training was a bit spotty.”
She wasn’t sure where her honesty came from; it had to be some lingering effect
of the black cat’s bone. She shivered. There was a chill rising from the ground
and she wasn’t used to being naked outside at night. Brent drew her closer to
him, wrapping his arms around her and draping his shirt over her. Cam closed
her eyes and felt safe, more anchored then she ever had in her life. As her
eyelids drifted lower over her sweat-slick cheeks, she settled into him and
decided that the world could spin on around them as it pleased, but nothing
could touch her as long as she was with him.

***

Some
hours later, the aura of the house slipped into her dreams and woke her. She
was stirred from sleep with cold sweat on her palms. Before she had been so
absorbed by Brent she had forgotten about the house, but now she felt it again.

Black
magic.

She
had just made love to Brent Anderson in the Wickers gazebo, just a stone’s
throw from a cursed house. Cam moved to sit up immediately, but the feeling of
a strong arm wrapped around her waist stopped her. Cam hesitated, suddenly
desperate to get away, but afraid to wake him up.

What
were you thinking?

Cam
had been angry before, but now she was completely furious— at herself. She had
shown a complete lack of discipline, of self-control. Somehow she had managed
to do the one thing that would have horrified both her Aunt and her
grandmother. To say nothing of her father. Cam felt raw and exposed. She had
never allowed herself to get so close to someone, physically or emotionally. It
felt like Brent’s name was stamped on her soul and body and suddenly all she
wanted was to turn time back a year, before she knew who Brent Anderson was.

What
have you done to me?
This time her anger was directed at
Brent as she eased out from under his arm. He struck her as the sort of person
who slept lightly— it was hard to imagine him letting his guard down, even at
night, but obviously their activities had exhausted him, because he didn’t
stir. Cam leaned down to feel around on the floor of the gazebo for her
nightdress, and she found it several yards away. She slipped it on easily and
then began the lengthier hunt for her underwear. With the instinct to flee
pounding through her veins, she was tempted just to leave them, but that was
risky. She wanted to take all of the evidence that this encounter had ever
occurred. If she was lucky, maybe Brent would think that he had just dreamed
it.

Then
an image from their lovemaking filled her mind, all tangled limbs and riotous ecstasy,
and she knew that was too much to hope for. No one could mistake that avalanche
of emotions and release for a dream. Finally, she found the light undergarment
and donned that as well.

At
last! Cam could feel the bone in her pocket trying to work its magic, but she
refused to allow it to overwhelm her. She couldn’t. She had never realized the
way that practicing conjure stripped her inhibitions away. Perhaps that was
because she had never wanted someone the way that she wanted Brent. Whatever
the reasons, Brent and rootwork were a bad combination. So Cam walked home
perfectly visible and in a state of shock.

She
was climbing in her window when she was suddenly overcome by remorse. How could
she leave Brent there and run away? If he had done that to her she would be
shattered. Then again, he was a man. They felt differently about those things.

Yes,
men are different
, Cam tried to convince herself as she
closed her window behind her. Still, she couldn’t stop the sadness that welled
within her at being apart from him. It would have been nice if things were
different. It would have been lovely if she could have stayed with him until
morning, stroking his hair and watching him as he dreamed.

There
in the darkness, Cam allowed herself to think something that she would never
admit aloud.

I
love you.

Then
Cam sighed.

I
love you but I don’t trust you. And so...

Goodbye.

Then
the tears came.

The
next morning Cam was on a desperate mission to put all that had passed between
her and Brent out of her mind. She skipped breakfast and went immediately down
to the kitchen to scry and sew until her fingers ached. Both of the old women
seemed to sense that something was wrong, but neither of them asked what.
Finally, when Cam had been working for six hours straight, Daphne came and put
her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stop now, Cam?” She
said quietly.

“Just
as soon as I’m finished this charm bag,” Cam said, trying to put in the last
stitch and pricking herself with the needle instead. “Damn.”

“Why
don’t you go out for a walk?” Caro suggested.

“I
don’t want to go for a walk,” Cam said, “I want to work.”

I
want to keep my mind off of him…

“Well,
you can do both,” Grandma said, “why don’t you go collect some herbs?” She
tried to pull the incomplete charm bag from her granddaughter’s fingers.

“Very
well,” Cam said eventually, releasing the charm.

“I’ll
call Mary to go with you,” Caro said.

“No!”
Cam said quickly. Not Mary with her perceptive eyes and thoughtful questions.
She would see too much and know immediately what was afoot. “I would like to go
alone.”

Caro
hesitated, glancing at Daphne, who shrugged. “Very well,” Caro said, and turned
back to the bread she was kneading.

“Also,”
Cam’s grandmother added, “I’ve already given Helen her charm bag, but why don’t
you see if you can convince Diana to carry one as well? I tried before, but
with no luck. That girl is stubborn.”

“I’ll
talk to her,” Cam said, taking one of the completed charms. “I need to go back
to the house to change my dress anyway.”

She
met Diana on the staircase, and her sister already looked to be in a foul mood.

Cam
sighed and squared her shoulders. Well, she’d been looking for a diversion, and
arguing with Diana would certainly do the trick. Cam glanced around to make
sure that they were definitely alone before producing the charm bag.

Diana
took one look at the item and stiffened. “No.” She said immediately, before Cam
could get in a single word. “
No
.”

“Diana,
it isn’t optional,” Cam said. “There’s something out there and we want you to
be safe.”

“There’s
always something out there. Get that thing away from me!” Diana tried to edge
around Cam to get upstairs, but Cam grabbed her sister’s wrist.

“Diana,
please.” Cam said, but Diana strained against her grasp until Cam was forced to
let go.

“I’m
telling you, I don’t need it. Get it out of my sight,” Diana spat, her dark
eyes flaming. Cam tried to stand in front of her sister, but Diana turned her
face away and took another step up the staircase.

“Diana,
listen to me,” Cam tried one last time, “there’s a black moon this month.”

Diana
froze, her head bowed. Cam couldn’t see her sister’s face, but when Diana spoke
there was a raw pain in her voice that was devastating. “You know, other
mothers leave their daughters jewelry and dresses, or maybe a comb and a pair
of gloves. Mama left us a nightmare.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“
Please
take it,” Cam held out the bag, but her sister shook her head.

“I
don't want it!” Diana exclaimed, and the only sound was the rustle of her black
skirts on the stairs as she left Cam on the landing.

Cam
stood there alone, and for a moment she was filled with something sad and
soul-crushing. Despair, she realized. She had never felt this way before, but
there was no mistaking the emotion. It was the kind of feeling that made her
want to lie down and sleep the rest of her life away. Slowly, wearily, Cam
climbed the rest of the stairs.

As
soon as she entered her room, she sensed him. He was in the forest again,
waiting and watching, and this time she knew that it was for her. It was a
bittersweet reminder of all that had passed between them, but there was enough
sweetness in the memory to dispel her sadness. Cam relived every moment they
had spent together as she stood by that window, waiting for him to leave so
that she could collect herbs for Grandma.

***

It
was close to dusk when Brent finally left and Cam was able to go out for the
herbs. She took an empty basket and lingered for a time in the deepest part of
the woods, picking plants under a canopy of leaves so thick that there was
hardly enough light for Cam to see the herbs by. It was peaceful and secret
there, but eventually Cam had to leave that spot and move closer to the creek,
where a few of Grandma’s favorite herbs flourished.

The
trees grew thinner on the river bank, and Cam could see the sky. Dusky violet
clouds shot with gold streaked an orange horizon, while over Cam's head a cloud
the color of the coming night was sliding ever closer to the sinking sun. Cam
stood for a moment to admire the colors, while the wind plucked at her skirts
and scattered her hair across her forehead. Finally her eyes fell on a patch of
lemongrass across the creek from her. It was the last herb that she needed, and
then she could go home and let sleep rescue her from the worries and fears of
the day.

She
set her basket down by the riverbank and unlaced her boots, setting them on a
flat rock near the river's edge. Her stockings came off next, after she glanced
around to make sure that she was definitely alone. She stood, catching the
narrow skirts of her simple dress in her hands, and set first one foot, and
then the other, into the cold water of the creek.

Her
feet were fairer than the rest of her, having been so rarely exposed to the
sun, and in the water they looked almost pink. She placed each foot carefully.
This part of the creek was rather shallow, barely reaching the bottom of her
knees, but men fished farther upstream and it wouldn’t do to step on a hook
that had been carried down the creek.  Her blue checkered skirt billowed with
the wind, obscuring her vision for a moment, and the hem of her chemise slipped
from her fingers.

"Rats,"
she muttered, as the hem of the undergarment dipped into the water. She lifted
it back out, shuddering as the cold, wet material slid up her skin.
Why is
it so cold?
She wondered once she had the errant chemise bunched between
her fingers with the rest of her skirts. It was August in Mississippi, and yet
the creek was cold as ice.

She
was halfway across, though, and almost to the lemongrass. She could almost
smell Caro burning the herb as she neared it.

No,
wait
,
Cam thought, lifting her gaze suddenly from the cold, clear water. She
did
smell herbs burning. She turned, to the right and then to the left, trying to
pinpoint where the scent was coming from as the hairs on the back of her neck rose.
She opened her mouth to ask who was there, but some vague fear made her stay
silent instead. A cloud passed overhead and the whole world seemed to turn
gray. Cam tilted her head up, looking for the sun, but somehow it had already
slipped away as the icy creek water lapped at her thighs.

Resolutely,
Cam turned back to the lemongrass, still determined to collect it for Caro, but
a strange thought made her pause.
Why
was the water up to her thighs?

Dread
ached sharply in her chest as she stared down at the water level, which had
somehow risen almost a foot in the few minutes since she had stepped into the
creek. It was now so cold that her skin stung. There was a strange current
almost like a whirlpool, spinning around and around her, and when the water
swirled up another inch, Cam felt as though her heart would stop beating.

This
can't be happening
, she told herself, even as the heady
onset of shock made her head swim and her hands shake.

The
scent of herbs, harsh and unfamiliar, burned her throat with every panicked
breath as she released her skirts and tried to wade back to the shadowed
riverbank behind her.