Perigee Moon (5 page)

She came to me. I said the words, whispered the magic into the night, and she came. I can see a sadness in her that breaks my heart. I wanted to hold her and give her comfort. I wanted to wash her pain away with magic. I wanted so badly to stay, to touch her. But I’m a coward. I fled. For fear of persecution. Of death. But most of all, for fear that the instant I touch her I’ll never be able to turn away again.

~ Alexander 1692

***

The next morning I ached. Inside and out. It was a familiar feeling. The way that every part of me from my eyelids to my stomach throbbed from the relentless sobs that eventually put me to sleep. Like so many nights before, I lay on my pillow pretending it was my Mom’s lap, running my fingers through my hair, fooling myself into believing they were hers, and letting the memory of her voice drown out the gut-wrenching sobs that I couldn’t seem to control until finally drifting away. But this morning as I lay there alone, empty, and sore there was no more lying to myself.

After my odd behavior the night before, Grams insisted that I take the day off. I didn’t argue. It was Sunday and the store was only open half a day anyway. When I heard the neighbors zip off in their Honda for morning mass I willed myself to get up and start my day, mechanically trudging through the motions. Hot shower. A bowl of cereal that I didn’t bother to taste. I cleaned my room and made my bed. I tried calling Dad. Home. No answer. Cell. No answer. By the time the second voicemail picked up I was shaking. I probably should have left a message, but I couldn’t force myself to say what I was feeling. I just wanted to hear his voice. And I wanted him to hear mine, and not my mother’s. I swiped the back of my wrist across my eyes and scowled at the tears.

“Jerk,” I muttered and tossed the phone down.

I wrote Bevin a letter by hand instead of sending her an email. She’d get a real kick out of that. By lunch time I found myself wishing that I hadn’t agreed to let Grams take my shift. I needed something to do. The house was empty with the exception of me and my thoughts. It was too quiet and the memories were too loud. I finally decided to call Bevin back. I picked up my phone again and groaned when I saw the eleven missed calls. She was going to be so pissed. It barley rang once before she answered.

“What the hell is going on with you Rowan?”

“Look I’m really sorry about last night. But you have my undivided attention now. I swear,” I said, hoping she’d just let it go.

She was silent for a moment before she asked, “Who is he?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The guy, Rowan. Who’s the guy that’s got you all screwed up?”

I rolled my eyes even though I knew that she couldn’t see. She knew me to well. “You know there are plenty of other things going on in my life right now that could have me all screwed up.”

“Yeah I know that, but that’s not what this is about. I can tell,” she insisted. “So who is he?”

I paused wondering how much I should tell her and exactly how crazy I would sound.

“I don’t know his name. I’ve never even spoken to him. Isn’t that stupid?”

“Well, that depends. Elaborate.”

“I’ve caught him watching me twice now. First a couple of weeks ago and then again last night when I was on the phone with you. That’s why I let you go. I saw him outside, but when I ran down to talk to him he was gone.”

“So let me get this straight. Some weird guy is stalking you and instead of calling the cops you run down to meet him? He better be a cute stalker.” She laughed.

“It’s not like that. He came into the store yesterday. He wasn’t weird.”

“Wait, I thought you never talked to him?”

“I didn’t. It seems like he wants to talk to me, but he doesn’t for some reason.”

“Rowan honey. Are you all right?” I knew her concern was valid. I knew I sounded crazy. To be obsessing over a guy I had never even spoken too. It didn’t just sound crazy, it
was
crazy. If I wasn’t careful they were going to confiscate my razor again.

“I’m fine. I guess this is just going to take some time.” I paused, biting down on my lip to hold back the tears. “I miss you Bev.”

“I miss you too.”

After she assured me that I was not crazy and told me about her whirlwind love affair with Landon Briggs, which as expected was already over, I hung up feeling a little better. I hopped up from the bed to toss my phone on the dresser. Stumbled. Twisted. Annnd w
hack
. Pain radiated up through my toe, nerves throbbing all the way to the top of my foot. I glared at the floorboard that had conveniently decided to rise away from the rest of its companions. Stupid floors! At that moment I swore that if Grams didn’t replace these freaking floors then I’d save up and do it myself. I was thinking a nice plush carpet, the kind that was easy on clumsy girls like me. I grabbed my foot and bit my lip to hold back the curse word that was bubbling up through my throat. Nobody was around to hear, but still, sometimes I wondered if Mom was listening. Once the pain in my foot had begun to fade I knelt down to push the board back into place.

That’s when I noticed it, the brown leather flap sticking up through the crack. I lifted it up and the floorboard rose with ease as if it had made the exact same journey a hundred times before. I reached my hand down inside the compartment until my fingers wrapped around what felt like a book, lifted it out of its hole and blew the dust from the worn leather cover. There was no telling how old it was. I wondered if my grandparents knew about this, or if I was disturbing some sacred piece of history that wasn’t meant to be touched. I probably should have left it alone. But I was never very good at doing what I was supposed to do. My fingertips buzzed with energy as I took the book and set it gingerly on my bedspread to inspect it.

Weird.

I peeled back the cover, half afraid that it might disintegrate into dust when I touched it. Thankfully it remained intact. The yellowing pages crinkled as I ran my fingers across them, inspecting the tiny words and drawings scribbled across each page. Time had faded them but the ink was still dark enough to make most of it out. Some looked like journal entries. Some just lists of herbs and stones. Some looked like spells.

Beth Root, Black Nightshade, Clear Quartz, Lilac, and Pine. Collect for healing circle at Beltane.

I ran my fingertip over the words. The next page over were some instructions on drawing a purification circle with salt.

I stopped as a memory came rushing over me with a force strong enough to take my breath away. I waited for the flames, for my mother’s screams, but they never came. Instead I found a nine-year-old version of myself sitting in my Mom’s closet digging for hidden Christmas gifts. I could still smell the lavender that clung to her dresses, all neatly pressed and hanging above my head like satin treetops.

I had spotted a cardboard box that looked full to the point of bursting and thought I’d for sure hit the jackpot. In minutes I’d be knee deep in Barbie dolls and dress-up clothes. I could feel there was something special in that box. But when I lifted the lid my fingers went immediately to a book. It didn’t look identical to this one, but it was close. I remember being mesmerized by the verses inside, they were like poetry, but all in my mother’s writing. I never knew she had such beautiful words inside of her. It didn’t last long though. Mom found me and ripped the book from my hands. She hid it in the top of her closet and made me promise to never touch it again. She held me for an hour after that, crying, her arms clinging to me, trembling and rubbery. That was the day I knew that she had answers. She knew exactly why I was the way I was and it was clear that she would die before explaining it to me. And in the end, she did.

Wiping a warm tear from my cheek I flipped to the middle of the book. I peeled back the page and caught by breath as the scent of lavender burst across my face, infusing me with memories of my mom. Underneath a sprig of dried lavender there was a silver chain tucked away into the binding. I tugged at it carefully until it finally came loose. The lavender sprig turned to dust in an instant. There was a charm attached to the end. I laid the silver chain out next to the book to examine it. It was beautiful. An iron setting with a small green stone encased between four tiny claws. Maybe jade? I flipped it over. There were strange markings on the back too. I picked it up and slipped it over my head without thinking.

“What’s that?” I jumped and my cheeks went hot at the sound of Grams’ voice. For some reason I suddenly felt like a five-year-old version of myself getting caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“Um…I don’t really know. I found it under a floorboard in here. Did you know it was here?” I asked, discreetly tucking the necklace into my shirt.

She sat down next to me, her eyes wide. “No. I didn’t.”

I slid it over to her for a closer look. She flipped through the pages silently for a moment. Her emotions took me by surprise. Warm memories, discovery, longing. It was as if she had been reunited with a very old friend.

“My God…Rowan look at the date.” She pointed to the first page. The name Rebecca Foster was followed by the date 1692.

“This must have belonged to the original owners,” she said. “This is wonderful.”

“What is it?” I asked hoping she’d know. Grams always knew a lot about history. Especially when it came to this stuff.

“I’m not sure. Maybe...” She paused, her face twisting as she strained to read the writing. “I can’t be sure but I believe this might be an old grimoire.”

“A what?”

“A grimoire, or a book of shadows.” She repeated and slid it back to me. “It’s a secret book of magic and spells that belonged to a witch. In many cases the books themselves were also believed to be imbued with magical powers.”

Magical powers? When I was a kid I used to think of my ability that way. It was a nice way to paint something ugly a pretty color. But if she was right, could that be what it really was? What my mom didn’t want me to know? I shook the thought off. Grams might believe in this stuff, but I wasn’t so easy.

“You should be careful with that Rowan.” The look on her face showed that she already regretted giving it back to me. “It’s no joke.”

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff Grams.”

“When you start playing with magic, if that is what this is, the kinds of spirits you invoke won’t care if you believe or not Rowan.”

I rolled my eyes and tucked it into a drawer, afraid that she might change her mind.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful with that,” she said.

I nodded my head. “I will. It’s probably just some old journal Grams, really. I can’t even read half of it.”

She nodded, seeming satisfied enough before pausing in the doorway.

“Oh by the way, Alex was looking for you today.”

I could feel the confusion twisting across my face. Alex?

“Who?”

“Black hair. Blue eyes. About your age.” It only took a second for me to realize who she was describing, and a thrill of heat raced through me.

“What did he say?”

“He just asked if the new girl was coming in today. I told him no but that you would be in tomorrow. Do you know him?”

“Not exactly.” I hesitated wondering how much interest I should be showing. “How do you know him?”

“I don’t really. He’s just a boy that I’ve seen in the store lately. He seems very nice.”

“Does he live near here? I’ve seen him outside the house a few times.”

The skin between her eyes furrowed in thought. “I really don’t know Rowan. I only learned his name today, and I was lucky to get that. He’s not much of a talker.”

A laugh slipped past my lips. At least it wasn’t just me.

“So you’ll be going to work tomorrow I take it?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I finally stopped fighting the smile that was tugging at my lips and let it spread happily across my face. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

It’s getting harder to get away already. How can I continue like this? But then again how can I not? Aunt Marion invited Annabelle here today for tea and to fill her head with fantasies of an engagement. She thinks that if we marry that our two rival covens will join. She’s becoming too hungry for power. I wish mother were alive. She would never let this happen. And I don’t love Annabelle. Though she is beautiful, she does not possess my heart or my affection. They already belong to someone else, however ridiculous it may seem. And I will see her tomorrow. I will hear my angel’s voice.