Perigee Moon (6 page)

~ Alexander 1692

***

I tossed my purse behind the counter and tied the ugly green apron I was forced to wear around my waist. Not the outfit I wanted to be wearing when the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen came walking through the door, might I add. Grams giggled.

“It’s not very flattering is it?” she said with a smile, as she motioned to the apron.

“Thanks for reminding me,” I groaned.

“Well, I don’t think it’s that necessary if you want to take it off.” She focused on the inventory sheet that she was working on as she spoke.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Just put it behind the counter.”

I didn’t give her time to change her mind. I yanked it over my head and shoved it behind the counter next to my purse.

“Finish this up for me will you dear? I have to get home to start on dinner. Pot roast tonight.” She slid the sheet over to me. I nodded and picked up where she left off.

“Sounds good,” I said.

“I’ll see you tonight. Your grandpa will be here in a few hours to help you close up.” She waved as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. I waved without looking up, already immersing myself in the task at hand. To most people something like inventory might seem mundane. But I didn’t mind it. At least it was something else to think about. My fingers were pecking at the calculator, adding up the cans of chicken soup that Grams had counted when the doorbell chimed and the sound of someone shuffling into the store broke my thoughts. I didn’t bother to glance up. Grams rarely made it out of this place on the first try. She was the most forgetful person I knew.

“Don’t tell me you already changed your mind about the apron?” I laughed as I focused on the next row of numbers.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” My fingers froze when I realized that it wasn’t her. Brushing the curtain of dark hair back from my face I slowly let my gaze drift upward until I met his curious eyes. His face, intense but careful, was just a foot from mine as he lingered on the other side of the counter.

“Um…sorry… I thought you were someone else,” I stuttered, my breaths already coming in too shallow. I was starting to feel light headed. He had a thick British accent. I wasn’t expecting that. He smiled.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked, trying to seem cool and nonchalant, knowing full well I wasn’t pulling it off. His smile was too much. Blood heated, pooled underneath my cheeks, exposing me in the most embarrassing way.

He ran his hand through his hair and dropped his eyes to the floor; his face looking torn like it had the last time he’d been here. I waited for him to bolt, but prayed that he’d stay.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked.

“Rowan,” I answered, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. It helped that I was a little stunned.

“I’m Alex.” He stuck his hand out. I let my fingers close around his, almost losing my balance as the warmth from his hand invaded my blood stream. I was no longer cold inside. I was boiling. He stared at our two hands intertwined for a moment like he could feel it too before quickly pulling away.

“Do you go to school around here?” I said, trying not to sound too desperate to learn something about him.

“No,” he said.

“Oh…do you live near here?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay…” I hesitated before continuing, biting my lip and fighting my nerves. “Have you been watching me?”

He froze, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine. The briefest flash of panic flared up before he smiled.

“Would it bother you if I had been?” he said, amused.

My heart almost stopped. “That depends.”

“On what?” He leaned heavily against the counter, his eyes fixed on mine.

“It depends on why you’re watching me.” I had to force the air to pump in and out of my lungs. The warmth inside was almost too much. It was numbing me, healing me.

His eyes drifted over me before he stopped, the smile falling from his face. “This is wrong,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to me. His eyes drifted back towards the door.

“What?” I could feel the panic rising up inside me. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.

“I’m sorry Rowan. It was very nice to meet you, but I shouldn’t have come here.” He turned for the door.

“Wait.” He stopped and halfway turned to face me, his hand on the door. He didn’t want to go. I could feel it, an invisible stream of energy pulsing between us.

“You didn’t answer me. You’ve been outside my house in the middle of the night. You’ve been here in the store twice now. You owe me an answer.” I clutched the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned paper white, forcing myself not to chase after him. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to know you,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I shouldn’t want that Rowan. And you shouldn’t want to know me.” He turned and sprinted through the door without giving me a chance to speak.  

I glanced at the clock across the room. It was one o’clock in the morning. I’d been staring listlessly out the window for hours waiting for a glimpse of him, but he never came. The edge of the forest swayed in the wind, a dark mass of shadows dancing in silence. The house was quiet and I felt alone. I missed my mom so much it hurt at times like this. And I hated it. I hated the memories. The reminders. But more than anything I hated that I was sitting here aching over a boy I didn’t even know. It didn’t touch the pain I felt for my mom, but still it was there. A dull throb in the background of my thoughts. A reminder of something else, or rather someone else, that I wanted and couldn’t have.

I pulled down my sleeve and wiped the senseless tears away that were streaming down my face. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging across the room and I cringed at the sight. Dad may have been able to escape the cruel reminder of my mother that was my face, but I couldn’t. I still had to stare at the same emerald green eyes, the same sharp nose, the same pouty lips. I used to be grateful that I had inherited some of her beauty, but now I resented it.

Finally I shoved the window shut, cutting off the cool night breeze that had been circulating through the room. I needed something to keep my mind off of things. The scars on my wrists were tingling with awareness. I was a house of cards and one wrong move could send me toppling over into the black abyss that was waiting to swallow me whole. I yanked open the drawer to my nightstand, desperate, and found the leather bound book there, thankful that Grams’ hadn’t changed her mind. I peeled open the cover and started to read. It was strange feeling how my fingertips pulsed with energy the second they came in contact with the cracked leather binding. This power was different than the kind I got from emotions. This was like nothing I’d ever felt. This felt like…home. I flipped through the pages slowly trying to make out the clusters of entries. I could tell that it had belonged to a woman. She had beautiful penmanship. The entries started out light but grew darker and more desperate by the page. I ran my fingers across the faded journal entry and read.

William is ill. The others here in the colony hold no hope for him and refuse to help. They tell me it is God’s way. That it is his fate. I cannot accept it. I will not accept it. I will find a way. I will invoke the spirits. I care not of the consequences. March, 13
^th
1691.

The next few pages were filled with lists of ingredients. Herbs, crystals, candles, along with several healing spells. Most were too faded to read. I turned the page to find another journal entry.

 William is worse today. His skin burns like fire and the boils have spread. He is delirious and does not recognize me. He only asks for Alexander. Nothing is working. I cannot understand why the spirits have failed me. The others blame me for my husband’s condition. They say God is punishing me for dealing in the black arts. They call me a witch. I hear their whispers. I sense their fear. They say I am evil, that I cavort with the devil. They know nothing. I have to keep trying. I will not lose my William. March, 18
^th
1691.

My fingers clawed desperately at the pages, my eyes skimming for an entry that described her husband’s recovery. I needed her ending to be happy. I needed her ending to be different than mine, different than my dad’s. I quickly turned through the next pages only pausing long enough to realize that the entries were growing shorter; the desperation gone and a dark surrender taking its place. I held my breath as I read the final passage.

They have buried him beneath the willow tree behind our home. Alexander is devastated. He sits by his father’s grave day and night, his once bright eyes are now hollow and unwelcoming. He does not feel him as I do. He is still here. He finds me every morning beneath the clouds, in the briny gusts of wind that sing through the trees. He dances through my hair and caresses my skin and fills my lungs. And at these times my heart sings with joy, for I know what no one else seems to see. He is here. My beloved is the wind. April, 14
^th
1691.

The tears were swelling behind my eyes now. Tears for this desperate woman who was willing to sacrifice everything to save the one she loved. I felt strangely connected to her in that way. I would have done anything to save my mom.

I couldn’t read anymore of this woman’s pain. With her every word the sword in my own heart was twisting deeper and deeper.

I flipped to the page that had held the necklace that I now wore around my neck. The crushed lavender still dusted the page. I carefully pushed it aside until the fine powder was tucked into the binding and strained to read the faded inscription.

Mother of Earth, Goddess of great. Part the winds of time and fate.

We offer the fire, the salt, the power. Aid me on my quest this hour.

I repeated the phrase as a whisper, my fingers buzzing against the paper.

Something stirred inside me.

A churning warmth, a slow burn of quiet energy. It was like someone had raked over a bed of coals and ignited a dormant flame. I jumped as a cold breeze blew through my hair and stirred the curtains across the room. My eyes darted to the window, my chest tight with panic. It was closed. I clutched at the necklace hanging around my neck, suddenly realizing that it was cold like ice against my skin. I lifted it out of my shirt and laid the stone incased in iron across my palm. A shiver resonated through me but not from the cold. Fear was rippling down my spine in tiny waves as my palm pulsed like blood behind a bruise. I slammed the book closed and shoved it back into the drawer, then laid the necklace out across my bed. I stared at it for a moment not knowing what to believe. I must be losing it. Grams’ stories were getting to me. Not to mention Paige and her stupid theories about my house being haunted. After a moment I ran my finger across the stone. It was warm. Not in an unusual way, but like I’d had it against my chest all along. I laughed, letting a large gust of air escape from my lungs, before grabbing the chain and slipping it back around my neck. I needed to get some sleep.

I flipped off the light and lowered my face until it found the cool fabric of my pillowcase. I was determined not to think of Mom tonight. I would not lie to myself anymore. I would not think about Alex. I would not think about magic or spells or Grams’ crazy stories. Tonight I would sleep. For the first time in over a month I would really sleep.

What a coward I am! I spoke to her. I learned her name. Rowan. Goddess what a beautiful name! But then I ran, like a frightened schoolboy, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me until I’d reached Aunt Marion’s front steps. The way she looks at me, it is as if she’s looking right through me to the depths of my soul. Can I really let her love me knowing what I already know? That if I stay with her it will only lead to my demise. I can’t hurt her. God in heaven tell me what to do.

~ Alexander 1692

***

It was the last day of school. I felt like I’d been running a marathon, and now I was about to reach the end. My limbs weak, my lungs fighting for air and I was hurtling towards the finish line. The bright red tape marking the end of the race was flickering in the sun, waiting for the clock to strike three. My eyes caught sight of the clock above Mr. Harvey’s desk for about the hundredth time. Seven minutes and I would be free. We had finished finals the day before so today was pretty much a free day. A day for tearful goodbyes and yearbooks to be signed. The excitement surrounding my arrival had died down enough so that it wasn’t nearly as difficult to fade into the background anymore. I was thankful for that. Today people were preoccupied with friends they had known since grade school and mapping out their summer plans. Well, most people were anyway. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Max staring at me. Something heated like desire and dark like sludge crawled out of his gaze, wrapping around me like a tourniquet. I swallowed and turned away, showing him the back of my head, hoping he’d lose interest. I flinched when a folded note landed on my desk. It was from Paige, who was sitting three seats back.