The Possession (15 page)

I was in the shower when she knocked on the door and called out, “Daphne!”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got to run to Portland. The poster board is ready for my approval. Can you get yourself something to eat? Will you be all right?”

I smiled into the shower spray and called back, “Sure. No problem. Want me to come?” and I crossed my fingers.

“No, no, that’s all right. I want to head out right now.”

“Drive careful.”

“Thanks.”

I chose a black long-sleeved peasant blouse over black jeans. The color would keep me well hidden. Before I left the house, I made sure that my medicine pouch hung from my neck. It nestled comfortably within the neckline of my blouse.

Rowdy had a fit that I wasn’t bringing him along and I almost buckled from the pressure, thinking of the night I met Zach at Reading Rock. In the end, though, I thought it better to leave him behind and slipped from the house without him.

The wind seemed to rise as I walked the path to the cemetery. Darkness fell swiftly in the woods and I hurried along to secure a spot before nightfall.

I tucked myself into the corner of the cemetery, near the stone that had a red rose bush growing strong, a few yards away from Sarah and Ro. The bell on the gate sent muffled trills through the dusk as wind swirled around the walls and over the stones.

Then the bell sounded loudly. The gate opened and closed with purpose. I shrunk back and watched.

A figure appeared. Male. The top of his hair from just above the ear was pulled back into a single braid. The rest of his hair hung loosely but for a single thin braid down each side, just behind the ear. A feather draped itself downward from the center braid. Red paint covered the top half of his face.

He was dressed in skins, a vest and loin cloth with leggings and moccasins. Something dangled from his ear. A bone choker circled his neck. Regalia, Zach had called it.

Zach. I leaned forward with care. I hadn’t recognized him at first, but it was definitely Zach.

Wow. He looked—adult. And determined.

He walked without hesitation to the back wall. To Sarah and Dorothea. Once between their markers, he crouched and started to dig, up near the wall behind their stones.

Chantal had been right. What was he digging for?

It looked like he pulled something from the ground. Clutching it in his left hand, he refilled the hole with his right, patting the soil back into place. He sat back on his heel, one knee to the ground, and opened the small bundle in his hand.

The moon, high in the sky, shone bright enough to reveal Zach’s movements when he was not down among the wall’s shadows.

He stood and pulled a disc of some sort from the larger pouch at his waist and placed it on top of the wall. A few pinches from the bundle went into the disc, then he moved to the foot of Sarah’s plot.

Zach spoke, the words foreign to me, his voice in singsong cadence as he sprinkled the grave with yet another pinch from the bundle. He crossed to Dorothea’s plot and did the same, same words, same cadence.

Calm washed over me. It couldn’t be a curse. Some sort of prayer?

Ting-ting!
Zach’s head swung toward the gate. An animal perhaps? No one entered and it was too loud to have been caused by the wind. His gaze seemed to fasten on the rose bush for too long a minute, but he went back to his business.

He resealed the bundle and pulled a small branch from the pouch. He plucked off several leaves. Those he rolled between his fingers, crumbling their flakes into the disc.

Zach tucked the bundle and the branch back into his pouch then scaled the wall. Though he dropped from sight, I knew what he was doing. The rustle of greens pricked my ears as he cleared Vincent’s plaque.

Pffsst
. At first I couldn’t place the sound. My eyes adjusted to the darkness at the far side of the cemetery as the acrid odor of sulfur hit my nose and the match sparked. Zach touched the flame to the disc.

The brief flare of material caught faded, and a white tendril of smoke ribboned upward from the disc. Zach’s lips moved on silent words, then he lifted the disc to chin level. With one hand he cupped the smoke, wafting it up and over his head and face, to the right and then the left.

Tobacco. The distinctive smell hit me, backed by something pungent and almost sweet. I covered my nose until it grew used to the odor and my stomach settled.

Zach continued to disperse the smoke, covering Vincent’s grave with it. He stooped near the stone and must have placed the disc there because his hands were empty now. He held his arms out in front, palms down, parallel with the ground, and started to sing.

His words mingled with the sounds of the night. The smoky tone that coated his speaking voice gave his song depth, an aching loneliness that stirred my blood.

He turned his hands palm up and beckoned, beckoned then threw his song upward through the smoke, with the smoke, to the heavens.

Heaven, it appeared, was ready to answer.

Or someplace else.

Too much smoke rose for such a small disc. The column that lifted upward was almost as large as a man.

I’d no sooner had that thought, the world went crazy. The bell rang out. Wind whipped through the cemetery, creaking the gate and rattling bushes.

I leapt to my feet.

Zach fell back a few paces when the wind gusted right into his face. He kept his footing and pushed back to his original spot. Lightning creased the sky.

“What do you want from me?” he roared over the cacophony.

The storm’s rage ceased. A single sound rose from the ground. A wail that spoke of time lost and broken hearts and death.

Bone-chilling.

There really is such a thing. The cry ran up along my spine and coldness gripped so deeply, my teeth began to chatter.

I edged out from behind the bush not believing my own eyes.

Aunt Dwill. Dressed in a long black gown, she was nearly invisible in the gloom of the night, except for her hair, which had reddened three shades. She knelt before Sarah’s grave, keening back and forth, tears running freely down her face.

“My baby. My baby. Look what you’ve done.”

Zach stood directly opposite her, on the other side of the wall. I started forward, to offer help, to find out what the hell was going on.

With my movement, Aunt wavered then shimmered, nearly wisping away.

“Ro?” More a question to myself, it nevertheless set hell back in motion.

Zach’s head whipped in my direction. So did Vincent, the smoky column come to life, but he started toward the wall. Toward me.

“Leave her alone,” Zach commanded, and bolted forward. He sailed over the wall like it was ‘the horse’ in gym class and dashed toward me.

I had started to back away. Now I turned to run.

Zach tackled me. We slammed to the ground and he wrapped an arm around my head as we rolled. As soon as we stopped, he sprang to his feet and dragged me up with him. We ran to the gate, but Zach would not leave the cemetery. He held my wrist firmly and pressed me to the wall behind his back.

Vincent paced the wall. A cry went up, two people in torment, two languages. One sound, one pain.

I shook Zach from my wrist and pulled the medicine pouch out of my blouse. My hands shook, so I could barely pull it open, but at last the rawhide gave. I grasped the object with my fingers and pulled it forth.

The medal was dulled with age. A tiny feather made of bead and porcupine quill graced the bit of twine that ran through the loop of the medal. I held it forward, past Zach’s shoulder in the direction of Ro and Vincent.

“St. Joseph, Patron of Departed Souls, pray for them. St. Joseph, Patron of Departed Souls, pray for them.”

I wished I knew a proper prayer, but figured that would have to do. Zach’s voice joined mine.

“St. Joseph, Patron of Departed Souls, pray for them.”

The air stilled. They were gone.

Zach turned on me. His chest heaved.

“Were you spying on me?”

I shook my head . . . then nodded.

He stalked off across the cemetery, disappearing over the wall. I hurried behind him. This time I climbed the wall, too. I began to cover Vincent’s stone over while Zach saw to the disc and its smoldering contents.

Zach ground out the embers with a stone. He dug a small channel near the grave marker and poured the contents along it then buried it over, patting it down heavily to be sure all fire was snuffed. With his thumb, he cleaned the disc, a clam shell, and placed it into the pouch.

We both rose. I now understood why they painted for battle. I couldn’t read Zach’s expression through the red paint. It was kind of creepy in the moonlight. My stomach jittered, threatening to gel my legs.

“Chantal sent you.”

How did he know? I tried to keep my face neutral but felt my eye twitch.

“I told you. I don’t miss much.” He stalked off, calling over his shoulder as he rounded the corner of the wall, “Tell your friend if she wants to keep secretly following me around, she should lose the bright colors.”

“Zach.”

He’d put me on ignore. After he checked the gate and assured himself it was secured, he continued past the cemetery and into the woods.

I hurried after him. “I’m sorry, Zach.”

His head tilted, ear turned in my direction, but he didn’t slow down.

“I shouldn’t have hidden on you. But in my defense, I didn’t recognize you at first.”

He stopped. So did I, afraid he would take off if I didn’t. My words tumbled out while I had the chance for him to listen, “And she’s not my friend. I wasn’t sure Chantal wasn’t just trying to pull another fast one.” I lowered my voice. “I didn’t think you’d do something like this without me.”

Zach strode back to me and stopped so close, I had to tip my head to look into his eyes.

“If I thought I could keep you safe, I would have told you. But I don’t.” His gaze locked me in place while I drowned in the depth of emotion swirling in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”

He cut his gaze abruptly and turned to go, setting me free. I grabbed his arm to prevent his leaving. “I wouldn’t have interfered. Maybe I could have helped.”

“No.” He kept his gaze on my hand where it gripped his arm.

“Why not? I didn’t know the prayer, but I could have helped with the . . . the smoke thing, or . . . or something.”

“You don’t understand,” Zach said and gripped my shoulders, drawing me nearer. He studied me a moment, uncertain, then seemed to reach a decision and finished. “Vincent is getting desperate and he’s fixated on you.”

“Why? Ro looks just like Eddie. You saw her. And why didn’t he just go to her?”

“You look like Eddie, you’re more the right age, and your hair is red.” He fingered my hair. “And Vincent can’t enter the cemetery.”

“Sure he can. One night he walked right up to me . . .” My voice faded off.

Zach frowned. “When?”

I studied the ground, my feet, but could not avoid Zach’s gaze forever. I offered a weak smile. “One night. When I came out to try and send him back.”

Zach’s frown deepened. “You came out here alone?”

I nodded.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking me by the hand. “We’re going to talk.”

We hurried through the trees. My legs were long, but I had to almost run to keep up with his pace. By the time we came out to the Barrens, I was winded. He showed me no mercy until we entered his house.

“Want something to drink?”

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

But he didn’t hear beyond the yes. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned as quickly. A bottle of water sailed through the air towards me with, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later Zach came down the stairs. He had removed the paint and the regalia but had not unbraided his hair or lost the air of authority that had permeated his presence at the cemetery. The midnight blue Henley accented his eyes and the hairstyle the structure of his face.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Zach stood before me a man, and a very handsome one at that. I’m afraid I was staring.

“What?”

My face warmed, but I couldn’t stop gawking. I couldn’t seem to find my voice, either. I shook my head, mute.

“Are you okay, Daphne?” He crossed to the chair I sat in and lifted my chin. “I’m sorry I got so mad at you. Can we just talk about it?”

I swallowed my sudden attack of nerves, certain I could manage at least one word. “Sure.”

He offered me his hands and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s sit on the porch. The neighbors won’t have anything to say that way.”

We took our seats on the wicker swing. It was narrower than it appeared, and I could feel Zach’s nearness. He rocked his feet against the porch floor, sending us into gentle motion.

I never realized how many crickets we had in Maine. Thank God, for they filled the silence between us. The chain of the swing creaked the wicker.

“The Our Father.”

I slanted my eyes his way. Zach studied the porch ceiling, and the starlit sky beyond the edge of the overhang. “That’s the prayer I was saying. You’re Catholic, right? You could have helped with that.”

I dipped my chin to hide the pleased look spreading across my face. “Is that what you were singing, too? It sounded different.”

“No. That was spirit prayer.”

“The Spirit Prayer?”

“No,” he shook his head and placed his hand over his heart. “What you want most in your heart, you let your spirit speak it for you, to the Spirit World, to your God. Kiju calls it spirit prayer.”

“It felt nice.”

His gaze settled on my face and he stroked my jaw. He dropped his hand to my throat. His finger trailed along the beaded path of my necklace. It stopped at the neckline of my blouse, traveling no further, and he returned his gaze to my face. “I pray first for your safety.”

He twisted away from me and interlocked his fingers in his lap. “You’re too open. Every time they use you, they take a piece of you.”

I started to protest, but he turned on me, eyebrows drawn, and grasped the back of the swing and the arm of it, boxing me into my corner. “You have no idea it’s about to happen, and now don’t always remember it. It’s like he’s trying to cross you over. That’s not right, Daphne. It’s dangerous.”