Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘Emily? Are you awake?'

I wasn't.

My room was dark when I opened my eyes, the only light coming from the open bedroom door, Catherine carved out in silhouette.

‘What's wrong?' I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. ‘Is it Ashley?'

‘Nothing's wrong, honey.'

She pulled back my quilt and handed me a pile of clothes. ‘We have somewhere we need to be.'

Ever since I cracked the password, I'd spent as much time as possible in my room, ploughing through Dad's research. It had been a long, frustrating forty-eight hours. For the first time in days, sleep got the better of me almost as soon as I'd eaten my supper on Thursday night and I was dozy and bleary-eyed when Catherine helped me to my feet.

‘It feels late,' I said as the room came into focus.

‘It is, which means we don't have much time. Quickly now, I'll meet you downstairs. Barnett is waiting.'

‘Barnett … we're driving someplace?' I mumbled in a thick voice.

‘Quickly,' she said again. ‘We don't want to lose the moon.'

I did as I was told.

Twenty minutes later, Barnett was as expressionless as ever when Catherine ordered him to pull over and let us out of the car.

‘Thank you, Barnett,' she said, when he did exactly what she asked without a word. Lifting the hem of her long but simple shift off the ground, she climbed out, barefoot. ‘Please wait here until we return.'

My outfit was almost identical to Catherine's, long and loose, only my dress was sleeveless where hers had long, bell-shaped sleeves. Both were made from some scratchy ivory fabric that skimmed over my body. I wouldn't have said either were particularly her style. Even though it was still warm outside, I felt exposed. Something wasn't right.

‘Emily, leave your shoes behind, you won't need them,' Catherine instructed. ‘This will go better if you have full contact with the earth.'

‘Go better?' I repeated, stressing the words in different places. ‘What will go better?'

‘I'll tell you once we're on our way,' she replied, looking up to the sky. ‘We need to move now.'

‘But I'd be faster in my sneakers.'

She replied without words and I immediately shucked off my shoes. Barnett stared straight ahead through the windscreen, his face completely impassive.

‘Is Barnett OK?' I asked when I realized he wasn't even blinking.

‘He's exceptionally well,' my grandmother said with a chuckle. ‘His family is under, what shall we call it? An NDA. Nothing harmful, a little herbal mix that helps him forget the more stressful parts of his job. I reckon he's the best-paid driver in the entire state of Georgia. There's nothing for you to worry about.'

‘Does he know?'

She raised one eyebrow. ‘He knows enough.'

The night was pitch black, no stars, and the moon had been reduced to its smallest sliver, curving in the sky like the stain left behind by a coffee cup.

‘The Wilcuma ritual takes place under the new moon before a witch's Weorden,' Catherine explained as we set off down the road, away from the car. I moved cautiously, expecting to step on something sharp any second, but the ground was strangely spongy, even though we were walking on what looked like concrete. ‘Weorden means "becoming", Wilcuma means "welcome guest". From tonight, your connection to our magic will grow with the waxing moon until your birthday, when the moon is full. Then you will be welcomed fully into the sisterhood.'

I followed her blindly through the trees, the fabric of my dress catching on their branches. ‘You could've mentioned this before now,' I said. ‘I might have taken a nap this afternoon.'

‘None of us knows about the Wilcuma until the night of the ritual, it must be a surprise. It only feels like yesterday that I was in your shoes.' She looked down at my bare feet and smiled. ‘So to speak.'

Finally we emerged from the woods at the side of a tiny cottage with a covered porch and two white wooden rocking chairs outside. The whole area in total darkness, the only thing I could make out aside from the cottage itself was an American flag, rippling in the night air.

‘This is where we're performing a ritual?' I was almost disappointed. As far as locations went, it was kind of a let-down. If nothing else, I'd expected at least a dozen or so candles in a circle, maybe some kind of altar.

‘Not here.' Catherine took my hand and pointed off to the left. ‘Down there.'

Beyond the cottage I saw what looked like an endless driveway, lined with live oaks, all of them bending towards each other and their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Each and every bough was weighed down with Spanish moss and it hung like sepia-toned tinsel, but unlike the flag, not a single leaf on the tree or frond of moss moved. Everything was frozen, everything was silent. This was more than dramatic enough.

‘Wormsloe State Historic Site,' Catherine said in a voice that implied something about the name was faintly ridiculous. ‘It's been in the same family since it was founded by a group of British settlers. They also came over on the Anne . Our families have known each other for centuries.'

‘So they won't mind us borrowing their back garden,' I said, staring up at the moss. The way it hung, frozen in mid-air, was unnerving. ‘If they're old friends.'

Something like a snort only much more ladylike huffed out the back of Catherine's throat.

‘I didn't say that. But don't worry, the trees won't tell them we're here.'

I held back as she started down the driveway, more uncomfortable than ever. There wasn't a single sound, not a crack of a twig or rustle of leaves, but I was so certain someone was watching us. Catherine marched on, her long red hair loose and streaming out behind her.

‘What is a state historic site?' I asked, chasing after her when I realized she wasn't going to wait.

‘Wormsloe was a plantation,' she replied, still striding onwards. ‘Do you know what that means?'

‘Dad made sure I knew my history,' I answered. ‘Why do we have to do this here?'

She turned to face me, her pale skin almost fully translucent in the black night.

‘Because magic is not good or bad, it's the truth. Our connection to the blessing is strongest in places with history, where lives have been lived, happy and sad. Aside from Bonaventure, Wormsloe is one of the strongest magical sites in all of Savannah.'

‘It doesn't feel right.' I clutched my arms around myself even though it was anything but cold. ‘Could we not do this at Bonaventure?'

It was something I never thought I'd ask. Please, Catherine, can we go to the cemetery instead of the plantation because that is somehow less creepy and inappropriate? This was all wrong, the stillness, the surprise, my bare feet and arms. I was too vulnerable, we both were.

‘We are not ignorant of the terrible things that happened here but we also know that without Wormsloe, it's very possible Savannah might have failed as a city,' my grandmother said. ‘The crops grown on these lands fed thousands of people and created trade, allowing the settling families to thrive, including ours. None of that would have been possible without the enslaved people brought here and forced to live and work on the plantation. We can't go back in time and change things but we can ensure no one is forgotten, that what happened here is acknowledged. That is part of our job.'

‘As witches?'

‘As human beings,' Catherine replied. ‘Although I fear these days we are fighting an uphill battle.'

We stayed on the path and the sultry heat of the day faded away. I didn't notice how much the temperature had dropped until there were goosebumps on my arms. The night was now cold and quiet, and full of invisible eyes, watching.

‘I've been reading some of my dad's research,' I said, filling the unnerving silence with the sound of my voice without giving away too much information. If she didn't ask how I had it, I wouldn't tell her. ‘It's really interesting.'

‘Is that right?' she replied as cool as the evening.

‘I thought he was working on a book about early settlers in the US but it was more specific than that,' I said, nodding into the night. ‘I found a passenger manifest for the Anne . He was researching the first Emma Catherine Bell.'

Catherine gave no response for a moment and when she did speak, I wasn't sure if she'd heard me.

‘This avenue of oaks was planted in the 1890s,' she said. ‘They feel ancient, don't they? You'd think they were so much older.'

Not exactly what I was expecting her to say.

‘Sometimes things aren't exactly as they seem. Perhaps the same could be said about your father's research,' she added, stopping to place her hands on my shoulders. ‘Emily, I know it must be difficult, wondering what other lies Paul might've told you, but please always remember how much he loved you.'

‘I know he loved me,' I replied, suddenly stung. ‘Why would you say that? What else do you think he lied about?'

‘I think there might be a lot of things he didn't tell you. But he did love you. Always hold on to that.'

And she resumed her steady march into the darkness.

The avenue of oaks went on forever and I was lost, not only in this strange place but in my own thoughts. I wanted Catherine to be wrong but I was very afraid she might be right. My own half-truths pressed down on my soul, guilt scraping at my edges. I was planning to tell Catherine about Wyn eventually. Would my dad have shared the truth with me one day? The question churned around inside me, my answers changing as quick as the breeze.

My grandmother, on the other hand, had never looked more at ease, slinking over the uneven ground like a lioness on the hunt and where my white sack dress was big and baggy, hers draped over the sharp angles of her body. Ritual attire but make it fashion. When we finally came to the end of the oaks, she directed me straight ahead, away from a squat, square building on our left and a clearing that looked very much like an empty parking lot on the right.

‘You made us walk all this way when there's a parking lot right there?' I grumbled as we left it behind.

‘The walk through the oaks was part of the ritual.' Catherine took my hand and pulled me off the path and into the woods. ‘If our sisters deemed you unworthy, we wouldn't have made it this far.'

I didn't bother to ask what would have happened in that scenario. I didn't want to know.

The woods grew denser with every step we took, trees growing closer together, knitting their branches into a tangled mess, naturally designed to keep people out. But witches, it seemed, were welcome. Every time we faced an impasse, the snarl pulled apart to let us through. Magic pricked the tips of my fingers and the ebb and flow of warm energy washed over me as we moved closer to our destination. Whatever was going to happen tonight had already begun. There was no backing out now.

‘This is the place,' Catherine said, her voice firm and strong.

No point in lowering it out here. There wasn't as much as a squirrel to disturb. It was just us. The woods, the earth and the sky. But what a sky. I tilted my head back and gasped. When we climbed out of the car, there hadn't been a single visible star. Now the black night was studded with sparkling diamonds, just like the third-floor ceiling of Bell House. Directly above us, the new moon shone bright, a pure slice of light, a promise of what was to come.

‘A new moon represents new beginnings,' my grandmother intoned, circling me slowly with unknown intent. ‘A new moon allows us to set our intentions. A new moon welcomes you, Emma Catherine Bell. Wilcuma.'

It took a moment to realize she was talking to me, I was too busy staring at the trees. Their boughs groaned with the strain of transformation as they wove themselves into a sacred circle, building a wall around me and my grandmother until all that was visible to us was the night sky.

‘All of those who came before and all of those to come,' Catherine recited. ‘We ask you to acknowledge us.'

‘I feel like I'm in a play and I don't know my lines,' I whispered when she came towards me to take hold of my wrist. She sank to her knees and I did the same. ‘What am I supposed to do?'

‘Just listen,' she replied, pulling a long, pointed dagger from her sleeve and placing it on the ground between us. ‘Just be.'

But it was hard to listen when you were afraid and I was petrified. Why did we need a knife? Why had she hidden it from me until now? The stars burned brighter and the sensation in my hands intensified, building and spreading through my body until I was afraid I would come apart at the seams.

‘Catherine, I'm scared,' I said, gagging on my own voice as the warm waves turned into burning walls of fire that crashed into me. ‘What's happening?'

She didn't reply this time. Her eyes turned black as I cried out, the pain turning into agony, growing more unbearable with every second. Collapsing to the ground, my limbs spasmed in the dirt until I was thrashing around wildly, clawing at my grandmother and pleading silently for her help. Instead, she held me in place and, with her eyes boring into mine, she plunged my hand into the dirt.

‘Earth,' she said, my fingers sliding into the soil like a hot knife through butter.

‘Water.'

Rain poured out of the cloudless sky, hard and heavy, soaking my dress and turning the ground to mud.

‘Fire.'

The flames appeared out of nowhere. Scorching hot, they singed my eyebrows and eyelashes and burned the back of my throat. I writhed around in the mud, desperate to break Catherine's wristlock but she was too powerful, too strong.

‘Air.'

This time, when she spoke, the flames disappeared and the rain stopped. I tried to take a breath to steady myself but it was impossible. The fire burned out because there was no oxygen to feed it. Our sacred circle had become a vacuum. Panicking, my lungs seized up, shrivelling in my chest. I fought against Catherine's grip, but it was pointless, she held me down as easily as if I were a rag doll. Without taking her obsidian eyes off me, she reached for the dagger and held it aloft.

‘Blood.'

‘Catherine, no!'

I screamed as she plunged it downwards, waiting for the stabbing pain. But pain didn't come. Instead, something hot gushed over the back of my hand, merging with the mud. Her grip on my wrist loosened and I looked up to see the point of the dagger sticking out of the back of my grandmother's hand, hilt pushed all the way up to her palm. Catherine slumped over, before falling face first into the dirt. I scrambled forward to turn her over and held her lifeless body to mine, too broken to do anything other than sob. It was only then that I saw the other woman inside the sacred circle with us.

Tall and pale with long white hair.

‘Breathe,' she said.

‘I can't,' I choked. ‘There's no air.'

She pressed her hands against my chest and my lungs filled with something pure and bright, something electric. In that moment, a doorway opened, allowing me a glimpse at the lives of a hundred women who had lived before me. I saw them all at the same time, watched their whole lives in one heartbeat, and felt all of their knowledge and strength in me. Then I exhaled, the door closed and it was gone.

‘The blessing welcomes you,' the woman whispered before turning to walk out through the trees.

Catherine spluttered loudly, a deep, gurgling sound, then jerked backwards to cough up mouthfuls of dark earth. She looked up at me, her green eyes her own again but violently bloodshot, rubies and emeralds staring out of a porcelain face streaked with dirt and tears.

And then she smiled.

‘Do you feel it?' she asked, wrenching the dagger out of her hand in one decisive move, barely wincing as she flexed her fingers. I watched in horror as the wound began to close of its own accord. ‘Do you feel the blessing?'

‘I feel a lot of things.' My hand was still covered in her blood and my white dress stained red and black. The sound of the fire and the rain and the memory of all those lives echoed so loudly inside my head, I could hardly hear myself think.

‘I feel it. We draw strength from each other, and Emily, you have so much strength to give. Enough to wake our sleeping sisters.'

She wiped the dagger on her thigh and snatched in a shallow breath as it slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground almost in slow motion. We both reached for it at the same time, our fingers crashing together as the blade sank into the earth and the world flashed a blinding white before it was all cast in black.

‘Catherine?' I yelled, desperately groping around for something, anything to ground me. The darkness was all-consuming, every speck of light and life extinguished, deep and heavy and suffocating.

Then the vision came into view. White-hot, pitch-black flames, tearing through a city so fast, the people they consumed didn't even have time to scream. Buildings were incinerated, cars and trucks disintegrated on contact and the sky burned an ugly, unnatural green. Only the trees still stood, the black fire travelling along their branches, swinging from tree to tree. It was the moss. The Spanish moss and the black flames were one and the same, delivering devastation to Savannah and razing it to the ground. As the flames passed through, I saw waves as tall as skyscrapers, washing away the carnage as though the city had never even existed. I saw it all. Felt it, smelled it, tasted it. And at the very centre of the apocalyptic horror, two bodies stood in front of a stone archway under a blinding full moon, preparing to do battle in the ashes of what was once Savannah. One crouched down low, ready to attack, the other stood back, unmoved by the threat and surrounded by a halo of black fire. The physical manifestation of all this death. As I moved closer, the figures became clearer.

A woman and a wolf.

The wolf we thought we'd killed in Bonaventure.

And the woman wielding this terrible weapon, was me.