Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

At first, when Wyn left, the days dragged but as my birthday approached, they passed like minutes and a week whistled by in an instant. In what felt like no time at all, there were only two days left until the full moon.

I sat alone in the dining room, eating breakfast. As usual, Ashley was out back and I had no idea where Catherine might be. She was absent more often than ever, disappearing and reappearing in strange places at strange hours, often retreating straight to her room without speaking to either of us. I kept myself busy, studying my ancestors' journals, learning all I could about my magic and reading through Dad's endless, mostly useless research, before closing out each day the same way. Laid out on my balcony, imagining Wyn was beside me. It took a while but I'd stopped checking my phone every five minutes of the day. There was never anything from him, just an endless stream of texts from Lydia, who had no memory of our shared vision. Eventually, all the fear and hurt went numb. Half my heart turned to stone, perhaps forever.

‘Emily, hurry up and get dressed, I'm taking you out.'

I looked up with a silver spoon of cereal frozen halfway to my mouth to see Catherine beaming at me from the doorway. She hadn't been at breakfast in days.

‘I am dressed,' I replied, tugging at my shirt. ‘These are clothes.'

She eyed my massive cotton button-down and bare legs, a look inspired by my fashion icon, Lydia.

‘Emily, hurry up and get changed,' Catherine amended cheerily. ‘I'm taking you out.'

‘Out where?' I asked, setting down my spoon and looking longingly at the leftover cereal milk. There would be no picking up the bowl to drink it in front of my grandmother, even if it was the best part.

There was a tiny smile on her lips but the tell-tale dark shadows under her eyes told a different story.

‘It's a surprise. Quickly now.'

‘We don't have a great batting average when it comes to surprises,' I reminded her as I pushed my chair back to leave the table. ‘You can't give me a hint?'

‘No hints. You're going to love it,' she said. ‘Trust me.'

It was my least favourite thing to hear her say.

‘Now, look in the mirror.'

The slip of silk Catherine had used as a blindfold fell from my eyes and I blinked with surprise at the girl I saw reflected in front of me. Pinned to her body, my body, was an utterly gorgeous white gown. I'd never seen anything so exquisite in my life. I raised one hand to lightly touch the shoulder straps that curved down around my collarbone in a tasteful V neckline, before turning to admire how the bodice relaxed under the bust, flowing out in a rippling river of fabric. It was light as a feather, moving when I moved, breathing when I breathed. Not that I was breathing, I was too shocked. I'd never seen myself this way before. Grown up, composed …

‘Beautiful,' Catherine purred. ‘Just beautiful.'

‘She's as pretty as a picture,' agreed the dressmaker, a pink tape measure draped over her shoulders and a shiny, spiky pin cushion in her hand. ‘The measurements you gave me were perfect. Is this for her coming out?'

‘More of a family tradition,' she replied. ‘But it's something like that.'

The mirror had three angled panes and I twisted and turned to take in every possible view of the gown. It dropped lower in the back and I could see my shoulder blades moving under my skin as I craned my neck to appreciate the way the skirt fell all the way past my feet, covering half the raised dais and spilling onto the floor. When we arrived at a random home, a couple of blocks away from Bell House, I had no idea what Catherine was up to. Ever a fan of the dramatic, she'd insisted I wear the blindfold as the fabric was draped over my body, calling out alteration instructions while I silently wished I'd bothered to dig out matching underwear. But she was right, it was a surprise and I did love it.

‘Might we have a moment?' my grandmother said to the dressmaker who nodded, her face filled with the pleasure of a job well done as she excused herself.

‘Emily, what do you think?'

‘I think it's gorgeous,' I replied, unable to tear my eyes off my reflection. The soft white sheen of the fabric gave my skin a luminosity I was not used to and just for a second, I completely forgot about all the darkness. The only thing I wanted in the world was to truly be the girl I saw in the mirror.

‘It's for your Becoming ceremony.'

Catherine joined me on the dais, examining the dress more closely. ‘I wanted you to have something very special. A gown befitting of your destiny.'

‘My destiny,' I said with a chuckle. ‘Two months ago, the only thing I was destined for on my seventeenth birthday was a learner's permit.'

‘Things change,' she muttered, pulling the fabric in at the waist.

‘I know, I have a driver now.' I took a breath in as she removed a few pins from the bodice then tightened it around my ribs. ‘You still haven't actually told me what happens during the ceremony. We don't have to sacrifice a goat or anything, do we?'

‘No, ritual sacrifice has never been part of our magic. We draw from nature, nature is life. Ending what nature saw fit to begin can only weaken a witch. Besides, I like goats.'

‘What kind of monster doesn't?' I replied. ‘So, living sacrifices aren't real? They only happen in the movies?'

Her eyes met mine in the mirror and my hope dissolved.

‘Back to the Becoming.' I moved the subject quickly on as she fussed with the length of my skirt. ‘You said you'd tell me exactly what happens when we got closer. We can't get much closer now.'

‘The ceremony itself is very simple, hasn't changed much over the years.' She looked up at me from the floor, her eyes misty with a dangerous combination of pride and nostalgia. ‘It takes place somewhere we can see the moon, somewhere we can connect to the earth and the ancestors. In the beginning, we used Bonaventure but since it was built, Bell family Becoming ceremonies mostly occurred in the garden of Bell House. There's something special about coming into your magic at home, don't you think?'

‘Special and convenient,' I answered with a smile. ‘Close to clean, indoor bathrooms. Is that where yours took place?'

Her expression turned bitter and she shook her head.

‘My grandmother chose to hold my ceremony at Wormsloe. She was very friendly with the family. Through her husband, my grandfather. Trouble almost always comes through the husband.'

‘You never talk about your husband,' I said as she disappeared behind my skirt again. ‘I'd love to know more about my grandfather. I don't even know his name.'

Catherine grabbed a handful of fabric at my waist and cinched it tightly, making me suck in a sharp breath.

‘I thought you wanted to know about the ceremony?'

‘I do,' I replied, sucking in my stomach. ‘I'd also like to be able to breathe while I'm wearing this. That's a little tight.'

Her hand relaxed and my lungs expanded, her sorry face reappearing in the mirror.

‘I apologize,' she said with a sniff. ‘It's still hard for me to talk about him. He was nothing like my grandfather, nothing like any man I ever met. I'll tell you all about him another day, I promise.' She returned to altering my dress, pinching the fabric here, opening up a seam there. ‘As I said, the ceremony is simple. Once we are in sight of the full moon, the granddaughter must willingly walk under an arch, a symbol of her choice to leave her old life behind and accept her magic.'

I kept my face as impassive as possible but my mind quickly flashed back to the things I had seen in my visions. The flames, the stone altar, a prone, bloody Catherine, and behind me: a tall stone archway.

‘Then I will ask if you accept the blessing, you confirm that you will, and you and I exchange blood. After that, the ritual is complete.'

I turned too quickly, hitting her in the face with the bottom half of my dress.

‘Exchange blood?' I repeated as she frowned up at me. ‘How much blood?'

‘Really, Emily,' she said, picking her hair out of her lipstick. ‘It's symbolic, a pricking of the thumbs. The archway, the dress, all these things are traditions built up around the ritual. All that really matters is you're here in Savannah, with me, under the full moon. Now turn around and let me finish pinning you. Jennifer might be the best dressmaker in town but her French seams would see your great-grandmother spinning in her grave.'

I stood as still as possible, arms held out in front of me like a ballerina as she made her alterations.

‘Catherine,' I said calmly. ‘The things we saw in the vision. What if it happens during my Becoming?'

A sharp stabbing sensation in my leg made me cry out and behind me I heard my grandmother curse for the very first time.

‘What makes you say that?' She slid her freshly pressed cotton handkerchief between my flesh and the fabric, her sweet features soured with concentration.

‘The things you just described,' I answered, instinctively reaching for the wound only for Catherine to tap my hand away. ‘The full moon, the archway. I saw those things.'

‘There's a full moon every twenty-eight days, honey, and Savannah has more than its fair share of archways.'

Her arguments were sound and for the briefest of seconds, I let myself relax.

‘I never should have told you about Elizabeth Howell,' she said, silently admonishing herself. ‘I can see it's taken root in the worst way. What we saw was something far off in the future. If it was your Becoming, wouldn't you be wearing this dress? Wouldn't you be in the gardens of Bell House? Wouldn't I be there?'

I watched my face change in the mirror, the hope I'd dared to entertain shifting into something else. Catherine hadn't seen herself in the vision. She didn't know she was there and I couldn't bring myself to tell her.

‘It's going to be a wonderful occasion, Emily, don't ruin it by telling yourself these terrible things. The only reason you don't share my faith is because you're afraid, and the only reason you're afraid is—'

‘Because I didn't grow up here.'

Catherine smiled like I'd finished the lyrics of her favourite song.

‘Fear has such power over us but only because we allow it,' she said. ‘I know your birthday will be a celebration. But if anything at all should go wrong, I believe I have a solution.'

‘You found out how to bind me?' I asked, that dangerous hope coming alive once more.

‘Not quite. I don't have a complete grasp on it yet but I will before we see the full moon.'

Gazing back at the dress, I watched as a tiny dot of red appeared on the white, my own blood marring the pristine gown. Catherine stood up, smiling at our reflections in the mirror, and once we were side by side, I was shocked at the similarity.

‘Don't worry, that stain will come right out,' she said, brushing my red-brown hair back as the speck of blood blossomed. ‘Nothing is going to ruin your Becoming.'

When Catherine left me outside the dressmaker's house, muttering under her breath about some local council meeting and the idiots in charge, I told her I was headed straight home, but as soon as she was gone, I changed direction. Everything in my visions pointed towards my Becoming ceremony: the archway, the full moon, Catherine's body, broken and bloody. My magic was temperamental and unpredictable, I was a ticking timebomb in a pretty dress and I couldn't help but worry that in two days' time, we would find out the hard way whether or not I was going to explode. I might not be able to evacuate the whole city but I could get the people I loved out of town.

There was no need to use magic to know whether or not Lydia was home when I arrived at the Powell house. One of the upstairs windows was thrown open and the whole square vibrated with classic rock. Her singing carried over the music, loud and passionate and totally off-key. One hundred per cent pure Lydia Powell.

‘Hey!' An ecstatic grin broke out on her face when she opened the door, immediately pulling me in for a hug, no questions asked. ‘If it ain't the stranger herself.'

‘I'm sorry,' I replied with an apologetic grimace. ‘I didn't mean to ignore you but the last few days have been a lot, my grandmother has all these plans and—'

‘No need to apologize but I did try to warn you.'

She pulled me into the house and I kicked off my sneakers to follow as she padded back upstairs barefoot. ‘What did I say about the whole debutante debacle? Your life is over.'

My stomach twisted into an ugly knot.

‘Hopefully not,' I muttered to myself.

Lydia's room was so perfectly Lydia, it was impossible to imagine anyone else could ever live in it. What had once been a very traditional girl's bedroom, canopy bed, pretty white furniture, pale pink walls, had been transformed by a riot of clashing colour and mixed mediums. The original canopy had been removed and replaced with what looked like tactical netting, the kind they made soldiers crawl underneath during training montages in movies, and while the walls were still technically pink, she'd covered them with a collage of neon fabric, cut in all different shapes and sizes, and stapled into the plaster. I could only imagine how her grandmother had taken that.

‘What can I get you to drink?' she asked, opening a mini fridge next to her bed. Ever the rebel but she still knew her manners. ‘I'm glad you stopped by, there are a million things we need to confirm before the big day.'

I accepted a freezing cold can of Sprite, offering a slightly blank stare in return.

‘Your birthday party?' Lydia prompted. ‘Saturday night? Three days from now?'

‘The party,' I said on an exhale. ‘Right.'

The pop and fizz of Lydia opening her Coke punctuated her disbelief. ‘Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday party? Emily James, what is going on with you?'

‘Nothing, only I was thinking. Are you sure you wouldn't rather go with your grandmother to visit your mom for the weekend?' I suggested, fully aware that she would not.

‘No, because I'm throwing my girl the greatest birthday party Savannah has ever seen and before you question that statement, do not ask me if I've rented a bounce house for the backyard, because I've totally rented a bounce house for the backyard. They are wasted on little kids.' She threw a fierce glare across the room when I opened my mouth to argue and I shut it immediately. ‘The deposit was non-refundable so unless you're about to tell me the world is ending between now and Saturday, this party is happening.'

Condensation ran down the side of my Sprite and dripped onto the bedroom floor.

‘Lydia, the world is ending between now and Saturday.'

She crossed her arms and glared.

‘Non. Refundable. Deposit.'

‘Lydia, please.' I began again, urgency creeping into my words even though I was doing my best to stay calm. ‘You have to leave town. You and Jackson and anyone else you can convince to take a trip out of the city limits. It's not going to be safe.'

‘Why are you freaking out? It's just a party.' She crashed back on the bed and sipped her soda. ‘And why are you so pale and sweaty? Bestie, you have to get a better setting spray, you look like you've seen a ghost.'

‘I haven't actually, not in the last few days anyway.'

‘Shut up, you can see ghosts,' she laughed at my not-joke. ‘You've been spending too much time on WiccaTok. Hate to break it to you but you're not a witch. You're the one who told me they aren't real, remember?'

‘I am though,' I replied through gritted teeth.

‘Em, I am all for self-expression,' Lydia said, lying down on her side and stretching out her legs along her bed, ‘but you're officially taking this TikTok stuff way too seriously. The ritual in the park, claiming you can see ghosts, that's totally OK but end of the world? Come on.'

‘It's not TikTok stuff, and maybe it's not the end of the world but it could be,' I said. ‘Lyds, you have to believe me, I'm a witch.'

She pulled her knees up to her chest and I sensed a flicker of doubt creeping over her. I could feel her mood and she wasn't impressed.

‘OK, this is starting to get weird. You can quit it now.'

‘You don't remember what really happened in the cemetery,' I said, desperate for her to believe me now. ‘If you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I don't fully understand why you forgot, but I think it had something to do with the black crystal I found in the ashes of the cedar wood. I am a witch, I'm descended from a family of witches, and I'm telling you this because you're my best friend, Savannah isn't a safe place to be this weekend.'

At first she didn't move. Lying on her side on the bed, soda can in her hand, she stared at me. I didn't move, I didn't blink.

‘You're a witch?' she said.

‘Yes.'

‘Is Catherine a witch?'

I paused then nodded.

‘What about Ashley?'

‘No.'

‘But you are?'

Another nod.

She thought for a moment then smiled, chin raised in a challenge. ‘Prove it. Do some witchy shit.'

‘I'd rather not,' I replied, looking around her chaotic room. ‘My magic is pretty unpredictable and I don't want to hurt you.'

‘This is classic.'

Her eyes rolled like wagon wheels and she threw up her hands to make bunny ear air quotes. ‘"I'm breaking up with you because I don't want to hurt you", "I can't hang out with you because my family doesn't approve", "I haven't been returning your texts because I'm a witch".'

‘You hear that one a lot?' I asked.

‘Maybe not the witch one but I'm fluent in excuses to ditch the weird queer mixed-race girl with the hot dude twin.' Her tone was bruised and cold, another rare flash of the vulnerable version of herself that she kept so well hidden. ‘Whatever, Emily, you don't need to lie. I'm sure you found more suitable friends your grandmother approves of and that's cool with me.'

‘Lyds, no, that's not it at all,' I said, throwing myself down to my knees beside her bed. ‘This isn't me ditching you, this is me trying to protect you. I really am a witch and there's this ceremony thing I have to do on my birthday and I'm genuinely afraid something bad is going to happen. I don't want you to get caught in the fall-out.'

Her expression changed, the defensive sneer turning curious, two little lines appearing between her eyebrows as she concentrated.

‘You really think you're a witch,' she said, her curiosity evolving into intrigue. ‘You really believe what you're saying to me.'

‘I really do,' I confirmed.

‘Sorry but I am going to have to see some proof.'

‘Pass me that candle.' I pointed at a glass jar by the side of her bed, the wax already half melted away. Bouncing across the mattress and spilling her soda as she went, Lydia grabbed the jar and tossed it to me before resuming her position, eyes locked on the wick.

‘Don't try any sneaky shit,' she warned. ‘If you tell me to look over there then pull out a book of matches, I'll kick your ass.'

‘You already owe me an ass-kicking,' I assured her as I held the candle in my hands and focused on my inhale, holding the air in my lungs, then letting it out slowly. All I had to do was concentrate. A bright pink flame sparked into life, flaring almost up to the ceiling, then settled back down to dance around the wick.

‘Holy moly, you're a witch!' Lydia shrieked, jumping up off the bed. ‘What else can you do? Can we hex people? Can we turn them into toads? Or is it mostly pyro powers, because that is still very cool if it's all you have.'

The weight of the last few weeks lifted just enough for me to find a smile. Of course Lydia was going to be amazing about this. Lydia was amazing.

‘I'm still figuring it all out,' I told her as she waved a hand over the pink flame, dancing with delight. ‘I only just found out and it's a very long story—'

‘And you're not going to leave a single word of it out. I have nothing else to do today.'

‘Eventually,' I promised. ‘But right now I need you to swear to me that you and Jackson will get out of town Friday night. Or at the very least, be on the other side of the river by the time the full moon rises.'

‘Because of your weird witchy ceremony?'

‘Because there's a really solid chance I might set the entire city on fire.'

‘It's not like I haven't considered that myself,' Lydia said with a little too much enthusiasm. ‘But they'd catch me buying all the matches and gasoline. That's how they get everyone, I saw it on YouTube. You're lucky you have the natural resources. What can I do to help?'

‘You can leave,' I insisted, reaching for her hand. ‘I'm serious, I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you or Jackson because of me.'

‘But I don't want to go,' she replied with equal intensity. ‘I want to help you.'

The calm quiet of her room was suddenly shattered by the sound of the front door slamming and Jackson yelling out that he was home. At once, every candle in Lydia's room roared into life with pink flames soaring up to the ceiling, one of them catching on the netting above her bed. Before I could react, she yanked it down and stamped out the fledgling fire. All the candles burned out at the same time, the wicks, wax and glass vessels dissolving into shiny, solid puddles.

‘Remind me,' she said, still grinding the canopy under her foot. ‘What time do we need to leave?'

‘The ceremony is set for eight thirty,' I replied. ‘Better to be long gone by then.'

‘For the record, I do not believe you're going to burn this place down,' Lydia declared, hands on her hips as she surveyed the damage. ‘But we'll be out of here by seven. Just to be safe.'

‘Seven sounds good,' I agreed, biting my lip at the shiny discs of glass and wax all around the room. ‘Just to be safe.'