Chapter Ten

ten

MAGDALENE HAD GIVEN JEMMA A lot to think about, but as much as Jemma wanted to hear her mother's voice, she didn't know if she could call her up in a séance. She'd done the exact opposite of reaching out to spirits her whole life.

Sitting on the floor of her bedroom, Jemma flipped through one of the library books, stopping on a page she'd found a few days ago, the corner folded flat. She scanned the ritual—simply titled "cursebreaking"—for what felt like the hundredth time.

She'd made sure to lock her door when she turned in for the night, not wanting anyone to disturb her.

A circle of white candles, which she'd collected from various kitchen drawers, surrounded her. Several were tea candles and the rest were tapers. In front of her sat a bowl of water and a saltshaker.

Jemma had no idea if this would work, but if it did, she wouldn't have to hold a séance. She wouldn't have to do the thing that scared her the most.

A vision arose behind her closed eyes: the Duchons at the front gates of their property, gazing with longing at what lay outside before taking a few slow steps out. They were walking more quickly now, their strides confident, their smiling faces turned up to the sky. They were free, like she was. Once they realized it, they embraced her. Even Simone smiled at her. And for the first time in Jemma's life, she felt completely accepted by family.

The main thing was believing it would work. If she didn't convince herself of it, the book said, she wouldn't see any results.

I believe I can do this. I believe I can break this curse.

She opened her eyes and set the book aside, the cursebreaking page showing, and began, the words of her mother's curse ringing through her mind:

I curse all the Duchon blood. From this day forth, I bind the family to this house. I bind them forever.

Jemma poured the salt into the water. She shut her eyes again and spent several minutes picturing the house and the family bathed in a white light.

A long exhale escaped her.

Did it work?

She didn't feel any different, but then, she wasn't the one trapped, she thought as she blew out the candles. Were all of the Duchons now in their beds, turning slightly at some unperceived shift in the atmosphere? Would they fling open the front gates in the morning and run out through them?

Jemma held the vision of them doing just that in her mind when she climbed into bed. As her consciousness slipped away, a whisper breathed against her ear. Sleepiness hung heavy on her, but a part of her mind shrank back at what she heard.

Not like this.

—

ON HER WAY INTO THE dining room the next morning, Jemma had decided she'd tell the family over breakfast what she'd done. She ignored the nagging doubt that she hadn't broken the curse. After all, she'd followed the directions of the ritual and, more importantly, she'd believed in her ability to succeed.

Just as she entered the room, Agnes came in from the kitchen, a silver coffeepot in her hand.

They both saw it at the same time.

A loud clatter broke the silence, the coffeepot now spilling hot liquid all over the floor. Before Jemma could speak, the rest of the family entered, their voices dying down when they saw it, too.

Fosette screamed.

"What is it?" she cried, pointing at one wall.

But there was something on each of the four walls.

Thick black streaks, as if smeared soot, reached from the top of the wainscoting to the ceiling.

At first, Jemma had seen only the marks. But as they all turned their heads to take in the whole room, they realized the dark streaks formed letters.

B

O

N

E and S together.

BONES

The five Duchons, plus Jemma and Agnes, could only stare.

The idea slammed Jemma suddenly, so fiercely that she grabbed onto the back of a chair to keep from falling.

This was her fault somehow. The ritual hadn't worked.

Honorine's eagle-eyed stare hadn't missed Jemma's near faint.

"What did you do?" the woman asked, each word clipped and clear.

All eyes moved to Jemma, just as they had on her first dinner here. The strangeness of that evening was nothing compared with what felt like growing malice now. They blamed her for this. And she knew they should.

Not like this.

It hadn't been a dream. Something had whispered to her as she was falling asleep last night. She'd dismissed it, of course, not knowing what the words meant and not wanting to face their source. It was much easier to ignore it all.

But there was no ignoring the scorch marks marring the dining room.

Honorine grabbed Jemma's upper arm now, shaking her. "What did you do?"

"I…I did a ritual. To break the curse."

Gasps rose from the others.

"When?"

Tears sprang into Jemma's eyes, turning the other woman into a blurry mass.

"Last night," came out on a sob.

"Bones," Honorine whispered, shoving Jemma away and turning her attention back to the walls.

"What does it mean, Maman?" Simone asked in a low voice, her eyes wide.

Honorine didn't answer. Instead, she approached the nearest wall, the one with the letter "B" on it. She reached a hand forward as if she meant to touch it. A cry rested just behind Jemma's lips. Don't, she wanted to yell, but the word wouldn't come, as if she had no breath to release it.

Honorine touched the wall briefly and studied her hand, slightly dirtied but unharmed.

"Agnes," she said, still staring at the letters. "We'll eat in the parlor this morning, while you get this cleaned up."

Before Jemma could do much more than begin to wonder how her grandmother expected the maid to accomplish that task, with the ceilings being twelve feet high, she looked around. Each family member wore a different expression, none of them welcoming. Fosette was clearly terrified and ran to another room. Simone's face was a blank stone now that she'd overcome the worst of her fear. Laurence's eyes moved from the walls to Jemma and back again several times, his features unreadable but hard. And Russell appeared more strangely curious than anything else.

Jemma had no intention of joining them for breakfast, and when Honorine finally turned away, Jemma slipped out the back doors, running for Magdalene's.

—

"WHAT DO YOU THINK IT means? And what did that? The ghosts?" Jemma asked her friend after telling her about the ritual and the aftermath.

Magdalene had listened without interruption, and now she was slow to find words. They sat on a shaded log outside of the cabin, the fall air cool on their skin.

"?‘Not like this,'?" the older woman said. "That's what you need to figure out. It sounds like a message."

Jemma had been afraid of that.

"Maybe what you did, they're trying to tell you it was wrong."

"But I don't know what to do right."

"You thought about what I said last time?"

"About the séance? Yes, I thought about it. I don't think I'm ready for that. No. I know I'm not ready. I can't…I can't talk to them."

"It sounds like they're trying to talk to you," Magdalene said gently.

Jemma spent the remainder of the day in the woods—hiding, she told herself—and when she headed back to the Duchon house, it was past dinner. She wasn't hungry, having shared some stew and bread with Magdalene, so she went straight to her room, relieved to avoid accusing stares from the family.

But missing dinner came with its own punishment, as Jemma discovered before the sun was up the next morning.

Instead of waking to the sounds of chirping birds or Dennis's clippers, she woke to Honorine's booming voice. She sat up in bed, confused at first about where she was or if she was still sleeping and in the midst of a nightmare.

Honorine stood at the foot of the bed, reading from a large book by lamplight. After a moment, Jemma realized her grandmother was holding a Bible. Verses about punishment and adhering to the law rang in Jemma's ears.

"What are you doing?" she called out.

Honorine answered only once she finished a verse. "Miss Barker, you missed dinner last night. You also disappeared before breakfast yesterday."

"I know that. So what?"

"So, when you first came here, I made it clear to you that you would join the family for dinner every night. And I mean every night. That is part of your responsibilities here."

The woman then continued reading in a monotone, describing bad things happening to bad people (and even good ones). Jemma jumped out of bed and slipped into her robe, snatching the sash closed.

She can stand here all day like a lunatic. I don't have to listen.

But when Jemma tried the doorknob, it didn't turn.

"I'm locked in here?" she asked.

"Until I'm finished, yes."

On and on it went, until her grandmother shut the book. Honorine then tapped on the door, and a small click sounded from the other side.

So she had an accomplice just waiting for the signal, Jemma thought, glaring at the older woman.

"Before you go," Honorine said, as if anticipating the very thing Jemma planned to do, "what exactly did you do when you tried to break the curse?"

Jemma eyed the door now that it was unlocked. She could flee the house, the property. She could leave and never return.

But the scorched letters had bothered her. She still didn't know what she'd done wrong, but something had whispered, "Not like this." And if she was going to save the family, and herself, she had to figure out what it was.

Jemma explained in detail how she'd performed the ritual, showing Honorine the book she'd used. She stopped talking, reluctant to reveal everything, but in the end, she admitted to hearing the whisper.

At that, Honorine's eyebrows rose. "You talk to spirits?"

"No, I don't talk to them. Sometimes…sometimes I see them."

"But they talk to you."

"Not usually. And I'm not sure that's what I heard. It might have been something else." Jemma's voice dropped, as if embarrassed by the lie.

Honorine's gaze went to the window, and for several moments, silence weighed heavily in the room.

"It's nearly time for breakfast," she said at last. "I expect you to be on time."

Twenty minutes later, Jemma entered the dining room. The walls had been scrubbed clean, but when she took her seat next to Fosette it was clear that the family's memory hadn't washed away. Conversation was minimal and stilted. All of it excluded Jemma. When she asked for the tray of bread, Fosette passed it to her without a word or look before asking Honorine if she could be excused.

She didn't realize how much she'd come to enjoy her cousin's company until it was no longer offered.

For the first time since Jemma's arrival, they were allowed to leave the table early, no doubt to escape the uneasiness in the room. The walls might be clean again, but vestiges lingered, almost as palpable as the smoky odor that seemed always to be present in the house.

—

IT TOOK SEVERAL DAYS FOR things to feel normal again, days in which Jemma spent as much time with Magdalene as she could, while making sure to be on time for dinner every evening. They talked in circles about what she could do next, with Magdalene questioning the effectiveness of anything found in a book, while Jemma continued to resist the idea of engaging with ghosts.

"There has to be another way."

Someone tapped on her bedroom door just as Jemma changed into a cotton nightgown, one she'd found in the chifforobe. As she opened the door, cautious happiness washed over her at the sight of Fosette's smiling face. Her cousin entered the room and flopped onto the bed.

"We were scared, you know," she said in her breathy voice, getting right to the point. "About what happened. I told Grandmère that you were only trying to help us. It's not like you were the one who…put that horrible word on the wall." Fosette shivered, her eyes darting around the room as if she expected huge black letters to appear there as well. "I'm sorry if I was distant. I don't know if I've ever been so frightened, except for…" She shot a look at Jemma, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. And Jemma knew her cousin was referring to her birthday, which had to be the worst day of the year for the family.

"It's all right."

"Do you think you'll be able to help us, to break the curse?"

Jemma hesitated before answering. "I don't know."

Fosette nodded, allowing the silence to stretch, although not in an uncomfortable way. She patted the spot next to her on the bed. When Jemma took it, Fosette laid her head on her shoulder.

"What were your parents like? The ones in Chicago."

A lie waited on Jemma's tongue, ready to spring forth. For some reason, she held it in place before spitting half of it aside.

"They were all right. Mama more than Daddy."

"Was he mean to you?" Fosette lifted her head, but Jemma stared at the floor.

"No. He didn't try to be." Why was she still making excuses for him? "He didn't know what to do with me. He did the best he could."

"What about your mother?"

Jemma bit her lip lest the full truth spill out. "She was…scared of him. He got angry sometimes. He never hit us, though. Just yelled a lot."

There. Mabel sounded like a saint, while Carl seemed unable to control his temper. Jemma's description didn't make them sound like bad people, did it?

Fosette suddenly turned to the door. "Oh! He's awake already!"

Jemma looked around, hearing nothing. "Who?"

"The baby."

Jemma frowned, straining to listen, but all she heard was a far-off owl hoot. "A baby?"

"He's crying. Don't you hear him?"

Fosette rose from the bed and turned in a full circle, her head angled. Without another word, she rushed from the room. Immediately after, Jemma heard the sound of her cousin's bedroom door clicking shut.

A few minutes later, the unmistakable sound of the usual lullaby reached her ears.

Jemma shrank onto her bed, a chill inching along her bare arms.