Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
A s I walked along the path back to my cottage, the flickering of candles beckoned me.
Hyaku monogatari night. Once a month, Neighbors gathered in their lawn chairs after sunset and played a game where they each tell a scary story.
At the end of each tale, one of the candles is extinguished until they’re blanketed in total darkness.
Under normal circumstances, in another setting, this would be an enjoyable evening where the participants get chills and go home with a case of pleasant nerves.
This, however, was the Neighborhood, and the stories they shared were oftentimes real.
Ghosts, goblins, and ghouls might be actual experiences of the storyteller’s.
The primary goal for some participants was to one-up rather than frighten each other.
Louise was the first one to notice me. She shoved her fingers in her mouth and produced a shrill whistle that drew icy glares from nearby participants. When they realized Louise was the source of the sound, they quickly looked away, unwilling to challenge her and her eye patch.
“Is this corner reserved for witches?” I asked, approaching the cluster of familiar faces—Joan, Catherine, Meemaw, Margie, and Louise.
“You qualify as an honorary member of our makeshift coven,” Meemaw said, patting the empty spot on the blanket beside her.
“You know I don’t participate in this,” I said.
“Why not? Too scary for you?”
In truth, I was too frightening for them, but I had no desire to spit shine that particular trophy. “Life is scary enough at the moment,” I replied.
Someone shushed me as another candle went out. I had to admit, they knew how to create an atmosphere. Haunted houses could take lessons from the Neighbors.
“What brings you out here if you don’t want to play?” Joan asked, her voice closer to a whisper this time.
“I’m looking for Edith. I want to let her know I resolved her credit score issue.” I looked at Louise. “Bernice’s too. You can let her know when you get home.”
“Thank you, sweet baby Hecate,” Louise said, holding her hands in prayer formation. “Her anxiety is the reason I came here tonight. I’d rather subject myself to Bruno’s fragile ego for two hours than listen to one more cry of anguish over an irrelevant number.”
The volume of chatter decreased, signaling the start of another story. “And that’s my cue to leave.” I jumped to my feet, eager to escape.
Bruno stood to block my path with a stern expression and arms folded. “Nobody leaves hyaku monogatari without telling a story.”
I tapped the imaginary badge on my chest. “I’m Maya, remember? I work security.”
“Maya doesn’t exist in this space,” Bruno replied. “Only storytellers. ”
“The only story I’d like to tell is who killed Belinda and Judd, but for that, I need to know the ending.”
Bruno didn’t budge. Stubborn bastard.
Neighbors started to egg him on with jeers and cheers. Why me?
I huffed. “Fine. One quick story, but then I need to go.”
I returned to the witches’ section and dropped down beside them in a cross-legged position.
“Show-off,” Margie muttered.
Catherine observed me from her lawn chair. “My hips haven’t been capable of that position since 1979.”
“If you’re in a hurry,” Bruno told me, “you may want to get started.”
A proverbial hush fell over the crowd, adding to the pressure to perform.
I opened my mental drawer and flicked through the files.
What was the most innocuous story I could tell that would be scary enough to comply, yet not scary enough to get called to someone’s condo later tonight because they thought they heard a suspicious noise?
“How about now?” Meemaw pressed. “Some of us could croak any minute.”
“If only,” someone mumbled.
I focused on the inky void ahead of us. Although I could hear the gentle lapping of the waves in the distance, there were no lights near the channel, leaving the expanse in pitch darkness.
“This is a story that was told to me by someone no longer with us.”
“No fair,” Margie objected. “It needs to be your own.”
My head swiveled to stare her down. “No, it doesn’t. Besides, I’m in charge of security. If I tell a story of my own, it’ll involve one of you. When I was hired, I signed an NDA that precludes me from sharing that information.”
“I, for one, am greatly relieved,” Meemaw said. “Please continue.”
“Once upon a time, there was a god.”
“No fairy tales,” Catherine interrupted. “Gods are real.”
Margie shushed her. “Once upon a time is a standard method to begin a story, fairy tale or not. Let her talk before she changes her mind.”
I cleared my throat and carried on. “This god had a reputation for taking what he wanted, when he wanted. Person, place, thing. Didn’t matter. He was a god, and therefore, felt justified in his actions.”
“Typical man,” Meemaw said under her breath.
“Name him and shame him,” Joan shouted.
“One day, this god put his hands on the wrong woman. She was powerful, and she had two sisters of equal power. They were rightfully furious and decided to punish him. Because of their positions in society, they were incapable of inflicting this punishment directly, so together—quietly, methodically, mercilessly, they crafted the most dangerous weapon that ever existed to exact justice.”
“They went scorched earth?” Joan asked, hopeful.
“Oh, yes. In fact, I’d argue the sisters invented the term.”
Catherine leaned forward with rapt attention. “What happened next?”
“The god was punished. The sisters were pleased with this outcome, so they crafted more weapons. When the gods failed to serve and protect, the sisters would unleash them.” Like loyal hounds. “The rest is history.” A violent, shameful history.
“Is that the story of the first Valkyrie?” Louise asked .
“No,” Meemaw answered for me. “The first fury. The three sisters are the Fates.”
Bruno gazed at me. “So, who told you the story?”
“It had to be the first fury,” Margie interjected. “Maya said it was told by someone no longer with us.”
“I thought furies were immortal,” Joan said.
“That’s a myth. Anyway, the details don’t matter,” I said. “You wanted a story, and you got one.” And I didn’t lie. The fury who recited the tale of the first one of its kind was no longer with us.
“I thought furies were born, like witches and werewolves,” Catherine said.
“No. The Fates choose them.” And train them—relentlessly. Until their fingers bleed from gripping a sword too big for their small hands. Until they drop from dehydration and exhaustion. Until their eyes blur from the line of monsters waiting to spar with them.
“How do they choose? A tournament?” Margie asked.
“Depends on the fury. The one I knew, her mother sold her to the Fates when she was a child.”
A collective gasp followed my statement.
“Where was her father?” Louise asked.
“Dead.”
A stark breeze blew across the lawn and extinguished the last of the flames, leaving us blanketed in complete darkness. Somehow that seemed apt.
“Time to go,” I announced. I was glad for the disruption. Some histories were best left in the dark, unexplored. “Good night, all.”
I’d almost reached the trail when Meemaw fell in step beside me. “Slow down. You walk like your ass is on fire.”
“Not on fire. Numb from sitting on the ground.”
“My whole body is numb thanks to two of my edibles. Thank you for participating tonight. A rare treat.”
“Bruno was ready to toss me in the water if I refused.”
“You’re a natural storyteller. You should come next month.”
“I’ll think about it.” There. Thought about it and decided it was a terrible idea.
“I take it there’s no update on Belinda or Judd.”
“One step forward. Two steps back. You know how it goes.”
Meemaw motioned to her golf cart. “Get in. I’ll drive.”
When Meemaw tells you to sit, you sit.
“I might be able to help,” Meemaw said, steering the cart onto the path.
I didn’t doubt it. Meemaw was the most powerful witch on the island. “HOA rules are very clear about the level of magic that’s permissible in the Neighborhood.”
“Is that why you went to Joan and Gwen for help? Because you wanted a magical Honda instead of a Ferrari?”
“I had a very specific request. I thought they were better suited for the task.”
Meemaw made a dismissive sound. “Honey, nobody on this island is better than me when it comes to magic. I’m suited for almost any task you can think of.”
Say what you want about Meemaw, but the witch had unadulterated confidence coursing through her veins.
“You helped me with the locator spell. I don’t like to lean too much on one person.”
“Sweetling, you don’t lean on anybody. I bet you had to psych yourself up to ask any one of us for help.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I admitted.
“In the future, when you need a spell, you come to me first. I’ll take any excuse to practice. Cut open these veins and I bleed magic.”
I smiled. “Justine would have a heart attack if you started bleeding magic all over the island.”
“Listen, I bend the rules on occasion, but I understand the HOA restrictions. I trust myself today, but who knows in another decade? I might end up like Gwen, and Margie will have no choice but to sign the conservatorship paperwork.”
Her comment caught me off guard. “You already have it drafted?”
Meemaw polished her metal skull finger rings on her shirt. “I left the timing to Margie since she’d bear the brunt of my nonsense. Anyway, today is not that day.” She turned away from Magnolia, toward Palmetto.
“I thought we were going to your condo.”
“Let’s take a ride. Otherwise Margie’ll get home and talk our ears off. She’s always overstimulated after hyaku monogatari.”
We rode past the harsh glare of the tennis court lights. They were a stark contrast to the serenity and darkness of the lawn.
“What I have to share with you now is information that I should’ve mentioned before,” Meemaw said. “Belinda and I had beef.”
I thought I knew all the Neighbor gossip, so the fact that this piece of intel had escaped me made me uncomfortable. What else had I missed?