Chapter Four #2
Other than myself and Lydia, there was no one else around save a handful of tourists, electronic fans hanging around their necks and golf visors dipped low over pink faces.
Most sensible people were inside, as close to an air conditioning unit as humanly possible.
Even as a relative newcomer to the city, I found it easy to discern locals from visitors here in the park.
Out of towners tended not to linger in the cemetery.
They wandered in, read a couple of the historical markers, snapped a picture of Button Gwinnett’s grave, then they found themselves back out on the street at the other end of the block, keen to move onto the next sightseeing opportunity.
Savannahians, on the other hand, were in no rush.
They strolled, they sat, while their kids scrambled over the climbing frame in the playground at the southern end of the cemetery, separated from the grave markers by nothing more than a set of open iron railings.
Savannah’s citizens were far less squeamish about spending time with the dead than most people and it wasn’t difficult to understand why.
They were practically everywhere. So many of the city’s historic homes and landmarks were built on top of burial grounds.
Just last week, Ashley had come home from some city planning meeting, desperate to tell me how Mr Preston on Bull Street had dug up a complete human skeleton while prepping his backyard for a new koi pond.
Mr Preston and his very expensive fish were currently waiting for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation to clarify what, or rather who, was squatting on his property. Or was it the other way around?
‘OK, enough murder ghost chat, on to something way scarier,’ Lydia said as she screwed her empty sandwich bag into a tiny ball. ‘I know why you asked me to come here today.’
‘You do?’
‘I do,’ she said with confidence. ‘You wanted to soften me up before confessing that you’re going on a date with my brother.’
‘It’s not a date!’ I protested loudly as Lydia clapped her hands together in delight at my reaction.
‘Sure. Whatever you say.’
‘It is not a date,’ I said again. ‘I am nothing but a last-minute platonic stand-in for the girl who cancelled.’
‘A girl cancelled on my brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘The day before the dance?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Huh.’
‘You’re going to feel terrible in a minute,’ I told her. ‘She’s in the hospital.’
‘Who is?’
‘His date!’
I knew she was messing with me but I still fell for it. Lydia paused to bounce her pointer finger against the tip of her nose. ‘And what terrible ailment struck down this alleged date?’
‘Appendicitis.’
‘Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight.’
She stretched the word out just long enough to make it clear she didn’t believe me.
‘It’s not a date,’ I said, my voice hot. ‘I’m doing him a favour, don’t make it weird.’
‘One question. Did he happen to mention this supposed date’s name?’
I bit my lip, racking my brains. He had not.
‘Because I hadn’t heard anything about a date or a girl with a burst appendix, and that kind of news travels weirdly fast,’ she said.
‘And if I was trying to get someone to go on a date with me who definitely was not inclined to agree to go on a date with me, inventing a hospitalized hottie wouldn’t be the furthest thought from my mind. ’
‘That’s because you’re a terrible person,’ I said, and she laughed. ‘No one would make up something like that.’
Propping herself up on her elbows, exactly the way Jackson had the night before, Lydia grinned. ‘Sure, babe.’
‘Besides,’ I added, picking at a few strands of sun-scorched grass by my side. ‘He knows I’m in love with Wyn.’
‘He also knows Wyn hasn’t been around lately.’
I flashed a warning look in her direction.
‘Which means nothing and I’m not reading into that at all, and Jackson definitely won’t be either, and I can see from the look on your face that you’re completely chill about it so I won’t mention it again ever as long as I live.’
‘Appreciated,’ I replied with a nod.
‘I know!’ She sat up, suddenly excited. ‘Why don’t we cast a truth spell? You make the potion and I can sneak it into his gross post-workout smoothie, then we’d know for sure.’
‘You really think the answer is to drug your brother?’
‘Almost always.’
She reached for the necklace that hung from her neck, the silver twin of the gold locket hanging around mine, her eyes wandering across the cemetery. ‘Although, if I were a witch, I could make the potion on my own …’
This again. A variation on the same conversation we’d had a hundred times since I told the twins about their magical ancestors.
It wasn’t a total surprise; if there was any chance she had a magical legacy, it made sense that Lydia would want it restored.
That much made sense. But the thought of willingly putting her in danger? That was something else entirely.
‘That’s not why we’re here,’ I said, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘I was hoping Emma Catherine might make an appearance.’
‘The OG?’
I nodded. ‘Tomorrow is the full moon and I have so many questions. I figured, maybe, if we came to the cemetery …’
‘Well, did you bring a chicken biscuit for her too?’ she asked with a kind smile. ‘No sign of her, huh?’
‘No sign,’ I confirmed. ‘It’s frustrating. What’s the point in having all these abilities if I can’t use them?’
‘I wonder what kind of abilities I would have had.’ Lydia looked contemplative, elbows digging into her thighs, chin resting on her fists. ‘Something cool, for sure. Can witches fly? I would be very open to flying.’
‘Lyds,’ I started slowly, rubbing my locket between my finger and thumb. ‘I wish there was something I could do but—’
‘But once the magic is gone from a family, it’s gone for good. Yeah, I know.’
The July heat weighed down on me, pressing my bones into the hard ground. Lydia batted the scrunched-up paper bag back and forth in front of her like a kitten with a ball. All that was missing was the tinkle of a bell.
‘Only, it’s part of your prophecy, isn’t it?’ she said after a moment. ‘To awaken your sisters, to revive dormant magic? That could be me.’
‘Funny how you’re super keen for the prophecy to be accurate when it might concern you but not so much when it talks about defeating enemies and ending the world,’ I said, one eyebrow raised.
‘Not that funny. My part sounds badass.’
‘Then you must not have been paying attention over the last few weeks,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m sure Catherine would’ve told me if there was a chance of bringing your family’s magic back. Your grandmother was – is – her best friend.’
‘Catherine said a lot of things, including but not limited to, I’m going to kill your parents and your friends, and I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little werewolf too.’
‘I don’t think they were her exact words,’ I replied with a frown.
But Lydia wasn’t about to give up that easy.
‘If it’s not written anywhere, how can you be so sure? You said it yourself: according to your ghosties, nothing is set in stone. There must be a test I can take. Can’t you prick my finger and drop my blood in the cauldron, see if the smoke turns white?’
‘Lyds, that’s the Pope.’
‘Then put me through the Survivor trials you did with Catherine,’ she insisted, refusing to let the matter drop. ‘Let’s me and you go for a midnight stroll around Wormsloe, tiptoe through the headstones of Bonaventure or whatever. Just witch me up already.’
‘Being a witch isn’t exactly fun,’ I said, still hoping to change her mind in spite of the fact I was well aware that had never, ever happened in the almost-seventeen years she’d been on this planet.
‘Besides, I have no idea how to even conduct the rituals. If I got something wrong and anything happened to you …’ I rested a hand on my friend’s knee. ‘I’d never be able to forgive myself.’
Lydia curled her hand around mine. ‘I know you would never put my life in danger on purpose, but don’t you have Witchipedia plugged right into your brain now? Can’t you press a button and pull it all up?’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘Some things are meant to be passed down generation to generation.’
She was right in a way. All the knowledge of every Bell witch who went before existed within me, but accessing it wasn’t quite so straightforward.
I wasn’t a walking encyclopaedia, it wasn’t like turning on my laptop and opening a search engine; more like chasing down a memory.
Sometimes crystal-clear, sometimes fading away or just out of reach.
There were things I knew instinctively, like which herbs to blend for a good night’s sleep, how to start a fire or summon the wind, but there were plenty of others that remained a mystery.
Where the blessing came from, why had I been chosen and, most frustratingly right now, how was I supposed to awaken my sisters.
Lydia twisted a chunky silver ring around and around on her pointer finger and I had to stop myself from telling her it would all be OK, because I didn’t know if that was true.
‘It’s not only about the magic,’ she said, looking over at me with her head cocked to one side. ‘I want to help. You have no idea what it’s like, to know about all this stuff and feel so powerless. If there’s a way to get my family’s magic back, I want it. I want something to belong to.’