Chapter Thirty
‘Em, there’s someone at the front door for you.’
‘Wyn?’ I looked up at Ashley from the kitchen table, heart in my mouth. I’d barely seen him since the difficult conversation we had in the garden three days before. But Ashley glowered at me from the doorway. Whoever it was appeared to be an unwelcome guest.
‘The Weres?’ I guessed.
‘Worse.’
What could be worse?
‘The police?’ I barely managed to sound out the second word.
‘I said worse.’
Cocking her head for me to follow, I decided she was right. Waiting on our front doorstep, shielding herself from the sun underneath the portico, was Ileen Stovell.
‘Ms Stovell.’ I forced myself to sound cheerful, as though she wasn’t one of the last people I’d hoped to find waiting for me. ‘How nice to see you.’
She waited, anticipating an invitation inside but there was no way I was having this woman in my house. Ashley hovered at my shoulder until she was certain I wouldn’t cave then melted away into the parlour, hissing like a cat as she went.
‘Can I help you with something?’ I asked, all innocence. ‘I’m afraid my grandmother is still out of town.’
‘Still?’
‘Still.’
‘Then perhaps I might speak to your aunt if she is the person responsible for you,’ she said, as tightly wound as ever.
She was only a small woman but she more than made up for her short stature with an enormous attitude. Combined with the persistent itch that scratched at my magic whenever she was around, I couldn’t get her away from the house fast enough.
‘No one is responsible for me, I’m seventeen.’
‘And still a minor.’
‘And more than capable of looking after myself,’ I said. ‘What can I do for you?’
Any smart woman knew which battles to fight and which to yield, whether it was negotiating my TV time when I was eleven or trying to get Ashley to do literally anything she didn’t want to, you had to know when to expend your energy and when it wasn’t worth it. Ms Stovell decided to move on.
‘I understand you recently visited my home on Hilton Head, according to Virginia Powell, that is.’
‘That’s right,’ I replied, only slightly wounded by her precise blow.
My dad would’ve had me sitting at the desk, writing out a thank you card before we’d left the house but in all the drama, it hadn’t crossed my mind.
‘It was so kind of Lydia to invite me along as her guest and so kind of you to host us. It’s a beautiful home. ’
‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘And I wish you and the Powells had left it as you found it. I believe this belongs to you.’
She slid her hand into a large leather purse that hung from her shoulder, the handle decorated with a twisted silk scarf, and pulled out my Braves jersey.
Immediately I held out a hand to grab it back, stunned that I hadn’t noticed it was missing.
Truly I’d been more than preoccupied but I was never, ever without it, one of the few things I owned that used to belong to my dad.
Before I could reach it, Ms Stovell withdrew the jersey.
‘Or is it possible this belongs to the young man who accompanied you and the twins to the island?’
‘It’s mine,’ I said tactfully. No need to confirm or deny her gossip, no comment, plead the fifth, nothing to see here.
‘It’s no business of mine what happens under Catherine’s roof,’ she replied, still holding on to the shirt.
‘But in my house, as a guest of my friends, I’m afraid it’s unacceptable behaviour and I’m afraid I have no choice but to inform your grandmother.
I’m mightily disappointed in Alexandra and Virginia.
What they were doing letting you children run riot is beyond me. ’
With that, my tact ran out.
‘I’m sorry if you’re offended,’ I told her, all the strength of Bell House shooting iron through my spine.
‘The twins didn’t tell me or our friend, also an invited guest of the Powells, that the house came with a set of rules.
And like I said, Catherine isn’t here. Feel free to let her know when she gets back. ’
Her narrow, hawk-like eyes widened and her face turned pale, clashing horribly against her butter yellow blazer and baby blue sundress. It was rude, so rude of me, but I didn’t have the time or energy for etiquette.
‘If that’s it, can I have my jersey back? It belonged to my dad.’
I held out my hand expectantly and almost in shock, she passed it over.
‘Wait,’ she said, dropping the jersey to the floor and snatching up my hand instead. ‘Is that Catherine’s ring?’
The instant her skin touched mine, I left the present, a rush of black and then another sunny day, another Ileen Stovell stood on the porch of Bell House, younger and less severe. By my side, two teenagers, one redhead and one brunette. Virginia and Catherine.
‘What do you want?’ Catherine groaned at the tiny blonde on the doorstep.
‘My mama said I could come visit,’ Ileen replied, unbearably hopeful and shifting her weight from foot to foot as the two older girls silently debated her response.
‘Did we invite you to come visit?’ Catherine asked, petulant.
‘No, but—’
‘Then tell your mama we’re too busy today. Come back tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Ileen went from crushed to visibly thrilled in less time than it took for me to cringe. ‘Same time or—?’
‘Sure,’ Catherine said as she closed the door in the other girl’s face, Virginia giggling at her elbow. ‘Any old time.’
‘OK! I’ll see y’all tomorrow!’ she called, waving at no one, Catherine and Virginia already cackling to each other in the kitchen, making plans to leave for Tybee Island without her at the crack of dawn.
I watched through the window as Ileen skipped away, no idea she was being double-ditched, and felt a pang of sympathy.
‘S-sorry,’ I stammered as the past disappeared and I found myself shoved violently back into the present. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I have not seen your grandmother without that ring since her own mother died,’ Ms Stovell said, completely unaware of what I’d seen.
The blessing didn’t think she needed to relive the memory with me and I wondered if that was an important moment, not a huge defining occurrence, but one of those unpleasant little things that made you who you were, almost against your will.
How many times had she been rejected by Catherine and Virginia over the years?
Women she still called her friends today, who she invited to her home, looked out for when they were supposedly on vacation.
I wondered if their indifference still hurt the same.
‘How do you have her ring?’ she asked, and I realized she was genuinely worried about Catherine. My heart sank to think she might never know the truth, about what happened to my grandmother or how she felt about her so-called friend.
‘It’s not Catherine’s, it’s a replica,’ I lied, hiding the jewellery underneath the jersey I retrieved from the floor to avoid further inspection. ‘She had it made for my birthday.’
It was obvious she didn’t believe me but as my face heated up, the sun became unbearably hot, causing the birds and the trees and Ileen Stovell all to swoon.
‘Well, Miss Emily, I can’t stand outside in this heat, but I want you to know I have my eye on you as I know your grandmother would prefer it.’
‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. I would invite you in, only I’m literally on my way out the door,’ I said, too late for her to believe me. ‘If you wanted to come over some other time, I’d love it.’
Something ugly flickered in her memory and I flinched, knowing exactly what it was.
‘I have guests right now, I simply cannot commit to anything,’ she muttered, backing away from the house. ‘Just know I’m watching you, Emily Bell.’
‘Appreciate it,’ I called as she left, leaving the door open and watching until she was all the way out of sight.
Catherine had her whole life to prepare for my Becoming. I had less than three weeks before Lydia’s and only seven days until her Wilcuma.
Not that anyone was doing anything to make my life any easier.
Wyn was trying to act as though nothing was wrong, Jackson falling over himself to be of use and Lydia determined to master her magic as soon as possible, resulting in thunderstorms, record high temperatures and a tiny cyclone in Susie King Taylor Square that made the local news.
Astrid didn’t attack, Wyn was certain she would wait until she was at full strength, but the threat of violence, from her and the man in my visions, lingered around Bell House like a bad smell and my anxiety over Lydia’s initiation into the blessing didn’t help in the slightest. It was only a month and change since I’d gone through the rituals but it felt like years ago, the memories marring what came before and after.
There were no other experienced witches to walk me through the requirements, my favourite ghostly mentor was once again absent, so there was only one place to go.
‘Just the basics,’ I said, one hand on the door to my craft room, waiting to be granted entry. ‘That’s all I need. Doesn’t need to be a whole production, I just need to get it right.’
But the house knew me better. I’d always been an overachiever when it came to my homework, I was my father’s daughter, after all.
So when I crossed the threshold into the peaceful space, the desk was already laden with objects, some I recognized, some I did not.
A soft white leather journal was positioned in front of the chair and, as I sat, it uncurled itself like a cat waking up from a nap.
The pages were blank – or at least they were until I touched them.
‘A new moon represents new beginnings,’ I uttered under my breath as the words etched themselves into the page in beautiful cursive handwriting I recognized from somewhere. ‘A new moon allows us to set our intentions.’