Chapter 21
An arm draped in white moved through the air as sparkles and a flash of smoke poofed from the fire that was crackling so brightly against the night.
She could make out five other people, maybe she knew them, but their faces were blurred like clay that a sculptor had smudged with their hands.
There was something, some kind of chanting, and it sounded ominous.
A smell hit her; bergamot and dust. And then the woman in the white flowing dress turned her head and said something, words she couldn't decipher.
Her face was clear, a familiarity that was small but she couldn't place her.
Short brown hair and pretty eyes that would be called beautiful if they didn't have a glint of anger in them.
And maybe something a little more, something deeper like evil.
Her smile was unkind but excited. Someone said her name.
He said her name.
Heart leaping and panic engaged, she dragged in thick air that had that cloying scent.
It dispersed through her until it coated her tongue and throat; a thick layer of dust over too-hot citrus.
Eloise coughed and gagged and spit on the ground.
Before her nestled in the dirt and spring grass was a silver chain holding a silver heart, but as she bent down to grab it a knocking sound jolted her.
The most decadent waking of the day pulled Eloise from her sleep.
And while her head was full, her tongue felt thick.
She was fairly certain she was going to lose everything currently in her stomach, but she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight in front of her.
She sat up and put a hand to her head in a groan as she took in the dawn laying itself out in a proud curtsy of golden light and fog-covered grass that caught the rays of the sun in ethereal streaks.
Barely visible was the glass, and what she saw was an expanse of green grass with scattered bluebonnets, bunches of golden forsythia and a couple of still-growing oak trees being brought to life by the sun.
The river rolled lazily, cutting its snakelike body through the earth and though her body was in turmoil from the night before, her soul felt calm.
The knocking from her dream came again and the front door opened as she turned her head, closing one eye and groaning, when Taylor walked in. He had coffee in one hand and a white paper bag in the other.
"Hey, I thought you might need a little pick-me-up," he said with a smile. "No offense, but you look pretty rough."
"I am going to pretend you stopped at 'pretty', and I will take that coffee immediately," her voice scratched out while reaching out a hand, still having a hard time opening her eyes fully. She felt hot and sticky and made a promise to herself she would not look in a mirror to confirm that.
"I haven't been drunk in a decade. Did getting drunk get worse since my hiatus?"
"I think it's more the age than the actual act of getting drunk that changes it," he replied with a smile. "Although, who knows? The amount of chemicals they put in our food has probably quadrupled in the last long decade," he shrugged.
"You just, very adeptly, stepped around saying I'm getting old."
He laughed, the sound punching her temples. "You're not getting old."
He sat on the cedar coffee table across from her and pulled out an almond croissant as she took her first sip.
"This is so terrible. Where did you get this?" Her face was pinched in a grimace.
"Michelle's. His croissant game is unparalleled. His coffee is crap," he replied with a smirk that deepened his dimple. "But don't tell him."
"You do not need to tell me not to tell a French man his coffee is crap," she replied. "We could start a war."
His smile dimpled one cheek as he watched her grimace and sip. He watched her force down caffeine like someone looking at a piece of art that has taken them captive.
And then he remembered himself and cleared his throat as he looked down at the flaky croissant in his hand.
"I want you to know if you stay here, I won't typically just pop in like this. I wouldn't intrude like that. But this morning seemed like a dire situation in need of coffee and pastries."
"Mmm. Yes," she agreed with a groan. "And gentle, hungover reminder that this is your house. I'm the intruder." Then she tilted her head, which she regretted and righted it. "Wait, how did you know I would need this?"
His pause made her worry.
"Yeah, so Carol Weatherby got pictures sent to her late last night and she brought them in."
A sinking feeling filled Eloise, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol.
"Show me."
"Maybe we should wait-"
"Show me," she said again. And on his phone he showed her six pictures from last night.
Taken from far enough away, most of them with branches in them, that the person who took these was well hidden.
But still, one could deduce that there were six women in the graveyard doing something ambiguous.
And pictures tended to do something quite interesting without the honest context; they allowed whoever narrated them to tell any story that they wanted.
Embellish a little here, add some fictional hexing there.
She groaned again and then pressed a hand to her mouth. Taylor must have seen her face pale as he got up to get her a glass of water.
He handed her the water, which she drank in great gulps, feeling a thirst so intense she wondered when the last time she'd had any water at all was.
"Uh, what is that?" he asked pointing to something on the couch and she saw a furry grey leg poking out from underneath the blanket.
"Oh. Right. So, in my drunken state, I may have adopted a cat.
Or the cat adopted me? I'm not really sure what is going on with cats in Salem but it seems almost like an initiation thing so I'm just taking it as I'm now one of you.
" She finally set the water down and gave him a wincing smile.
"Sorry if I overstepped. I can keep him or her at Lost Souls. I need to name it, though."
He laughed, the sound rubbing her mind in the best way even as it bumped against her headache. She loved hearing him laugh. His smell of oranges and hickory bloomed when he did.
"I don't mind at all but uh," he scratched at the scruff on his chin, the sandpaper sound soothing as he looked at the cat and then at her oddly. "Well, I don't know how to say this, but that is not a cat."
She frowned at him before she pulled the blanket up and her eyes widened as she saw two eyes surrounded in black with white eyebrows staring up at her.
She gasped.
"Ohmygosh." Eloise slapped a hand to her chest and stared wide-eyed at the creature that was staring at her in a mirrored look of shock.
"I adopted a racoon. I brought a racoon into your house!
What do we do?" She looked frantically at Taylor who was laughing hard, the sound muffled with his hand covering his mouth and his shoulders shaking.
She laughed once, nervously and looked back at the raccoon who was on its back now, legs kicking in the air and smiling.
"Taylor. It's not funny. I brought a chubby trash panda into your house. I snuggled with it all night!"
His laugher turned almost violent as he was trying to hold it in with his hand, the shaking got intense, until she pulled his hand away from his mouth and his booming laughter spilled out, filling the room.
She looked at the raccoon, who looked at her, then they both looked at Taylor. Woman and raccoon waited patiently for him to gather himself until he sighed. The raccoon had scooted closer to Eloise, one little black hand on her thigh as she absently stroked its back, both creatures staring at him.
"Come on. I'll take you ladies back to the Lost Souls House. I have a feeling you'll need to talk with your friends, or coven, or whatever."
"Alright. Let's go," she said as he gently helped her up. She still had her shoes and jacket on and she turned to see the plump racoon jump down and follow her. "How do you know it's a girl?"
He shrugged. "Female racoons tend to be more friendly. And I'm pretty sure she's pregnant."
She nodded with a resigned sigh as her head pounded. "I adopted a pregnant racoon while drunk."
"Could be a great country song."
She gave him a flat look. He winked, her heart fluttered, and the racoon sidled up to her wrapping a dexterous black handed arm around her leg. She sighed again and said to the racoon, "Come on. I guess you're with me now."
"Please tell me this witchy concoction will work in five minutes," Eloise said on a groan.
"It will take more than five minutes, but as you can see I am feeling pretty good and I took it about forty minutes ago," Ursula replied as she pulled out lemon ricotta coffee cake from the oven.
Jen, Eloise and Tilly made a pathetic sight draped like noodles over the kitchen island.
Kelsea walked in slowly, a hand braced on the doorway and stopped to look at the scene blinking and trying to understand what she was seeing. "Is that a racoon?"
"Yeah. I adopted her last night between the bourbon, sage smudging and sleep. She's pregnant. And I named her Lady Macbeth," Eloise said without lifting her head from the wood countertop.
Kelsea nodded with eyebrows raised. "Okay," she said simply then took an empty seat just as Ursula set a cup of hangover tonic in front of her which she wrapped her hands around and made a sort of groaning sound of gratitude.
"You know what is terrible about hangovers in your late thirties?" Eloise asked, raising her head as much as she could without the beating in her head strengthening.
"Everything. Everything," Jen groaned.
"It's the added hot flashes on top of it. I feel like I cannot get my temperature down."
Tilly grunted in agreement. "I woke up with my pajamas soaked through. And on backwards."
"There's red clover in the tea. Should help with the hot flashes," Ursula said.
Eloise lifted her hand in a thumbs up.
"Can we name the racoon babies?" Jen asked.