Chapter 46
When Annie reached into the cloth bag and pulled out the scrapbook, she felt a sudden stinging pain. She pulled back her hand. “Damn,” she said as she looked at her bloody finger. Paper cut. Very deep.
After running cold water over it, she found the antibiotic cream and Band-Aids—a chore in itself in her disorganized house. Finally, she sat down at her table with a cup of coffee and the scrapbook that she’d heard so much about. She quickly flipped through it, the book opening to the center-page layout. The left-handed page was a key to the meaning of runes, which were drawn in black on the gold paper. Annie ran her fingers over it. It almost felt like cloth, it was so smooth, and the paper weave was so fine. What kind of paper was this?
Looking over the drawings and handwriting, Annie had to agree the scrapbook looked artistic—not something a newbie had done. She flipped the book around. It did say “Cookie Crandall’s Scrapbook of Shadows.” So it was Cookie’s book. Hmm.
She went back to the centerfold and untied a ribbon that was on the opposite page. It was wrapped around a shimmery button that had a moon face on it. She unwrapped it and lifted the paper. It was a pop-up— intricately cut, painted colorfully. A mountain range. Flowers. People. Trees. Cows. Horses. And caves cut into one of the mountains. There was a small bubbling in the paper, and Annie ran her fingers across it, found a slip of paper tucked between the page and the pop-up.
She pulled it out carefully—the paper seemed brittle and yellowed. She unfolded it to reveal beautiful script written in cobalt-blue ink.
The Legend of Starlight Mountain
In the deep ravines of the three mountains, which look like sleeping sisters, is a cavern where energy shifts and warps. This place is a gathering spot and has been from the beginning of time. People have sat together in the hollows, in the warm pools of water, on top of the mountains, and have journeyed together.
The Lady of Starlight walks here. She is the guardian, caught in a web of time. Caught in dreams. She is a woman of heart, spun with beams of moon, stars, and sun.
Lovely. Annie folded the paper back up and slid it into its socket. Evidently, Cookie was a writer, too.
She was mesmerized by the pop-up. It was so precise. She thought of the charming legend and looked at the mountains. What would this story have to do with Cookie? Anything? Or was it a flight of fancy from a creative mind? And why would it be in her scrapbook of shadows, which Annie thought was a sort of spiritual journal for witches. She gazed at the pop-up and thought she saw a sparkle of light coming from the biggest mountain. So charming. She reached inside and felt a tiny, hard object and pulled it out. A clear, shiny rock. Calcite? Annie held it up to the light and reveled in the beauty of the light shining and reflecting from the little stone. She placed it back inside the paper mountain and closed the page, wrapped the ribbon around the button, and turned the page to find more cobalt blue.
What was this? She ran her hands over it—a plush velvet pocket stitched perfectly onto the page. She could almost see why her friends were suspicious, given the perfect stitches, the gold-embroidered pentacle, all placed on a scrapbook page. It took skill she didn’t know Cookie had. But still, that didn’t mean she killed those young women—or that she tried to kill the baby. Annie slid her fingers inside the pocket and pulled out several objects. A delicate yellow feather. A bit of lace. A cameo pendant. The pendant looked old, Annie thought, but she wouldn’t know. And another envelope—milky-yellow vellum. Inside the envelope was a strand of bright red hair, some rattlesnake skin, and a tiny claw. An owl’s?
Annie’s hands opened, and the envelope drifted to the table.
She turned the page to find two new pages made of old, slightly frayed silk. In the center of the left-hand page was another document made of some kind of parchment. She opened it, and it splayed out like an accordion with pockets. Inside each pocket was a card. Annie had seen tarot cards before, but these were exquisitely hand-drawn and painted cards, and she was unsure that they were indeed tarot cards. But still, there was something similar about them and the tarot cards she had seen.
A beautiful young woman kneeled over a creek in the first drawing. The water and rocks shimmered from a special ink. The word Star was scrolled across the card. Annie counted seven tiny crystals glued onto the card, which definitely looked like little stars. Two urns had been drawn on either side of the woman, who was dressed in a three-tiered hippie skirt. Annie turned the card around. On the back of the card, it read:
I am refilling this pool so that those who are thirsty may drink, and I am also watering the earth so that, come spring, the seeds will grow. Come. Drink. The water tastes wonderful, like liquid starlight. Follow your star and have hope.
Evocative. Annie had never paid much attention to things like tarot cards. Were they all like this? Or was this a special deck? These cards must be special to Cookie. There were only five here. Weren’t there supposed to be whole decks? Hmm.
The next card represented the moon. The drawing showed a huge full moon against mountains and sky. Two wolves were in the foreground and appeared to be howling, heads turned up, mouths open. They were standing next to a stream. Annie turned the card over and read it:
Here are the dark mysteries you seek—the most primal and ancient powers. Poetry, art, and music stem from this terrifying, alluring place. Don’t lose yourself in this desolate, primal land of madness and illusion. Trust the river. Trust the moon. Harness the power. Don’t get pulled under.
Interesting and kind of scary, though why should Annie feel fearful of a card?
The next card was blue, white, and black and read “High Priestess” across the top. Were those pomegranates. . . or apples? Hmm. A woman had been drawn there with a crown on her head, which was a beautiful trinket embellishment—a crown with a crescent moon etched into it, attached to a veil. Only her eyes were visible on her face. Lotus flowers. Pillars. Scroll. She turned the card over:
Knowledge; instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. Behind the curtain a path leads to the deepest, most esoteric and secret knowledge. Possible illumination.
The next card was the hermit, which Annie had always assumed to be a male, but the drawing clearly depicted a robed woman carrying a lantern. It was sort of a plain card. She turned the card over and read:
Introspection, analysis, and virginity. A desire for peace and solitude. Always out wandering and searching.
Which reminded Annie of the story she’d read earlier about the wandering woman. What was that line again?
She is a woman of heart, spun with beams of moon, stars, and sun.
These cards did say something about Cookie. She felt alone. But it was her choice. And she had a purpose. But what was it?
There was only one card left, and it was the chariot. It was so full of images that Annie’s eyes didn’t know where to look. Chariot. Armored warrior. Sun. Moon.
MapsSphinxes. Lions. Horse. A canopy of stars. Annie flipped the card over.
Struggle. Obstacles. Movement from one plane to the next (water to land and back again)—conscious and unconscious, earthly and spiritual.
It succeeds by attacking from the side, rather than straight on. On the one hand, loyalty and faith and motivation, a conviction that will lead to victory no matter the odds. But the chariot can also signal a ruthless, die-hard desire to win at any cost.
Since this book was a spiritual book of a sort, Annie wondered if what Cookie thought she had was a purpose. It was clear that she meant to achieve it.
Annie placed the cards back in the paper pockets.
It all rolled over in her mind. If it was true that Cookie picked the cards to place in her book because they had some meaning to her, it made sense. But exactly what was Cookie’s mission?
On the opposite page was a deep berry-brown booklet, similar to the document made of parchment in that it folded out like an accordion. On the front page of the booklet, written in silver, was the word charms. She lifted the booklet slightly—the sleeve of her sweater had gotten caught beneath it. A manila envelope slid onto the floor. She reached down to pick it up, and the sound of the school bus’s squeaky brakes at the end of the block snapped her to attention. Had she been sitting here all day? Where had the time gone?