Chapter Fourteen

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
~Lord Byron

SITTING ON A BED covered in empty foil wrappers from a dozen veggie sliders, an open box of pink-frosted devil’s food cupcakes, and empty energy drink cans, I helped Stella catch up on school news. In between fits of caffeine and glucose-induced giggles, we ruthlessly teased my stalwart shadow, sitting in the corner.

He’d been warned. I didn’t need a chaperone to visit my friend.

“Yo, you gonna follow her to the bathroom, too, Lurch?” Stella burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. Though she was still thin, her skin tone looked healthier. Her hair was carefully styled, and she wore pink-striped Victoria’s Secret pajamas.

Lewis’s eyes narrowed with ferocity. He’d insisted on staying nearby, even in Stella’s aunt’s house, though we’d promised no haints, Boo Hags, or whatchamacallits would ever make it past Eugenia’s many charms and talismans.

At the threshold of every door daring any evil spirit to enter lay a flint arrowhead, metal, and shark teeth—hoodoo protections I would’ve taken as pure bunk had Stella’s hag not wandered into both her house and the Ramseys’, with neither home protected by the Gullah blue paint. I prayed Eugenia was onto something with her magical wards.

I licked the creamy top of one more cake. “Leave him alone, Stella. He doesn’t want to be here.”

“So what gives? Why do you have a bodyguard? I’m the one who supposedly got bodysnatched.”

Between Anita, Stella’s mom, and her aunt, they’d coaxed her into staying in Eugenia’s house, certain it was safer than anywhere else. Convincing her she’d been abducted by a skinjacking hag had been much harder—if she’d been truly convinced at all.

My stomach started to ache from all the junk we’d consumed. I tossed my uneaten cupcake in the wastebasket and fisted a napkin in my sticky hand.

The moment I’d been avoiding had finally arrived.

I pasted a smile on my face, trying to keep the lighthearted mood going. “Remember when we were in the gym and you told me Geoff would be talking to me next?”

Stella’s eyes widened. “No way.”

Lewis grunted. His chair creaked as he shifted uncomfortably.

I wiped off the sticky frosting on the corners of my lips, trying to keep my cool. “Yeah, he asked me to homecoming.”

My gaze went to Lewis, and I expected another derisive sound or comment.

His silence caused my cheeks to burn. Why wouldn’t he just go to the living room already?

Stella covered her heart with her hands dramatically. “Ohmigod, that’s so romantic!”

What? No arguments? No diatribe against his womanizing and anger management problems?

Her feet, stuffed in socks decorated in multicolored suckers, fluttered on the mattress, sending foil flying and cupcakes bouncing madly. When she regained her composure, she said, “First, you tell me he punched Derrick in the face, then he dumped the Hooters twins, now he asks Lewis—I mean Lancelot—to be your champion?”

Only this Lancelot wasn’t keen on chivalry.

“He thinks I need male protection. You really think it’s romantic?” My pulse tripped, either from the sugar or thinking about Geoff again.

Losing the person who’d spied on us in the boat had been especially difficult on him, after investing all his energy and hope in the idea that his brother was alive somehow and searching for him. Equally disturbing was that the perp might have been our wandering hag, so Geoff had insisted I needed protection.

I sighed, frustrated. “I wish I could’ve skipped school the rest of the week to go to the island with Geoff. I doubt Mom would miss me, the way she’s been acting lately.”

“It’s love. Don’t diss it. So what if your future stepfather is an asshole? He’s a filthy rich asshole, and you’ll get to be around Geoff twenty-four/seven.” Stella tossed a crumpled napkin in the trash.

“Hmmm. I wish that were true, but they can’t even stay in the same room for long.” I’d given the idea a lot of thought, fantasizing about us living in Antonia together, but his father would never allow it. Not to mention the whole idea of us being stepsiblings, which gave me the heebie-jeebies. “Nothing Geoff does is ever good enough for Ben. He wouldn’t be satisfied if his son walked on water.”

“What about homecoming? Maybe Geoff’ll score thirty points. Who wouldn’t be proud?” Stella argued.

“Ben’s not coming.” I shook my head.

Lewis’s low voice chimed in. “Hell would freeze over first.”

“But it’s Hoooommmecominggg. Geoff was chosen to walk the junior maid.”

Note to self: Don’t ply the girl with treats after dehydration.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve already asked Ben. He made an excuse.”

“Oh, well. All the more reason for you to wear something extremely sexy.”

“Stella.” I glanced pointedly at our audience. Not that I hadn’t wanted to look nice…at least almost as nice as Tiffany, who would be walking the field on Geoff’s arm as junior maid.

She shrugged, lip curling into a pout. “Well, you better bet this girl’s going and I’m wearin’ something hot. In two days, I’m off bed rest. That’s Friday, and I have a date.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Mark. He asked me before…you know.” She shuddered.

That made sense. The co-editor had sent flowers to her at the hospital, always sat at our table, and had asked me about her at school. “That’s awesome. I like Mark. Does this mean you’re getting some of your memory back?”

“Mm-hmm. Mostly feelings and a few places I went. After Mark and I talked that first night, I got really sleepy. The next thing I knew, I was on the riverbank, I think, and then out at the oyster restaurant on the river—the one with the shrimp trawler. Watching the river made me so sick to my stomach. Just looking at it frightened me. Lewis knows I don’t get seasick.” He nodded in agreement when I glanced at him. Stella rubbed the back of her neck, staring distractedly at our mess on the bed. “Then I remember wanting to reach for something, but I can’t remember what it was. I kept looking at my hand, wanting to touch something so badly.”

The room went so quiet that Lewis and I must’ve been holding our breath.

Stella tossed her curls and shoved my shoulder. “C’mon, Chels. Help me pick out something sexy. I need serious help. After losin’ all those pounds, my curves are G—O—N—E.” She stood and opened the closet, where her clothes had already been brought over and hung.

I tossed some of the trash in the wastebasket and joined her at the closet.

“Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” Stella pulled a black dress from the rack and held it up to me. “You should try this on. I promise Geoff will drool.”

The dress was fitted and short. I’d never worn anything like it—I’d never had the occasion, since boys didn’t ask me to dances. I held it against my length, judging the size.

Stella dropped her pajama bottoms to the floor, preparing to try something on. The top half of her pajamas barely covered her panties.

“Stella!” I covered my shocked laugh and wheeled to catch Lewis’s reaction.

Where he’d sat, the chair was vacant, and the bedroom door closed with a thwack.

“Finally!” Stella laughed and whipped off her top.

My companion followed my directions in moody silence, not bothering to argue when I asked him to take me to the oyster restaurant after leaving Stella’s. In the battle of wills, I was champion. He kept his distance as I sat outside the restaurant to start a sketch. His constant watch burned as he sat atop a large wooden post.

“You’ve gotta quit doing that. You look like an overgrown pelican.” I folded back a page in my sketchpad and stared at the blank paper, waiting for inspiration. “I’m not going to disappear before your eyes.”

“You’re not giving me much choice. What else is there to do while you doodle?” he complained. “If I’d known we were coming here after Eugenia’s I wouldn’t have eaten so many sliders and cupcakes.”

“And Eugenia’s lemon pie,” I corrected.

He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed out at the muddy estuary. “What are we doing here? You’re supposed to be home by now.”

A couple walked past us, headed for the restaurant door.

Once they were out of earshot, I answered. “I’m trying to see if I can draw Stella the night she came here when the hag was riding her.”

“Eee.” He feigned a convulsion. “You know, if the hag took George two years ago and wore him like it wore Stella—straight into the E.R.—the guy wouldn’t be still alive. Geoff needs to move on.” Behind those words, raw emotion brimmed—something I could relate to.

The white paper in my hands gave no inspiration; my muse was silent. I got up and moved closer to Lewis. He changed positions, staring out at the sunset over the massive piles of oyster shells, but he didn’t move away. I caught the scent of his cologne—cool, sweet, and reminiscent of the sea.

If I thought I’d done something awful to someone I loved, like Geoff feared he had, I probably would’ve been equally obsessive. I would’ve wanted answers, would’ve sought them at all costs. But for Geoff, it meant so much more. When George drowned, he took Geoff’s parents with him, at least emotionally, leaving Geoff with no one.

No one except Lewis.

His expression was relaxed and thoughtful as he watched the scavenging crabs scattering over the muck. With his looks, he could have his pick of partners, but instead he wanted the person he couldn’t have: Geoff. I might suggest he take his own advice and move on, but Geoff depended on him. Lewis was his only constant.

I felt bad for him, stuck hiding his true feelings.

“Hey.” I crossed my ankles. “Have you ever considered having a heart-to-heart with Geoff? Telling him how you really feel?” Jealous. Hurt.

He leaned sideways, his face pulling a horrified look. “What are you talkin’ about? How I feel about what?”

Please. You can’t con me. I ignored his fake innocence. “You’d rather not follow me around, and we both know why.”

Lewis’s eyes cut away, narrowed to angry slits. “Pssht. Whatever.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re crazy. Freaking nuts.”

The names slid off me. I took nothing personal from it, having touched his sore spot.

I put my hand on his arm. “You’re his best friend. You know he wouldn’t be mean to you.”

Lewis exhaled and stared straight ahead.

“Being around me must suck. You probably think I’m not pretty enough, not smart—”

He snorted. “You’re an upgrade. I’d rather Geoff be with you than that bitch Tiffany. When he started askin’ Mama about you, I knew what was goin’ down. You’re different. He even started dating Tiffany and Haley out of spite when his dad insisted he couldn’t date you. That backfired, of course. It gave Mr. Ramsey exactly what he wanted—trouble between you and his son—until Geoff couldn’t stand bein’ apart from you any longer.” He rolled his shoulder, still staring straight ahead. “He and I’ve been hangin’ out for a long time. I can’t change things now.”

I listened, silently fuming at the audacity of Ben Ramsey while I drew.

If I ever had to compete with the six-foot-plus hottie beside me for Geoff, it would surely be more competition than I could handle.

“At least consider telling Geoff.” I caught my pencil as it tried to roll away. “I don’t like keeping a secret from him. Not that I would tell him yours. I wouldn’t! But you should be honest. Nothing good can come from hiding something this big.”

An image started to appear in my mind, so I followed it with my pencil, sketching the outline.

“I’ll think about it.” Lewis sighed. “Could you do us both a favor?”

“What?” I murmured, half lost in the drawing.

“Mama said you’d need to practice conjuring. I’d love to see Tiffany Bensimon have an accident as she’s walkin’ the field at homecoming. Think you can arrange it with your haint?”

I laughed. “Your mama also said my haint would rather annoy me than anyone else, taking stuff, hiding my things, scaring the crap out of me. But if it wouldn’t embarrass Geoff, I’d certainly try.”

On the paper, my outline morphed into a sea landscape. This time, the focal point grew from elongated lines to become a dugout canoe, rocking precariously on a tempest sea.

Two Native Americans with deeply bronzed bodies manned the vessel, rowing furiously. A third person lay sprawled inside the hull, arms dragging off the sides. Further along the horizon, an object bobbed in the water, and the Indians’ bulging eyes were pinned to the spot. As my lead filled in more detail, the reason for their terror crystallized. Not an object at all. A human head.

The hag—eyes white, mouth gasping for air above the onslaught of waves—reached a bony skinless arm from the water, seeking help that would not come. Long white hair from her scalp swirled like serpents all around as she fought the surf, limbs pumping but going nowhere. Her form needled above and below the water’s surface, and her incensed fight for buoyancy splashed water into my face and eyes. The sea salt burned and blurred my vision. I lost track of her—

“That ugly bitch can’t swim.” Lewis inhaled deeply beside me, leaning over my shoulder for a peek at my sketch.

I closed my eyes against the image, and my pulse slowed. Soft, fuzzy relief embraced and restored me. Thankfully, it had been another one of my hoodoo visions, not real life.

I tapped my eraser against the page and smiled at his observation. “This reminds me of something we studied in World Civ last year.” Native American tribes hadn’t inhabited the Sea Islands since the seventeen hundreds. Just how old was our Boo Hag? Many of my recent drawings had the same scenario—people in boats, tormented by the hag, performing what looked like an exorcism. Did their tactics ever work? “In the Middle Ages, I think, when people accused someone of being a witch, they sometimes held an Ordeal by Water to determine guilt or innocence.”

“We studied that, too.” Lewis smirked. “The only way to be proven innocent was to drown. Looks like they had it wrong. Witches can drown, too.”

The night had all the potential of being the best night of my life. I ought to pinch myself.

It was nearly time to leave for homecoming, and I couldn’t find my cell phone. Hurrying, I dug through the pile of clothes on my bed, tossing aside the outfits that didn’t make the cut. Too baggy. Too tight. Too churchy. Too slutty. After trying on a dozen dresses, I’d settled on the one Stella loaned me.

My plans felt like a wishful dream. With all the head-trips, slipping back and forth between the past and present, reality was getting harder to identify. But in less than four hours, I’d be in the circle of Geoff’s arms, dancing. Later, we’d hang with our friends—the real ones, not Geoff’s pseudo crowd—Stella, Mark, and maybe even Lewis. Could anything be more perfect?

Geoff had returned to his mom’s condo the night before and borrowed her phone to let me know he was back, safe, and everything was still on. Lewis would be picking him up to take him to the football field, where he’d pose for homecoming court pics and then change for the game. Afterward, we’d meet in the gymnasium for the dance, and then we’d go to a late-night restaurant.

Life would return to a state of semi-normality once Saturday was behind us.

Over the past few days, Geoff had videotaped four interviews of Gullah descendants living on the island. Flint owned nearly a half-acre of ocean-view property, the restaurant/store, and a small house, all of which the bank would soon repossess if Ben Ramsey got his way. The locals who talked for Geoff’s documentary explained that without Flint, they would be forced to move and sell. Geoff said he’d gotten hold of the local newspaper and a TV station in Savannah.

Where was that stupid phone? I’d borrowed a pair of Mom’s black heels. In case I’d laid the cell down while I’d been in her room, I zipped upstairs.

Okay, haints! The phone is off limits. Got that? You can hide anything else you want. I chuckled to myself and pushed open the bedroom door.

Mom was sitting on her bed, dressed to go out in nice jeans and a silk blouse, but she hadn’t answered when I knocked.

“Hey. I left my cell in here, I think.” As I got closer to her and the bed, I saw the phone behind her. “I borrowed your heels. Hope you don’t mind.” She stared at me without expression, arms hanging ragdoll at her sides. I picked up my cell and touched her shoulder. “Mom? You okay?”

She answered with all the expression of me at six a.m., her words forced and sluggish. “Reed called your phone. I answered it.”

I pressed the screen button. One missed call and a voice mail from Lewis, which I’d have to check later. Mom’s monotone voice worried me now. It’d been so long, I’d forgotten I’d called my father. Had there been an accident? Another run-in with the law? “No problem. Is Dad okay?”

“Yes. He’s here, and he’s meeting you at the game.”

“What?”

Her hand jerked from my barked question. There was something in her grip.

“Reed said he was nearly to the house when he called. I told him Ben and I are going out this evening, taking Ben’s boat to Bandunchuch Island. Until I’ve prepared Ben, I don’t want them running into each other. I also told Reed you wouldn’t be home.”

“Mom!” I dropped on the bed. My minidress slid high, baring an insane amount of leg, but Mom was too out-of-it to notice. My perfect night grew a blemish. Talk about selfish! “How could you do that? You know how Dad is. I can’t have him showing up at homecoming out of the blue.”

Not even on his best behavior could my dad attend social functions. The stress and attention spawned a bee swarm of paranoid thoughts, scattering all his best intentions and hard-won accomplishments into paranoid anxiety. He’d freak.

I couldn’t let Geoff see him like that.

She was going to the island. Awesome. She would see firsthand what Benjamin Ramsey actually was—a monster—especially since my mom was the world’s biggest bleeding heart who hadn’t done a bad thing to anyone in her life. But it would be better if she waited until tomorrow.

“Couldn’t you stay here, please, and hang out with Dad for tonight? We could all go to the island tomorrow.” I refrained from mentioning that Ben already had a business appointment there in the morning, because she might ask how I knew about it.

Her head swiveled, meeting my gaze at last. “No. I’m ready to leave. So is Ben.”

Mom’s pupils swallowed the green of her eyes, but instead of black, they were dead gray.

“Mom?” I shot up, covering my mouth with my hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

She blinked slowly. Then her head wilted, staring at her lap. Her hands turned over, clawlike, examining two bottles in her palms.

“Dramamine? Mom, since when do you get carsick?” My own stomach tumbled. Not carsick—seasick. The other pill I was more than familiar with: her sedatives. I snatched the bottle and shook it at her. “How much have you had?” A scant few rattled inside.

“Not too many.”

Anxiety. Why would she worry about a boat ride? She’d sailed before in her college days. I’d seen pictures of her with my late grandparents in Rhode Island regattas and deep-sea fishing.

Her eerie grisaille-like eyes watched me without emotion. I got up and leaned down level with her face. I whispered, “Mom?”

Darkness slithered in her pupils. Her skin, normally radiant and pink, faded to a gray-green color I associated with sickness. Her belated reply was a breathy yes.

No. No. No!

I dropped the bottle, squeezed my phone to my chest, and ran out of the room.

Mom needed help, but where could I find it? That thing was inside her, just like it had been in Stella. Maybe since Stella had been in the house.

Ben. He needed to see her. He’d understand if he looked in Mom’s haunted eyes.

I ran downstairs, headed for the office, when something fuzzy caught my eye. At first glance, smoke appeared to hover in the hall outside my room. Had I left my flatiron on in the bathroom? I slowed, sniffed, and found no trace of the smell of anything burning, although the musty old house stench that was ever present seemed stronger than normal.

Then I saw her and froze.

On the threshold of my door, one foot in my room and one foot in the hall, a little black girl in braids with quarter-sized eyes stared at me.

She could’ve been in one of those old black and white photos—a daguerreotype, I think they were called—for her lack of color and her cotton white dress, which ended just above her bare feet. Her braids were tied in scraps of cloth, and her clothes were wrinkled and dirty.

“Who are you?”

At the sound of my voice, she turned and walked stiffly into my bedroom.

Fear froze me in place. I should’ve borrowed some of Eugenia’s talismans for our house, but I’d been more worried about Stella, not my mother or me.

Boards creaked upstairs; Mom was moving. I couldn’t go down to get Ben without passing my open room, where the apparition had gone.

Was the whole freaking house being invaded?

“If a Brother’s in de way,” the girl’s singing voice drifted into the hall, “we will stop and pick ’im up and we won’t tag along behind. If a Sister’s in de way, we will stop and pick ’er up and we won’t tag along behind.”

I recognized the tune. It was the same one I’d heard in the shower.

More floorboards creaked. Mom was walking toward the stairs.

Was the girl trying to communicate somehow? Did she want me to follow?

I edged to my door and peeked around to see what the kid was doing.

She stood near the window and gestured at my bed with her small open hand.

Yeah, I know it’s a mess. WTF! There was a freaking hag riding my mom, coming downstairs now, and this kid wanted me to put away my clothes?

My heart raced. I didn’t want to lose the ghost without finding out what it wanted. But I also didn’t want to stay in the hall with that thing. Into the room I went and pulled the door shut. Inside, I pressed my ear to the door and listened until I heard her pass.

When I glanced back at my guest again, she was gone.

“Uh, hello?” I scanned the room, holding my cell phone above my head as a sorry excuse for a weapon if a devil-child came after me. “Little girl?”

There was no sign of her. It was as if she’d evaporated.

I crept away from the door. What mischief had the girl been up to now? Probably the same brat who’d put sand everywhere.

My bed appeared to be just as I’d left it, covered in my dresses. I plucked them up, one by one. At the bottom of the pile, I found my sketchpad.

Did she want me to find it? Was that the message she was sending?

I sat down and opened it. Everything in it looked untouched.

Did she want me to draw? Now?

I eyed the door. I had to hurry. Couldn’t let Ben take Mom without telling him she was possessed.

Gathering the paper and pencil, I closed my eyes, concentrating. When I opened them, my hand was already working. In a few seconds, an image emerged, and what I saw scared the hell out of me.