I kept my face as impassive as possible but my mind quickly flashed back to the things I had seen in my visions. The flames, the stone altar, a prone, bloody Catherine, and behind me: a tall stone archway.
‘Then I will ask if you accept the blessing, you confirm that you will, and you and I exchange blood. After that, the ritual is complete.’
I turned too quickly, hitting her in the face with the bottom half of my dress.
‘Exchange blood?’ I repeated as she frowned up at me. ‘How much blood?’
‘Really, Emily,’ she said, picking her hair out of her lipstick. ‘It’s symbolic, a pricking of the thumbs. The archway, the dress, all these things are traditions built up around the ritual. All that really matters is you’re here in Savannah, with me, under the full moon. Now turn around and let me finish pinning you. Jennifer might be the best dressmaker in town but her French seams would see your great-grandmother spinning in her grave.’
I stood as still as possible, arms held out in front of me like a ballerina as she made her alterations.
‘Catherine,’ I said calmly. ‘The things we saw in the vision. What if it happens during my Becoming?’
A sharp stabbing sensation in my leg made me cry out and behind me I heard my grandmother curse for the very first time.
‘What makes you say that?’ She slid her freshly pressed cotton handkerchief between my flesh and the fabric, her sweet features soured with concentration.
‘The things you just described,’ I answered, instinctively reaching for the wound only for Catherine to tap my hand away. ‘The full moon, the archway. I saw those things.’
‘There’s a full moon every twenty-eight days, honey, and Savannah has more than its fair share of archways.’
Her arguments were sound and for the briefest of seconds, I let myself relax.
‘I never should have told you about Elizabeth Howell,’ she said, silently admonishing herself. ‘I can see it’s taken root in the worst way. What we saw was something far off in the future. If it was your Becoming, wouldn’t you be wearing this dress? Wouldn’t you be in the gardens of Bell House? Wouldn’tIbe there?’
I watched my face change in the mirror, the hope I’d dared to entertain shifting into something else. Catherine hadn’t seen herself in the vision. She didn’t know she was there and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.
‘It’s going to be a wonderful occasion, Emily, don’t ruin it by telling yourself these terrible things. The only reason you don’t share my faith is because you’re afraid, and the only reason you’re afraid is—’
‘Because I didn’t grow up here.’
Catherine smiled like I’d finished the lyrics of her favourite song.
‘Fear has such power over us but only because we allow it,’ she said. ‘I know your birthday will be a celebration. But if anything at all should go wrong, I believe I have a solution.’
‘You found out how to bind me?’ I asked, that dangerous hope coming alive once more.
‘Not quite. I don’t have a complete grasp on it yet but I will before we see the full moon.’
Gazing back at the dress, I watched as a tiny dot of red appeared on the white, my own blood marring the pristine gown. Catherine stood up, smiling at our reflections in the mirror, and once we were side by side, I was shocked at the similarity.
‘Don’t worry, that stain will come right out,’ she said, brushing my red-brown hair back as the speck of blood blossomed. ‘Nothing is going to ruin your Becoming.’
When Catherine left me outside the dressmaker’s house, muttering under her breath about some local council meeting and the idiots in charge, I told her I was headed straight home, but as soon as she was gone, I changed direction. Everything in my visions pointed towards my Becoming ceremony: the archway, the full moon, Catherine’s body, brokenand bloody. My magic was temperamental and unpredictable, I was a ticking timebomb in a pretty dress and I couldn’t help but worry that in two days’ time, we would find out the hard way whether or not I was going to explode. I might not be able to evacuate the whole city but I could get the people I loved out of town.
There was no need to use magic to know whether or not Lydia was home when I arrived at the Powell house. One of the upstairs windows was thrown open and the whole square vibrated with classic rock. Her singing carried over the music, loud and passionate and totally off-key. One hundred per cent pure Lydia Powell.
‘Hey!’ An ecstatic grin broke out on her face when she opened the door, immediately pulling me in for a hug, no questions asked. ‘If it ain’t the stranger herself.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I replied with an apologetic grimace. ‘I didn’t mean to ignore you but the last few days have been a lot, my grandmother has all these plans and—’
‘No need to apologize but I did try to warn you.’
She pulled me into the house and I kicked off my sneakers to follow as she padded back upstairs barefoot. ‘What did I say about the whole debutante debacle? Your life is over.’
My stomach twisted into an ugly knot.
‘Hopefully not,’ I muttered to myself.
