How can I be sure Wyn loves me?
Reaching out for him, I found the connection peaceful and still. It had been that way all morning. His phase was over, I could feel that much, but he was still so far away from me. It was a relief, in a way. As desperate as I was to hear his voice, I knew telling him about the attack would only add to our mounting pile of problems. And that was before I attempted to explain the Jackson situation.
The blessing announced itself with a tingling sensation, the very tips of my fingers sparking ever so slightly, as if it didn’t want to scare me. Priorities, it seemed to say, stay on track. I inhaled as it spread through my body, seeping into my blood and amplifying my senses. This was new. It felt like slipping into a bath that was just slightly too hot, snatching my breath away, relaxing and invigorating in equal measure. The room was a crucible, everything was intensified, my sense of touch, of smell, and I understood at once why Catherine had chosen to spend so much time in here. It was like being reborn and the closest I had ever felt to the blessing. What I couldn’t understand was how she could take all this light and still turn to the dark.
Heightened intuition directed my hands to a tall white candle, a box of matches and a shallow silver bowl, all resting on thedesk, and told me to add pinches of dried mugwort, valerian and yarrow to the bowl. Instinctively, I took my list and folded it in half, towards me. I turned it once, clockwise, and folded it towards me again before placing it in the bowl with the herbs and striking a match. A white flame caught the yellow paper, burning it slowly and consuming the lines of black ink one line at a time. As each item on the list disappeared, a sense of calm built inside me, until my eyelids grew so heavy, I could hardly keep them open. The thin mattress on the bed was so much more comfortable than it looked. It accepted my weight easily as I rolled from the chair to the bed, sinking deeper and deeper, the sky above seeming to move further and further away. I looked over at the desk and saw the list was gone, reduced to a small pile of canary-coloured ash. With the scent of burning herbs, roses and carnations in the air, the clear quartz in one hand and selenite in the other, I closed my eyes and let my magic take over.
The gardens of Bell House were beautiful, lush and green and full of life. I walked barefoot over the earth, a white gossamer gown brushing against the ground, my hair long and loose, and all I felt was peace. The blessing, the world and my magic were all in precious harmony and it felt as though every living thing was celebrating the fact. When I touched a fingertip to the delicate petals of a blossoming azalea, I noticed a ring on the third finger of my left hand. A dainty gold band that wrapped around three stones, a diamond, a sapphire and an emerald.
At the far end of the garden was a copper arch, wrapped in honeysuckle and Spanish moss, and beneath it stood a beautiful woman with long red hair. The first Emma Catherine Bell. She smiled when she saw me and I smiled back, comforted by the sight of her. My ancestor, my ghost, a piece of my heart. To her left stood Ashley and Lydia, and to her right, Jackson andWyn. All four of them were dressed in clothes I’d never seen before, Lydia in a pretty yellow dress, Ashley in a lavender tuxedo and Jackson and Wyn in matching blue suits so dark they were almost black. Ashley and Lydia looked ecstatic, a miracle given the fact they were standing so close together. The same could not be said of Jackson and Wyn. I sensed sadness and regret woven through with love. All their feelings were stitched together in a complicated tapestry.
‘Emily?’ I heard a voice say. ‘Are you ready?’
A couple emerged from Bell House. A tall man with dark hair and a beard, and beside him, a petite, pale haired woman. His face was serious, a permanent frown line carved between his eyebrows. She was his opposite. Sunshine and light, the promise of laughter never far from her lips.
‘Mom? Dad?’
I took a step back, so surprised as they came towards me and gathered me in their embrace.
‘Are you ready?’ my father asked again.
‘Ready for what?’
My mother handed me a bouquet of gardenias and ferns wrapped with Spanish moss, then leaned forward to whisper in my ear.
‘Ready for what comes next.’
Standing behind me, she covered my eyes with her hands and the garden disappeared.
‘Are you ready, Emily?’
The same words. A different voice. Another time, the same place.
When my eyes were uncovered, my parents were no longer beside me. Instead, Catherine took their place, dressed in black silk, her expression defiant. Behind her, Bell House stood in ruins, the roof caved in, every window smashed and black smoke billowing up into a green sky. The garden was awasteland. Instead of waiting for me with anticipation, Ashley lay on the floor, arms and legs jutting out from her torso at impossible angles, her unseeing eyes staring straight to the sky. Beside her, Lydia shrieked as barbed vines crawled out of the earth to wrap themselves around her arms and legs, draining her life until all that was left was a pale, dusty corpse. My parents clutched at each other, screaming as a tornado of fire consumed them both, leaving effigies in ash, standing until the slightest breeze picked up and blew them into nothingness. Wyn and Jackson stood right where they were, side by side, their faces etched with regret, but made no move to help. The first Emma Catherine was gone. Beyond the walls of the garden, I heard screams that tore up the unnatural night as my nightmare reality bled out into the rest of the world.
‘What do I do?’ I said, turning back to my grandmother in panic. ‘Help me, what do I do?’
‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’
She brushed my hair back from my face, her expression impassive. ‘This is the choice you made.’
Pushing her away, I ran, tearing out of the garden and around to the front of the house, just in time to watch a wall of black flame racing toward Lafayette Square, consuming the trees, incinerating my beloved Spanish moss. Behind the inferno, the howls of hunters closed in, not just the wolves but the other thing, the worse thing.
‘If this is my choice then I’ll unmake it,’ I told Catherine when she appeared at my side. ‘Tell me, how do I stop this from happening?’
Opening my fists, I saw the black arfvedsonite crystal in one hand and my silver brooch with its glinting moonstone in the other.
‘Who’s to say the decision that leads us here hasn’t already been made?’ she said. ‘Who’s to say this isn’t for the best?’
Her gentle hand caressed my cheek for a brief moment then caught my chin and squeezed until her nails dug into my flesh. Ignoring my protestations, she twisted my head, forcing me to look at my fallen family.
‘I tried to stop this,’ she said with a hiss. ‘Don’t you dare look away.’
‘I can still change it,’ I sobbed, reeling at the sight of the broken bodies, Jackson and Wyn unmoved, still staring blankly in my direction. ‘I can still fix it.’
The pointed tips of my grandmother’s nails dug into my cheeks, deeper and deeper until I cried out in pain. Wrenching my face from her hands, I turned back to her but Catherine was gone. Bell House was gone. The full moon shone down on Bonaventure Cemetery, my family’s monument lying shattered before me, the staircase to the underground chapel smothered by rubble, and under the rubble, Jackson’s mauled body.
Wyn emerged from behind an oak tree, his green-grey eyes full of tears and razor-sharp claws at the end of his fingers.
