1931
I run from the flaming tent into the night, careening with the rest of the townspeople in a panicked, tangled herd. Sparks spiral upward, embers popping as they consume what’s left of the tent. People bat at their flaming hems and hats. The acrid scent of burning oilcloth and singed hair assaults my nostrils.
“Where’s Harlan?” Al Northrup stumbles toward me like a drunk. His beady eyes are red and swollen. He grasps me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Goddammit, girl, I asked you a question. You seen my boy?”
“Not since he tried to choke the life out of me.”
“Goddammit,” he swears again, pulling off his hat to swat out a stray ember on the dry grass. The fire is spreading—snaking away from the tent’s tattered remains and winding through the alfalfa in flickeringrivers. The wind picks up and fans the flames. A nearby blackberry thicket starts to burn.
“Somebody get the fire brigade!” Northrup yells, and then stumbles off, baying Harlan’s name. A pack of three men tumble into a farm truck and fly off toward town, sending up a spray of gravel and dust.
I should run, but my feet are rooted to the spot, as if I’m in a trance. I’ve never seen a brush fire before. It’s oddly beautiful. Hypnotic and horrifying at the same time. The flames almost seem alive. Hungry. I lift my hand and the flames climb higher.
Did I do this?
“Gracie!” I shake off my sense of wonder and turn to see Abby coming toward me, tears running down her soot-covered face. I didn’t even know she’d been in the crowd. She grabs me by the arm and starts pulling on me. I can’t hear her thoughts, but her frantic eyes tell me all I need to know. “We got to get out of here. Fire’s spreadin’ fast.”
Sure enough, a hard puff of wind comes and the fire surges forward. An ember lands in one of Hosea’s peach trees, and a loud pop sounds as the branches ignite. Heat sears the air, and a low roar starts to build around us.
“Comeon, Gracie!” Abby cries, fear stitched over her face. “Do you want to die?”
In the distance, the fire brigade’s sirens sound. Their reedy, high-pitched whine brings me back to my wits. We take off and head up the mountain. When we get to Granny’s cabin, I look east, where the sky has turned a noxious shade of orange. The campfire scent of burning timber is everywhere.
Ebba meets us at the door, her eyes wide. “Gracie! Come! Deirdre is having fits again—seizures.”
I push past her and go through the cabin to the back porch. Granny’s wrists and ankles are tied to the daybed with scraps of fabric, her back arching as she spasms. Her eyes are open, fixed on something in the distance. A low moan comes from her mouth. I cross the roomand kneel at her side, stroking her hair back from her forehead. I don’t know what to do. But at my touch, she calms, her chest rising in gasping breaths and then steadying. The seizure abates, the tremors cease. Granny’s eyes roll back and then close once more.
“She woke for a bit. Spoke to me.” Ebba works her jaw in agitation. “Something about the curse. I gave her some broth and water, then the fits started. I had to tie her down so she wouldn’t hurt herself.”
“She was awake? Where’s Caro?”
“I sent her to fetch the doctor.”
I nod. Ebba’s done the right thing. “I don’t know how fast he’ll get here, what with the fire down at the Ray place. A lantern fell over in Bellflower’s revival tent. Whole place went up. Aunt Val was there. I think she made it out all right, though.” I hope. I hadn’t seen her in the ruckus that followed.
Ebba paces back and forth, muttering to herself, her frail arms crossed over her waist. She’s got something on her mind. Abby’s busy in the kitchen, clanging around. Now’s just as good a time as any to let a certain elephant come barreling into the room.
“You’re gonna wear a hole in your boots, Eb,” I say. “Got somethin’ gnawing on you?” I lower my voice. “Maybe now’s the time to tell me what else you know before the whole town burns down?”
Ebba whirls on me, her turquoise eyes bright. “You have the gifts of a wise one. A true witch. But they are untested. You don’t know how dangerous those ways can be,lilla flicka. I was worried about this.”
“If I don’t figure out how to stop this curse, I’m afraid that demon preacher ain’t gonna be satisfied until Tin Mountain is a pile of cinders and me and Granny are burnin’ right along with it. So, if you know anything that can help us, I need you to tell me before it’s too late.”
Ebba shakes her head. “Itistoo late. It’s already started.” She jabs a finger at my forehead. “You were there when that fire started, yes? Think, Gracie. Think. This is what he wants. To trap you. Just like he trapped Deirdre. Just like he trapped Anneliese and all the witchesbefore her. He’s a trickster. A seducer.” She jabs her finger at my forehead again. “You’re not strong enough to unmake old mistakes. Only Deirdre can unmake what she promised. And it will likely kill her.”
Anger flashes through me. Even though Ebba means well, even though she just wants to protect Granny, I’d love to throttle her right now. “Ebba,” I say slowly, gentling my tone, “Granny can’t do a single thing right now to help. I need you to helpme. Think of the past. You say she made a mistake. Tell me what she did.”
“I promised her. I promised her with my own blood.” Ebba shows me her palm. A pale scar crosses it. “I told her I would never tell anyone. That includes you, Gracelynn.Especiallyyou!” She turns and stomps outside, the screen door slamming behind her.
Looks like I’ll have to figure things out on my own.
I leave Granny and climb into the loft. I relight the oil lamp and put my hands on the grimoire’s cover, then close my eyes and pull in deep breaths, focusing my thoughts and intentions. “Help me, Anneliese,” I whisper. “Show me what to do.”
The book seems to hum under my fingers. Heat trails up my arm. I blow a puff of air from my lips and open the book to the page with the spell for undoing a curse. The script begins to shift from dull brown to a brilliant crimson red, the lamplight glistening on it. I realize it’s not ink at all. It’s blood.
A vision slams into my head: Anneliese sitting at a table, the grimoire open in front of her. She dips her quill in a saucer of blood and scrawls across the page. She looks up from her writing, her blue eyes blazing into mine. Her lips never move, but I can hear her bell-like voice in my head.Look above the blood moon and see what is written there, Gracelynn. Before it is too late.
And then, the vision is gone, leaving me breathless, with another splitting headache and a slow trickle of blood streaming from my nose. I wipe it away and look at my scarlet-streaked fingers.
