“Then give me what I want!” he roars. “Let me in! Deny me not!”
“I’ll never give you what you want!”
“Then I’ll find another way to take what was promised to me, witch,” he hisses.
He pushes me, hard. Suddenly I’m falling, falling, fast as a stone.
“Gracie. Gracie! What’s gotten into you?”
Abby’s voice is a distant echo. I suck in my breath, panting. The wind whistles in my ears, but I’m not falling anymore. I’m still at the top of the lighthouse, back pressed against the stones, shivering so hard my teeth chatter. I’m cold. So cold.
Abby comes to my side, her eyes wide in the flashing light. “Are you okay?”
“V-vi-vision. B-bell ... flower.”
“What?” She presses the back of her hand to my forehead. “Lands, you’re burnin’ up with fever. Let’s get you home.”
“Oh ... kay.”
Somehow, we make it down the tower steps, and into her pa’s truck. Abby starts it up and puts it into gear. Every muscle in my body aches. I feel like I’m dying.
When we get back to the cabin, Abby helps me up to the porch, and I collapse onto the porch swing. She covers me up to my chin with a quilt. “I’ll go in. Fetch Aunt Ebba.”
“F-f-ever-few tea and white ... w-willow bark. In the p-pantry.” A wave of nausea hits me, and I lean over to retch between my knees. Nothing but bile comes up. I didn’t eat dinner last night. The thought of food brings on another spasm, and I gag.
Abby and Ebba come rushing out. Ebba offers me a mug of something tepid, herbal, and bitter. Feverfew. She places a cold washrag on my neck. “It’s like an oven in the house. Best to keep her outside, until the fever breaks. Val was here, Gracie. Looking for you. She took Caro with her.”
Bellflower’s threats ring in my head. Caro ... I should have never left her alone. “We have to ... we have to find her. He’ll take her. He will.”
“Darlin’, you can’t go anywhere right now,” Abby says, smoothing my hair. “You’ve got to rest. You ain’t makin’ any sense.”
I raise my head, look out over the ridge. My vision blurs and comes into focus, then blurs again. A serpentlike line of yellow light crawls up the mountainside. “Is that f-fire?”
It sure looks like fire. But in my feverish state, I can’t be sure of anything.
“No. That ain’t fire, Gracie,” Abby says. “It’s headlights.”
TWENTY-SIX
DEIRDRE
1881
Deirdre focused on the unlit candle, stilling her breath.Light.Flame suddenly flared, igniting the wick. She closed her eyes.Dark.The candle extinguished, just as if she’d blown it out with her breath. She smiled. It was getting easier every time.
“You’re getting good at that,” Esme said. “I’m a little jealous.” Moonlight streamed through the cupola windows, cloaking her in silver.
“It’s easy.”
“Because you’re talented, if a bit cocky. But I love you all the same.”
“Then come here and kiss me,” Deirdre teased, biting her lip.
“Oh. I’ll do much more than that.” Esme stepped over the chalk circle and knelt, gently wrestling Deirdre to the floor. They tangled together, giggling.
Life had taken on a languid rhythm. It was easy to forget about the promise she’d made to Gentry. His shadowy specter no longer menaced from the corners or haunted her dreams. Almost every night, she and Esme stole up to the cupola. By candlelight, they’d study the grimoire and practice its spells. Then, as the tides rolled and whispered in the distance, they’d make love and nap, until the silent, blue hours gave way to morning.
After their first flush of shared passion, Esme lay next to Deirdre and coaxed a dark strand of hair from beneath Deirdre’s shoulder. She wound it lazily around her finger. “Lionel Faulkner is coming to call again next Friday. He wants to take me to Folly Beach. Will you come along as chaperone?”
