Five
Andrew and I are still standing in my grandmother’s spooky cellar, but the room appears different.
We’re the same. Mostly.
The blue light I imagined in my head fills the small room with a soft glow. If I didn’t know to look for it, I could easily attribute it to the dust in the hazy light.
That’s not the only thing that’s changed.
Slowly, I shift my eyes to the walls of the room. Faint outlines of shelves now line the rest of the walls. Over my grandmother’s garden harvest are the ghosts of past jars. Above us, dried herbs and flowers line the beams in bundles of varying sizes. Every surface is covered with unfamiliar layers of objects.
I blink, hoping to clear the strange images from my vision.
“What do you see?” Andrew asks, his voice barely a whisper.
We’re alone down here, but I reply with the same quiet tone, “I’m not sure.”
“Describe it,” he softly commands. “Try.”
“The air has a blue shade to it and I can see the outlines of things that may have once been in this room, but aren’t now.”
“Like what?” He glances behind me.
“Bundled, dried herbs and jars containing liquids and more dried things. If I blink, I see the glass containers of soup and jams.”
“Anything else?” His fingers lightly skim my arms, sending warmth and goose bumps spreading throughout my body.
I step away from him and turn in a circle, studying the entire space. “The dirt floor is the same, but there’s a small, wooden table and three-legged stool in the corner that I’ve never seen down here before.”
Footsteps in the kitchen pound across the floor above us. Must be Tate’s heavy boots. Dust motes parachute down from the ceiling.
“Look up.” Andrew points to the ceiling.
Specks of dirt land on my face and in my eyelashes when I tilt my head back.
Blinking a few times, I try to unfocus my eyes. “Beams.
In the corner, something cream tucked between the beam and the stone of the foundation catches my attention. “What’s that?”
Andrew follows my finger to the beam. “I don’t see anything.”
“It looks like there’s a piece of paper tucked into the space between the beam and the floorboard above.”
“Show me.” He gently presses my lower back, encouraging me to walk.
I cross the room and reach my hand up, touching the very real beam. When I reach for the paper, my fingers touch the sticky threads of a spider web.
My eyes focus on the empty space. “Whatever was once there, is gone now.”
Andrew stands beside me. “Does anything stand out? Or seem brighter?”
“The herbs and the table are more clear, if that makes sense. And the paper seemed to glow brighter, but I don’t know if that’s because it’s white against the brown.”
“Do you see anything else?” With his height, he can more easily search the ceiling for hidden secrets.
Softening my focus, I let my gaze wander again. “What about the small leather book to the right of your fingers? It has a black cover bound by leather straps. About the size of your hand.”
He slides his palm along the rough-hewn wood. “Nothing there.”
I blink and the book disappears. “Gone.”
Wiping the dust on his sleeve, he states, “We’ll have to ask your grandmother. If she uses this room for storage, she’d know if something has gone missing.”
“If you haven’t noticed, she gets cryptic if you try to push for information.”
“That’s why I called my mom. As soon as we arrived, my powers faded away. I went outside and opened the gate to test the theory.”
“And?”
“Once I passed the stone wall, they returned like blood to a limb that’s fallen asleep. Crossed back across the gate. Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods, solemn. “Someone or something is protecting your family farm from magic.”
“Why?”
“That’s why I called Sarah.”
“What did your mom say?” My mind can’t process this.
“She’s on her way.” His lips curve in a shy smile. “Hope that’s okay.”
This is not the weekend I planned. I’m both relieved and a little disappointed. “The more the merrier.”
“Good. She’ll be here for dinner.” He softens the surprise with another sweet kiss.
If anyone can help us figure out what’s going on, it’s Salem’s most powerful witch.
* * *
Tate and Sam are pretending to play cribbage at the round kitchen table while Gram fusses around with a few dishes in the sink. It’s all completely normal. No blue haze, no visions of the past. The soft lights and warm fire make the room as cozy and homey as ever.
Needing to sit as I process what happened in the cellar, I pull a wood stool from the counter and perch on it.
“Let me do that for you, Mrs. Bra—Celeste.” Andrew corrects his error and flashes a warm smile at my grandmother.
She steps aside and grins at me. “Your grandfather liked to do the dishes, you know. Sign of a good man.”
“What took you so long in the basement?” Sam asks with a knowing grin. “You’re covered in dust smudges. Is that a spider web in your hair?”
Spider web equals spiders.
I frantically brush my hands over my head, discovering the sticky clumps.
“It’s only dust.” Andrew reassures me.
“Canoodling in the cellar? I can’t think of a less romantic room.” Gram shakes her head and tsks. “In my day, we took a walk. Or snuck off to the barn.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Tate says, laughing.
Sam’s eyes widen and she fights a smile while her cheeks heat. Glad my best friend shares my current state of embarrassment.
My eyes cut to Tate who looks too amused. When he glances at me, my mouth curves with a smile.
“Stop,” I tell him.
Pressing his lips together, he lifts his eyebrows in faux innocence.
A sharp knock at the front door followed by a gust of cold wind that makes the fire dance startles all of us.
“Hello?” Sarah’s familiar voice calls out from the mudroom at the front of the house.
“Who’s here? Did someone leave the gate open?” Gram grips the knife she’s using to cut cheese a little tighter.
Andrew turns to greet his mother after turning off the faucet. “We’re back here.”
“Andrew left it open for his mother after he called her,” I explain to my grandmother.
With a heavy sigh, her hold on the knife loosens and she rests it on the wood cutting board. “And so it begins.”
No one else hears her words, and before I can ask what she means, Sarah steps into the room.
Her bright eyes, twins to Andrew’s, crease in the corners when she smiles. The bun she usually wears is gone and her loose dark hair drapes over her shoulders, making her appear younger and more innocent than usual.
“Sorry for the unexpected late arrival, but the snow’s started sticking and the roads are slick. I didn’t want to wait until the morning. Winter is officially tomorrow, you’d think Mother Nature would be more patient,” Sarah continues as she removes her coat and drapes it over the couch near the fire to dry.
I glance at Andrew.
“You must be Sarah Wildes,” Gram says, stepping around me and extending her hand. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
“Always?” I ask, confused.
Sarah rubs her hands on her arms to warm them before gently grasping both of Gram’s with hers. “The pleasure is all mine. To meet the descendants of the Coreys is a dream. Madison introduced herself as a Bradbury, so I didn’t know the connection until today.”
I watch their exchange while trying to process their warm greeting and mutual fangirl gushing. As far as I know, Gram has never hung around Salem, and I doubt Sarah spends her free time driving two lane country roads and stopping by random old farmhouses that aren’t even visible through the woods.
“You two know of each other?” I interrupt their conversation.
Sarah waits for my grandmother to answer.
“I have an interest in history.” Gram’s reply and voice are clipped.
“Oh, Celeste. The clock is ticking. I think we both know the time for pretending has passed.” Sarah pats Gram’s arm and then greets Sam and Tate, who’ve stopped playing their game to observe us.
Like a gusty breeze, Sarah blows around the kitchen, filling the electric kettle and turning it on. “Are those jars of tomato soup? My favorite. This year’s garden bounty blew my mind. So much abundance.”
Sarah rambles on about vegetables while Gram sets a large enameled cast iron pot on the stove to heat the soup. Sarah helps open the Mason jars with the dull edge of a butter knife.
Feeling overwhelmed, I rub my temples with my pointer fingers.
“How’s your head?” Sarah asks me, setting down a hot cup of minty smelling tea in front of me. “Andrew mentioned you had a headache after my unsavory ex showed up the other night. Has it returned?”
“Surprisingly, I haven’t thought about my headache since we arrived on the farm.” I mentally poke around my head to see if it still aches. “Seems fine now.”
She presses her hand against my arm for a few seconds. “I have a very good feeling everything will be better soon.”
Andrew brushes his hand down my arm. “Did you lie to my mom? Or is your headache still gone?”
“My brain feels a little bruised, like I have a headache hangover, but otherwise, I’m fine. Except. You know.”
Sarah turns from the table, her face filled with concern. “What happened?”
“I saw something in the cellar. Objects that weren’t there. And a blue haze.”
Glass shattering on the wood floor echoes in the silence of my statement.
Gram’s inhale is audible. “Impossible.”
Tate and Sam jump from their chairs to assist with the cleanup.
“Are you hurt?” Moving to get down from the stool, I place a foot on the floor, ready to help.
“I’m fine.” Gram’s voice shakes. “I’m a silly old woman with slippery fingers.”
Her tongue and words try to reassure us, but I see a panic scurry around behind her eyes.
“Gram?” I ask, worry coating the single word as tears burn in the corners of my eyes at her sudden nervousness.
She shakes her head. “Fine. I guess we don’t have a choice anymore. Our family has done everything to keep the past from hurting anyone now, or in the future. History won’t repeat itself. Not while I have a say in what happens to my family.”
The steel in her spine is evident as she resolves herself. With a quick glance at Sarah, Gram continues, “It would appear now is the time to share our history.”
Sarah nods in support. “All of what’s happening now was set in motion long before any of us.”
I study Andrew’s face, then Tate, and finally settle on Sam’s.
“Are you as lost as I am?” she asks me. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”
“This isn’t a dream. Nor is it a nightmare, no matter what our enemies wish,” Sarah speaks with calm authority. “Let’s eat and save the scary stories for the fire.”
No one argues with her. Sam fidgets with the stack of cards. Gram asks Tate and Andrew to bring in more firewood from the barn.
When they leave and it’s only the women in the room, Sam steps close to me. Sarah and Gram make a platter full of grilled cheese sandwiches.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, resting my head on her shoulder.
Sam pets my hair and releases an uneven breath. “Not even a little bit, but I’m trying to hold it together. I really don’t want to flip out in front of Tate and be the crazy girl who can’t handle real magic. Plus, I think I saw this in my tarot reading last month. I didn’t understand it at the time because I wasn’t focused on the right question.”
I straighten. “What did you see?”
“You changing. And someone who is greedy. And dark, duplicitous, maybe even dangerous.” Concern shakes her voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I’ve never had such a negative reading before. I almost decided to destroy the deck. Instead I sprinkled the cards with salt to cleanse the energy and left the deck wrapped in silk in my dresser. Basically, I put them in time out for being naughty.”
“Even if you told me, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Gram’s farmhouse is the safest place I know.”