Herringbones and Hexes, page 10
She gave me an expression that was a bit reminiscent of Margaret Twigg when I had said something that she considered less than intelligent.
“No, Lucy. First, you will need to fetch the skull.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“And, powerful as we three are, I’m sorry to say we need Margaret.”
Like my evening hadn’t already been ruined enough.
North, south, east and west. Earth, air, fire and water. These things always seemed to go in fours. No doubt Margaret Twigg was a capable witch, and the four of us together created some serious magic. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to reform this particular quartet. “You do realize it might be Margaret Twigg who made this hex?”
Lavinia stood straighter. “All the more reason for her to help undo the damage she has caused.” She shook her finger at me. “And if she has caused this terrible trouble to my granddaughter, I will begin proceedings to have her removed as the head of our coven.”
“You can do that?” It felt weird, like impeaching a president. Not that Margaret Twigg hadn’t given cause.
“Perhaps it’s time for new blood, anyway.” Aunt Lavinia looked at me with a piercing gaze that made me very nervous. Was she suggesting me for the job? I did not want to be that younger blood. I had my hands full, thank you very much, running a knitting shop. Prancing around the standing stones under a full moon chanting once a month was not my idea of a good time. And don’t even get me started on the Samhain potluck.
One drama at a time, I reminded myself. “All right. You get hold of Margaret Twigg and tell her we’re coming. I’ll swing by Rafe’s and pick up the skull, and I’ll meet you back at Margaret’s.”
We were all in agreement, and I stopped only to grab my athame, a dagger that was supposed to help separate truth from lies and focus my energy. I had been practicing since I’d been paired with mine not so long ago. If ever anyone needed their truth separated from their lies, it was Margaret Twigg.
I also took the time to throw on a warm blue sweater over my jeans. It comforted me because my grandmother had knit it for me. I called Rafe to let him know what I wanted and told him I was on my way. To my surprise—nay, shock—he stopped me.
“Lucy, stay where you are. I’ll get the skull and bring it. I’m driving you to Margaret’s place.”
“Why? I know I have a bit of trouble with driving on the left-hand side of the road, but I’m perfectly capable.”
“It’s not that. I don’t trust Margaret Twigg. And you have no idea what impact reversing a hex may have on you.”
I hadn’t thought of that. A creepy feeling came over me. “Are you saying something nasty’s going to happen to me?”
I loved my cousin, but I didn’t want to end up covered in boils, missing half my hair and a couple of teeth just from trying to do her a good turn.
“No. I have no idea what will happen, but on the off chance there’s trouble, I need to be there.”
I’d have turned him down if he hadn’t used the word need. And if I hadn’t seen the bleak despair in his face when he’d thought I’d signed up for a site called Witch Date. So instead of arguing that I was perfectly capable, I said, “Thanks. I’ll be ready when you get here.”
Now that Violet had left, Nyx poked her nose in the window. I walked over to her and stroked her under her chin the way she liked. “Don’t worry. She’s gone. It’s safe to come in now.”
She stepped daintily inside, and I scooped her up, burying my nose in her fur. “What am I going to do about Rafe, Nyx? I’m so confused.”
Love is always the answer.
“Now where did that thought come from? Was that you or me?”
Those green-gold eyes blinked at me once.
“You know how to ride a broom. Of course, you know how to put thoughts in my head. But are you sure it’s not you who’s in love with Rafe?”
I was sure the thought “silly witch” must have come from her.
Now came the second important question. Did I take her with me tonight or didn’t I? She was my familiar. But Nyx hated Margaret Twigg probably as violently as whoever put that hex on Violet hated her. Margaret wasn’t too fond of Nyx, either, thanks to their history. I didn’t want to risk it.
I grabbed my athame and then, prompted by instinct, slipped on a ring that had been my grandmother’s. I rarely wore it. It glowed in the face of negative energy. But it had been my grandmother’s, and she had worn it every day. Like the sweater, it gave me comfort and reminded me of the connection with the witch who’d passed her power down to me and all the witches in my family who’d gone before me.
When Rafe pulled up, I was waiting outside. I had a feeling that time was of the essence.
I got in the sleek, black car, and he accelerated smoothly. “You’ve got the skull?” I asked him.
“I have.”
I don’t know why I asked. I could feel the negative energy. And the ring on my finger was pulsing with heat.
“Are you nervous?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I sense it.”
Well, then, there wasn’t much point in pretending, was there? “I’m sick with nerves. I’ve got this bad feeling that somehow it’s all going to go wrong.”
“As it so often does when Margaret Twigg gets involved.”
“Aunt Lavinia is furious. She’s talking about trying to have Margaret Twigg removed as the head of our coven if it turns out she had anything to do with this hex.”
He turned to me. “Like a palace coup.”
“Exactly like that.”
“Who’s the usurper in waiting? Not your great-aunt Lavinia, surely. She’s rather old.”
“I don’t think it’s herself that Aunt Lavinia has in mind.” Something in my tone caught his attention.
“You don’t mean she wants to put you at the head of the coven?”
I didn’t remotely want the job, but I was offended that he clearly thought I wasn’t up to the task. I sounded a bit huffy when I said, “What’s wrong with that?”
He turned to stare at me. “What’s wrong with that? Is that a serious question? Everything’s wrong with it. You have mighty powers, but you’re young and untried. You’re not properly trained. Margaret Twigg has many faults, but she can see the inevitable. You will be the head of the coven one day. But she’s right when she pushes you to learn everything you can. You’re not ready.”
Every word of what he said was true. Unfortunately. Though I wondered how he knew so much about witch business. “Rafe, I don’t want the job now, and I’m never going to want the job.”
“I think it’s a bit like being king. Queen in your case. One doesn’t have a choice. One must bow to destiny.”
“Sometimes destiny sucks.”
He laughed softly. “That it does.”
Chapter 14
We pulled up behind Violet’s car in the long, pea-gravel drive leading up to Margaret’s cottage. There were no electric lights on in the house, but the flickering of candlelight made the stone cottage even more secretive and eerie.
We both got out of the car. He retrieved a burlap bag that had a skull-shaped lump in it. Before he handed it to me, he said, “Be careful. One cry, and I’ll be there. You know it.”
And I did. At the first sign of trouble, he’d be at my side. Before he handed me the skull, he leaned down and kissed me.
Love is always the answer. Sounded like something you’d read on a greeting card. And yet, sometimes the most simple messages were both the most powerful and the most true.
I clung to him for a minute before pulling away and taking the skull. Gran’s ring nearly burned my finger as I carried the cursed skull to the cottage.
I didn’t even have to knock on the door. It opened before I raised my hand. Margaret Twigg looked particularly dramatic tonight. Bathed in candlelight, she wore a long, black robe with a bright pink scarf and pink jeweled earrings and necklace. Her crazy, corkscrew curls seemed to be having a party on the top of her head. Her lipstick was a vivid slash of a matching pink, and her eyes gleamed with wicked excitement. She was looking forward to this ceremony.
Then her mouth turned down. “Is that it?”
I offered her the bag. “Yes.”
She held her hands up. “I don’t want to touch it. Bring it into the front room.”
The front room? I’d only ever been in her kitchen and the shed where she kept herbs and some of the more noxious of the substances she used in her spells and potions. Perhaps a dead body or two.
I walked in to find a surprisingly comfortable and almost traditional-looking living room. What the British insisted on calling a lounge or drawing room if they were fancy. A wood fire was crackling in the grate, adding its light to the candles that burned. All of them black. Violet stood staring into the fire, looking wretched. The firelight reflected off her pimples or boils, whatever they were, making them look even more painful.
My great-aunt Lavinia was staring at a sculpture on a side table. It was a squat, naked and very pregnant woman. No doubt it was some kind of fertility goddess.
It was obvious that Great-Aunt Lavinia had already unpacked her bag. It lay empty on the scarred, oak coffee table that had been pushed towards a comfortable-looking couch upholstered in purple fabric. A chunky woolen throw hanging over the back of the sofa looked hand-knit. I didn’t think Margaret Twigg was a knitter. Somebody must have given it to her as a gift. Or in payment for something.
Knitting made me think of my vampires, and once more the idea skittered across my mind that Sylvia was the one behind the hex and that it had been intended for me. But why would she barter a hand-knit throw for a hex? She’d just buy it. Besides, if she was knitting a garment, it would have turned out a lot better than this one.
In the middle of the room was a circle of black candles waiting to be lit. None of the three of us seemed to know what to say, and so it was quiet until Margaret joined us. I was still holding the skull. I didn’t know where to put it or what to do with it. It was like arriving at a birthday party with entirely the wrong gift.
Then Margaret came in. She looked at me sharply. “Did you bring the earth from the grave of a hanged witch?” she asked me. I knew she had a jar full of that stuff. I couldn’t believe she was making me use the tiny bit she’d overcharged me for. But luckily, again knowing Margaret Twigg, I had it in my bag. I brought it out and handed it to her.
Something caught the light on the floor inside the circle of unlit candles, and I realized there was a mirror there.
I said, “Do I put the skull on top of the mirror?” It seemed like an obvious thing to do, given the way these spells worked. Reflecting the hex back to where it came from was best done with a mirror.
She shook her head. “Not yet. Take it out of the bag and step inside the circle.”
I did as instructed. Touching the skull made my whole body twitch with dread. I put my handbag on the floor outside the circle and reached in for my athame. My dagger caught the light a little bit the way the mirror had and glowed. I was glad I’d brought the dagger with me, even if we didn’t need it. As the ring had, the athame made me feel more powerful and connected.
Seeing it, Margaret Twigg nodded in rare approval. “Good. You’ve some sense then.”
Since I had no idea what to reply, I didn’t bother. The skull was slightly rough beneath my fingers. I hated touching the thing. The ring that reacted to bad energy was so warm, it was nearly burning my finger. Mind you, that could be from Margaret Twigg.
I stepped inside the circle, and she directed the other two to do the same. She came in last, bringing a tall, thick, black pillar candle. She glanced around at the three of us. “You definitely don’t know who put the hex on you?”
Aunt Lavinia answered, “No. Do you?”
I sort of moved my knife, trying to look casual, though the point that was supposed to separate truth from lies ended up pointing directly at Margaret Twigg.
She answered, “No. I don’t believe this is one of mine.”
The knife didn’t give me any feedback. Maybe she was telling the truth. And then again, maybe she wasn’t.
She inspected the skull, though she still refused to touch it. She made me turn it this way and that as she studied the object.
Violet groaned a few times, and I could see the hunch in her back growing more pronounced. This had better work, and fast.
Finally, Margaret spoke. “Lucy, take the words that are written backwards on the skull and use your dagger to carve them into this candle.”
“You want me to write a backwards message in a candle?”
She shook her head, impatient once again. Her curls seemed like so many fingers scolding me. “No. We reverse everything. You’ll write it as we would read it.”
Okay. It wasn’t that hard, but I still felt their gazes on me as I awkwardly carved each letter into the wax of the candle. It took a while to carve the letters in wax, especially the g and d. I struggled with the curves.
It looked like a kid’s early attempt at printing, but the words were legible enough. “Grow ugly, wither and die.”
It was horrible to carve such a cruel message. Even though I was trying to remove the curse, I felt like I was casting one.
“Now, light the candles.”
She didn’t offer me a match. She looked at me with challenge in her eyes. Oh, I could light candles. Just to be fancy, I used my knife. I waved it slowly around the circle, and each wick sprang to life obediently. Naturally, I didn’t get a compliment from Margaret Twigg, but I didn’t get some sarcastic insult either. I called that a win. And then she directed me to sprinkle the earth of the hanged witch around the edge of the mirror. And now, finally, I could put the skull down. I leaned forward to do so, more than happy to get rid of the nasty thing, but she stopped me.
“Violet? Break the mirror.”
I supposed I should have seen this coming.
Violet stepped forward and stomped on the mirror with violent force and a howl of anger. It cracked in about five places. “Now prick your finger with a shard of mirror.” I could hardly stand to watch. Like Violet didn’t have enough hurts already.
When that was done, Margaret nodded to me. “Now you may put the skull down on top of the broken mirror and set the candle beside it.”
I did as I was instructed. I was starting to get gooseflesh now, more so when Violet dripped blood onto the skull. The four of us together had undeniable power. And perhaps there was a reason the cottage was situated this way, because as the moon rose, its light hit the broken mirror. Instead of joining hands, the four of us focused our hands toward the skull, and Margaret intoned,
Spirits of the north, south, east and west,
we call on you to put wrong right.
Let the person who has inflicted this curse
find it reflected back to them but even worse.
Take away this hurt and harm
and send it back from whence it came.
Moon is for fire, blood is for water, graveyard for earth, and spirits for air.
We conjure you to do our bidding,
As we will, so mote it be.
I felt a sudden compulsion come over me. There was such power in my arm and hand. My grandmother’s ring was hot and glowing, and my athame looked like it was on fire. I’d never seen it like that before.
As I pointed my glowing dagger at the skull, there was a crack and a tiny explosion, and then the skull seemed to implode upon itself, crumbling to dust.
Margaret wasn’t one to give out compliments like they were candy. When she said in a quiet, dry tone, “You did well,” I felt like I got an A+ in class.
But had our attempt to reverse the hex worked?
I looked at Violet. We all looked at Violet. Was she standing straighter? I thought she was. She didn’t say anything though. In fact, she was starting to sway.
“Violet? Are you o—”
She crumpled. She’d have hit the floor if I hadn’t gotten there in time. She keeled over on me, and not knowing what else to do with her, I sank down, taking her with me until I could lay her on the floor. I was quite alarmed. So was Great-Aunt Lavinia. She looked at Margaret.
“Is my granddaughter all right?”
“She will be.”
Still, Aunt Lavinia got to her knees and placed her hand on her granddaughter’s forehead.
“She’s hot. Like she has a fever.”
“That’s good. She’s got to get the poison out of her.”
The clouds must have moved or the moon shifted its position, but suddenly Violet’s face was bathed in moonlight. There were a few scabs on her face, but the awful boils were gone. Even though both eyes were closed, the swelling was going down on her bad eye.
We stayed with her until she woke, looking a little like Snow White minus the handsome prince. She put a shaky hand to her head. “What happened?” She glanced around at us. “I feel so strange.”
Then she seemed to remember everything that had occurred. She put her hands to her face. “A mirror. I must have a mirror.”
I went to take one of the broken pieces, and Margaret smacked my hand. “Not that one.”
Instead, she went to a table and opened a drawer. She brought over an ornate-looking hand mirror that no doubt did double duty as a scrying mirror and handed it to Violet. For some reason, none of us turned on an electric light. We simply moved candles closer. But even in candlelight, it was pretty clear that she was almost back to normal. Her hair was once more thick and lustrous. Even the dyed streak was exactly where it had been before. In the couple of minutes it took for her to gaze at herself in wonder, the last scabs disappeared. Last of all, she smiled. To my great relief, there was no gap of a missing tooth. She was as good as new.
Since I had opened the circle, it was my job to close it and extinguish the lights. I’d never been so happy to do that.
I looked at the pile of goat skull dust sitting on top of the broken mirror and said to Margaret Twigg, “What do we do with that?” I wanted to bury it far, far away, under a heavy stone.
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