Bloodstone, page 6
“Ursula already had quite the reputation amongst the villagers as being ill-tempered and hot-headed. She was always threatening to curse those who displeased her. And Ursula’s two younger sisters idolized her and soon followed in her footsteps, mimicking Ursula’s crude behavior.” The Webber sisters shared a knowing smirk, making Billie laugh. The sound sparked something in my chest, and I was filled with gratitude again that I wasn’t facing this alone. I had never shared these kinds of stories with anyone, let alone girls my own age, and I felt a flood of affection for them.
“Ursula made trouble at her new job with a capital T,” I told them. “She despised the Lincoln women she worked for and found them to be spoiled, soft, pampered females who held no real power other than their title and money. Ursula considered herself superior to these fragile and coddled girls. In her eyes, they were not women, more like young children with their kept and boring lives. It wasn’t long before Ursula began to steal from her employers, taking trinkets back home to her dying mother and younger sisters.
“At first Ursula kept the thievery small—tiny perfume bottles, a soft brush, a candlestick. But soon the stealing became much larger…and more valuable. When Mr. Lincoln returned from a long work voyage in Europe, it did not take long for Ursula to set her sights on him as her next object to take for herself.
“Mrs. Lincoln’s husband was a handsome man, unlike his round, plain wife. He had black hair the color of raven’s wings to match his crow-black eyes. His nose was slender and sharp to complement his chiseled jaw. Mr. Lincoln was enchanted by Ursula. Unlike Mrs. Lincoln, Ursula was beautiful like a poisonous flower. She had a slender frame and long, fiery red hair she wore in a high bun. Her fair skin was the color of stardust, and she had piercing blue eyes that were as cold and beautiful as a flawless sky on a winter’s day.
“Well, Mr. Lincoln, being a man with loose morals, didn’t need much provocation.” Billie shook her head, and Tate pressed her lips into a thin line as she propped her hands on her hips. “Mr. Lincoln later claimed that Ursula had bewitched him into loving her, and that his devoted wife had no choice but to banish Ursula from their home for the sake of his life. They claimed that Mr. Lincoln sought help from the local priest to break Ursula’s spell over him, but nothing, not even blessed holy water, could break his desire for the woman with the fiery red hair and cold blue eyes.”
Three pairs of eyes watched me expectantly, and I knew they were hanging on my every word. “Ursula begged Mrs. Lincoln not to fire her because she needed the money to care for her dying mother and two sisters. But Mrs. Lincoln ignored her pleas. She knew Ursula was trying to take her place as mistress of the house, and if she did not act fast, Ursula’s hold on her husband would become permanent, and it would be her, not Ursula, who would be out on the streets begging for employment.
“You see, Mrs. Lincoln came from a wealthy family, and when her parents died, she had inherited all their wealth. But that money went to Mr. Lincoln the night they wed, and he had invested it in ships across the ocean in Europe. Mrs. Lincoln was certain if Ursula took her place, she would either end up dead or out on the streets with her husband claiming the money was spent, and therefore Mrs. Lincoln would be turned away without a penny to her name. Annulments weren’t often granted in the Catholic church, but Mr. Lincoln could get one if he claimed Mrs. Lincoln was a witch.”
Tate rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Lincoln thought her husband would claim that she was a witch, not Ursula?”
“Mrs. Lincoln might have been coddled, but she was no fool,” I said to her. “She caught her husband stealing longing looks at Ursula and had no doubt he would spin a tale as long as the state of New York to any judge, ruling her unfit to be his wife.”
Tamara pursed her lips. “That’s a convenient lie husbands made up about their wives back then when they wanted out of a marriage. After all, who could prove it wasn’t true?”
I nodded. “That’s right. Mrs. Lincoln had heard the dark rumors about her new housekeeper and wanted to get rid of her quick. But Ursula wouldn’t be fired so easily. She threatened to curse her mistress with an incurable illness if she sent her away. So the day she fired Ursula, she resorted to bribery, offering her fancy bedding and thirty dollars as severance.”
Billie scrunched her face, and I bumped her shoulder with a small grin. “That was a lot of money back then! Like, two thousand dollars today!”
“Did Ghost Boy tell you that?” she asked, huffing a laugh.
“Who?” Tamara and Tate asked at the same time.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said in a rush. “Anyway, these offerings made Ursula more angry, and she warned Mrs. Lincoln that her insults would come back upon her three-fold. Ursula was not interested in gifts or money. What she wanted was power and stability for herself and her sisters. And before Ursula left the estate, she snatched the left-hand glove of the Lincolns’ sole son and shoved it deep inside her coat pocket.”
Tamara and Tate each sucked in a breath as they looked at each other. They could already see where the story was going. Billie was still unaware, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Ursula returned home to her sisters with the bribery money in hand and the bedding thrown in the back of her wagon. But the glove was the real prize. Ursula led her sisters in a spell that would curse her former employers, for she was furious with Mr. Lincoln for not choosing her over his wife, and furious with Mrs. Lincoln for casting her out onto the streets.
“Underneath a full moon, Ursula boiled the leather glove in a cauldron, pricking it with a sharp knife as her little sisters chanted a spell. She smudged the boy’s glove with henbane, a poisonous nightshade plant, then rubbed it on the belly of her familiar, a black cat named Rutterkin. With a flick of his tail, he was out and through the window and off into the night. When he returned with the rising sun, Ursula knew her curse was complete. She lit a fire in the hearth and threw the boy’s glove into the burning flames.” I waited, looking from one face to another. They held their breaths, listening to my every word.
“The boy died that night,” I said in a soft tone. “The very next day, the Lincoln family accused Ursula of witchcraft. She knew they were coming for her. In fact, she was counting on it. But she wouldn’t let them take her alive. Before she could be arrested, she performed one last spell. She baked a loaf of rye bread and added a handful of water hemlock to the dough. Water hemlock smells like carrots and is highly poisonous. Ursula broke off a chunk of the bread and ate it before the constable and the mob he had gathered could breach their door. She stepped out of her home and walked seven steps before she collapsed in death at the constable’s feet.
“But her sisters adored her. They refused to accept their sister’s fate, so they worked a spell beside Ursula’s body, one that would ensure her spirit could continue on even after her heart stopped beating. The officers failed to notice a tiny spider cupped inside the palm of Ursula’s right hand. As the men dragged her body away to the cemetery, one of Ursula’s sisters crouched to the ground, calling the spider to her.” I paused, and the trio leaned in to hear what I’d say next.
“The spider contained the spirit of Ursula Geist, and there it would stay until the sisters found another witch for their sister to spirit jump into. Ursula can jump into other people. However, she cannot connect to the power in her own blood, so she must hijack another witch and channel the power that flows in theirs. Like a parasite, she takes over their bodies and lives on through them.
“Her sisters have remained her loyal followers. In fact, some have wondered whether they were able to spirit jump as well. But one thing is certain—Ursula can, and she is here in Ambrosia Hill trying to spirit jump inside my mom.” My voice was a low rasp. “And I have to figure out how to stop her before it’s too late and I lose my mom.”
I bit down on my lip, staring at the sidewalk where roots pushed up from under the cement. After a long, heavy silence, I looked up at Billie, Tate and Tamara. They were studying me with wide-eyed expressions. A blush crept up my neck, and I felt self-conscious at the personal story I’d just shared. Here I was hoping I could be friends with the Webber sisters. Just your average Saturday night out with the girls, complaining about my issues with a possessed mom. No biggie. Totally normal stuff.
Without meeting Billie’s eyes, I resumed our trek, following a bend on the path until it stopped at the cemetery gates.
“We’re here,” I whispered as my gaze trailed up the curve of the wrought iron gates. “Do you know why cemetery gates are made from iron?” I asked the girls without taking my gaze off the mist that was creeping along the earth, snaking like tendrils between the trees.
“Does it got something to do with keeping you witches out?” Tamara asked in a flat voice.
I moved closer to the gate, placing my hand upon the latch. “Yep. Dark witches can’t pass over or through cold iron.” I pushed on the handle and opened the gate, stepping aside with a flourish. “After you,” I said with a bow.
Tate was the first one to pass through, but not before I watched her knock three times then without hesitation make the sign of the cross over her chest. Tate seemed to dominate the space with her height and certainty. We formed a line behind her, moving through the evenly spaced rows of gravestones. The night was quiet and still, as if the stars were holding their breath and watching us.
“Where did you tell the girls to meet us?” Tate asked her sister in a hushed voice, not moving her head from the path in front of her.
“At the crypt just up ahead.” Tamara’s deep voice rumbled like thunder before a storm across the earth’s bed. It was almost visible in the quiet darkness, and I wondered if any spirits had heard her. A warm amber glow shone from a stone crypt, its warm light cascading down from a high stained-glass window that was too dirty to make out its design. The air was thick with the scent of wet stone and moss.
Tate reached for her phone and turned on its flashlight to guide us down the path. With careful steps, we picked our way through the grounds, cautious not to tread on any neglected graves. I looked down at the face of each crumbled and forgotten gravestone, the names long worn away, the ones whose family members had forgotten and no longer visited with gifts or prayers. Now their names were eroded and obscured with moss. All memory of their existence lay desiccated and cold like the decomposing bodies that lay buried beneath our feet.
A few graves shone in the dark with lit candles, revealing some of the departed still received visitors. Others had mountains of melted wax where a candle had once stood, spent from the night before. The cloying perfume of dead carnations and roses became overpowering and I breathed through my mouth, suddenly nauseated at the putrid scent of sweet rot. I felt guilty for my response. They were, after all, tokens from relatives and loved ones who came to remember their beloved.
Billie was behind me and I could hear the erratic rhythm of her breathing. I reached for her arm and pulled her to my side, looping my fingers through hers, experiencing a stab of guilt at the flutter of her racing heartbeat throbbing in her fingertips. She’s scared… I felt awful asking her to do this for me. Ursula Geist was my trouble, and my heart twisted in my chest with regret for dragging Billie into my problems.
Billie turned to me and her eyes shone bright through a curtain of black hair as she swept her bangs to the side. As if she’d heard my thoughts, she said, “I want to be here, Zinnia. I’m choosing to do this.”
My heart melted and I wrapped my arms around her neck, squeezing her tight. We stopped in front of the neglected crypt. Its once-intricate carvings were now crumbling away. Two of the grime-covered diamond-paned windows were broken, and from here I could see the large stained-glass window was missing one of the doves from the design. Statues of protective angels stood by the crypt door like guardians watching over the quiet dead. Their wings were chipped at the tips, and a twinge of sadness entered me thinking about the baby birds I’d seen in pet stores whose wings had been clipped. These angels, with their sad, worn stone faces, seemed to share that same fate, unable to return to their home in the sky.
The antechamber of the crypt was vacant. One tawny light of its decrepit bell tower shone dull and bleak against the stone walls. Billie circled around to the back of the church, her strides wide and confident, hands tucked into her jean pockets. She looked like a kid on a scavenger hunt and I watched as she disappeared behind a tree just to emerge seconds later, a bucket in her hand.
“There’s a small pond just down this path. Or a reflecting pool, I’m not sure.” Billie pointed to the left and my gaze followed her finger. With a smile in response, I reached for her, and together we picked our way to the still and murky water.
“Oh, don’t worry about us, girls!” Tamara called out. “We’ll be fine waiting here in some cold, creepy, haunted old cemetery while you two go off and steal smooches.” Her words prickled with sarcasm and I shot her a withering look over my shoulder. She laughed out loud at my expression, shooing us away as we moved out of sight.
“I think she likes you,” Billie said with a knowing smirk.
I nearly dropped dead. “Are you flipping serious?” I scoffed. “That girl hates me. She’s despised me since they moved here and she’ll hate me long after I’m gone.”
Billie laughed as she knelt down in front of a moss-covered pond. I grimaced, gagging on the stench of ditch water that reeked of algae and rot.
“That’s just their way.” Billie chuckled under her breath. “I figured a big, tough, cute city girl like you could handle a couple of local sisters who flex now and then.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to ignore the warm bloom in my chest at her kind words. I touched my hot cheeks. She thinks I’m cute. Billie scooped the bucket into the dirty water, careful not to get any on herself as she held the dripping bucket by her side. She pinched her nose with her other hand.
“Gawd, that smells awful!” I barked as I backed away from Billie, my eyes watering. With a wicked grin, Billie made like she was going to toss the nasty bucket on me, and I squealed, shaking my head no as we choked back our laughter.
“You should have told me witchcraft was nasty business, City Girl.” Billie’s voice was nasal as she was still pinching her nose. “Here I was thinking it was all potions and lotions, like some pink Love Potion Number Nine. Like, maybe a vial of snake venom serum to look young.”
I gripped the handle of the bucket to help her carry it and it swung between us with each step as we made our way back to the abandoned crypt. “It is,” I told her. “I mean, most of the time it’s quite peaceful and beautiful.” I bit my bottom lip. “But sometimes something dark enters, and it’s up to us to face it.” I shrugged. “There’s nobody else.”
The excited prattle of female voices met us as we made our way back up the path. The volleyball team had arrived in the short time we were gone and their loud chatter chirped in the cool night air. Tamara and Tate were standing with their backs to us, lit by the soft light that filtered through the church’s belltower window. A gaggle of nine teenage girls stood before them, all asking questions and talking with wild excitement over one another.
As Billie and I stepped into the circle of light and set the murky bucket on the ground between us, the sound of chatter ceased, and I sensed the weight of their silent eyes. One by one, they placed their hands on their hips, staring at us. No, at me. Compared to their chatter, their silence was unnerving.
A girl with coppery skin stepped closer to me, eyes scanning me up and down. “Hey, Billie,” she called out, her eyes never leaving me. “You coming to practice next week? Tate said you’re gonna try out.” A soft Hispanic accent shaped her words, curling them in her mouth like music.
I jerked my neck to look at Billie, a smile plastered across my face. Billie blushed as she rubbed her hand along the back of her neck. I prodded her with an encouraging elbow. Billie was just as tall as the other girls, and she was fast and agile. I could see Billie rocking it out on a volleyball court and experienced a pang of pride at the thought of attending one of her matches, cheering her on.
“You should do it,” I whispered louder than I meant to, and Billie shot me an adorable smile that made me swoon where I stood.
Tate stepped closer to the girl and they both watched me with a knowing look. “I’ve been trying to tell her, but she keeps giving me excuses.” Tate nodded in my direction. “Maybe she’ll do it for her girl, though.” A teasing glint danced in her eyes behind her black-rimmed glasses.
The other girl stepped closer to me, so close I could smell her cherry lip gloss over the stench of murky pond water. “You the witch that Tamara said needs our help?” Her dark eyes looked me up and down. “You don’t look like no witch to me. I’ve seen those old women in town. Where are your little red boots and pointy hat?”
The teammates listened and murmured to each other, their untrusting eyes locked on me. I knew what they were thinking. They all knew I was a witch, whether I wore a pointy hat or not. All the Fern women were witches, and they were born and raised in this town. Their grandmothers had told their moms, who had told them legends about us. Newcomers like this other girl hadn’t been brought up on ghost stories about my family, but everyone else in town was well educated on the Fern women.
I tucked my hands deep inside my tweed jacket. The pockets felt like an empty well, and if I reached in too far I could lose my hands in their void. I wanted to climb in and disappear. All their eyes on me made me self-conscious, like a bug under a microscope. I rocked on my heels, trying to keep my nerves steady. I was so new in claiming my birthright, and it seemed wrong to admit my identity, even though that was all I’d ever wanted to do. I took a deep, calming breath.
“Yep, that’s me. The green witch of Ambrosia Hill.” My voice was shaky, and I cleared my throat as I glanced about the circle of girls before meeting her eyes. “I need to save my mom. She’s in trouble, and I can’t do that without your help. Without everyone’s help.” I offered a weak smile, hoping it would soften her intense gaze.
