Chapter 24

Chapter 24 of 56 · 9-minute read

I bound to my feet. My mom notices immediately.

“Lauren? What’s wrong?”

Figures. She can’t make sense of hardly anything right now, but she can still detect when something is wrong.

“Nothing, Mama. It’s nothing. Just Virgil coming back with dessert.”

She sinks back into her chair. Pamela, locking gazes with me, understands. “You like hot dog cookouts, don’t you, Miss Emma?”

Mama’s head bobs again in answer, lost, but at least lost in this moment, and not in the fears and the worries of the past.

“I sure do. I love me some cookouts.”

“Really, Miss Emma? What do you like so much about hot dog cookouts?”

My mom and Pamela chatter on as I walk, then run, toward Virgil. Dixon is right behind me, but with his longer legs, he’s merely walking.

Huffing, Virgil slows as we approach him. He glances over his shoulder, not once, but twice. I need to tell him about my premonition. About how maybe it’s not a great idea to do a ritual tonight, no matter how badly I need it or how curious I am about how our energies will mesh together when we share a common intention.

Dixon reaches him first. “What’s wrong, little brother?” The three of us stand alone in the field as Virgil twists to look behind him again. “Laurie’s damned cousins,” he mutters.

Frowning, I squint into the darkness behind him. His own energy trail wavers behind him, bright blue, like neon Tanzanite smoke. I see the older patterns left behind by my relatives, but nothing new. Not from them. A fresher, but more distant energy swirls maybe five hundred feet away. It’s not strong or clear. Murkiness. A ruddy black color with lightning bolts of bright red in it. Anger in its most volatile form.

But is it the same energy as that of whoever has been following me in my visions? The murky red energy trails dissipate as I watch.

“Whoever it was, they’re gone now.”

Next to me, Dixon wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “You can’t be certain of that, baby.”

“She can be.” Virgil frowns behind him, but I don’t know if he can see the trails that I can. He must have some talent in that area because he adds, “Laurie’s right. They’re not here anymore.”

Still looking over his shoulder, Virgil hands me a cookie sheet covered in neatly rubbed aluminum foil. Whatever is lumpy under the foil is still warm. “These are for your mom. Tell her I made them myself. It’s Mississippi Mud Cake with fudge and marshmallows. I left out the pecans, just like she likes it.”

I thank him and hand the tray to Dixon. Knowing exactly what I need, he nods and trots off to my mom.

Virgil and I stare at each other for a few seconds. Something is amiss, and we both know it.

“Did you see who it was, Virgil? Are you sure it was my cousins?”

He screws up his jaw to one side, then shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

“Didn’t you tell me the tradition you were Initiated into has a gift for being able to see the future?” He’s told me a bit about the Daeganean priesthood. Over the last few months, he’s told me more about their practices, and we’ve agreed to do some “work” together. “Omni-presence, you called it.”

Virgil shoots me a look like he wants to say something but holds back. “Not quite the same thing. Omnipresence is being able to see across time, from your past all the way to the end of your life, or rather, the end of this incarnation. It’s not the same as divination. It’s more like being able to remember the future. Not always a perfect memory, mind you. If you have dementia at the end of your journey, like your mom, then you may not remember your last years very well. You don’t remember everything that’s ever happened to you in your past, just the big stuff. Remembering the future is that way too. It’s not that you know the future, but that you remember having lived it before it happens, and memory can be faulty. To be honest, we don’t really pay enough attention to things in our daily lives for them to be remembered unless they are, for some reason, significant.”

“Okay, um, do you remember who just followed you?”

Smiling, he shakes his head and pats me on the back as he turns me around to walk back toward the house. “I chose not to see everything. It’s a gift that’s available to High Priests and High Priestesses in my coven’s tradition, but we don’t all take advantage of it. It can be a gift or a curse, and there are always those two sides to the coin and the third side.”

“Three sides of a coin?”

“The rim. The two sides might be opposites, but the rim brings them together. We discovered early on—or so our history books say—that the Daeganean witch must choose to accept this gift or not. Remembering your future can cause descent into madness. You prevent yourself from doing things or being in situations or loving people that might end badly later. If you can’t reconcile knowing everything and instead react to it before it’s happened, you can live a very hollow life. Given my profession, I decided it would be best if I used my intuition and inherent psychic abilities rather than the special omnipresence method granted upon Initiation into our priesthood.”

Ah. I understand. Going to war in a distant country can make him either exceptionally brave or too terrified to make a move. I don’t know much about that era of his life except that he came home wounded—and that my little brother is currently deployed to that area of the world.

“Virgil?”

Walking slowly back with him, I set my gaze on the bonfire in the backyard. Dixon bends over to present my mom with the deluxe brownies, still warm, and she squeals with delight that makes my heart sing.

“Yes?”

“I had a vision.” I stop walking. I need time to explain. “Someone was chasing me across the field. I could see a bonfire, but it was much bigger than ours is now. I could see people around it. A couple, anyway. My visions are things that haven’t happened yet.”

Well, I don’t think they’ve happened. I certainly haven’t paused by my mom’s bedside in a nursing home. I don’t intend to either. As far as I’m concerned, she’ll never have to worry about that scenario, and neither will I. Then again, visions and divination are often all about changing the course of the future. Now that I know that I’m in danger, if my mom is ever admitted to a nursing home, particularly the one where Virgil works, I’ll simply make sure that that particular situation I’ve been shown doesn’t happen. I’ll use my vision to ensure it’s a different nursing home or a different room or that we avoid nursing homes altogether.

“So, Virgil, maybe, um, maybe we shouldn’t do our ritual tonight.”

“Why don’t you let me handle that?” He motions that we continue walking. “Between your wards and mine, I think we can keep away any wicked intentions toward us tonight, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

I’m satisfied with a suggestion. In fact, something about it exhilarates me. Other than my former student, Christabel, I haven’t worked with anyone magickal in around ten years when I left behind the second of the two covens in my history. I’ve also not joined forces with another adept in that time. Since leaving the Grand Coven and later the Elders’ Coven, I’ve been on my own with my magickal workings. Not that I mind that, and the independence suits me, but having a real partner to share my intent and focus and provide an exponent to my own magick? Those possibilities excite me.

By the time we get back to the bonfire, Pamela and Dixon are acting as surrogates at the edge of the fire, Dix with a cold wiener impaled on a clothes hanger skewer and Pamela preparing a hot dog bun with ketchup, mustard, and sweet pickle relish. Mama is lapping up the attention. She grins like a schoolgirl of seventy years ago as she hunches over and rubs her hands together excitedly. She grins up at me as Virgil and I approach, and then I would swear that I can see her thoughts freeze and topple into a black hole.

“Lauren? Where you been? Your boyfriend here is taking good care of me. And Pamela, too. Are you just getting here?”

“Yes, Mama.”

It’s hard for me to lie to her, even in this state. Then again, a lie is so much kinder than the cruelty of telling her that her mind can’t stay focused on any one thing for longer than two minutes. I suddenly envy people who lose their minds and memories without realizing it. She’s begun to understand what’s happening to her, and it’s a crueler fate than she could ever have wished for. I just can’t stop thinking about it! So many ways that she would have preferred to leave this life, and none of them, no matter how abrupt or terrible, is worse than the long goodbye.

She hikes her chin and realizes suddenly—again—that I’m standing next to her. “Lauren? Where did you come from? Are you just getting here? Your boyfriend is taking such good care of me. And Pamela, too.” She frowns. “Wait. Did I just tell you that?”

“You hungry, Miss Emma?” Dix chimes in. It’s become of game to keep my mom distracted from anything upsetting and focused on things that spark cheer.

Dixon pulls the wiener from over the fire, inspecting it for perfect doneness. He gives a firm nod of approval before sliding it onto Pamela’s paper plate and watching her carefully assemble Mama’s meal with ketchup, mustard, and a handful of salty potato chips. Finally, she places the plate in Mama’s lap and steps back, beaming proudly as Mama’s eyes widen in delight.

I’m not sure how much more of this rollercoaster my heart can take, but I am forever grateful to have Pamela and the Caine brothers lending a hand.

Pamela hands my mom several paper towel napkins and even bends forward to wipe a dab of ketchup from the corner of her mouth. “Do you need anything else, Miss Emma?”

My mom stops chewing and looks around. She notes me standing close to the fire, and Virgil, jabbing at a log with the poker. She glances at Pamela, and then over at Dixon, then looks around her chair frantically. She spies Virgil’s car on the far side of the yard. Frowning, she asks, “Lauren? Whose car is that?”

“Miss Emma? Honey?” Pamela tries to hide her worry as she tucks the blanket around Mama’s shoulders again.

From beside me, Virgil clears his throat. “That’s my car, Miss Emma. Nothing to worry about.”

My mom nearly drops the plate from her lap, but Pamela catches it in time and puts the straying wiener back into the bun.

“Miss Emma?” Pamela continues. “Miss Emma, can I get you anything?”

Mama stops chewing and swallows, a wall of seriousness chiseled into her face. Her jaws tighten, seething. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen fire in her eyes like this. Maybe never.

“Pamela? I need you to go inside my house and into Shelby’s room and bring me the deer rifle. I’m gonna shoot that devil. God forgive me, but I’m gonna kill him. Then I’m gonna bury him in that swamp where nobody will find him.”

The three of us freeze. I’m not sure what she’s talking about, but she’s not the one responsible for Bobby’s death.

I am.

“Miss Emma,” Virgil says casually as he pries open a bag of jumbo marshmallows and skewers two. “Are you ready for some s’mores now?”

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