Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (14 page)

“Oh,
I… felt strangely better. I thought that I might accompany you to Mr.
Anderson’s picnic after all.”

“Excellent,”
Aunt Beth said approvingly. “Well, we’re all ready if you are,” she looked
eagerly at Brent.

“Absolutely,”
Brent said, and Cam wanted to groan at the way he gallantly gestured for Aunt
Beth to lead the way. It was absolutely infuriating the way that he had most
people wrapped around his little finger.

“Also,”
Aunt Beth added. “I invited Marianne Taversly to come along. You don’t mind do
you? I felt sorry for the poor girl; I couldn’t leave her here with no one her
own age to socialize with.” Aunt Beth was probably the only person in the world
who could possibly feel sorry for Marianne Taversly. “It is alright, isn’t it?”

 “Absolutely,”
Brent said, this time a little less gallantly. Cam remembered some of their
earlier discussions about Marianne, and couldn’t stifle the pleased thought—

He
prefers me.

***

The
picnic was painful. Cam struggled to ignore the dark aura that surrounded
Brent’s house, but she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind. Aunt Beth and
Marianne, an unpleasant combination, dominated the conversation. Aunt Beth
bored everyone to death with the dullest small talk imaginable, Marianne
managed to tell every embarrassing story from Cam’s childhood in record time,
and they both slobbered all over Brent as if he were a god in their midst.

Just
because he
looked
like a god was no reason to treat him like one, Cam
thought. And anyway, she knew for a fact that his nature tended more toward the
devilish than the divine.

Unfortunately
she needed to find a way to be alone with the devil if she wanted her charm
back. There was no appropriate way to ask him to return it in front of the
others. She waited until Aunt Beth and Marianne had both excused themselves to
freshen up, and then pointedly suggested to Brent that they go visit the old
Wickers rose garden.

Helen,
who had been left behind to chaperone, closed her book at that point and moved
to stand and accompany them, but Cam surreptitiously shook her head. Helen
frowned, confused, but Cam shook her head again. If it had been Diana she would
have insisted, but Helen nodded and returned to her book.

Cam
could feel the tension between her and Brent building as they strolled across
the property, keeping an appropriate distance between them at all times— until
Helen was out of sight. As soon as they rounded the bend and came to the rose
garden (the former rose garden, actually, since for some reason all of the
roses had died) Brent stopped and faced her with a stare that was so
penetrating it was almost a caress.

Cam
couldn’t help herself.

She
took a step forward, staring at his mouth as though she was about to kiss him.
But when his eyes burned and he moved forward, she shook her head and took a
step back. “I’m here about something else,” she told him, and relished his
frustration.

Brent
murmured a curse, and Cam hid her smile and instead readjusted her gloves
primly

He
was right; she did enjoy toying with him. What she didn’t enjoy was when he
suddenly turned the tables on her, guessing too accurately and straying so
close to the truth that she felt as exposed as if she were standing naked, with
her deepest secrets inked onto her flesh for the entire world to see.

“Down
to business,” Cam said finally. “Do you happen to have a silver coin?” Given
where she kept the charm, he was the only person who could have taken it.

Brent
calmed a little. “I have a number of coins.” He told her flatly. “Are you
thinking of one in particular?” He wasn’t going to make it easier on her,
obviously.

“There
is one that I keep on my person at all times,” she told him primly. “It’s been
gone since last week.”

“What
happened last week?” He asked, and his tone was innocent but his gaze was
searing.

“You
took it. I think.” Cam added.

“Oh,
am I a pickpocket now?” He asked her, smiling almost savagely.

Cam
lost her temper. “Brent! I didn’t keep it in my pocket and you know it. Now, if
you have it give it back!”

He
gave a bark of laughter and then he reached into his own pocket. He produced
his handkerchief, unfolded it and took out a familiar silver coin. “I didn’t
even realize that I was clutching it in my hand until after you’d run home.” He
tossed it to her and she caught it easily.

“Thank
you,” she bit out, but her tone was anything but grateful.

“I’m
afraid it’s gotten cold,” he told her. “You might want to warm it before you
put it back, to avoid any discomfort.” Cam’s face burned, but she ignored him
and slipped the coin into her glove. She wasn’t about to reach into her basque
with him watching her like a wolf.

“Mr.
Anderson? Camilla?” It was Marianne.

“Oh,
marvelous,” Cam sighed, quickly glancing down at herself to make sure that she
didn’t look as disheveled as she felt.

“Don’t
be too hard on her,” Brent said. “She’s rescuing you.” His gaze was heated and
Cam shivered.

“Rescuing
me from what? Oh, hello Marianne.” She said as the redhead came sidling into
the garden.

“Oh,
isn’t this spot lovely?” Marianne said, with ridiculous enthusiasm given that
it was a wasteland of brown stalks and rotting flowers. She glanced from Cam to
Brent with slitted eyes. “What are we doing here?” She asked, some of the
sweetness slipping from her voice. She was really asking:
what are you doing
here?

The
question was addressed to Cam, and there was a warning in her eyes. The little
snake really was afraid that Cam was stealing Brent from her. How strange.
Diana had always been the Johnson sister that other girls feared and envied.
Now that she had been knocked from her throne, some county girls were eying
Helen nervously, but most had skipped Cam entirely. It was an odd feeling to
have Marianne, the most popular girl in the county, afraid of her.

“Is
something wrong?” Marianne asked, fanning herself delicately. The movement was
graceful and her smile was girlish, but her gaze was highly suspicious.

“I
lost something,” Cam said. “Mr. Anderson was kindly helping me look for it.”

“Oh,
may I help?” Marianne asked innocently, smiling becomingly from behind her fan.

“No
need.” Cam said quickly. “Mr. Anderson found it.”

“Oh,
what a gentleman!” Marianne fluttered her eyelashes.

“Indeed,”
Cam all but snarled, walking past Marianne without another word. She felt just
a few minutes away from insanity.

This
is what society does to people
, she thought miserably
as she walked across the lawn.
It gets inside of you and makes you want
things that you shouldn’t want. Then other people who want the same things
become your enemy, and you end up half-mad at the very times when you need to
be most vigilant.

With
that, she stopped halfway across the lawn and tilted her head back, staring up
at the Anderson house. Despite the almost oppressive heat of the day, a shiver
traveled down her spine.
And what is wrong with this house?

Cam
wasn’t like Mary, she didn’t have the girl’s almost uncanny talent for
foresight. What she did have, however, were years of exposure to all kinds of
conjure. The good, the bad, and the terrifying. Her senses were finally honed,
and Cam trusted them implicitly. If the mere sight of the Anderson house was
enough to make her ill, then something was rotten in Denmark.

It’s
too still
, she thought, tilting her head still farther back
and keeping a hand on her bonnet, though there was no wind to whisk it away.

Brent’s
new home was larger than Cypress Hall. It was also much more elegant, with
graceful lines, slender columns and many windows. Spanish moss hung thickly from
every branch of the tall oaks that stood on either side of the house, casting
long, slanting shadows across the lawn. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it rode low
in the sky, and darkness gathered beneath the trees, behind the ghostly white
columns that supported the still, silent house. The windows on the second story
were closed, the curtains untouched by the breath of nature.
It must be like
death up there
, Cam thought, and shuddered.

That
was it. There was something morbid about the house, something ghastly. It was
beautiful, but in the same way that a dying woman might be. Perhaps that was
fitting, though, since it housed a dying woman. Was Hattie’s illness what cast
such an aura of darkness over the property? Cam doubted it. Death was natural.
What she sensed was not. It was twisted, potent, ugly and growing stronger, but
it was not natural.

It
was conjure. Cam’s mouth popped open as she was finally able to identify the
feeling had been haunting her ever since that first night with Diana.

“Camilla.”
Cam nearly jumped out of her skin when her aunt spoke from behind her.

“Yes?”
She responded as soon as her heartbeat had returned to normal. She turned to
look at her aunt, who was practically beaming.

“Isn’t
it a lovely house?” Aunt Beth asked, lifting the brim of her sun hat so that
she could admire it. “I think it’s one of the loveliest homes in Gaynor.”

Cam
bit back a snort. Aunt Beth hadn’t thought so back when the elderly Mr. and
Mrs. Wickers owned the property. “It was so kind of Mr. Anderson to invite us
to his home. We simply must return the favor.”

“We
must?” Cam asked. It was as though events were conspiring to keep putting her
together with Brent. How was she supposed to behave around him when she kept
thinking about their kiss, when she kept wanting him?

“Of
course, Camilla. It’s only polite. I think we should invite Brent and his
family to dinner. His brother may have to decline, of course, but I think Brent
should be able to attend. Doesn’t that sound delightful?” Aunt Beth looked
happier than Cam had ever seen her.

Cam
stared at her aunt’s familiar, serene face, and wondered what it was like to
fear only wrinkles and gossip. She had never been jealous of her Aunt Beth
before, but suddenly she envied her aunt’s small world and smaller problems.
“Yes,” Cam said finally, resignedly. “That sounds delightful.”

The
carriage ride home was quiet. Helen read (Cam could never understand how the
girl could read in a carriage without getting sick) Aunt Beth discussed her
plans for the dinner, and Cam brooded.

***

When
they arrived home it was late, and immediately after dinner Cam took refuge in
the kitchen. Caro and Grandma were in good spirits. Even Mary was unusually
cheerful.

Caro
was experimenting with her charms, adding new herbs to old recipes and evaluating
the results. Grandma sat nearby, casting the bones and making note of the
results in a thick black book. Ever since Mary’s dream, they had been trying
every method of fortune-telling available to them, hoping to learn more about
the nameless threat that Mary had sensed.

“So
don’t go to this dinner. Tell her you don’t like Mr. Anderson.” Grandma
suggested, her fingers hovering over the bones as she analyzed them.

But
I do like Brent…
she cast off the wayward thought. “Oh,”
Cam shook her head. “I would dearly like to, but if Aunt Beth thought that I
was snubbing the most eligible bachelor in the county, if not the state, she’d
throw herself from the roof.”

“What
a tragedy,” Grandma said drily. She sighed at the results of her casting.

“What
are the bones telling you?” Cam asked, eager to turn the conversation away from
Brent.

“Nothing
helpful,” Grandma said. “Perhaps I should try a different method.”

“Are
there any you haven’t tried?” Cam asked.

“Here,”
Caro pushed a bowl of water toward Grandma. “Why not try this again?”

Grandma
sighed. “Fetch me an egg.” She told Cam. “You know,” she added when Cam brought
her the egg, “they say that if a young woman cracks an egg in dish of water
under the light of the full moon, she will see her future husband in the water.”
She offered the egg back to Cam. “There’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh
no,” Cam quickly stepped back. “Not a chance.”

“Don’t
you want to see your future husband?” Caro asked in her low, rich voice.

“I’m
not doing it,” Cam said firmly.

Grandmamma
laughed. “Aren’t you curious?”

“No,
but I’m sure Aunt Beth would be interested, perhaps I should fetch her.” Cam
said drily. “Truly, I don’t think there’s a future husband to see. I’m
certainly not bound for matrimony at the moment.” She gestured around the
shadowed kitchen, and was surprised at the faintly wistful note in her voice.

“Perhaps,”
Mary said from where she sat, “perhaps you already know who you want, but
you’re too afraid to see if he’s the one you get.” It was the closest to a
challenge that Mary had ever uttered. Cam wondered what Mary had seen in her
visions for her to have such a knowing glint in her eye.