Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (9 page)

“Perhaps
you could ask your sister,” Brent said. There was some new emotion— perhaps
pity, in his eyes. “Diana. She is older than you. She likely remembers more.”

Cam
nearly flinched at the thought of asking her silent, furious sister anything.
“Oh no,” she told him. “No. Diana’s not the sort…. I don’t ask Diana anything
about our mother.” Diana had never initiated a single conversation about
Solange, and she had never given any sign that she would welcome a discussion
of their mother. Cam had never pressed the issue.

“They
never learned what started the fire?”

Cam
shook her head. “The carriage house burned hot and quickly. By the time the
flames died there was only ash. They weren’t able to determine anything.”

“So
there’s nothing left? Are the ashes still there?” His tone changed with this
question and there was a strange expression on his face.

One
of the day’s few clouds passed over the sun, and Cam shivered. “Good God, no.”  The
only ash that remained from that fire was in a vial hidden in her room, and she
hadn’t touched it in over four years. “It’s long gone.” She said, and this time
the sadness was impossible to hide.

“I’m
sorry to be asking you this,” Brent said. “I am. But are you positive that the
fire was an accident?”

Oh
no
.
That was far, far too close to home. “Of course!” Cam said loudly, staring up
at him as though she was offended and not frightened. “What else? Why would you
even ask that?”

He
looked away from her, almost as though he was ashamed.

“What
are you looking for, Brent?” She asked softly, and he turned those mesmerizing,
sun-dappled green eyes on her.

“The
truth,” he said.

“You
have it,” she lied, but what she really wanted to ask was
why? Why after all
these years have you come to torment us?

Brent
stared at her as though he was reading the words from her eyes, and he shook
his head. “What are you afraid of, Cam? I’ll help you if I can.”

So
she wasn’t fooling him. “I’m not frightened.” She snapped, “I’m horrified. What
happened was horrible, and no one in this dreadful place will let it be! We
laid my mother to rest fourteen years ago. Why can’t you people let her go? If
you really want to help me, you’ll leave her where she lies.” She was close to
shouting, and her hands were trembling. He’d done it. Somehow the little
bastard had slipped under her defenses, and she needed to compose herself
immediately before she accidentally told him something that she’d live to
regret.

“I
would like to,” Brent said. “But I have my reasons, Cam.”

“Oh,
what are they?”

He
hesitated, and Cam smiled bitterly. “Trust requires two people, Brent. You
can’t ask questions if you aren’t willing to answer them.”

A
muscle ticked in his jaw, and he walked ahead of her, stood in her path.
“Answer me this: do you know anything at all about the murder of Katherine
Varennes?”

Cam
turned away so that he couldn’t see the shock on her features. He was slowly
but surely following the rabbit trails that lead to her door. “Of course not!”
Cam said. “How could I? That murder was never solved. Good lord, don’t you have
any common decency? Are you going to pry into the life of every woman who died
in 1839?”

“I
don’t know! Are there any others who died suspiciously?”

She
was going to slap him; she really was. Cam whirled to face him, her hand raised,
but she found him standing closer than she had expected, and he caught her
wrist in one large hand before she could strike him. When she tried to pull her
hand away he adjusted his grip so that he was holding her hand and their
fingers were laced together. “Careful Cam,” Brent said, and there was something
almost intimate in his tone, as though they knew each other far better than
they really did. “Let’s not do anything we’ll both regret.” He was standing
close to her, close enough that she could have leaned forward and rested her
forehead against his chest.

“What
makes you think I’d regret it?” She asked, and he exhaled deeply. He was
breathing rather heavily all of a sudden, and the feel of his breath on her
neck made something deep in her belly clench. She stared up at him and found
her gaze drawn to the curve of his lips, to the way that they were slightly
parted. She wanted to—

“Miss
Johnson?” The voice was not Brent’s, and Cam jumped in surprise. Brent
responded immediately, twirling her around and pulling her against his chest as
though to protect her. She heard him reaching for the gun, which he had set on
the ground in the midst of their argument.

“No
need,” Cam told him quickly. The young man who had interrupted them was
mulatto, with a very familiar face. “That’s one of Mattie Deveraux’s boys.” She
told Brent quickly. “I’m here to see her. Hello Louis.”

Louis
was a few years younger than her, roughly Helen’s age. He was a tall, fine
looking boy, with an accent that was all New Orleans. “Mama wants to see you,”
he said and nodded to Brent. Brent returned the nod, a confused frown forming
on his brow.

“It’s
alright,” Cam told him, wiggling her hand so that he would release her. She
couldn’t go anywhere with that iron grip on her wrist. After years of wandering
through the forest without anyone thinking twice about it, it was strange to
have someone so worried about her safety. “I’ve known Louis for years,” she
told Brent. “He’s an old friend.”

Brent
released her, and they followed Louis down one of the forest paths to the
clearing by the creek where Mattie Deveraux made her home. There were several
other freed families living in the same clearing, but they stayed only as long
as they were in Mattie Deveraux’s good graces. She was the senior rootworker in
Gaynor County, if not in all of Mississippi, and she was involved, one way or
another, in almost everything that happened in the forest. She was the one who
had pinpointed the source of the evil conjure that had destroyed Cam’s mother,
enabling Caro and Grandma to seek justice. The women were old allies, and Cam
frequently carried messages back and forth between them.

She
watched as Brent glanced curiously around the clearing, staring at the
makeshift homes, the altars where herbs were burned, Mattie’s collection of
bones and the colorful charms that hung from the branches of a dead tree. The
scent of herbs and conjure wafted from the largest hut, which stood right on
the bank of the creek. Brent coughed and turned to look at Cam. “Did you say that
they’re friends of yours?”

“Yes.”
Cam told him. “Wait here.” She followed Louis across the clearing to Mattie’s
home.

“What?”
Brent sounded concerned again.

“Or
don’t.” Cam called back to him. “You don’t have to wait for me. But be polite.
This is their home.”

“I’m
always polite,” Brent said, and Cam had to bite her lip at his bemused tone.
Given that he had been raised in Philadelphia, it was entirely possible that he
had never encountered rootworkers before.

Welcome
to my world, Mr. Anderson.

When
Cam entered the cottage, Mattie Deveraux was seated in a chair by her cold
hearth with her eyes closed and her hands resting under her chin. If Cam didn’t
know better she would have thought that the woman was sleeping.

The
cottage looked much the same as it always did. Mattie Deveraux owned few
possessions that weren’t somehow related to her conjure. Her clothes, curtains
and bedding were sewn with charmed thread, and the only metal in her house was
protective silver. It was nice to see a home where the evidence of conjure
wasn’t hidden away, like in Cam’s kitchen.

“Hello
Cam,” Mattie Deveraux said at last, opening her eyes. She was a tall, thin
woman with a wiry build, high cheekbones and startlingly white teeth. It had to
be the conjure that kept her teeth that way, for Cam had never seen anyone else
in their fifties with teeth that perfect. When Cam had first met Mattie she’d
expected the woman to be wildly exotic looking. But Mattie’s clothes were quite
plain, apart from the colorful scarf that she wore wrapped around her head. Her
black skin wasn’t marked with any colorful symbols, and she wore no jewelry.

“Hello,”
Cam said.

“You’ve
brought someone with you,” Mattie said, gesturing for Cam to sit.

Cam
seated herself in the chair across from Mattie. “Brent Anderson.” She
explained. “It wasn’t my intention but…”

“Anderson…”
Mattie repeated thoughtfully. “Oh, yes, the newcomer.” She spoke slowly but
clearly, and she always seemed somehow distanced from the situation at hand, as
though her attention were divided between earthly matters and visions of some
other world. She had lived in New Orleans far longer than her son, but for some
reason her accent wasn’t as strong.

“I
was coming to see you about supplies,” Cam said in a hushed tone, even though
Brent wasn’t nearly close enough to hear anything that was said. “But Louis
mentioned that you wanted to see me.”

“Yes.”
Mattie said simply. “I sent him to fetch you yesterday, but there was some
social gathering at your home and he couldn’t intrude.”

So
it was Louis who had been watching her yesterday. Cam wished she’d known at the
time; she wouldn’t have been so alarmed. But it was very unlike Mattie to send
one of her sons out of the forest. Something had to be afoot.

“Something’s
wrong, isn’t it?” Cam asked.

“Yes.
Someone is doing evil.”

“Evil
conjure? Who?”

“Not
any of my people,” Mattie said. She leaned forward, staring intensely at a spot
in the middle of Cam’s forehead for a moment. Cam blinked uncomfortably as
Mattie searched for something in Cam’s aura. “And not any of yours,” she concluded
finally and leaned back.

“Who
does that leave?” Cam asked. “There are only so many rootworkers in Gaynor County.
I can’t think of anyone else.”

“There
must be someone else,” Mattie said. “I haven’t sensed this much malevolence
since 1839.”

Cam
shivered.

“Didn’t
you sense anything?” Mattie asked.

“We…
had some idea,” Cam said. She didn’t mention Mary’s vision. Mary’s talent was
one of the few secrets that Caro hadn’t shared with Mattie. They trusted Mattie
and her family, but not all of the people that Mattie worked with. Mary’s skill
made her far too valuable. If word got out about her visions, she could find
herself the target of all sorts of conjure.

“Hm.
Tell Caroline and your grandmother that I will share anything I learn with
them.”

‘Thank
you,” Cam said, rising to leave.

“That’s
not all.” Mattie added.

Oh
lord.
Cam sat back down. “More bad news?”

“Not
necessarily,” Mattie said. “Right now it’s just news.” She hesitated and Cam’s
heart fluttered. “The Varennes girls are coming home.”

Cam
gripped the arms of her chair, feeling as though she’d been splashed with ice
water. “Kat’s daughters?” She’d had two little girls just a few years old when
she’d been murdered. They’d been off at boarding school for years. Cam hadn’t
seen them since she was a child, and even then their paths had rarely crossed.

“The
very same,” Mattie confirmed.

“Could
they have anything to do with what you’ve been sensing?”

“Whoever
I’m sensing is here right now. The Varennes girls won’t arrive for several
weeks. Anyway, I doubt they’ve been trained in our ways. They weren’t even old
enough to talk when their mother died, and they’ve been raised by their
father’s family.”

“We
were small when our mother died and I’ve learned,” Cam said, standing up to
pace across the cottage. “We don’t know who has had access to them since Kat
died. Just because their father’s family raised them doesn’t mean they haven’t
had contact with their mother’s family.”

“Cam,”
Mattie interrupted. “I told you so that you wouldn’t be shocked when you saw
them, not so that you could be distracted by them. There are more important
matters at hand.”

Cam
blew out a shaky breath and came to stand in front of Mattie. “Yes,” she
agreed, but secretly she knew that it would be a long time before she adjusted
to the idea of Kat’s daughters returning to Gaynor.

“Now,”
Mattie said, reaching into her pocket. “I trust that your schedule is free this
evening?”

“The
usual time and place?” Cam asked, fighting to keep her thoughts from Kat’s
daughters.

“Yes.
Here’s a list,” Mattie said, retrieving a crumpled piece of paper from her
pocket. “Burn it when you’re finished with it.”

“Of
course,” Cam said, scanning the items briefly before folding the paper and
stowing it deep in her pocket. “We shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“Martin
will be there to meet you, as always,”

“Very
well,” Cam said. “Goodbye.”

“Cam.”
Mattie called her. “Be careful. There’s a black moon next month.”

A
black moon was the opposite of a blue moon. A blue moon occurred when there
were two full moons in the same month. When there were two new moons in the
same month, the second was called a black moon, and it was said to be an
unpredictable night of great power. Cam’s mother had died beneath a black moon.