Briar Rose

Inch by inch, the strange powder sifts out of the bag behind the silent figure along the journey around the darkened house. In the distance, a neighbour’s dog wails, as
if it senses the foul magic. Perhaps even senses the anger and the loss that brings this person here on this particular night.

Once the circle is complete, the ritual words are spoken in a thick whisper as fingers nervously clutch the paper and eyes squint to read the faint type. Then it is done: the curse is laid. It
was easy, just as the conjure woman had said it would be. Still trembling, the solemn figure walks into the darkness, leaving behind the legacy of bitterness that will bear ill fruit.

Empowered, the curse stirs to life now, the powder glistening like molten silver in the moonlight. It seems to dance for a time above the withered grass, and then sinks deep into the ground,
claiming one of those within the house as its own.

Over the years this curse will remain vigilant, growing in strength, changing course as needed. Then, when the time is right, it will fulfil its calling. Sate its near-human desire for
revenge.

No mercy. No second chances. Only more tears to feed the bitterness.

CHAPTER ONE

A prolonged bugle blast echoed across the heat-drenched field, followed by the raucous applause of over a hundred bystanders. Briar Rose sighed in relief – the
re-enactment of the Battle of Bliss was finally over.

Groaning, she rolled over on her back on the hard-packed earth, her head throbbing and throat parched. The Deep South July sun beat down unmercifully, and when coupled with the soaring humidity
it was Georgia’s version of a sauna.

The annual re-enactment of the battle between a ragtag bunch of rebels and a contingent of General Sherman’s forces always brought tourists to Bliss. Over the years, various members of
Briar’s family had taken their turn at portraying their famous ancestor, Private Elmer Rose. This was her year to do Elmer’s ‘run’, a futile sprint across the battlefield to
deliver a message begging for reinforcements. A message that never reached its intended recipient and resulted in Sherman’s troops sacking and burning the town on their way to Savannah.

‘Good job, Briar,’ one of the re-enactors called out, limping along as the final whiffs of smoke cleared over the battlefield.

A shadow passed over her, bringing brief respite from the sun. Briar blinked up at a fellow rebel soldier. The eldest of the three Quinn brothers, Joshua had curly brown hair, which was mussed
around the edge of his cap. His face was sweaty and his mismatched butternut-coloured uniform spotted with red clay.

Their families
had a history
, as the locals would say. Some of it had begun before either of them had been born – their parents hadn’t really liked each other for as long as
she could remember – but she and Joshua had been friends until the day they’d both nearly drowned at the mill when they were six. After that awful day her folks had told her not to go
near him, and his had said the same. Briar had never understood exactly why, but when her mom had grounded her for a week for trying to talk to him at a softball game a few weeks after the
accident, she’d decided Joshua Quinn was more trouble than he was worth.

‘Nasty people, those Quinns,’ her grandmother used to say. ‘That boy’s momma’s not right in the head, blamin’ all her troubles on us. She brought it on
herself.’

Because of the animosity between their families, Joshua rarely came near her, mostly because his mom had ordered him not to. When he’d broken that rule, which wasn’t often,
he’d paid dearly. Or least that’s what Briar had heard from some of her friends. The
not being near that Rose girl
proved difficult since they were in the same class in high
school and rode the same bus. Still, they’d managed to keep their distance ever since first grade.

Until now.

Above her, Joshua hesitated, and then offered his gloved hand to help her up.

Briar froze. That she hadn’t expected from a Quinn.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

‘Helping you up,’ he said simply.

‘Go away! I don’t want to get into trouble.’

Uneasy now, Briar stood and did a quick scan of the field around them, knowing people were watching them. Some of them would be happy to call up either set of parents and deliver the news that
the ‘kids’ were seen together.

Briar’s head continued to pound, which meant she’d not had enough water. She really wanted to unbutton her uniform coat, but no girl wanted to be seen all sweaty and gross. Instead
she stripped off her cap, which really didn’t help much.

When her balance faltered, Joshua’s gloved hand touched her elbow to steady her. It quickly retreated at her glare. She made her way to the huge oak tree in the centre of the field, the
one that had been there since before the original battle, and slumped beneath it.

Joshua crouched down near her. ‘You OK?’ he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

‘Just really hot. I’m kinda dizzy. I didn’t eat much breakfast.’

His battered canteen came her way. When she didn’t take it, he scowled, unscrewed the cap and took a big drink. ‘See, no poison.’ Then he wiped off the rim and offered the
canteen again.

Briar felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. ‘No. Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘It’s just . . . your mom is so . . .’

‘My mom? Yours isn’t any better,’ he came back. ‘They’re both crazy.’

Crazy?
‘You leave my mother out of this,’ she said, defiant.

‘Yeah, whatever. It’s never a Rose’s fault, is it? It’s always us Quinns who are wrong.’

Scowling, he pushed a stray curl off his face, which only made his big brown eyes more noticeable. No doubt about it, Joshua Quinn was cute, even if his family were the enemy.

Briar looked around again, increasingly worried. ‘You should go before—’

‘Yeah, maybe I better,’ he said, stripping off the glove and tucking it under his belt. ‘This was just a waste of time.’ He held her eyes for a moment, like he wanted to
say more, then hiked off, no doubt to collect his horse.

Briar sighed in relief. Why had he done that? He’d stayed away from her for years, going to elaborate efforts so they never came near each other, even faking stomach flu to avoid
partnering with her in gym class. Still, she’d always been aware of him watching her, but never coming close.

Until today.

Confused and still lightheaded, she slowly unbuttoned her uniform jacket and let the steamy air collide with her skin. It didn’t offer that much relief, not when you were in the middle of
a dusty field where there wasn’t a breeze.

Usually the place for impromptu softball games, for four Saturdays each summer, this stretch of ground became the Battle of Bliss with Union soldiers on one side, locals and a small contingent
of Confederate soldiers on the other. They even had cannons. Though the re-enactors were very particular about period details, the real Elmer Rose had died in the winter of 1864 during
Sherman’s infamous March to the Sea. It was the single most important episode in the town’s otherwise dull history and that’s why it had never been forgotten.

To ensure that the tourists would share that history (and their much-needed dollars) the town council had proclaimed that the re-enactment would be held during the summer, rather than in
December, when it had really happened. As Briar’s dad had put it, ‘There’s nothing quite as entertaining as watching people dying in the baking sun.’

After this summer one of the cousins would take over the role of Elmer, much to Briar’s relief.

‘There you are,’ a voice called out.

Briar smiled at the sound of her best friend’s voice. Reena Hill’s corkscrew curls bounced as she walked closer. She was a senior, a year older than Briar, and the eldest of the four
Hill kids.

‘Hey there,’ Briar said, annoyed that her head was still buzzing from the heat.

‘I saw you talking to Josh,’ Reena said. ‘You’re risking the wrath of the parentals doing that.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Reena and Joshua had no such restrictions, so they’d been friends for years. That had proved to be awkward on occasion.

‘What did he say?’ Reena asked.

‘Not much.’ Briar pointed at the full bottle of water in her friend’s hand. ‘Is that mine or are you just torturing me for the fun of it?’

‘It’s yours,’ Reena said, tossing it to her.