Secondhand Spirits (33 page)

A wall of fog moved in. It was so thick it became hard to see more than fifteen feet away.

Then, loudly: a ghostly sobbing, wailing, keening noises.

“Where are my children?
¿Dónde están mis hijos?
”

Several of the coven members began to weep at the aching sadness of
La Llorona
's voice. All the more reason to banish the demon—the coven members who heard her cry were now at risk themselves.

Wind whipping, I heard the mournful call of a fog-horn and thought of normal life carrying on, cars racing across the bridge in the distance. Time hadn't stopped, because it didn't. That's not the way this sort of thing works.

“My children . . . where are my children?” Now the voice sounded far away, distant. That meant she was upon us. She felt strong, much stronger than she used to be. Frances had lent her power to the specter.

“Give us the child!” I commanded.

“A soul for a soul . . .”

“Lily!”

I looked up to see the woman I had asked Aidan to compel to come here tonight. The adult Elisabeth. The child who had returned to life, though not quite right, never truly human again after her time in the depths with
La Llorona
. The beloved daughter for whom Frances had sacrificed so much.

Delores Keener stood before us, atop an abandoned car. She seemed to shimmer with malevolence.

“Stop this, Lily
.
We can make you more powerful than you can imagine. Join us!”

As she spoke she seemed somehow larger, the planes of her face shifting like one of those children's puzzles where you moved the parts around to make up the picture. Was it just my imagination, the magic of the spell?

“Give us the child,” I shouted. “Give us Jessica.”

“Impossible.
La Llorona
is stronger now than ever.”

“So am I.”

Delores looked at me, her eyes piercing. “Yes. I can see that. But you couldn't take me on, much less her. But if you join us, a union born of sisterhood . . .”

I felt it then: temptation. A surge of pure power curling about me like a serpent, enticing me with the promise of never again doubting myself, of reigning supreme. The path to spiritual oblivion. My father had chosen that path. For the first time I understood how, and why. I thought of Graciela, the tiny woman who had stood against my father to save me as a baby. I concentrated on the coven of women, most of them previously unknown to me, who had come to support me in this treacherous, crazy quest.

“Your own mother tried to kill you,” I shouted.

This time it wasn't my imagination—Delores swelled with rage. Vaguely, as though they were far away, I could hear the women of the coven whispering, their worried murmurs gathering strength to support me. Wendy had started them all in a chant of protection. They were brave; they had not broken the circle.

“She could not kill me,” said Delores.

“But she tried. She poisoned your last meal, didn't she?”

“I always did love pot roast.”

“She wanted to kill herself and you,” I said. “But because I used the wrong hair in my spell, your hair, you were protected.”

“I still got sick as a dog. I'm part human, after all.”

“Were you there when I cast my spell?”

“It was my home. Where else would I be?”

“You lived up in the attic?”

“When I was a girl. As an adult I went wherever I wanted—I only had to make sure no one saw me. Sometimes the neighborhood brats would break into the house, but I took care of them. I found the trick of invisibility, read about black-cat bones in one of my mother's books.”

“But why did you set her out in the pentagram . . . ?”

“I was watching you that night. Your magic was strong—I have to hand it to you. You might have saved her if I hadn't been working against your craft.”

“You didn't want her to live?”

Suddenly Delores looked sad, younger. Unsure. She just shook her head.

“You were hoping to appease
La Llorona
.”

“She gets so angry,” she said in a voice that seemed more and more high-pitched, like a little girl's. “I want to stay in the human world. But now that Mother is gone, there won't be any more children surrendered to her . . . Mother traded the children for my soul, and pledged her own upon her death. It was a great sacrifice.”

“You have to go back,” I said.

“
No.
Sandra already tried. I fixed her.”

“But I saved her.”

She shrugged.

“I want Jessica back, Delores. She still has a chance for a normal life. Do the right thing.”

“I'm not leaving here without her.”

“And what will you trade for her?” Delores asked, the little girl dropping away as her sneering, adult veneer returned. “Your own soul?”

“No.”

“A soul for a soul. That's the only way.”

“I know that. I have a soul in mind. One of her favor ites. You.”

My eyes flashed over to Aidan, who stood by the water's edge, holding his call for
La Llorona.

The wind blew the fog around us in wraithlike streams, the salt air of the bay wrapping around us both.

Delores leaped down from the top of the car and ran toward me in a rage. When she hit the line of the circle she bounced off, as though she had hit a brick wall. I broke out of the protection of the circle and grabbed her, dragging her toward the water's edge.

She was being pulled in, feetfirst. She reached out to me. The planes in her face shifted, and all at once she looked like the little towheaded girl who had been lost so long ago, young Elisabeth.

“Help me!” she yelled.

My resolve faltered.

In that instant skeletal hands wrapped around my ankles with an inhuman force. They pulled my feet out from under me and just that quickly I was in the water. This was not the bathwater-warm sea of the Caribbean. The numbing cold made it hard to move; the horror made it hard to think.
La Llorona
was dragging me down with her, into the depths of the bay.

Fighting panic, I willed myself to concentrate on my goal.

The wind whipped, the water crashed, whitecaps appeared all around us.

I took a huge lungful of air before the water closed over my head. I had never been underwater before in my life—it was an odd, all-encompassing sensation. I was drowning. Once again I fought panic. Squeezing my eyes shut, I envisioned the coven of women on the shore helping me, all of whom were there for me, and for Jessica. I saw Graciela, and my helping spirit. Aidan. Max. Little Oscar.

Kicking at the skeletal fingers that clasped my ankles only caused them to tighten on me, pulling me down farther.

My eyes opened. I could see nothing in the murky darkness of the water. But I could hear the desperate cries of drowned souls, and the anguished, never-ending sobbing of the demon.

I forced the panic down deep in my belly and called on my spirit guide to sustain me, to keep me from being driven mad by the pain and fear. I concentrated on accepting my fate, and on my goal: the salvation of a little girl.

I heard
La Llorona
's screaming again, but it was different this time. It sounded closer and closer to me, indicating she was farther and farther away. The horrific keening wrapped around me until it was inside my head, becoming the whole of sensation for a brief, excruciating moment.

There was no more air. My lungs spasmed. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I looked overhead to the subtle glow of the full moon through the fog, dancing on the surface of the water so far over my head. Since I was a baby, like every other natural witch, I had drawn strength from the moon, had responded to its phases and cycles. I yearned to be bathed in its light just one more time.

Suddenly I felt something drift into my arms. With my last ounce of strength I grabbed at it. Flesh, hair . . . a child.

The grip on my ankles slackened, then released.

I wasn't strong enough to swim to the surface, but luckily I didn't have to. As soon as I was free the waters thrust me up and out. Within seconds I bobbed up to the surface, corklike, with Jessica in my arms. We both took great gulps of air, coughing and sputtering. Jessica began to cry, but I couldn't keep from laughing with joy.

Witches don't sink.

Gosnold's boat came toward us. As it neared, I saw Max looking over the side, his face a study in worry and fear. He threw a life preserver to us and fished us out of the cold brine, pulling us up and over the side.

Gosnold turned the boat around and headed to the dock.

Max swore in a constant, profane stream as he wrapped Jessica and me in emergency blankets, then enfolded both of us in his arms to help warm us.

Jessica stopped crying and just looked at us with those huge dark eyes, vague and unfocused, as though she were sleepwalking.

“You okay, sugar?” I asked.

“What . . . what happened?”

“It's a little hard to explain. You're safe. We'll get you back to your family. Go back to sleep.”

She gave a huge yawn, closed her eyes, and slept against Max's chest. She was breathing well; her pulse was strong. I wrapped an arm around her and concentrated, sagging with relief to feel her pure, clean, human vibrations.

The fog lifted suddenly and bright moonlight streamed down upon us. I looked overhead to the full moon and thanked the universe. Jessica was going to be all right. She wouldn't remember the trauma of the past few days as anything more than a vague, unpleasant dream.

“What in the
hell
happened out there?” Max demanded.

I was still grinning down at Jessica. The salt drops on my face felt like tears of joy.

“Lily? What happened?”

I looked up at Max. His face was close to mine as I huddled at his side, drawn to his warmth.

“In the old days, one of the tests they gave witches was to throw them in the sea or a lake. Do you remember what happened?”

His light gray eyes held mine. “If they sank and drowned they were innocent. . . .”

“But if they floated, they were true witches,” I finished. Countless women—and not a few men—had died from the “ordeal of swimming,” the
indicium aquae
. If they were innocent of being witches, they drowned. If they failed to drown, they were hanged or burned. Talk about your no-win situation.

“I can't sink,” I said. I couldn't contain my grin. “Never even could swim worth a dang. I float like a proverbial witch.”

Gosnold pulled up to the dock and Max climbed out, taking Jessica from my arms and setting her on the pier, and then turning back to help me out.

Oscar was squealing and trotting back and forth, his piggy hooves clopping loudly on the wooden-planked pier. I crouched down to give him a reassuring squeeze. His mere presence had helped tonight. He was a great familiar.

Looking farther down the dock, I saw Aidan. Our eyes met.
Thank you
, I mouthed. Aidan Rhodes, male witch, nodded and kept walking, just an ordinary guy out for a stroll at three in the morning.

“You know that guy?” Max asked.

“I wouldn't go that far,” I said. “But I certainly owe him.”

Maya ran toward us and enfolded Jessica in her arms. She and Bronwyn promised to take her straight home. I told them to stay back and let her go to the door herself, so they wouldn't have to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions. I imagined the police would have a hard time with this particular truth.

The coven women gathered around me, everyone hugging and crying and cheering. I had never been a big hugger, but I did my best to join in their euphoria, knowing that in a few minutes Jessica's family would have all their prayers answered. They had been touched by grace, and by the bravery of a bunch of courageous, caring strangers—and they would never know it.

After some time, I noticed Max standing to the side, arms crossed over his chest, frowning.

I extricated myself from the throng and went to him.

“You okay, Max?”

“I don't know. . . .” He shook his head and looked out over the water. “I can't quite wrap my mind around what happened here tonight.”

“It's probably best not to think too much about it. The point is, it all worked out okay.”

His face was sketched with worry, tugging at my heart. Time to change the subject.

“Too bad you didn't have your film crew, now that Gosnold finally took you out on his boat, right? Tell me, did he charge you for the privilege?”

Max smiled down at me, the light dancing in his eyes. “As a matter of fact, he did. He told me I might see something I would never forget.”

“He's such a sleaze.” I shook my head.

“He's a businessman.” He shrugged.

Our gazes held for a long moment.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Max said, his voice low and harsh.

“Do I still scare you?” I tried to keep my tone flippant, but I really wanted to know. Now that he had seen this part of me in action, would he turn away from me, like so many other cowans?

“You're a scary woman; no doubt about that . . .”

My heart sank.

“. . . but you certainly haven't scared me off.”

Max drew me into his arms, tilted my head back, and kissed me.

Slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly.

It was enough to make a witch swoon.

Chapter 20

That night, Maya and Bronwyn came back to my place after seeing Jessica home, and decided to sleep over at my apartment. Too giddy and stunned from our triumph to go to bed right away, we popped popcorn and brewed nothing more magical than hot chocolate. Oscar snoozed on the couch while we laughed and chatted. It was bliss.