The Price Guide to the Occult Read online

  “Nine,” Nor finished.

  “I was going to say one, but yeah, I guess you could say nine.”

  The ramifications of what he was saying slowly dawned on her. Not eight original men, but nine. Nine. Nor’s heartbeat quickened with dread. “But you said your ancestors took Rona in,” she hurried to say. “So why would she —” She stopped herself before she could say it.

  Gage gave her a look. “I know what you’re thinking. That’s the big unanswered question, isn’t it? No one’s certain whether or not my family is included in old Rona’s backfired curse. Every generation, the male descendants of my family hold their breath and wait to see if it’s their turn to succumb to the charms of a witch.”

  Nor blushed. “You know about that?” she asked quietly.

  “Of course.”

  “And those descendants would include —”

  “Yours truly.”

  Of course. For a moment, Nor didn’t know what to say. It did clear up a few things, such as —

  “Is that why you didn’t want to work with me on that science project in seventh grade?” she blurted out.

  Gage stared at her and then snorted with laughter. “Fuck, I’d forgotten all about that.” He shook his head. “Yeah, but I also thought you would have made a lousy partner.”

  “I didn’t know you were slated for valedictorian,” Nor shot back.

  “No, that will be my cousin Charlie,” he said scathingly. “Look, kid, I don’t have all the answers. We might be part of the curse. We might not be.” He tossed his cigarette on the ground, stood, and started walking away. “All I know is I sure as hell don’t want to be the one to find out.”

  “Trust me,” Nor called after him. “It wouldn’t exactly be a dream come true for me either!”

  What a dick. But once he was gone, a different and more desperate feeling started to creep into the pit of her stomach. Though she hated to admit it, Nor sympathized with him. He was afraid, and she knew what it was to be afraid. She knew that fear hurt in a way that was hard to explain; it could make you say things you never thought yourself capable of saying, do things you never thought you were capable of doing.

  Nor stared at the lights in the Tower. A moment passed, and then another, and her attention was drawn to his discarded cigarette, still smoldering.

  Nor picked it up, studied the dying embers, and imagined pressing the lit end into the back of her hand. She thought about the white-hot pain invoking that familiar rush of adrenaline. How it would soon enough be replaced by a dull nothingness, both soothing and addictive, that she’d tried so hard to forget.

  Nor dropped the cigarette and crushed it under her foot until all that was left was a scorched mark on the ground.

  Nor walked back into the Tower holding Bijou. Reluctantly, she put him down; it felt better to have him in her arms, with his thoughts of rainwater and pelicans to calm her. She followed him through the kitchen and saw Pike and Sena Crowe standing in the foyer, stoic statues on either side of the woman Judd had called Dauphine. Each had a large knife slung on his hip.

  “Oh, come now, Judd,” Dauphine was saying. “You’re being difficult for the sake of being difficult.” Sitting at Dauphine’s side was, peculiarly, a wolfhound, one as large and as old as Antiquity.

  “I am doin’ nothing of the sort,” Judd grumbled. Judd’s posture was rigid. Her mouth was the taut line of a person who disliked what she was hearing. Antiquity loomed beside her.

  Nor wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone argue with Judd before. Apothia and Judd could orchestrate a knockdown, drag-out fight with just eyebrow raises and flared nostrils; Apothia had a way of soothing Judd’s wild temper, and it certainly hadn’t ever been by matching Judd’s rage with her own.

  “If you’re all so damned worried about it,” the older gentleman wearing the cowboy hat interjected, “I don’t see why you all can’t just come stay with us. You’ll be safe as houses up there.” He moved his hand as he talked. He was holding a knife, and briefly, it was all Nor could see, watching the flashing blade as he wove it deftly between his fingers.

  “Because there is protocol to follow, Everly —” Dauphine reminded him.

  “Dauphine —” Everly scoffed.

  “And protocol,” Dauphine continued, “hardly calls for sequestering Blackburn women without irrefutable evidence that they are, in fact, in danger.”

  “Too right,” Judd grumbled.

  “I’d like to get back to the matter of the woman we found on the brink of death a few hours ago,” Dauphine continued.

  Nor’s heart sank. “But she’s okay now, right?” she interrupted. Everyone turned to look at her. Nor turned to her grandmother. “You were able to heal her?”

  “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t fix,” Judd rumbled. “So don’t you worry about that, girlie.”

  Nor breathed a tiny sigh of relief. She could feel Dauphine studying her. There was something about her that made Nor wary of looking her in the eye, afraid that it would be just as blinding as staring into the headlights of an approaching car or straight into the blazing sun. The wolfhound at her side cast a lupine shadow like a menacing shroud. But unlike Antiquity, whose thoughts brimmed with memories of the hunter she had once been, this wolfhound’s thoughts were calm, as placid as a dank forest floor.

  “For the time being,” Dauphine finally said, “I think we need to keep our focus on figuring out exactly what happened to Wintersweet. So far, there is nothing to support the idea that this has relevance only for the Blackburn daughters. We must assume that there may well exist a threat to us all.”

  As the room erupted into a boisterous debate, Nor caught a glimpse through a window of Gage, who’d come back and was standing in the yard, his back turned to her. His cigarette sent a lone spiral of smoke into the morning air. Suddenly she felt like she was standing on the edge of a dark cliff, with an irresistible urge to jump.

  Nor sat in a rickety wicker chair in front of Apothia’s little dance studio. A chilly March breeze came up off the water. Nor wrapped her sweater more tightly around herself. Across from her, Wintersweet set down a cup of tea. Her hand trembled as she passed another to Nor, the teacup rattling in its saucer. Nor leaped up to take it from her to avoid adding this one to the shards of broken porcelain she’d already had to sweep up. Wintersweet looked at Nor expectantly. Nor raised the teacup to her lips and took a polite sip of the air inside.

  Judd had done all she could for Wintersweet. Any physical ailments Wintersweet had suffered that night two months ago were healed. But there were some types of pain that Judd couldn’t heal. Nor knew all too well that some pain would not be erased. Some pain demanded to be felt.

  Wintersweet had never been particularly chatty to begin with, but now it was difficult to get her to say much of anything. There were gaps in her memory, too, as if someone had carved parts of her away. She’d often remember that to make a fried egg, she had to use a pan, but she would forget that the egg must also be cracked. Or — like today — she’d remember the ritual of serving tea but forget the part about making it first. A few days earlier, she’d remembered how to turn on the kitchen faucet but not how to turn it off.

  Wintersweet seemed to prefer hanging around the Tower rather than at the Witching Hour. Nor didn’t blame her; the last time Nor had visited the shop, it had felt almost sinister. The gargoyles hanging from the walls had seemed cold and menacing. And something was wrong with Madge. Her tattoos looked infected. Her cheeks were sagged and droopy, as if her skin were suddenly too big for her. She’d shrugged off Nor’s concerns. Nor hadn’t spoken with her since.

  As for Fern, her rising success and popularity continued to seem unstoppable. She was doing seminars now, offering her fans new ways in which to behold her benevolent talents. A renowned publication had named Fern Blackburn Person of the Year. Soon, her face would be adorning every checkout counter and newspaper stand in the country. There were even rumors that she’d been invited to meet with several foreign dipl
omats, and the Chinese ambassador had been spotted sporting his own green fern tattoo.

  But lately, there’d also been reports of people going missing after attending one of Fern Blackburn’s events. People had been disappearing around Anathema Island as well. No one had seen Catriona in weeks, and just yesterday, the Sweet and Savory Bakery had been uncharacteristically closed. Vega was also gone, but at least that vanishing act had an explanation. The last Nor had heard, he’d reconnected with his old flame Lake somewhere in rural Texas. Wherever he was, Nor hoped he was in a place Fern would never think to look.

  The few people Nor had seen on Meandering Lane were Pike and Sena Crowe, though judging from the knives they always had slung on their hips, they weren’t there to shop. Fortunately, Gage was never with them. Every time Nor saw Gage, she was overcome with the feeling that she was on the cusp of some terrible disaster, like she was standing in the path of a hurricane. Gage Coldwater felt dangerous, the way a sharp metal object felt dangerous, and try as she might, Nor had never been very good at keeping herself away from those.

  The weather had remained cold and gray; the whales had yet to return. The island was void of its usual surge of tourists. Retirees hadn’t returned to air out their summer homes; their lawns grew more feral with every passing day. For the most part, those who remained stayed locked in their houses, sealing their doors and windows against whatever nameless ghost had brought this air of unease to their island home. The animals, too, had hidden themselves away. The dogwood trees along Meandering Lane were covered in a toxic residue that could burn the skin. The juniper bushes in front of the Witching Hour screamed whenever Nor was within hearing range.

  Nor stood and walked out into the overgrown yard, leaving Wintersweet to enjoy her tea party on her own. She made a point to avoid a hostile-looking holly bush and chose instead to pass through what looked like a benign patch of narcissus. When she did, she felt something prick her skin, and when she looked, she saw a bead of blood well up on her ankle.

  It seemed now even the daffodils had thorns.

  It was hours later when Nor wended down the trail that led to the beach. Behind her, the Tower loomed against the setting sun, like a fortress in some medieval legend. The plants along the trail were just as vicious as ever, and when she emerged, her sleeves were torn, her hands scratched and smeared with blood. She’d almost lost her scarf to a mean-spirited rhododendron bush. If she’d trusted herself with a knife, she would have brought one to fight them off, but ever since that incident with the cigarette back in January, Nor could barely glance at even a paper clip without feeling on edge.

  Once she reached the shore, she unzipped her jacket, and Bijou hopped to the ground. The little dog scurried gleefully ahead of her, kicking up rocky sand as he ran.

  It was nothing special, this beach, but its many nooks and crannies and delightful sea treasures that washed up on shore — gelatinous jellyfish and bulbous bull kelp and the occasional sea star — had made it the perfect place for Nor’s childhood adventures. And as Nor spotted a familiar figure walking toward her, she realized it was perfect for other things as well; when the beach grass glowed silver in the moonlight, Nor could imagine how easily felicitous lovers might find each other in the dark here.

  “Are you looking for the whales, too?” Reed called. When he got closer, Nor could see the tip of his nose had turned pink from the cold. “I keep thinking that I just haven’t looked closely enough,” he said, “but it doesn’t look like there’s anything but a few fish out there.”

  Nor had stopped expecting the whales to return, mainly because it wasn’t just the whales that had disappeared. It had been weeks since Nor had come across a young deer and her fawn while on her evening run or woken up to the crows tormenting Antiquity through the bedroom windows. All of the sea creatures were long gone; even the ones who made their homes there had left. There were no breaching porpoises, no barking sea lions, and no seabirds gliding overhead, calling to one another with their cackling cries. She suspected the whales had skipped over the archipelago on purpose, disturbing migration patterns in search of more welcoming waters.

  “Quite a change from a few months ago, huh?” Reed continued. “Now it’s almost like they’d come last fall to say their good-byes.”

  And maybe they were trying to convince us to leave, too, Nor thought. “They could just be running late,” she offered lightly.

  “Maybe we should wait out here for them a little longer then,” Reed said, smiling. “Just in case.”

  Typically, most especially in the early stages of spring, with winter and all its shivery consorts still breathing down their necks, nights on the island required a jacket as well as a scarf, mittens, and sometimes even a warm wool hat. But every time Reed looked at her, Nor swore the heat of her cheeks could warm the oceans.

  Nor sat on one of the fallen logs along the beach and watched Reed build a fire. As it roared to life, bright flickers of orange and red danced against the darkening night sky. Bijou settled happily on the warm coils of Nor’s discarded scarf.

  “I haven’t seen you around much,” Reed said.

  Nor blushed. Was that a nice way of calling me out for avoiding him these past few months? “I’m sorry,” she muttered lamely. “I’ve been — busy.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Reed shrugged. “I’ve been increasing my mileage just in case you’ll join me on a run again.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” he admitted. “That last run almost killed me.”

  “What?” Nor laughed. “You didn’t seem to be struggling to keep up.”

  “I’ll attribute that to adrenaline and bravado,” Reed said. “I was trying to impress you.”

  His hand brushed against hers. Nor’s breath caught when his fingertips grazed the scars on her wrist, peeking out from the cuff of her sweatshirt. Her first inclination was to pull her arm away, to run away as fast as she could. But she didn’t.

  He took her hand. “Can I ask if it ever helped?”

  “It didn’t,” she finally admitted softly. “Not enough.”

  Not even on the days when she hadn’t stopped at one cut or when she’d cut too deep. Like the time Apothia had found her in the bathroom, blood gushing through her clamped fingers. She remembered the desperate rasp in Apothia’s voice when she’d screamed for Judd. She remembered how that pain had come out of her as an effluvium that burned Nor’s lungs. Thanks to Judd’s quick work, that cut hadn’t left a scar.

  But try as she might, Judd could do nothing about the pain Nor felt on the inside. So Apothia took her to someone who could. Three times a week, she took Nor into the city for her therapy appointments. It wasn’t so bad. Most of the time, they’d stopped for a bowl of pho or clam chowder at Pike Place Market before heading home. They’d always brought home those little salted caramels that Judd pretended not to love. And eventually, Nor had gotten better. She wasn’t any less afraid than she’d been before; it was more that the desire to carve out the parts of herself that scared her had become easier to control.

  The ocean waves lapped gently against the beach, picking up pebbles and ribbons of algae. The water glittered with the bioluminescence of tiny phytoplankton. Another unnatural occurrence, it being too early in the year for its appearance, but it felt like an otherworldly gift just for the two of them. As if a constellation of stars had plummeted from the heavens for their amusement alone.

  “You up for a swim?” Nor asked suddenly.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Reed groaned. “It’s freezing out there.”

  “That’s the fun part.” Before she could lose her nerve, Nor jumped up and unzipped her sweatshirt. She dropped it and the rest of her clothes in a heap near the fading fire as she raced down the rocky beach and, feeling the satisfying weight of Reed’s eyes on her, plunged into the ocean.

  The icy water pulled the air out of her lungs and numbed her skin. It hurt but not in a bad way. Her voice suddenly rushed to the surface, and she was laughing so hard
she was screaming.

  “It’s not that bad,” she hollered between chattering teeth. “Come in.”

  Reed shook his head and remained seated, warm and dry on the log. “Sure,” he called. “It looks downright tropical out there.”

  “Okay, it’s freezing,” she admitted. “But the water is so beautiful, it’s easy to ignore.”

  “Beautiful things tend to have a distracting effect,” Reed said.

  A slow grin pulled at the corners of his mouth before he stood and took off his jacket, then stripped off his T-shirt and jeans. Nor diverted her eyes until he was immersed in the water. His golden-brown skin glowed in the moonlight.

  Their treading feet startled a few herring out of the water. It was reassuring to see there was something in the sea besides the two of them. The small fish twinkled like blue fireflies against the night sky. Nor sliced her hands through the waves in a smoky turquoise streak. The marks on her arms stood out purple and impervious in the water.

  She reached up and brushed her fingers against Reed’s shivering lips. He dipped backward, and the glow of the plankton illuminated his head like a halo. “It’s starting to feel a little warm to me,” he said.

  Nor laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s what hypothermia feels like.”

  They hurried back to shore, stumbling over the rocks and into each other in their haste to get away from the icy water. They got back to the fire, their clothes, and Bijou, asleep on Nor’s scarf. Reed wrapped them both in his jacket. When he kissed her, Nor could taste the ocean on his lips. When they got back to the Tower, it was dark and quiet with sleep. With Reed, the silence didn’t feel like something that needed to be filled; rather, it felt like something to be shared. Like a secret. Or a kiss.