Ghosts of Bliss Bayou Page 11

  He stares at it, frowning. “Ah, no. Is this a trick question?”

  I shake my head, smile, and put the phone away. “Nope. Exactly what I thought.”

  He peers down at me. “You’re sort of a strange girl. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Oh, yeah. I tell myself that at least nine times a day.”

  10. Occult forces seem to be converging—and I’m one of them

  When I wake up the next morning, I sit in the middle of the bedroom floor and practice the Daily Ablution. I visualize the first Spring at the root of my spine, the brilliant blue water flowing into me, and I contemplate the Principle of the Love of Truth. After a while, the water rises up to the second Spring, around my solar plexus, and I contemplate Endurance. Then to the heart and the Principle of Balance, the throat and the Principle of Amity, and finally to the center of my head and the Principle of Bliss. From there I see the water gushing out the top of my head and falling in a shower to completely fill and cleanse my aura.

  Then I get dressed and go for a run.

  As my feet pound the hard-packed sand of Bliss Road, I let my mind roam. This morning it roams to Ray-Ray Quick. I imagine he’s a really good kisser. But to kiss him, I’d have to stand on tiptoe, and he’d have to lean over. Or maybe he’d lift me up in his arms…

  Stop it.

  He thinks I’m a weirdo. Besides, I’m only going to be here ten more days. I’ll find a real boyfriend back in New Jersey. Or maybe when I go to college…

  Anyway, I have more urgent things to worry about. Like what I saw last night in the auditorium.

  True, the vision didn’t fill me with paralyzing terror the way they have in the past. I suspect that’s due to the magical exercises. I’ve done the Ablution every morning and evening as Violet instructed. Each time I finish, I feel strength and bliss washing over me, just as I did at the end of the Initiation ceremony. That sensation fades as I tune back into the world. But as I go through the day, there’s an ongoing feeling of calm and protection, of being anchored.

  So seeing Ghost Woman last night came as a surprise. And I have to wonder if my intuition about her is accurate—that she’s a threat to Fiona.

  I’m not sure what to make of it. I need some advice.

  

  Since the initiation ceremony, Granma has seemed a little reluctant to talk about the Circle of Harmony and my magical studies. So when we get to the shop that morning, I phone Violet.

  “I’m glad you called,” she says. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. How is your training progressing?”

  Along with the Daily Ablution, my training consists of studying the Circle of Harmony writings that Violet and Granma have given me. The papers are full of strangeness—accounts of conversations with spirits, descriptions of different realms that surround this world but influence it, stories of magicians who traveled to those realms through secret, invisible channels. Mixed in with all this are tantalizing hints about actually using magic—calling spirits, raising power, and casting it out into the world to do things. But only hints, no instructions.

  “It’s a little overwhelming,” I tell Violet. “I’ve got all this stuff to read, but it seems like lots of details are left out. Like I’m assumed to know some things already, and I don’t even have a clue.”

  “Your curiosity is awakened. That’s good. You are meant to wonder.”

  “Well, I’m wondering. Listen, something happened last night…” I tell her about seeing Ghost Woman and sensing that she intends to harm Fiona.

  “Hmm. And you have no idea who this woman is?”

  “No, except that I’ve seen her before in my dreams and halluci—I mean, visions. What do you make of it?”

  “Well…I wouldn’t normally say too much to a newbie. But you are obviously very gifted. And more than that, you seem to be a focal point.”

  Prickling sensation. “What do you mean?”

  She hesitates. “You see…I’ve had intuitions ever since this development thing started. My readings show there is more to it than meets the eye. Occult forces seem to be converging on the town. And I think you are one of them, that you have some important role to play.”

  The prickling becomes a flutter of fear in my stomach. “How can I—I mean, how can we figure this out?”

  Violet sighs. “We just have to look for more signs and try to interpret them. That’s how this works.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “I know. Try not to worry about it. Just keep up with your training. And definitely let me know if you see any more visions.”

  

  Saturday morning, three days after the community meeting, I go back to the Presbyterian church for an organizing meeting of the Save Harmony Springs volunteers. As I cross the parking lot, Molly runs up to me, bursting with excitement.

  “Your black shadow guy’s active again. This time he threw rocks!”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. He was seen yesterday at twilight, running away from Jonas Carter’s house after a bunch of rocks hit the porch. And a little later a window was broken at another house nearby. Remember, Jonas is on the Save Harmony Springs committee. And the owner of the other house, Alice Dunbar, also signed the petition. What does that tell you?”

  “Whoa. I don’t know what.” Somehow, I can’t see Shadow Man throwing rocks. Not his style.

  “I’m going up there later to talk with the homeowners. Are you in?”

  Well, Violet told me we have to look for signs. “Sure, I’m in.”

  Inside the auditorium, the meeting is just getting organized. About a dozen people have shown up, most of them elderly. Molly and I are the only kids. Of course, Molly knows everyone, and she introduces me around. The fact that I’m a Renshaw automatically gives me some cred. Several folks ask after Granma.

  Fiona’s not able to attend, so Reverend Johnson runs the meeting. He gives us an update on fundraising and on the application for expanding the Historic District. Part of the application will be the petition, so we need to get as many signatures on it as possible. He asks for volunteers to go door to door. Molly’s hand shoots up. With her other hand, she takes my wrist and lifts it high.

  Since we’re the “young folks,” the reverend assigns us the neighborhood farthest away, near the mouth of the springs. This dovetails nicely with Molly’s investigation plans. The reverend gives us all copies of the petition and instructions on what to say. We rehearse our message—that our purpose is to protect the unique character of the springs without infringing on property owners’ rights. Above all, we’re to be polite and avoid confrontation. Reverend Johnson looks straight at Molly when he says that last part.

  So, after lunch at the coffee shop and bringing Granma a sandwich, Molly and I board her electric bike and head out of town. We cross the bridge by the park and then follow the road up the west side of the river. Near the mouth of the springs we turn left, into an area I haven’t visited before. There are streets with ranch houses and well-kept lawns, but also dirt roads with cabins and run-down trailers.

  We knock on doors and ring bells. Molly does most of the talking, so I just smile and act polite. Some of the people recognize Molly, but when they don’t, she introduces herself and mentions that her father is chief of police. This puts some people at ease but seems to make others nervous.

  Lots of people already know about the development issue. Some of them sign the petition right away. Others, Molly is able to persuade. But there are also people who refuse, and some of them are hostile. One old trailer has a Confederate flag hanging over the window. I expect the owner to maybe threaten us with a shotgun, but he’s actually very polite. He signs the petition and thanks us for our efforts. His neighbor, on the other hand, threatens to feed us to his dogs if we even set foot on his property. Molly just laughs and takes it all in stride.

  After a couple of hours, we cross back over the main road to the river side. We're close to the head of t
he springs, where the houses date back to the 1890s. One large house has a broken front window. This is the one owned by Alice Dunbar. Molly’s hoping to interview her about the incident last night, but when we ring the bell, no one answers.

  We have better luck two doors down with Jonas Carter. Jonas is a small, elderly man with silver hair and mustache. Very soft-spoken. He is on the Save Harmony Springs committee, so of course he’s already signed the petition. He thanks us for volunteering.

  Molly asks him about the disturbance the night before. He frowns and seems baffled. Just after sundown, he heard loud noises at the back of his house. When he investigated, he saw a slim man, all in black, running away toward the river. Several rocks had hit his back porch but luckily hadn’t broken any windows. When Molly asks if he has any idea why someone would throw rocks at his house, he suggests it might be someone angry about the Save Harmony Springs committee. He seems sad and a little afraid when he says this.

  Molly asks permission for us to go around back and look at his yard. He finds this an odd request, but says it’s okay, and to watch out for snakes.

  We walk around to the backyard. There’s a buffer of tall grass and trees between his property and the river. Molly and I check it out. With the puddles and breaks in the foliage, we can’t really tell whether anyone’s run through here recently.

  Molly turns to me. “Do you get any impressions?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, you know, paranormal investigation teams sometimes include a psychic. So, with your abilities, I just wondered if you might have any psychic impressions about what happened here last night. I hope you don’t mind me asking?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Well?”

  I gaze around and consider it. I certainly don’t see Shadow Man or any other apparitions, and I don’t have any particular feelings about the place.

  “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “Hmm. Too bad.” She hesitates, as if she’s deciding whether or not to ask her next question. But this is Molly, so of course she does. “Did you see something at the meeting the other night? Ray-Ray told me you took a picture of the stage and then asked if he saw anyone in it.”

  “Oh. Yes, that did happen.” Now I’m the one who hesitates. “We’re still sworn to secrecy about this stuff?”

  Molly crosses her heart. “Promise.”

  “Okay.” So I tell her about seeing Ghost Woman, and how I sensed she was a threat to Fiona.

  “That’s interesting.” Molly twists her mouth. “Tall blond woman, black dress and pearls. Like a high-necked dress?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That rings a bell somewhere…Listen, we’ve only got a few more houses to visit. Do you have time to stop at the library when we’re done here?”

  I pull out my phone and check. It’s only three thirty, and Granma won’t close the shop till six. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  After we canvass the last of our assigned houses, we ride back into town. The library is on a side road off Main Street, three blocks down from Springs of Coffee. It’s a dark old building, gothic style, with pointy windows and steep gables.

  Molly hustles me to a tiny back room, where there’s a microfiche reader. Most of the town’s historic documents are stored on old-fashioned microfilm, and you use this device to read them. Molly goes through some drawers and pulls out little film cassettes. She pops one into the base of the reader and flips a switch. The screen lights up and shows an index page. We’re looking at the Harmony Springs newspaper, the Springs Sentinel, for January to March of 1950.

  Molly turns a knob, and the pages fly by in a blur. She stops every few seconds to look at pictures, shakes her head, and flies on. She changes the cassette and repeats.

  In August of 1952, she stops. A dark rectangle covers a quarter of the newspaper page. The picture of a stern blond woman stares at us from the screen. She’s dressed in a style older than the 1950s—fair hair piled in a bun, black dress with a high, frilly collar, and pearls.

  “This is the one I remembered. Does she look anything like your Ghost Woman?”

  The hair is bristling at the back of my neck. “She is my Ghost Woman.”

  “Okay!” Molly sounds triumphant. “Margaret Alden. Daughter of Albert Alden, one of the founders. She must be a relative of Fiona. A great-aunt or something.”

  We both read the article. It’s the obituary of Margaret Alden, known as “Maisie.” Born in 1892, one of seven children of Albert and Helena Hennessy Alden. Never married, she was described as a shrewd businesswoman who managed to weather the 1929 stock market crash with her fortune intact. Later she acquired sole ownership of the Alden mansion on Bliss Bayou and bought up many other properties on the river and around the headwaters of the springs.

  “She must be the one who bequeathed the land around the springs to the town,” Molly says. “Including that circle at the mouth of Bliss Bayou…”

  “Yeah. Where I freaked out.” I’m remembering my vision in the church auditorium, and feeling afraid. “But if she was part of Fiona’s family, why did I sense that she wants to kill her?”

  “Good question,” Molly says. “Definitely need more research. I will dig up everything I can about old Maisie, I promise you. This is really interesting.”

  

  After getting ready for bed that night, I lay out the cards. I ask about my vision of Margaret Alden, and if it really means Fiona is in danger. At the covering position is the Queen of Swords, a stern and powerful woman, definitely Margaret. But the rest of the reading is hard to decipher. Indications of confusion, possibly deception, and much hidden from sight.

  As if I didn’t know that already.

  All this has made me anxious—a nagging sense of something about to happen. So I settle down to calm myself with the Ablution exercise. I sit cross-legged on the rug and take deep breaths. As I relax, I visualize the first Spring at the base of my spine.

  When I reach the second Spring, I have a vision. My eyes are closed, but I see myself beside a fountain with blue water tumbling over gray boulders. Standing in front of me is Margaret.

  She looks about fifty, tall and erect—exactly as she has in my other visions and nightmares.

  “You mistake me,” she says, her voice deep and calm. “I mean you no harm.”

  I’m frightened, but I recall Violet’s advice about what to do if I meet an entity during my spiritual exercises. “I am Fighting Eagle, initiate of the Circle of Harmony.”

  “I know who you are, Abigail.”

  Whoa. Wasn’t expecting that. “And what is your name, spirit?”

  “You know already. I am Maisie. Sometimes I am called back to this world. But I never meant to frighten you.”

  “Why are you called back?”

  “When there is a need. I watch over Fiona. You see, I was a friend of Annie Renshaw’s. Like others, I fell victim to her curse. Now I try to minimize the damage.”

  She holds out her hand. “Come with me, child. I will show you.”

  An inner alarm goes off. I remember Violet’s warning about wandering away from the Fountains.

  “I understand,” Margaret says. “You follow the teachings of the Circle. That is good. Perhaps I will see you again. I hope that in time you will learn to trust me.”

  She turns and walks away, and her body fades into nothing.

  

  Next morning over breakfast, I tell Granma about finding Margaret’s picture in the library, then meeting her ghost in my vision. I’m actually kind of excited about it, but Granma does not seem pleased.

  “You’d best talk to Violet.”

  “Okay…are you angry with me?”

  “No. I just don’t know what to tell you.” She stands up and gathers her dishes.

  Why is she so upset?

  She drops the dishes in the sink, then turns. "Listen, Abby. This worries me. I got you into practicing magic, but now I'm not sure it was the right thing. A
t the time, I didn’t know what else to do. And it seemed to help you, but—”

  “I think it’s helped me a lot.”

  “Okay, but it’s dangerous. Now you’re talking to spirits. Bad things can happen, and I don’t have the ability to protect you.”

  This makes me realize what a burden I’ve been to her these past two weeks. It feels awful. “I’m sorry, Granma. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “It’s okay. Just please talk to Violet. Maybe she can protect you. I hope so.”

  Granma is tense and gloomy the rest of the morning. She doesn’t say much as we drive into town and open the shop.

  When we get there, I call Violet on my cell. Unlike Granma, she’s intrigued by my adventure. “You did fine, Abby. I’m glad you remembered not to follow her away from the Spring.”

  “Do you think it was real—I mean, really the ghost of Margaret Alden?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. They used to say her house was haunted. And now they’re renovating the place, right? That might have disturbed her spirit.”

  “Do you think she was telling me the truth?”

  “That I can’t say. Besides, it could be some other entity pretending to be her ghost. I wouldn’t try to summon her back. But if you see her again, try to get her to tell you more. Ask why she needs to protect Fiona, and from what. See if she knows anything about the development people and what they are after.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. Have you been able to learn any more, Violet?”

  “Not much. My readings still say that forces are gathering. They all point to late July—probably the full moon. And you still seem to be a key player.”

  Well, that’s scary. Besides, I won’t even be here in July. “You know, I’m flying back to New Jersey in just over a week.”

  “Yes, I realize that. Maybe my impressions are wrong. Or else…”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else you won’t leave. Something will happen to change your plans.”

  11. A slight change in plans

  Tuesday afternoon, I’m sitting in the back room of the antique shop reading, when my phone goes off—Mom’s ringtone. We just had our weekly check-in call on Sunday, so I’m a little worried as I pull out the phone.