Homecoming (13 page)

“What are you talking about?” Lyse wanted to shake her great-aunt.

“I wanted you to have a normal life,” Eleanora said, sighing. “Even if it was just for a little while. I didn't want you to be like me. To only know sacrifice . . .”

“Why would you say something like that?” Lyse said. “That's all I wanted. To be like you. You're wise and strong and I love you—”

Eleanora didn't seem to know how to respond. She shrugged.

“You don't know what I've done in my life, Bear. The terrible—but necessary—choices I've made. If you did, you wouldn't want to follow in my footsteps.”

Lyse let her eyes flare with disbelief.

“Then tell me. Let me make my own decisions. Stop trying to protect me or keep me in the dark.”

“I don't want to fight with you, Bear,” Eleanora said, exasperated. “Please, can we just table this conversation for another time? There's so much we have to do tonight—”

“No,” Lyse said. “I'll do anything you want. I'll join whatever club you need me to join. Do whatever ‘ritual' you want me to do. But
only
if you talk to me right now. Because tomorrow may be too late—”

She stopped, trying to collect herself and failing miserably.

“Because . . .” She began to cry. “Because you could be dead tomorrow.”

“Not unless you plan on murdering me in my sleep,” Eleanora said with a snort.

Lyse shook her head, Eleanora's sarcasm killing her tears.

“Fine, don't be serious. I don't care. Just tell me what's going on here. Why have I been dreaming about this place?”

“The coven is your destiny. It always has been. That's why it infiltrated your dreams. The part of you that belongs to the coven wanted to be known,” Eleanora said, and sighed. “As to what's going on here . . . I think that's pretty easy to figure out. I'm dying—as you've so succinctly pointed out—and I need you to take my place. I need you to be me. It's as simple as that.”

Eleanora pointed behind her—and for the first time, Lyse realized she was standing in a circle within the clearing. A circle someone had drawn with ash or black chalk, she wasn't sure which—and it was quartered by white candles, their flames guttering as the wind whipped across them. Two women, each markedly different from the other, stood in the middle of the circle.

“Lyse, I'm not the only one who needs you,” Eleanora said, and smiled. “Meet the rest of my blood sisters.”

One was smiling at her, and the other was watching her with a studied gaze that bordered on surliness. The smiling one was the first to step forward.

“This is Devandra.”

“Hi, Lyse,” Devandra said. “It's so lovely to meet you—and you can call me Dev, if you like. Everyone else does.”

Lyse immediately liked the woman with the long strawberry-blond hair plaited on either side of her head. There was a safe, maternal feeling about her presence. Like she had a whole lot of love inside her that couldn't help but shine out of her face like a beacon.

Lyse held out her hand, but Dev only laughed at her.

“We do hugs around here.”

She pulled Lyse to her, the scent of her vanilla-spiced perfume making Lyse feel about ten years old.

“I'm Daniela.”

Lyse turned to find the tiny woman who'd come to her rescue out in the woods. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but the streaks of pink on her otherwise pale face only made her look more beautiful.

“Excuse me if I don't hug you or shake your hand,” Daniela continued, coming up to join them, her large expressive eyes thoughtful as she took in Lyse's disheveled appearance. “I have a little condition that precludes me getting too close to anyone.”

“Uhm, sure,” Lyse said, nodding. “And thank you for your help out there.”

“Of course.”

She shot Lyse a lazy, snaggle-toothed grin. One Lyse recognized. She was well aware of the hungry look a person got in their eyes when they were attracted to you. In fact, she'd experienced it earlier in the afternoon with the guy at the coffee bar—Weir—who'd looked at Lyse in much the same way Daniela was looking at her now.

“Arrabelle,” the last woman said, stomping over to Lyse, hand extended.

An Amazon in jean coveralls, Arrabelle was a statuesque woman with smooth dark skin and a fierce expression in her dark eyes. She almost crushed Lyse's hand when she shook it.

“It's getting close,” Arrabelle said, releasing Lyse's hand. “I think we should begin.

Eleanora nodded to the others.

“And so shall it be.”

All around her, the women began to undress.

“Uhm, what're you doing?” Lyse whispered to Eleanora, an embarrassed smile plastered on her face.

Eleanora had already dropped her poncho and slipped off her shoes.

“It's part of the ritual,” she said, starting to take off her shirt. “There's nothing to be ashamed of here. You're with your sisters-to-be.”

“You want
me
to take off
my
clothes in front of a bunch of strangers?” Lyse said, incredulous. “I hope there's nothing about the word
no
that you don't understand, because
no
.”

“Is it too cold for you?” Dev asked, folding her clothes into a neat pile and setting them on the grass just outside the ash circle. “Sometimes I leave my socks on and that helps my feet stay warm.”

“It's not because I'm cold,” Lyse said, turning to her great-aunt. “Although it is frickin' cold out here,
Eleanora
. Do you want to get sick?”

Eleanora shrugged, her breasts pale and flaccid in the moonlight now that her shirt and bra were off.

“I already told you that nothing in these woods is gonna get me before the cancer does.”

Lyse threw up her hands.

“Fine. Get pneumonia. I'm not taking care of your ass when you do.”

From across the circle, Daniela, who was buck naked except for the gloves on her hands (and totally shaved
everywhere
, Lyse couldn't help noticing) called out, “I'll take care of your glorious ass, Eleanora,” and everyone giggled. Except for Lyse. Who didn't think stepping into an all-nude version of
The Twilight Zone
was very funny at all.

“Well, I'm not doing it,” Lyse said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean, I'll
do
your ritual, but I'm keeping my clothes on.”

“Stop being a pussy,” Eleanora said, naked as the day she was born, “and take off your clothes.”

She was starting to feel like the odd man out—even Lizbeth had removed her clothes and was setting them on the grass next to Dev's pile.

“Oh, Jesus, fine,” Lyse said, exasperated, and started tugging off her shoes.

She took off the shawl, then pulled her shirt over her head, releasing all of her trapped body heat in one move.

“Shit, it's cold,” she said, shivering.

“Socks are okay,” Dev said, smiling, “and they help.”

Even in the moonlight, Lyse could see the stretch marks tracing along the line of Dev's hips and breasts, and the cesarean scar that ran along the curve of her belly. Her body may not have been supermodel fit, but it was as beautiful and inviting as any Lyse had ever seen.

“Socks,” Lyse said, shrugging out of her pants and folding them with her shirt and the shawl. “I'll give it a try.”

She took a deep breath and reached up to unhook her bra. Her breasts were fine, but nothing to write home about compared to Dev and Arrabelle. She dropped the bra on top of her pile of clothes and shucked off her underwear. As Dev suggested, she left her socks on.

“I bet Daniela ten bucks you wouldn't do it,” Arrabelle said to Lyse, hands on her hips. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Hey, when in Rome, right?” Lyse said, wishing she could stand there as confidently as Arrabelle. The woman seemed completely at home without any clothes on, her sleek swimmer's body trim and muscular, and devoid of fat.

Only Lizbeth seemed as awkward about her nudity as Lyse felt. The younger girl was sitting on the grass, knees curled up to her chest, long hair draped around her shoulders. When she caught Lyse looking in her direction, she grinned widely and shrugged.

“The cardinal candles have been lit,” Eleanora said, gathering the other women to her with her words. “We cast out anything unwanted from the circle.”

“We cast out anything unwanted from the circle,”
the others intoned.

“And we draw together our power here in this protected circle . . .”

“And we draw together our power here in this protected circle . . .”

“. . . with the promise it shall only be used in good works,” Eleanora finished.

“. . . with the promise it shall only be used in good works,”
they all repeated.

The four candles—
the cardinal candles
, Lyse thought, filing it away in her memory for later—guttered as a blast of icy wind crossed the clearing.

“Light the remaining candles, Arrabelle,” Eleanora said.

Arrabelle knelt down in front of a small stone altar resting in the grass. Lyse would have tripped over the thing before she saw it hidden there. With a long wooden match, Arrabelle lit five more candles and passed them out to the others.

Only Lyse was without a candle when she was through.

“We welcome you into the realm of the sisters, may my blood be her blood,” Eleanora intoned—and that was when Lyse saw the knife and chalice in her great-aunt's hand.

She almost reached out and knocked the knife away, instinct telling her that any ritual involving something so sharp and frightening could not be good. But before she could say a word, Eleanora had sliced open the tip of her own left index finger, releasing some of the blood into the chalice. She passed the knife and chalice to Arrabelle, who sliced open her index finger and intoned: “May my blood be her blood.”

Lyse relaxed—let these ladies donate a few drops of blood to the chalice. So long as this was all the knife was being used for, she wasn't too worried.

Daniela was next.

“May my blood be her blood,” she said, and then a few drops from her index finger went into the chalice.

And so it went for both Dev and Lizbeth—only when it was Lizbeth's turn, the girl closed her eyes and mouthed the words. Finally, the chalice and knife made their way to Lyse. She took them from Lizbeth, the stone chalice cold in her hands. The knife was light as a feather, its black handle warm to the touch.

“So I just . . . do it?” Lyse asked.

She didn't know what to believe anymore. Part of her thought Eleanora and her “blood sisters” were crazy. Everyone knew there was no such thing as magic. That people couldn't see and talk to ghosts . . . but then there was the dream. The clearing she'd never been to but had dreamed about night after night for years. This was the stuff that was hard to just explain away. It felt wrong to discount all the strangeness she'd felt growing up in Eleanora's house. To not listen to the voice inside her head. The one telling her to take a leap of faith and see where it all led.

“Yes,” Eleanora said, and nodded. “You just do it.”

“Here goes nothing,” Lyse said, and pressed the tip of the blade into the fleshy pad of her finger. “May my blood be your blood.”

She didn't know what possessed her to change the wording, but somehow it felt right.

Eleanora took the chalice from Lyse's hands.

“The sacred potion, please,” Eleanora said—then she waited as Arrabelle retrieved a plastic thermos from behind the stone altar.

Arrabelle uncapped it and poured its contents into the chalice. There was a
hiss
and then a finger of steam rose up from within the curve of the stone.

“It's ready,” Arrabelle said. Eleanora took a small sip from the chalice and passed it to Arrabelle. Arrabelle did the same and passed it to Dev.

It made its way around the circle, and finally Lyse was forced to take the proffered chalice from Lizbeth's outstretched hands. She stared down at the liquid contents, pretty sure she was gonna have to take more than the small sip the others had taken.

“All of it?” Lyse asked.

“All of it,” Eleanora replied.

Lyse took a deep breath, plugged her nose with the fingers of her right hand, and gulped the nasty-tasting brew down in one swallow.

The drink made Lyse feel funny. Her eyes began to focus in on strange things. Like the fact that Daniela was totally naked except for a pair of turquoise leather gloves. Lyse began to wonder if Daniela was germophobic, or maybe it was just an odd psychological quirk.

Actually, there was something kind of weird about each of the women here tonight: Arrabelle and her museum house, the mute Lizbeth, Daniela's gloves . . . only Devandra seemed normal—but who knew what weird stuff she had back at
her
house.

It was interesting that Eleanora had befriended such a disparate group of women. When Lyse was a teenager, she remembered Eleanora having friends, most of them her great-aunt's age or older. Eleanora had kept Lyse separate from them, but Lyse had been aware of their existence. Now she wondered, what had happened to those other ladies? Had they died, or retired, or moved away to other climes? And if so, why had Eleanora replaced them with these other,
younger
women?

It was very, very
straaaaaaaaaaaannnnngggeeee
.

The word elongated in her head, and it was such an odd sound that she began to laugh.

“Lyse?”

She heard her name and looked up to find all the eyes in the circle—and some that weren't in the circle—fixed on her. She must have really been out of it because she hadn't noticed the thread of the conversation being pulled in her direction.

“Uh-huh?” she said, but the word came out as gibberish.