Child of the Storm (24 page)

“
You mean to stay
then.
”

Celeste
had shared so many secrets with her old friend and never been ridiculed, but
she studied Aurore
’
s face most deeply before choosing how
she would reply.
“
This magic and healing you do with the
myst
è
res. What might you do against a thing
such as Betsy?
”

Aurore
held her friend
’
s hands all the tighter and searched
her face as Celeste searched hers.
“
I might call on
Agoueh
for help, but his concern is more for those who
travel the seas, not those of us on land threatened by a storm of the Gulf. I
might call on all manner of mysteries of Voodoo and
not-Voodoo
.
But I would think long and deep about testing myself against a storm such as
this one, friend. Powers, you most certainly have. I see that more clearly than
even you may see, but this storm has it
’
s Powers too.
”

“
She
’
s turned about before,
”
Celeste said.
“
She might turn again
—
if she could be persuaded.
”

“
Yes, she turned about
in search of her way, back when she was still a young storm, looking for her
path. But she
’
s found that now and means to follow
it.
”

“
My house is strong,
”
Celeste said.
“
I
’
ll be as safe here as
I will be anywhere, and what if I
could
shift her away?
”

“
And send her where?
Who would you set her on? Would you have her strike down those poor people to
your east or to your west? People who might be resting at peace, believing they
were safe?
”
She softened then, and added.
“
I don
’
t think you
’
re ready, friend. Not yet.
”

That
shook Celeste, but her friend held her hands firmly, supporting her. Celeste
looked across the street to where her neighbor stood waiting on that faltering
front porch of hers.

“
My house is strong
and hers isn
’
t,
”
Celeste said.
“
I don
’
t think she
’
ll survive the night alone and she
’
ll be so frightened. I
’
ll let the storm come and see what it
means to bring or to take away, but I can
’
t do that and protect
an old woman as well.
”

Aurore
smiled and released her hands.
“
I
’
ll take her in, if you think she
’
ll be any less frightened of a Voodoo
Queen than a hurricane. But if the streets allow, I
’
ll be back here come the morning to
check on you. Promise me you won
’
t let the storm take
back what it brought to your mother that day.
”

“
I
’
ll be here.
”

The
old woman went away with Aurore. She was distressed that Celeste would not come
along, but whether it was out of concern for Celeste or uncertainty over the
Voodoo Queen, it was hard to tell. The nightmare would have been to face Betsy
alone. Celeste rested easier with her neighbor and her friend safely away.

Clouds
surged overhead like dark heralds. The street was empty. She went inside and
secured her door as best she could. At some point the power would most likely
go out, so she prepared something to eat and sat at the table with memories of
her parents as she stared at the stark walls. All of her paintings and drawings
were packed away into the attic
—
her
refuge. The floor of the house stood a few feet below the level of the Gulf,
but how far below, she couldn
’
t say. Lower than the
ground by the river. All around the room boxes and baskets of things sat on the
tallest furniture she could find for them. She could do nothing more than that.

She
finished eating and cleared away the dishes again. There were a lot of them as
it turned out. She had eaten more at a sitting than she would normally eat all
day, but she put it down to nerves or the changes in the air brought by the
storm.

You
aren
’
t ready. Isn
’
t that what Aurore said?

The
rain drummed against the siding and the boarded up windows and lightning
flashed between the gaps, followed by explosive thunder near and far that
rattled the light fixture and the dishes in the cupboard. Outside, the night
belonged to the storm and it whirled and pounded wherever it wished. Even so,
the worst of it was hours off. She went to her room and lay on the bare
mattress, hoping to sleep even for an hour before the true test could begin.
The lightning and thunder were loud, but she hoped she could rest in spite of
it. For a little while she looked about the room as the lightning danced and
the wind raced like rapids between the houses. She looked from the bare walls
and the boarded windows, to the ladder she had propped against the wall leading
up to the little square of an opening in the ceiling
—
the escape hatch to her attic getaway.
There were nails holding that ladder fast to the floor and to the rafter above.
She wasn
’
t very good with a hammer, but she was
good enough. Everything was as she thought it should be.

She
had been born out of a storm and she had been up the Climbing Oak as a tornado
grabbed for her. She had seen Audrey
’
s distant towering
clouds and the aftermath of her passing, but this would be her first time so
near the heart of one. She needed to feel the storm. She needed to listen to
its voice and sense its make and measure. But fear might wrap her up and make
her deaf and numb to all Betsy had to say and show.

Only
one item sat out on her dresser and she turned her head to look at it before
sleeping. The spirit box sat shoved against the wall, centered on the dresser
where she could keep an eye on it. On nights that followed a troublesome day,
she had often felt
a restlessness
in the box and she
would tell it to be still. Sometimes it would. And sometimes it wouldn
’
t. Tonight she wouldn
’
t spare a word for it, but she eyed it
good and hard before turning her head away. Within minutes she was asleep.

Two
hours passed as Celeste slept.

Betsy
stretched across the city, pounding on roof and wall, searching for the home where
the child of the storm now lay listening to the storm, feeling it, on the
waking side and the other. Sometimes the bear was at hand, on that other side.

“
You
’
ve brought the storm clear through,
”
said the bear.

Betsy
howled and shook the house, and shook her dream.
“
I had too,
”
Celeste explained.

“
There
’
ll be distractions,
”
said the bear.
“
Just set them aside as best you can.
”

The
lightning flashed and flashed again and the thunder followed hard on its heels.
In those instants of light that etched the boarded windows, Celeste could see
the room and see the bear. It was just as things were on the other side, but
also different; charged to the touch and sight and hearing.
The
power of Betsy, pressing against her.

Celeste
listened to the mounting wind and the slapping sheets of rain. Gusts picked at
the boards over the window and clawed the shingles on the roof. They sought out
some small hold on the lap siding, searching for a way in. She and the bear sat
in silence, watching each other. It was like, but not like, when she had been
in the tree with the cub as the storm drove at them when she was a child. But
that had been real where this was a dream. How odd that she had been a child
facing that storm in the open while now, she hid from it inside her shuttered
house, dreaming of it, yet still feeling it. A seed of doubt and fear sprouted.

“
It
’
s important to be ready,
”
said the bear.
“
She
’
ll try to stop you.
”

Betsy
clawed to get in,
then
took out her frustration on the
oak tree between the houses, grabbing at one of its branches and wrenching it
free. Celeste recognized that ripping shriek of wood and anticipated the blow
that followed. The blow from the wind wielded branch that bashed in Celeste
’
s window, boards, glass, sash and all.
The flailing branch stabbed through and as quickly disappeared, swept away by
the wind.

Something
small shot across the room and struck the far wall. That small
Something
that once sat alone on the dresser under the
window. She saw it slice across the room and strike the wall, and she saw the
spirit box burst apart.

The
ghost stood against the wall. Its long thin hair moved freely in the air; thin
grey hair framing an expressionless face. Except for the eyes. Judging, as they
had always been. Vengeful. Celeste swung her legs over the side of the bed and
stood to face her, the bed between them.

“
How dare you do what
you did? Trying to bind me. You aren
’
t allowed
to
…
,
”
said the ghost.

“
Not allowed by
whom
?
”
Celeste interrupted.

“
By whom
? Listen to you talk.
”

“
Listen or not, doesn
’
t matter. You need to be put behind me.
I need to be free of you.
”

“
Free? You think you
’
re free? Well, I guess that depends.
”

“
On what?
”

“
On where. Where do
you want to be free?
Inside your own head?
I could grant
you that, but I don
’
t see how it will make any difference.
”

“
Because I don
’
t matter.
”

“
You matter in your
place. That
’
s what I
’
ve tried to teach you
most of your life.
”

The ghost slipped
around the end of the bed toward her.
“
I remember that day
when you
marched
into my classroom on
those little flat, black feet of yours. You marched in to tell me my business.
And now I find you here of a mind to tell the heavens which way to turn
—
which way to blow.
”
The cold breath from the dead lips hissed.
“
As though you had the
right
.
”

Some
meaningful shift in the air caught Celeste
’
s attention and she
turned her face into it toward the broken wall
;
away
from the ghost.

“
Look at me girl. Look
at me when I talk to you!
”
shrieked the ghost.

Outside,
Betsy rushed overhead, crashing like a wave on sand and hurling whatever she
could get hold of to the ground or to the heavens. She bellowed from the depths
of her great lungs and her eye scoured heaven and earth alike. Something in her
grip dashed against the roof of the house and every board and nail leapt in
response.

“
I
’
ll ride you through Hell
’
s Gate,
”
spat the ghost.
“
On through to Evermore!
”

A
bitter ghost, like a hurtful memory, is relentless and unreasoning. Celeste
could attend to Betsy or she could endure the ravings of the ghost, but not
both. She closed on the ghost even as it advanced on her, and grasped it by
both wasted arms as the ghost
’
s brittle hands
closed around Celeste
’
s throat.

“
Who knows what this
storm wanted by coming here tonight?
”
Celeste managed in
spite of the ghost
’
s cold grip.
“
Maybe it
was
me
.
Or maybe it was
you
. Different winds are blowing, ghost.
”

“Talk all you want. March all
you want. You’ll never get me back inside that devil box!” hissed the ghost.

“I don’t need the box. This
is a night for me to learn something new, build myself up where I can take on
something good. This may be a frightful night, but it’s a good one too. Good,
because I mean to try something I’ve never tried before. Maybe something no one
has ever tried. Frightening because it’s so big…but not because you barged in.
Yet here you are. Guess I asked for that, keeping you around so long, but now
it’s done. I have something good to do and you aren’t part of it. So I’ll be
showing you out now. Need to do a little house cleaning.”

 
She had the ghost to that edge between
inside and out where the wind plucked at the frayed opening as if to get a
substantial hold. The ghost kept her grip till the last, oblivious of the storm
’
s toll one her thin remains. Bit by bit
she was drawn away into the screaming wind; like useless soot up a
chimney.
 
And Celeste set her own
shoulder against the edge of the wall, careful not to be pulled out but careful
as well not to let the ghost go free to ride the winds, free and whole. She let
her dissolve until there was nothing more than the cold look of its eyes and
a coldness
about her own throat. And then the ghost was
gone.