Perigee Moon (2 page)

~ Alexander 1692

***

The sounds of a jet engine sliced through the air, rattling the car as Bevin paid to park. The sky was grey with thick overcast and rain droplets had started to pelt the windshield, a rhythmic countdown to my departure. The world around me looked colorless, depressing. I missed the sun.

“Hey at least today was the last time you have to hear: ‘How does that make you feel Rowan?’” Bevin said in her best nasally impersonation of Mrs. Henderson, my school counselor.

I stared out the window listlessly as Bevin pulled into a parking space in the crowded airport parking garage. The cars were packed under the concrete shelter like sardines. When I didn’t say anything, she sighed.

“They aren’t going to make you see the counselor at your new school?” she said.

“They can try.”

“If you ask me, Mrs. Henderson doesn’t know her ass from her elbow when it comes to this stuff anyway,” she said.

“And you do?” I asked. Bevin thought she knew what was best for everyone. Especially me.

She flashed me a wicked smile and winked. “Yep.”

“Go on. Tell me Bev. What do I need to drive the crazy out of me once and for all?” I urged her on, turning in my seat to face her.

“You need a summer boy toy. Someone to do–whoops!” She grinned. “I mean
something
to do to take your mind off of things.” Perfect Bevin fashion. There was nothing in the world that a boy and a back seat couldn’t solve.

“That is the
last
thing I need.” 

I cranked up the stereo to distract myself from the steady pulse of emotion that was streaming from Bevin and into me.

Worry. Pain. Loss.

It was a constant ebb and flow of raw heartache washing over me in a suffocating wave and then pulling back out to let me breath before starting the process all over again. She was masking it pretty well with all the jokes but I knew what was really going on inside. She was worried about me. And it was just enough to bring the soft pounding in my head up a notch to full-blown jack hammer status.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, most of Bevin’s emotions safely blocked out for now. The hypnotic beat of Muse crashed through the speakers, blasting my eardrums till they were numb.

“Loud enough? You know you could’ve just told me to shut my trap if you didn’t want my opinion,” Bevin shouted above the music as she swiped on another coat of lip gloss.

I sighed and leaned over, turning the music off and pulling her keys from the ignition. She gave me a sad look that said she knew it was time to go, then we both climbed out of the car and made our way to the airport security gate.

“I really wish you would have let me take you shopping before you left,” Bevin said, frowning at the shabby secondhand suite case that I carried, containing all that I owned in the world. A tattered copy of my favorite book, four outfits, and a small toiletry kit that my dad had picked up at the drug store the day before. The clothes and book had only been spared from the fire because I practically lived at Bevin’s house and happened to have my own stash there.

“It’ll be fine.” I didn’t know what else to say her. Bevin had held my hand at my Mom’s funeral and wrapped the rags around my wrists that had saved my life. Sure she had attitude, her skirt was so short it was a Britney Spears incident waiting to happen and she was too opinionated for her own good, but for better or for worse she was my best friend. My sister for life. I couldn’t tell her goodbye. I just couldn’t.

“Have Grams take you when you get there. Swear it. I can’t have you starting at a new school looking like this.” She made a sweeping motion displaying my faded jeans, old navy t-shirt, and worn out hoodie.

“I’m not really worried about the clothes,” I said as I rubbed my scars. They still felt tender to the touch. I could already hear the whispers of my future classmates buzzing behind my thoughts. In a small town like Ipswich, Massachusetts, I’d be headline news once they got a good look at these.

“I thought of that.” Bevin grinned and pulled two leather armbands from her purse. They were beautiful. Mahogany brown with intricate gold patterns etched into the leather. They looked like something a warrior princess would wear. Not some delusional girl whose own Dad couldn’t stand to look at her anymore.

“Bev…” I stopped when she fastened them around each of my wrists covering the scars.

“Now keep in mind you’ll have to dress accordingly for these to look right, but I think they’ll do the trick.” She stood back to admire her work.

“Thanks Bev.” It was all I could manage past the irritating lump in my throat that had become a permanent fixture the last month.

Bevin threw her arms around me and cried, and it was everything I could do to not crumble beneath her desperate grasp. “Call me every day,” she said. “And I want a full report of every cute guy in that town. I’m coming to visit soon so you better save a few for me.”

I managed a laugh and squeezed her once more. “You better.”

I kissed her cheek, staining my lips with her passion peach blush, and turned towards the security gate before her broken voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I love you Rowan!” She cracked a smile and waved one last time.

“I love you too,” I called as I dissolved into the crowd, unable to look at her again. I couldn’t handle any more goodbyes. Not with her pain and desperation pummeling me from every direction. Instead I ducked my head down and stared at the scuffed tile floor and the army of unfamiliar shoes scuttling around me.

After the cab had deposited me at the curb outside my grandparents, I just stood and stared at the house for a while. I hadn’t been here in years. At least five. I squinted against the sky, a dimming cloudless blue quickly dissolving into a lavender sunset, to get a good look at my new home. I had remembered the town being small and the house being huge. And now as I stood staring up at the enormous white columns and dark red shutters, shrouded by weeping willows, it didn’t disappoint. It was… historic? Beautiful? Timeless? Who was I kidding? It was creepy. Hella creepy. It looked like a museum or worse, a haunted house. I felt like I should have to pay admission to get into the place.

“You’re here! You’re actually here!” Grandma Elinore stumbled down the porch steps nearly tripping as her feet tangled in her purple tunic-style dress. I didn’t have to look to know that her long grey hair was swept up into a dozen woven braids and the turquoise jewelry she claimed an old Indian medicine man gave her was dangling around her neck. I had to hand it to her though; my Grams was the only sixty-year-old I knew that could pull off the flower-child look. Grandpa Walter followed close behind, country to the core and the polar opposite of Grams.

“How was your trip?” She pulled me into a bone-crunching hug. At least she wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t think I’d be able to stand the look in her eyes as she examined her dead daughter’s daughter. It didn’t help that I was pretty much an exact replica of my mother, right down to my emerald green eyes and sharp pixie nose.

“Long,” I admitted, stuffing my iPod into my pocket. Grandpa always thought it was disrespectful to be “plugged in” while people were trying to have a conversation with you. I didn’t need reminding.

“Excuse me miss? But have you seen my little granddaughter anywhere. She goes by the name sugar-bear.” It was the same joke Grandpa told every time he’d seen me for the past four years. But this time it might have been closer to the truth than ever. I was a stranger compared to the little girl he called sugar-bear, light years away from the person I used to be.

“Hey Grandpa,” I finally muttered and made my way into his awaiting arms. I lingered there for a moment inhaling the familiar aroma of old spice and tobacco from his blue button-down shirt. It wasn’t the most pleasant smell in the world, but I loved it. It made me feel safe. My Mom always smelled like lavender. It was a beautiful smell that I could never replicate even when I borrowed her perfume or shampoo. It was just her smell. Grandpa kissed my cheek tickling me with his fluffy white mustache, distracting me from the painful memory.

“Hi sweetheart.” He squeezed me hard enough to lift me from the ground then set me back on my feet.

Grams stepped back. Her grey eyes swept over my face, the light in them dimming as she drank me in. No doubt replaying a thousand memories of my mother. A sharp sting of pain seeped out of her and into me. She shook it off quickly and smiled.

“Well no need to stand around outside chit-chatting all day. Let’s go inside and have some dinner,” Grams said as she ushered us up the rickety porch steps that seemed like they were a hundred years old. The warm garlic smell of my grandmother’s famous lasagna wafted through the doorway and into the crisp evening air, replacing the cool scent of cedar and salt water. My empty stomach growled in response but the ache in my heart quickly protested and sent my abdomen twisting into knots. It didn’t feel like home here. But then again, home didn’t really exist anymore, did it?

I dreamt of her again last night. God help me, what would my father say about me now? His only son lazing about dreaming about a girl that doesn’t exist. But Goddess, how torturous to love a girl so much that only lives in my dreams. To have the curve of her hip, the texture of her hair, and shape of her lips all but engraved in my mind yet never be allowed to touch her. Sometimes I wonder if this is punishment from God or my mother’s Goddess for some boyhood mischief I caused years ago. It doesn’t matter. I have to focus on the task at hand. Aunt Marion has fallen ill. What can I do? She has chosen darkness. Black magic consumes her. But she is all that I have. How can I let her die? Like my mother and father before her, shall I just watch as the others allow her to parish and say it is God’s will? No. I won’t let it happen. I haven’t practiced a spell in months. Part of me is terrified, yet I cannot ignore the excitement building within me. My fingers ache to work magic. I’ve gathered most of the supplies I need. My mother’s necklace has been removed from its hiding place and now hangs around my neck. I have the salt and sage for the purification circle, and I have been studying my mother’s spell diligently. The one that has taken us on so many journeys. The one that failed my father. I wish I had spent more time studying with mother. I wish I knew more of healing spells so that I didn’t have to fool with a spell as complex as this. Once I watched as mother healed a woman on the brink of death. She had just given birth and her blood loss was too much for her tiny body. But mother worked magic, worked miracles. She saved her. And they hanged her for it. I’m sorry mother. I’m sorry that I must break my promise now. I don’t have a choice.

~ Alexander 1692

***

I stared up at the big brick building wishing I could be anywhere else but here. Tahiti, Rome, Denver, hell even Antarctica would have been better. Anywhere but my new school. I looked down at my jeans and plain white tee, hoping I’d pulled off my attempt to remain invisible. To stay off of the radar. The only thing that gave color to my bland exterior was the gold-laced leather bands strapped around each of my wrists. I’d braided my hair and fastened it with a gold barrette so that they wouldn’t look too out of place. A group of kids walked past me whispering, their necks swiveling around and their eyes wide as they passed me. I guess they didn’t see many new students around here.

So much for invisible.

I’d managed to get my schedule and make it through the first half of the day without speaking to anyone, but when I entered the cafeteria for lunch my chest tightened with panic. I wanted to dissolve into the obnoxious blue paint on the walls or fade away into the scuffed off-white tile. Every table was filled with students and, as expected, sectioned off into various clicks. They weren’t hard to spot. The band geeks–sweet and smart, the Emo kids–very cool but uninviting to newcomers, and last but not least, the popular kids–cheerleaders and jocks. Bevin always called them, the pretty people. I used to be one of them. I didn’t feel like one now though, as I stood awkwardly waiting in line for a tray of food that I knew I wouldn’t eat.  I inched out of the line and breathed a sigh of relief when a short redhead girl bounced to my side.

“Hi, I’m Paige.” She flashed me a smile that would have left the boys back home panting. “Cool bracelets.” She tapped a leather band around my wrist with her freshly manicured nail and I silently thanked Bevin for being a genius. I smiled back as I looked her over. Definitely one of the pretty people.

“I-I’m Rowan,” I said. Why was I so nervous? She laughed like she could read my thoughts and grabbed my tray.

“Come on you’re eating with us.” Her shimmery red curls bounced as she skipped away. I followed, letting my senses stretch out, opening myself to her emotions, something I usually tried to avoid.