Hattie nodded once. “But I guess she immediately felt remorse, because then she found herself some rope and walked up the stairs. Hung herself in the attic.”
Erielle shuddered.
“The mayor found the infants, but couldn’t find her for the longest time, because she’d locked herself in there. So he was deranged with grief, and was certain she’d gone to the city to her lover. And then he found her, days later, hanging in the attic in the middle of a bayou summer. I’ll let your imagination work that out.”
Erielle forced her imagination away from the image. Nope. She would not picture it.
“He left town after that, and while others tried to live in the house, no one lasted too long, until your grandparents.”
“I wonder why they could manage it.”
Hattie studied her, unreadable. “Do you not know?”
“I don’t. I…” She had so many questions. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Hattie about the painting, the journal, the etched symbols, the hidden room. “Was my grandmother—did she know protection charms?”
“That’s what these are.” Allison tapped the napkins.
“And the book? The journal? What do these symbols mean?”
“They’re Theban,” Allison said. “The witch alphabet.”
Erielle felt all the blood rush from her head. Honestly, she would have thought it had all left her body if she hadn’t known that was impossible.
“My grandmother…was…” No, she couldn’t say it. “My grandmother knew the witch alphabet?”
Hattie held her gaze, as if trying to press the knowledge into her brain. “We all do.”
“You all know…how to read that, and what it means, and how to do protections and…” What else did they know how to do? “Do you know how to get rid of ghosts?”
“Well, ah. It may be a little tricky,” Marie said. “Your grandmother, she was the one who learned how to, if not get rid of Millicent, she knew how to bind her, somehow. We have to hope what she did is written down in here.” She lifted the journal and dropped it back to the table.
Erielle noticed the napkins didn’t so much as ruffle with the movement.
“When were you going to tell me this?” She looked at Allison, trying to keep the accusation from her tone but she’d tamped down her frustration long enough.
Allison held her gaze, but spoke softly. “We needed to meet, and we needed to see what you knew, and what was happening.”
“But…you haven’t lived here that long. You didn’t know my grandmother.”
“Not…personally. I met her online a few years ago. She’s why I moved to Phantom Bayou. I knew what the…culture was like here.”
“My grandmother. Online.”
“Your grandmother was very wise and sought after,” Samson’s mother said. “She’d learned a lot when she researched all of this.” She waved a hand to indicate the house. “People asked her for help.”
“But…no. I would have known. Why did she never tell me? Does my mother know? My aunt?”
“They may. Angeline didn’t have to hide like some of us.” Samson’s mom looked down at her bag on her lap.
The preacher’s wife. Of course. “Pastor Guillory doesn’t know?”
She drew back her chin. “He knew. He forbade me to practice any more. Forbade me to even meet with these ladies.” She held her son’s gaze. “He can’t know I’m here now.”
Erielle wanted to look at Sam, to see his reaction, but at the same time, this seemed to be a personal plea between him and his mom.
“He tried to get me to move out of town when I opened my shop,” Allison said. “She told me he told her he didn’t want her tempted to return to that way of life.”
Erielle rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “Let me see if I have this right. You are all witches, and my grandmother was part of your group because she lived in a haunted house.”
