The older woman was surprisingly nimble, as she scrambled up the side of the dumpster, balancing herself a minute on the ledge before dropping in. Erielle had a moment of silliness, thinking about the raccoons in the dumpster at work. Then she followed, taking a little more time, more cautious of her footholds, more cautious of the rusty spots on the dumpster, but then she heaved herself up and in.
Lord, it was much hotter than she’d even imagined, the metal holding in the heat, the light breeze unable to reach them. The old mattresses she and Sam had tossed made footing uneven. And there were so many books. The stench of mildew, old paper and mattress foam engulfed her, and she couldn’t even stretch up for a breath of fresh air.
“You start at that end, I’ll start at this,” Marie said.
“So what happened in the swamp that my grandmother sought you out?” Erielle asked.
Marie shook her head before Erielle even completed the sentence. “I don’t talk about it. Leslie doesn’t either, so don’t think you’re going to ask her.”
“But my grandmother came looking for you? And she knew what you’d done? And she knew how to help you take care of yourself?” Erielle’s imagination ran wild, wondering what two ghost-hunting teens could have gotten up to in the swamp. “How did she know what to do?”
“I think she’d been practicing a couple of years? But not long. Apparently she got really into it, though, and once she was able to overpower Millicent, she gained confidence to try other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like the spells in the book. She was…particular, though. She didn’t want to mess with human will. She wanted people to have freedom of choice, so she didn’t do love spells or anything like that. And I don’t think she could divine the future. But I did hear she put a curse on the CEO of the factory when he closed it and put so many people out of a job. At least, people liked to say that she did. If I’d had that power, I know I would have.”
“So people knew she…was a witch? And she had actual power? You don’t?”
“I have to really focus in order to manifest anything. I work better as part of a group, and this group hasn’t done much lately, especially since Pastor Guillory forbade Leslie to so much as look at a spell.”
“So you…are you a coven?”
“I guess maybe you could call us that, back when your grandma was around. We worked together for the good of the town. We kept the pirates from coming into town, you know, that was something that required a lot of energy. And we helped people because, well, there aren’t any doctors in town, not that a lot of people could afford one anyway. Hattie still practices, and Allison. I haven’t in a while. I miss it.” Marie straightened and cracked her back with a sigh. “Maybe I just miss the crew. You know? The connection between us was very strong when your grandmother was alive. We could feel when the others needed us. That was…scary but reassuring. Now, we are just…separate people. She was the glue that held us together.”
They worked in silence for a little while before someone knocked on the outside of the dumpster, making Marie swear and Erielle jump.
“I gotta get back to the diner,” Hattie shouted through the metal. “And Allison needs to get back to her boy and Leslie needs to get home before the preacher starts raising questions. Samson’s in the attic going through boxes. You two need to get outta there before you get heatstroke.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Marie said. Sweat slid down her temple as she shifted another warped book to a growing stack she’d propped against the dumpster wall.
Erielle saw she had stacked books against the wall of the dumpster.
“That way I know which ones I’ve looked through already,” Marie answered her unasked question, back at work inspecting books and adding them to the stack..
“So what do you know about the painter?” Erielle asked after a few minutes. “The one who did that painting that the journal was hidden behind? Some symbols were hidden in it, as well.”
“Claud?”
Erielle spun around, intrigued by Marie’s casual use of his name. “Did he live here?”
“No, no, he didn’t exist.” Marie laughed. “That was your grandmother’s art.”
“Gigi?” Erielle screeched the word. “She didn’t paint. As I recall, she couldn’t even draw very well.” She remembered seeing doodles on the grocery list, on the sides of recipes, but always thought her grandmother was just being silly because they were just so terrible.
“She painted, though. That painting, and the others in that workroom. There are probably others throughout the house, too. And they probably all have the symbols worked into them as well.”
The dumpster seemed to tilt under her feet. She wanted to haul herself out of the dumpster and go room to room to check. This whole day—so many secrets revealed at once. She didn’t know how she was going to process any of it.
“When did she start? I used to spend my summers here and I don’t remember any of that.”
“I don’t know, either. But I know they’re hers.”
“Why did she paint them under an assumed name?”
“She had her reasons.”
Erielle stared at the mounded books, feeling the weight of a hundred unanswered questions press down like the sweltering air. Her mother would have to know—or her aunt. Somebody had to. And yet the thought of that conversation made her chest tighten.
