By a Charm and a Curse(49)

Chapter Twenty-Three


Benjamin

The pages of the journal are dry and brittle, like the tissue-thin leaves of a long-dead plant. In many places, the once-black ink has faded to a muddy brown, blending in with the yellowed paper. At first it seems as though the page is covered in a made-up language only the author was meant to understand. But once I start to see the patterns in the handwriting—the quirky way the author draws out the lines that slash across the letter T, the flourish in her Ms that make it look like there’s an extra hump—it becomes easier to read.

After about an hour, I find the entry we’ve been looking for.

…

Tonight Rebecca cursed her one true love, and there was nothing we could do to stop her. Mother believes in giving someone every possible chance to make the right choice. Even if it sometimes means waiting too long. To that end, Mother insisted I watch over Rebecca, but from the scrying bowl, too far away to interfere. I love Mother dearly, but I hope she knows that her belief that Rebecca would do the right thing is what brought this calamity on all of us.

We poured a bowl of wine and laid down the lines of salt. At first nothing but candlelight shone on the liquid surface. Then fine tendrils of gray billowed up from the bottom of the bowl, long pale arms of mist creeping across the still liquid. Tree trunks, the same as those at the edge of the forest, grew from the billowing clouds, and from them, my sister emerged. Rebecca wound her shawl around her hunched shoulders. The lights of camp glowed across the flat meadow, but they were tiny with distance.

The grass rustled nearby, and she pulled the square of creased parchment from her pocket. Mother guided us through the vision, trees blurring as she spun the bowl and shifted our line of sight, so we could read the note. Meet me at the edge of the woods at midnight. I’ll mark the tree. The sloping, scrawling script was Jasper’s, as was the red silk handkerchief tied to one of the lower boughs of the sprawling oak at the edge of the tree line.

Rebecca ran the raw silk between her fingers, and she pressed the square of crimson to her nose.

A dark shadow, lumpy, tangled, approached her in the dark. Tall grass rippled out as the figure neared her hiding spot. Rebecca twitched forward as if to go meet the new arrival, and her cheeks flushed dark with excitement.

Rebecca took a step forward, out of the safety of the shadows, when a laugh broke the silence of the evening. It was the light, crystalline laughter of a girl. The approaching shape disentangled to reveal not just one person but two—the tall, lanky form of Jasper and the shorter, lithe shape of Susan, the aerialist.

Rebecca froze. The aerialist had been appearing in her visions more and more of late, though she had not been able to puzzle out why. And now she knew.

Jealousy had gnawed at Rebecca the moment the aerialist had joined our troupe. Susan, with her pale skin and sleek blond curls, was the very opposite of Rebecca, and her appearance in that field did not bode well for my sister.

Jasper had his arm draped around Susan’s shoulder, his hand playing with the jet beads that hung from her sleeve. The moment Susan saw my sister, the laugh died on her lips and she came to a halt, Jasper stopping alongside her.

“Rebecca,” he said coolly. Hard lines set across Rebecca’s brow as she realized that Jasper wanted her to find him with this other woman. He had played her like one of the unsuspecting townies to whom he peddled his wares.

Rebecca twisted the handkerchief into a cord, the thin fabric collapsing in on itself until the silk began to strain. “Jasper, I thought we were leaving.”

Susan tried to free herself from Jasper’s side, but he grasped her tighter, his fingers digging into her shoulder.

“You still can, Rebecca,” he said. “We won’t stop you. I know you tire of the carnival. Susan and I came to see you off.”

Tears welled up in Rebecca’s eyes, and my heart ached for her. “But we were starting over. Together.”

Jasper pulled away from Susan but kept her hand firmly locked in his. He wanted her there, as though the other woman would remind Rebecca she had fallen out of his favor. He placed his free hand on Rebecca’s shawl-wrapped shoulder. “Rebecca. Bex. I have been trying to tell you for quite a while now.”

Rebecca shook her head, as if that would keep the words away. The silk kerchief around her fingers could not possibly be wound tighter, but still she twisted. “You were never—”

“I was.” He removed his hand from her shoulder and gripped onto Susan’s hand hard enough to make the girl wince. His gaze was cold and unyielding. “I think you should go.”

The wind rustled the dead leaves clinging to the branches above them, threw the tall grasses around until they made a susurrus I could hear inside the wagon. Rebecca was terribly still. “You were never supposed—”

“Rebecca,” he said, his words like iron, “you’re embarrassing yourself now.”

A twisted fork of lightning struck the oak tree behind Rebecca. The dry wood caught fire, flames licking at the night sky. Rebecca stood in a pocket of wavering air while the flames stretched toward Jasper like eager tongues ready to bring him into their gaping jaws. Jasper scrambled away. Susan was a glittering speck dashing across the field.

Darkness spread across Rebecca’s eyes; a scarlet glow from the flaming tree threw her face into shadow. The handkerchief was twisted so tight it split her skin. Blood seeped through the silk and ran down between her fingers to drip upon her skirt.