The Price Guide to the Occult(16)

Before Fern, Quinn Sweeney had always dated nice girls. Girls with shiny ponytails and straight teeth. Girls who came from respectable families and dreamed of pink prom dresses and white stretch limousines. Girls who’d left him panting with gentlemanly desire because he was afraid to touch them, afraid to ask, and afraid to question for fear he’d offend them. Those nice girls had never climbed on top of him and huskily asked, “What do you want?” or whispered, “Tell me how to please you,” their breath hot in his ear.

For three days, Quinn and Fern remained locked in her bedroom in the Tower, consumed entirely with each other’s mouths, hands, fingers, and tongues. During the few moments when Fern had allowed him to sleep, she’d traced his handsome features with her fingers, as if laying claim to him.

But at the end of those three days, Quinn Sweeney left. Just like all the others before him. And the next time they saw each other, the only sign Quinn gave that there had been anything between them was a deep flush that spread across his cheeks.

Quinn Sweeney left the island right after he gave his commencement speech and five months before Fern would give birth to Nor. After college, he’d gone on to a marginally successful career in music composition. He had a lovely wife — more kind than she was beautiful — and he never forgot to send his mother a birthday gift. And like all the other fathers before him, Quinn Sweeney never acknowledged the fact that he had fathered a child with a Blackburn daughter.

Rona Blackburn’s curse was an impenetrable shield, and try as she might, Fern could not break through it. For years, Quinn Sweeney remained immune to Fern’s charismatic powers. But history had a funny and terrible way of repeating itself. The terrible truth was that Fern had fallen in love with Quinn. Desperately wanting him to love her back, a Blackburn woman once again found herself reaching for black magic.

When Nor was nine years old, Fern dragged her once again to the roof of Madge’s shop. With the brightened stars burning yellow on her skin, Fern stared across the ocean surrounding their little island and called his name. She called for him over and over again until her sallow skin had glowed purple in the cold.

Nor sat huddled with her hands over her ears and watched her mother carve his name into her skin, just like Rona once had, hoping the wicked sacrifice of her own blood would add potency to her spell.

Nor watched her mother’s blood inch its way across the roof, then stop. Weakened and defeated, Fern slumped to the ground as Nor breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Perhaps the madness was finally over. And then Fern looked at her — stared at her — with a terrible smile spreading across her wan face. “Why must it be my blood that’s spilled,” she mused aloud, “when it could just as easily be yours?”

Nor screamed in pain when the skin on the back of her hands began peeling away. Blood seeped out from under her fingernails and oozed from the corners of her eyes. Nor wiped frantically at her face, smearing blood across her cheeks. Her skin began to tear open at her wrists and elbows, like a rag doll splitting at the seams.

I’m dying, Nor thought. A sticky film coated the back of her throat, and breathing became difficult. Unconsciousness fell over her like a shroud. She could faintly make out the sound of Madge stumbling onto the roof, pleading for Fern to let Nor go. And then, when Nor was certain her mother never would, when death, in fact, seemed inevitable, Fern herself collapsed.

Nor gulped fresh air into her lungs. Madge ripped off her sweater and pressed it against Nor’s wounds. A red stain spread across the wool. The roof beneath Nor was slick and wet with blood, but whether it was her mother’s blood or her own, she couldn’t tell. At that moment, it seemed there was nothing in Nor’s world but blood and pain.

Vega carried the unconscious Fern downstairs to the couch in the back room, where she slept for three days straight. As the rest of them sat vigil, Nor made her own recovery, tucked safely away in her little closet. Her skin slowly stitched itself back together, leaving only pale pink scars along her wrists and elbows. Nor was also left with a memory of when her mother was willing to sacrifice her. For the first time, she wondered how much pain Fern would be willing to inflict to get what she wanted. She wondered if Fern, in fact, enjoyed the pain of others.

And then, in the early morning of the third day —

A crash in the other room startled Nor awake. She yelped when her own door flew open. Her mother, wild-eyed and terrifying, tore into the closet room and began tossing clothes into a ratty old suitcase.

Nor watched in stunned silence. “What are you doing?” she dared to ask. She hesitantly reached into the suitcase and made an awkward attempt to organize the mess within.

Fern slapped Nor’s hands out of the way. “It finally worked,” she hissed. “I’ve made him come back for me.” Fern slammed the suitcase closed.

Nor followed her mother into the shop, her palms sweating and her heart pounding fast in her chest. Everyone else was asleep, and the metallic glow from the headlights of a car parked outside cast their faces in a sickly yellow hue. Nor gazed at Madge’s sleeping face, and that was when it hit her. Tears choked her words. “Do we have to leave right now? Can I say good-bye first? To Madge? To Savvy?”

But when she turned around, all she saw was her mother escaping through the front door. In a voice suddenly falsely sweet, Fern called out a greeting to the person in the car waiting for her.

Nor tripped over her feet in her haste to follow. She could see that it was a man in the car, his posture stiff and unnatural. From that distance, what Nor couldn’t see were the parts of her that had come from him — the slope of her nose, the shape of her mouth. He had blond hair, like her mother. Nor’s hair was dark and thick, like Judd’s.