The Price Guide to the Occult(31)

“If she’s just tired,” Savvy whispered, “then ‘Sleeping Beauty’ is definitely a horror story.”

Nor nodded. There was nothing serene or restful about the way Wintersweet looked. No, something had happened to her, just like something had happened to cause the sea-creature exodus from the Salish Sea, the empty forest, and those trees wearing stinging nettles like armor. Nor looked back at Wintersweet and then out at that fog creeping past the window. Her mind started to stray toward those sharp scissors hidden in the drawer below the cash register. It no longer seemed a question of if her mother would return to Anathema Island, but of when. And what in the hell was going to protect them when she did?





Nor was dreaming. In her dream, she was standing at the edge of a precipice, overlooking miles of frothy gray ocean. She looked down and saw long, pointed nails, like talons, painted red. Green swirling tattoos covered her waxy skin.

Where am I? Something was familiar about this place. She’d been here before. Many times, in fact. Two people stood behind her, waiting. Something told her they would wait all day if she desired it. They would wait until their knees buckled, until they toppled over with hunger or their tongues dried up in their mouths.

Neither was much older than seventeen. One was a skinny punk who had so far proven to be about as noteworthy as his neglected Mohawk. The other was a slender girl Nor recognized as her former classmate Catriona. Both of their arms were covered in bandages. There was a gruesome gash on Mohawk’s cheek.

Doubt was in Catriona’s gaunt face, and Nor somehow knew that there could be no doubt today. Most especially from Catriona. That she was from the island was what made her useful, but if there was doubt —

She beckoned to Catriona, drew her close, and stroked her sunken cheeks with those red talons. The girl’s thirst for her attention and approval flushed across her face like a fever.

“Not to worry, my pet,” Nor purred in a voice not her own. “Do what I ask, and I promise, you will be rewarded immensely.” Any doubt Catriona had felt was gone.

Nor watched as Mohawk boy and Catriona wended their way down to a small dinghy at the dock. Only a few abandoned boats remained in the marina, sticking out of the water like shattered teeth. The dinghy lurched into the gray. Soon, it was but a tiny pinpoint in the distance.

Nor turned her attention back to her surroundings. The crumbling roof of an abandoned building peeked out from over the treetops. There was a reason she was here. What is it?

Her mind filled with a memory that did not belong to her: the life draining from a man’s eyes, blood pooling on the floor. She had been a bit overzealous with that one. And still, every drop of the man’s blood had not been enough. It turned out he had been a stranger to the archipelago, so she could only cast but a few illicit spells with it before the feeble power of that sacrifice slipped through her fingers. This was why Catriona’s compliance was so important — that couldn’t happen again.

“At least killing him had been fun,” Nor said aloud, and the voice that came out of her mouth chilled her to the bone.

It was then that Nor remembered why she was here. It had nothing to do with the place. The place was inconsequential — a convenient means to an end. No, this had everything to do with the people. The new hope for power raced through her veins like a drug. The true price of her spells had nothing to do with money. What did someone who could have anything she wanted need with money? No, the true price was blood. And pain. It was simple and somewhat trite, but it was also wicked, which was what made it so fun.

It didn’t take long for the boat to return. At first, it appeared that they had failed, but as they disembarked and made their way up the trail, she saw they were dragging someone with them — a woman. Her head lolled sluggishly against her chest. Even from here, Nor could see the green vines inked into her skin.

“Is she dead?” she asked in the voice that was not her own.

“You said you wanted her alive,” Catriona answered.

“And so I did.”

Nor looked at the woman’s face and frowned. She turned to the boy and slapped him hard across the face.

“But you said you wanted —” he cried.

“I was very clear about who I wanted.”

“We — we couldn’t get to her,” he stammered, avoiding looking into her eyes. “She closed the bakery early. But this one’s from the island. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, it is not. Was I or was I not quite explicit about that detail?”

Mohawk and Catriona shared a look. “Should we take her back?” Catriona dared to ask.

Nor examined the woman, slumped over like a dumb beast raised for slaughter. She might not have been the one she had requested, but she wouldn’t have to be wasted altogether.

“I suppose she’ll do for now.”

The two breathed a sigh of relief. Nor raised her arm, and the fern tattoo unlatched from her skin. Nor knew she could cause people pain just by thinking it, could split their skin open just by desiring it, but that wasn’t quite as memorable and not nearly as nightmarish.

The fern wrapped itself around the woman’s neck and made a deep puncture wound. The woman whimpered. The thorns the ferns sprouted were sharp, but not too sharp. Too sharp and they wouldn’t hurt — not at first. Where was the fun in that?

The fern was readying itself to sink deeper into the woman’s skin when Nor gave a jolt, and the fern retracted with a crack.