The Isis Collar (Blood Singer #4)

The Isis Collar (Blood Singer #4) Page 35

I didn’t even have to open the door to hear Mom’s voice. She was apparently already messed up, because she was slurring. God, I didn’t want to do this. But, as promised, I called Baker and Natura to tell them where I was. Now I just had to wait for them to show up … and keep Mom from leaving before they could collect her.

At least that was my plan. Before I got a call.

My phone burbled wetly to life and I pressed the green button. “Hello?”

“Celia, dear. You must talk to her. It’s the only way.”

I recognized the voice immediately, but it sounded odd, distant and mechanical. “Dottie? Talk to who?”

“Go inside and talk to her. That’s why the girl comes and you can find out what’s wrong.” She paused and then concluded, “And you must hurry. Before the others arrive.”

“What girl, Dottie? Can you tell me any more?” But the line went dead. The trouble with clairvoyants was that often they didn’t even remember talking to you about their visions, so it wouldn’t do any good to call her back. Dottie seems to talk her way through the event, where Emma visualizes it and tells you about it later. Vicki had been such a powerful seer that she feared even vocalizing events in case they’d come true just because they were spoken of.

I sighed and stared at the old wooden door with the barred window. If it was important to do this, I guess I would. But I didn’t have to like it. And I knew Baker wouldn’t.

Two steps and a squeaking door later and I was inside the dim interior. Although it wasn’t fair to say it was dim. Only parts were. The rest was lit in vivid red and pink from neon stripes and hearts on the walls. It was like being trapped inside a box of Valentine’s chocolates. The music assaulted my ears—a hideous disco version of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Who would ruin a classic like that? The whole place smelled of alcohol and sweat, and as my eyes adjusted to the weird lighting, I saw five or six people sitting around a pod of tables in the corner. One woman with dark hair was facedown on her arm; the drink at her elbow had the same colors as a tequila sunrise, but smelled far different.

I saw my mother through the doorway to my left, playing pool with another woman. My mother’s companion wore dark-rimmed glasses and a platinum blonde wig that was styled like Jackie O’s when she was Jackie Kennedy. Don’t see that very often. The face looked familiar, but only vaguely. I stared at my mother with something approaching disgust. She was so drunk she was swaying on her feet and was using the pool cue as a staff to keep herself upright. “Mom?”

She turned and squinted at me through glazed eyes. She actually looked better than I expected. When she’d left the prison here, she’d been gaunt and pale—near death. But now her cheeks were filled out a little and the leathery appearance of her skin was nearly gone. “Oh, man. Why are you bothering me again?”

I let out a sigh, determined not to let her get to me. “C’mon, Mom. It’s time to go back to the island. You forgot to tell them you were going on this trip.” I reached out to take her elbow, but she’d have none of it. She jerked away, nearly sending herself tumbling across the floor. “I want to make sure you get back safe.”

“Just go away, Celia. I know you don’t give a tinker’s damn where I am or whether I’m safe. You haven’t visited me once. Not … once!” Her eyes filled with tears, but it was a lie. She could turn those crocodile tears on and off at will.

“You’re not allowed visitors, Mom. I can’t come and see you. Not while you’re still in treatment.”

Her jaw set tight and the tears magically disappeared. “Treament. Treament? There’s nothing to treat. I’m jusht fine the way I am. Everybody telling me how I’m sick. How I can get better. Well, guess what, Celie honey? I like myself this way. What’choo think about that? Huh?” She was in my face now, blowing hot, whiskey-filled breaths at me hard enough to make me cough.

“So you’re Celia Graves.” I looked at the platinum blonde on the other side of the green felt. Her voice had a malevolent eagerness that made me immediately tense. “I was told you’d be here, and here you are.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, but I know you. You’re the spoilsport.” Her laugh gave me chills because I recognized it, and I reached immediately for my knives. I was face-to-face with the witch from the school. The one whose voice had taunted dreams for weeks after the bomb. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper that I could hear despite the music. “You won’t escape this time.”

Her hand and mine moved at the same time, but before I could get the daggers out, she smashed a charm disk on the table. I saw a recent cut on her hand—like from a double-edged, silver blade. Magic flashed through me in a wave that stole my breath and singed the hairs in my nose. I pushed Mom against the wall, where she stumbled and dropped onto a convenient chair. I jumped onto the pool table and pounced at the witch. But she was gone after sending another blast of energy that slammed me against the wall. Then she sprinted out the door.

I’d started to get to my feet to follow when something hit me in the head hard enough to knock me sideways and make me see stars. Another missile hit me in the elbow. I let out a yell of pain and bounced against the pool table. I saw something else heading my way and caught it before it struck my leg. It was a billiard ball. The yellow-striped nine, to be specific.

I heard my mother cry out and watched her get knocked off the chair by a maroon seven to her temple. A trickle of blood started to roll down her cheek and she reached up to touch it.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?! You’re a jinx! You always have been. Get out before you get me killed.” She crawled out the door into the main bar.

I couldn’t even think how to respond, because a barrage of pool balls began to rise up from the pockets of three tables and fling themselves at me. Then pool cues pulled away from their holders and hurled through the air, crashing into me. No matter how I tried to shield myself, I got pounded. My best bet was to leave. Taking a tip from my mother, I crawled into the main bar. The spell followed me. Bottles began to lift from the shelves and slam against the walls, ceiling, and floor around me, exploding hard enough to slice through my clothes and skin. Patrons scattered, except for the brunette passed out at the table.

Mom started screaming incoherently from under a table near the bathroom. “Get out! Leave me alone. You’ve taken it all away. My family. My baby girl. My life. Just get the hell out of here. You’re a devil child. Evil, undead creature! Begone, demon! GET OUT!” she screamed, and covered her face as a glass smashed on the floor next to her leg.

A bottle hit me in the ribs and it hurt. But not as much as my mother’s words. I wasn’t a demon. I wasn’t undead, and I hadn’t taken her baby away. I’d done everything in my power to save my sister. I grabbed a pool stick and started to use the thick end to bat away the bottles, glasses, and mugs that were coming at me.

“Cessess!” I heard a woman’s voice and looked up to see Natura and Baker standing in the entryway. Natura’s hands were in the air and a wave of magic made everything clatter to the floor. The roar of sound, followed by the abrupt silence, made my head hurt. Well, actually, that was probably from the pool ball. If the purpling lump on my arm was any indication, those balls had been whizzing at me at near-hurricane speed.

Baker hurried over to where I was breathing hard and leaning on the pool cue. The other customers and the bartender huddled near the far end of the bar, staring at us with terror on their faces. Baker inspected the lump on my head and the cut above one eye that was starting to drip copper-scented blood into my eye. “I thought I made myself very clear, Celia. You were to wait outside.”

Natura was pulling Mom from underneath the table and putting her arms behind her; one of my mother’s wrists was already encircled in a spelled cuff. My mother’s face was red, furious, and looked different than I’d ever seen. I wondered if the witch had done something to her or if this was just some new, evil aspect of her illness. “I never want to see you again. I hate you!”

Even Baker looked up at that, surprise clear on her face. But we both turned when the bar’s door opened and a young blonde girl was silhouetted in the doorway. “Don’t say that, Mom! Don’t you ever say you hate my sister!”

17

I recognized the voice. It had literally haunted me for more than a decade. I felt my legs collapse and it was only Baker’s quick action that kept me from crashing to the floor in shock. The long braids were just as I remembered, and she was wearing a striped T-shirt and blue jeans. Just like the last time I saw her.

Mom dropped to both knees so fast that Natura couldn’t catch her. “Ivy? Baby? Is that you?” She held out her free arm, her anger gone like a switch had been flicked. “Come to Mama, baby.”

The girl raced forward, her braided hair bouncing on her shoulders, and threw herself against my mother’s chest, arms wrapped around her neck. “Mom!”

It couldn’t be. I looked down at my hands. I was still the same. I hadn’t suddenly become twelve again. But I couldn’t seem to talk. It was just too much, too soon.

Mom was sobbing now, her hand continually touching Ivy’s hair, her back. Her face showed the incredulousness I felt. Natura had let her arm go so she could hold her child. I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer joy of the scene.

Until the child turned her head.

I felt my heart skip a beat … for I recognized the girl’s face. It wasn’t my sister. “Julie?” I whispered it, but she looked up and met my eyes with a happy smile.

“I know. Isn’t it fun?”

Fun? My mother held her at arm’s length for a long moment and stared at Julie’s face. But she was too drunk—all she could see was the daughter she’d lost so many years ago. “I love you so much, Ivy. I’ve missed you.”

Julie/Ivy smiled and then kissed Mom’s cheek before hugging her again. “Missed you, too, Mommy. But I’m back now and we’ll be together.”