Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) by Clara Fine Read Free Book Online

did. The table
in front of her was scattered with various roots, a pocket-sized bible, some
polished bones and a set of playing cards.
    “And
Elizabeth?” Grandma asked, giving a weary sigh. She was probably the only one
in the county who didn't think Aunt Beth was a saint for moving in with them to
raise three children who weren't hers. In fact, Cam was fairly certain that her
grandmother wished Aunt Beth had just minded her own business and stayed in
Jackson.
    “I
told her I was indisposed.” Cam said.
    “How
that works every time I will never know.” Mary said, without looking up from
her sewing. “Did she never lie as a child?”
    “What
of the Anderson boy?” Cam's grandmother asked. It was a little strange to hear
him called the ‘Anderson boy’ because there was nothing boyish about him, but
she supposed that at her grandmother's age almost any man seemed like a boy.
    “He
doesn't know anything,” Cam said confidently, taking a seat at the cold hearth.
Caro remained standing at the window, her fingers on the curtain.
    “I
had a dream last night,” Mary said. She had a low, sweet voice. “I dreamt that
I stood beneath a great oak tree at dusk. There was a house in the distance,
with dark empty windows and doors locked against the coming night. It was
Cypress Hall. I watched it for hours. I was waiting for something. The right
time, I think.”
    Mary
was unusual. She had been for as long as Cam could remember. She had visions, heard
whispers of what was to come. She wasn’t all-seeing; sometimes things came to
pass and she received no warning at all. The visions themselves were often hard
to read. They usually came to her in fragments, as strange, distorted flashes. No
one could explain her gift. Caro knew of no one else in her family who received
such visions.
    As
a child Cam had thought it was terribly clever and exciting, and she had envied
Mary her gift. Now, she pitied the girl. Mary didn’t see everything, but she
tended to see the bad first, to sense tragedy before joy. When she had her
visions she experienced them as if she were inside the body of whoever she was
seeing. If she saw a murder, it was not as an observer, but as either the
murderer or the victim. It was chilling.
    “What
did it mean?” Cam asked Mary.
    “Nothing
good.” Grandma frowned.
    “We
don’t know that,” Caro disagreed.
    “Watching?
Waiting for the right time?” Grandma repeated. “The right time for what? I’ll
wager it’s not to bring over a jar of preserves.”
    Cam
looked up, her eyes narrowing as she remembered the strange events at the
barbecue. “Someone was watching me today,” she told them.
    All
three of them turned to stare at her.
    “Mr.
Anderson?” Grandma asked.
    “No.
Well, him too. But someone else, not a guest at the barbecue. There was someone
standing in the forest. At first I thought it was one of the Charmon boys, but
whoever it was didn’t want to be seen. I think he was watching me. Me or
perhaps Helen.”
    “Helen?”
Grandma asked sharply.
    “She
wandered off into the forest to work on her diary. Aunt Beth wasn’t pleased. I
suppose whoever it was could have been watching her.”
    Grandma
shifted in her seat, her brow wrinkled with worry. “That can’t be good.”
    “How
long was he watching?” Caro asked.
    “I
don’t know,” Cam said, “I was talking to Mr. Anderson.”
    “Are
you sure that the man knows nothing?” Mary asked, making one last stitch and
biting the thread. She was sewing a charm bag and had used blood red thread.
“There is a threat. I can feel it. It is new and dangerous, and so is he.”
    “New
or dangerous?” Cam asked
    “Both,”
Caro answered from the window. “What is he doing at the barbecue when his
brother's wife is dying?”
    “She’s
dying?” This was news to Cam. “I thought she was just sick. How do you know
that?”
    Caro
shook her head. “Everyone knows. You’d know if you spent more time with people
your own