Chapter 26

I can’t hitchhike in case I shift while I am in some stranger’s car. I can’t take a bus because I have no money. My only other option to get back to campus is to call Beatrix – but that is not truly an option, since she will drive me right to the local sanitarium before I can change my clothes.

Instead I walk from the Geddes home to cemetery. It takes me a half hour to get there and no matter how hard I try, how much I seem to want it, I remain another half hour as Fiona.

I run my hand along my jaw, wincing as my fingers graze the puffy bruise.

Now I know – god, how I know – why Fiona’s arm was in a sling when we first met. I know why she’s often obnoxious and demanding. I know why she craves the spotlight and needs to be surrounded by friends who will cede that to her. Always.

Her behavior toward me, however, seems far more calculated than simple narcissism. She seems to have a personal vendetta against me and that I don’t know the reason for yet. I don’t know if I ever will.

Like a magnet, I feel drawn to the cemetery and to Trey. I sense something about him that understands me – or has the potential to understand me. Maybe it’s the isolation of the caretaker’s building. Maybe it’s his grandfather’s legacy that he seems to simultaneously embrace and deny. And maybe, I’m completely and utterly wrong and this will be the worst decision I have ever made, but right now, he is the only person I can turn to.

I try one last time to shift back to Callie, but it’s no use. I don’t understand! Why is this happening to me!

Before I knock on the door, I take a moment to figure out what I’m going to say and then realize that everything I could possibly tell Trey will sound like the ranting of a lunatic. God, is this truly insane of me to do?

I’m laughing hysterically when Trey opens the door. Yeah, I must look like a lunatic too.

“Can I help you?” So polite. Everyone is always so polite to Fiona. It’s her nature – and now mine – to instantly assume authority over anyone who cedes it so willingly. I grip the cell phone in my pocket as a reminder of who I am and who I’m trying to return to.

“Trey,” I say slowly and with as much Callie-inflection as I can. “I need your help.”

“Do I know you?” Despite the question mark on his face, he opens the door to the caretaker’s building wider. Does he sense something too?

I rub my hands over my forehead. “You’re not going to believe this but…I’m Callie.”

“You’re…”

“I need to sit down,” I say, pushing past him. I start to take Trey’s seat behind the desk and then stop myself when I see him looking at me. I sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Make yourself comfortable,” I tell him. “You’re not gonna want to be standing when you hear this.”

When he doesn’t immediately settle himself, I let my voice grow louder and more insistent. “Sit, Trey. Now.” And then add, “Pour me a cup of coffee first.”

Reluctantly, he does as I ask and somehow he makes serving me coffee less like a chore than a choice. He returns with two cups and sits. “Who did you say you were?”

I sigh. “I’m Callie. I look like…this other person—”

“Whose name is…?”

“Fiona Geddes.”

Trey blinks several times. “Geddes? Like Mayor Geddes?”

“That’s my…that’s Fiona’s father.” I cross one leg over the other and smooth my skirt down over my knee. “Look, I don’t expect you to believe me right away and honestly, I don’t know what to say to convince you of who I am but just listen and don’t judge, okay?”

Before he can answer, I continue on. “What Constance could do, I can do. What Abigail probably did, I can do. What Evangeline does, I can do.” I hold his gaze and will him to see my green eyes beneath Fiona’s hazel ones. “We can make our bodies look like other peoples’ bodies. We can shift.”

Trey regards me suspiciously and his lips twist in thought before he replies. “And you do this, how?”

“Well if I knew that, I would shift back to myself, wouldn’t I?” I flick the words off my tongue before I can think twice. Trey’s chin pulls back but he says nothing about my harsh reply, my very Fiona-like reply. “I…I’m sorry about that.” I shake my head. “I could give you my aunt’s answer about fluctuating and about touching and about emotions but none of it sounds rational.”

My hands form fists and I pound them against my knees in frustration. “I don’t know how it all works and I don’t know how to get back.” I swallow back tears – I will not let Trey see me cry – with a slug of coffee. It tastes like it’s been sweetened with a huge packet of Sweet-n-Low and a butt load of Cremora. “Ugh, this is gross.”

“Don’t like the coffee?”

“You know how I take it, Trey. Black, the way you made it for me.”

“How would I know that?”

“Because I’ve been here before! We’ve been to Abigail’s grave. We’ve researched my ancestors in your grandfather’s books.”

“Callie could have told you any of that.”

And then I remember what I have. I open my backpack and show him the Bell Book and Candle book. “What about this? We read it together in the clearing after my fight with Julia. You came to see me. You calmed me down.”

Our eyes meet and for a brief second, I see the memory of that evening in Trey’s face.

“I remember, Callie.”

He knows. He believes! Thank god.

“Why are you Fiona Geddes?”

The story tumbles out of me like a torrential Darby Cove downpour. I feel like I have to get the words out before I lose the details and I can’t form complete sentences anymore - before no one will take me seriously.

Trey nods but his suddenly pale cheeks betray his astonishment. He rubs a hand over the cover of the Bell Book and Candle book. “So it’s real. The story of Constance Meriwether is true.”

He seems about to slide into a reverie as he marvels over my revelation and I must rap my knuckles on the desk to get his attention. “I have to shift back, Trey. The longer I’m in the shift, the more likely I will have…” I recall Bea’s words. “Residual effects. That’s what drove my mother crazy.”

Trey’s brows crease. I guess no one likes to hear the “c” word used. “Tell me again how you got to this point. How did you become Fiona?”

I tell him again in short sentences and small words. “It feels like this really intense concentration of emotion inside my chest.”

“Emotion?”

“Really strong emotion. It like, builds up inside me until I feel like I’m going to explode. My heart races and my blood pumps and there’s this boost of adrenaline that makes my skin tingle.” Again, I try to manifest the shift, to force the fireball but nothing I do works.

“Damn it!” I surprise myself by crying out loud.

Trey grins wryly. “Is that the best you can do?”

His smile is infectious. “Ha, ha. I’d like to see you try it.”

“Yeah? Okay.” And in a flash, he is up on his feet and coming toward me. He wraps his arms around me, lifting me out of the chair in one smooth move, and I feel – as before at the car in the school lot – the temperature of the space between us soar.

“What-what are you doing?”

Trey answers me by bending his head nearer to mine, closing that last gap of an inch or two, and nuzzling my neck.

Ohhhh…I can feel myself melt into his arms, feel my body press tighter to his, his fingers dip into my spine - his lips on my ear and neck and chin. This is nothing like it was with Mackenzie; that was lust – fake lust - made urgent by being clandestine and deceptive. This feels buoyant and uplifting and just. This feels right.

My knees begin to buckle into Trey’s and my hands tremble against his shirt. Every cell of my body quivers; I can almost feel each of them shimmying, doing a little dance of ultimate joy. From the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet, I feel as if I have been shot full of electricity, as if my skin and hair and blood have become molten.

Trey moves his head to one side, bringing his lips closer to mine. He presses his mouth gently against my cheek and then my nose.

Kiss me! I want to scream. Kiss me!

And he does, oh, at last he does. His lips meet mine – but fleetingly - and again, I feel like I am melting into him.

The kiss is over too fast; it ends too abruptly for my taste. I want more! My fingers grab at the back of Trey’s shirt, clutching the fabric tightly as if that alone will keep him in my arms.

In Trey’s embrace I finally feel like Callie and I wonder if I have shifted. Did he create that intense emotion from whole cloth? Or was it always there?

When he pulls back from me, I wait and wonder – until he smiles.

“Welcome back, Callie.”

I smile weakly and allow him to let me go. What was that? I want to ask him but don’t dare. I’m afraid he’ll give me a smart-ass remark like he was just doing it to help me or something like that. He returns to his seat behind the desk and slowly, slowly my temperature returns to normal.

“Thanks,” I say, gruffly. I sound and feel like I’m getting over a bout of flu.

“Glad I could help,” Trey replies and I swear – I swear – he winks.

I stare down at my hands in relief: those are mine. Those are Calliope Bellflower’s, the girl with the unusual name.

That’s a stupid name, I hear sharply in my head. God, how lame.

Who…?

“…do now?” Trey asks.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“What will you do now?”

“Oh…I, um…”

No, please, don’t! comes the voice again. And then I cringe as a hand – Trey’s hand? My father’s hand? – slaps me hard across the jaw.

But that’s not happening! That’s not real!

“Callie? You okay?”

“Huh?” My father’s hand… Not my father – Fiona’s father. But it’s not real! It’s not really there! He’s not here!

“Callie?” I hear again. That’s Trey’s voice – faraway and foggy. “Your face? Is it all right?”

I shake the voices and the images from my head until I can focus clearly on Trey. He stares at me, at my face with a concerned look. “You’re holding your jaw—”

“I…I’m fine.”

Residual effects. This is what drove Evie insane. I reach for the cup of coffee and slug some more back. Ugh, it’s still gross. “Could you make me some more coffee and use the French press, please?”

Trey grins. “You’re asking politely. Now I know you’re back to your old self.”

What is going on with me? Is it the shift? Is it the amount of time I spent in it? I can’t seem to shake Fiona from my head – or those nasty images of her father slapping her across the face. Poor Fiona.

Poor Fiona?

I have to stop thinking about her for a while. I have to focus on something else to get her out of my head. That’s the only thing I can do.

“Did you find anything else in your grandfather’s journals?” I ask Trey. Maybe he will have something to get my mind off Fiona.

He turns his head and nods toward the desk. “Check out the one with the navy cover. I put a Post-It on the page I want you to see.”

I nearly lunge for the journal. “Why can’t you call me when you find these things? Why do you assume I’ll show up on your doorstep?”

He opens his mouth to reply but I hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that.”

“Just read.”

Relief at being myself again has made me giddy. Yes, that’s what’s made me giddy, I’m sure. I find the page he wants me to see; it looks like a page from Grandpa Danny’s Bell Book & Candle expose.

'In 1692, Constance Meriwether was accused of witchcraft, specifically of causing devilish apparitions to appear in front of her victims.'

I look up from the page. “I know this already.”

“Go to the next page, wiseass.”

On the opposite side of the handwritten journal page is a photocopy of an original newspaper from 1692 from Massachusetts Bay Colony.

“Whoa! Where did your grandfather get this?”

Trey shrugs as he comes over with my coffee; it smells freshly-brewed, rich and nutty. “No idea.”

I take a sip. Mmmm…just like I like it. The caffeine instantly fortifies me. Outside, I hear a light rain trickle on the stone path leading to the cemetery and I feel cozy and warm inside this small building with my cuppa joe and my books and my…Trey.

Okay, the newspaper.

'Complaint of Deacon Thomas Walcot Against Constance Mer’wether, this day 2 May 1692.

'Deacon Thomas Walcot of Salem Village Complained on behalf of there Majesties against Constance Mer’wether the Daughter of Joseph Mer’wether of Lyn for Sundry acts of Witchcraft by her Committed Lately on the body of Susana Coner & others of Salem Village whereby great hurt hath beane donne to there bodys. therefore Craves Justice.

'The decision of Susana Coner at Lyn aged:22: years being swore say That about the Latter end of April Last being at the crick with her brother Robt Coner her brother went home with his team and Left this deponent alone to finish the washing: but as soon as her brother was gon ther came to this deponent the appearance of Constance Mer’wether and by som Impuls she was for sed to follow her to the house of Thomas Pike w'ch was deserted and was about half a mile from the place she was at work in and in that house did appear Elizabeth Coner w'ch the deponent did know as her sister of whom had deceas’d six mos: Elizabeth being then in her natural shape and talking as shee use to do: but toward the evening, the’r made a nose and turned into the shape of Constance Mer’wether & went away: this deponent was strongly cared away.

'“My sister did come to me in a aparashun,” say’d Susana Coner. “She did say to me she was at peace.”'

“Constance shifted,” I say and glance up at Trey to see if he’s still on board with this thing. “Now that you know, I guess you understand a little better.”

“My grandfather understood even more.” Trey leans over to tap the next Post-It in the journal. “That’s his interpretation of the incident.”

I turn to the next page:

'Constance Meriwether, while undoubtedly not a witch, nevertheless delivered herself directly into her accuser’s hands by pretending to be Susana Coner’s dead sister, Elizabeth. One would rightly ask why Miss Meriwether would have feigned such a thing.

'Her complainants assumed cruelty on her part, that she had conjured the Devil in order to frighten Miss Coner. But I have an alternate theory: she was offering comfort to Miss Coner, who was likely devastated by the death of her sister months earlier. Miss Meriwether, having known Susana Coner, could have believed Miss Coner was not accepting of her sister’s death and needed to be convinced to move forward.

'Evidence: Susana Coner claims her dead sister Elizabeth told her she was “at peace.”

'Does someone conjuring the Devil, especially a Witch, assume the form of a dead loved one in order to offer assurance?'

That’s it! That’s the reason for the shift! I look up excitedly from the journal and grab Trey by the forearm. “She was helping people,” I say. “She wanted to bring them closure when their loved ones passed away. That was her purpose.”

But is it mine?

Trey glances at my hand on his arm, making me self-conscious but when I start to pull it away, he holds fast. “Let’s not make too many assumptions about this, Callie.”

“Don’t you see? What Constance did was a good thing! She wasn’t a witch, she wasn’t conjuring the devil or whatever they were saying about her.” The realization that she wasn’t evil, that Evangeline wasn’t – that I’m not – is a huge weight off my shoulders. We are not cursed with this ability – we are blessed.

“She needs help. She needs support,” I say.

“What’s that? Who needs support?”

“Fiona. I have to help Fiona.”

“Hold on, hold on. I’ve gotta…I’ve gotta…” He’s getting overwhelmed by all of this, I can tell. His eyes sort of swim, unfocused, as he tries to get a handle on what I’m telling him and what he’s witnessing. It’s one thing to read about it, to hear accounts from weird Colonialists or one’s own grandfather – even if you do call him Demented Danny – and it’s quite another to see it in person.

“I’m sorry, Trey. I know this is a lot.” I stand up and put my things together. I still have to return the book to Mrs. Gibson.

Trey stands with me. “Where are you going, Callie? What are you planning?”

“I have to see Fiona. I have to help her.”

“Callie,” he says in a cautionary tone. “How?”

“Well, I’ll just tell her I think what her father is doing is wrong and she needs to report him to the police.”

Trey snorts a disapproving laugh. “And exactly how are you supposed to know about that?”

“I’m…oh…” I don’t have an answer. He’s right. How can I know what Fiona is going through when Fiona herself hasn’t told me? “Maybe she told someone else? Like Julia? They’re besties. They tell each other everything.”

“And do you think if her best friend knew about this, she wouldn’t have said something to her already?”

I frown at Trey. “For someone as isolated as you are, I’m surprised you know anything about…” And then I stop myself.

He cocks an eye at me. “Anything about what? Girls? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“No! Well, maybe.” One amazing kiss does not a love machine make.

Tell that to my blushing cheeks.

“Anyway, anyway…” I say, waving the topic away. “I’ll figure it out. I just have to get back there and handle it before it gets too late.”

When I open the door, I’m surprised to see just how dark it’s become in the cemetery. If I didn’t have Trey beside me, I might feel more frightened of the ghouls and goonies that surely haunt these grounds.

I feel Trey come behind me, feel the warmth of his presence, comforting, reassuring. He leans into me, his breath on my ear and I think, another kiss! But instead, he gently moves me aside.

“Excuse me, I have to close this.”

Trey may be tall, dark and cute but romantic he is not.

“Hey, um, you think you could give me a ride?” I ask as he walks me out to the street. “The last bus is gone and I walked all that way from the Geddes.”

A pained look crossed Trey’s face. “Uh, geez, Callie, I don’t have a car.”

“What about that truck?” I point to the pick-up in the far end of the lot, the one that clearly belongs to the cemetery, seeing as how All Souls Church is painted on its side panel.

“Oh, I, um, I don’t drive,” he says.

“You don’t…how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“And you don’t drive? In this crappy town? How do you get anywhere?”

“Well, I…”

“Never mind, never mind. Do you think I could at least borrow it then? Just overnight?”

“Borrow…?”

“Come on, Trey. Please?” I try to look pathetic and needy – although after the day I’ve had, I must look like a train ran over me.

His pity for me must be overtaking his good sense, because he finally relents and takes a key from his key chain, handing it to me with a grimace. “Be careful with it.”

I grab the key and without thinking, kiss Trey on the side of his mouth. He kisses me back…

…on the lips.

It feels so natural and happens so fast that before I know it, I’m in the truck with the motor running, reminding myself how the clutch works, and my brain has yet to register my second kiss with Trey.

Whoa…what a helluva day I’ve had.

Can it get any better – or worse?