Story Submission

The Moonlit Pearl

I.

We begin with a sister who should never have returned and a flash of inspiration

                         

The weak November sun crawled reluctantly over the horizon and spilled into the dark bedroom where Aneira lay curled up in a strange bed. She’d been awake for hours, turning from side to side, trying to get comfortable. And now she lay facing the window, gazing blankly at the emerging outline of the treetops outside. The bed felt hard and uncomfortable, much like her mood, and the room had an empty, lonely feeling about it.

Aniera had only been in her rented cabin for a week and hadn’t adjusted yet to her new surroundings. It was her sister’s doing that she was even here in this strange place. Just a week ago Aneira had been living in her childhood home when her sister Mererid waltzed in from Chicago and kicked her out. The estate had been settled after their mother’s death and now their old northern Michigan home belonged to Mererid, who had always been the favorite.

Still, Aneira had been blindsided by her mother’s betrayal and, especially, by her sister’s decision to remain here rather than return to Chicago. It had taken Aneira years to build her confidence and make a life for herself after her sister had left home a decade earlier. She’d made some friends, had a job that she enjoyed, and recently there was even the prospect of a relationship. And now Mererid had returned, an irritating grain of sand in Aneira’s otherwise smooth life.

                                                                                                                             

As she lay there awake in her strange bed on this first day of November, Aneira decided that this was unacceptable. No, she had already suffered enough as the unfortunate heir of Mererid’s cruelty; she refused to let her sister back in her life. But what could she do about it? As Aneira lay there thinking about this, a sudden idea occurred to her. What if she didn’t have to accept it? What if there were another way?

II.

A plan takes shape and a raven gives warning – or is it the other way around?

Something had stirred in Aneira’s memory, a conversation, a tidbit of information that might solve the problem of her sister’s unacceptable return. She would go see Cari. Feeling lighter than she had in a week, Aneira hopped out of bed and made her way across the cold wood floor toward the kitchen, maneuvering around stacks of cardboard boxes and tripping over the dachshund sausage sprawled out in the middle of the dim room. “Sorry, Dog!” she muttered apologetically as she headed over to the wood stove, with the dog on her heels, to get coffee and a fire started.

The air had a bite to it this morning. No wonder. The view out the kitchen window revealed swollen gray clouds hanging over Lake Michigan and a fresh sugar-dusting of snow on the ground. It’d been snowing off and on since the beginning of October, so the ground already wore its white winter blanket.

Aneira reached for some logs in the firewood basket but found only scraps of kindling. She cursed herself for forgetting to bring some wood in from the porch the previous night. She slipped her feet into her shoes, grabbed her purple bathrobe, and opened the front door to a blast of cold air in her face.

“Come on, Dog, time to go out,” she yelled and went onto the porch. Aneira’s furnished two-room cabin just barely qualified as a house, but it was relatively cheap, on the water, and roomy enough for one person. Really, she’d been lucky to find it on such short notice. And with its stilts and ridiculous red roof, it looked just like a chicken perched on the edge of the beach, teetering on skinny chicken-legs, an image that Aneira found amusing. The place was growing on her.

As she gathered an armload of firewood from the pile stacked against the side of the cabin, Dog thunked down one step after the other to reach the yard, his stubby legs disappearing each time into the snow, his acres of nose held high up in the air. Dog apparently came with the cabin—he had waddled up one day soon after she had moved in, without a collar or apparent owner, and Aneira figured she needed some company in her new place anyway. He didn’t have much personality, but she was thankful for another living thing in an otherwise empty house.

Aneira’s musings were suddenly startled by a sharp Caw! coming from behind her. She turned towards the sound and saw a crow sitting on a branch of an old gnarled tree across the yard. Or maybe it was a raven. Aneira never could tell the difference. Either way, she was surprised to see one here so close to the house, not to mention one staring so intently at her. Dog noticed the bird, too, and ran over to yap at bottom of the tree. But the bird just sat there, staring.

This unnerved Aneira, but she didn’t know why. “Hey, crow, or whatever you are. What’s up?” she asked it, noticing the purple sheen on its black wings. Still it stared, and still Dog continued to bark stupidly at the tree.

Well, whatever it was, crow or raven, Aneira figured its presence was a good sign. Weren’t they supposed to foretell death?

The bitter air and her heavy load reminded Aneira why she was there, so she forced herself to turn away from the bird and his message. “Dog, you’d better come or you’ll be left outside,” she teased. Dog trotted back to the steps, bounced up through the snow craters he’d made on the way down, and followed her into the house.

III.

Obstacles averted and paths laid - and another warning goes unheeded

                                  

An hour later, with a travel mug of strong coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other, Aneira hurriedly walked out the door and headed into Cross Village. She lived a quarter mile west of town—if you could even call this tiny place where she’d grown up a town. The main street had only a handful of art shops and restaurants, mostly frequented by tourists, and very little in the way of practicalities for the locals, unless you counted the microbrew on tap at the Spindlewood Tavern (which most people did). You wouldn’t even find a proper grocery store here, only a combination gas station and general store that carried some limited food items and made fresh sandwiches for the workers passing through town on their way somewhere else.

It’s all the more strange, then, that Cross Village secreted an odd little shop tucked back behind the old township hall. It was called The Mirror, and most tourists never found it unless they knew of it before they got there, which some did. Others actually came to town specifically for the store, and locals from miles around all knew it was there, but very few would admit to having been there.

It was here, to Cari’s store, that she was headed. Aneira made a point to avoid the main thoroughfare and gas station for fear of being seen, and instead she went the long way around, skirting north of town then doubling back to Stone Church Road to where The Mirror sat waiting.

                                                                                                    

Aneira paused briefly in front of the store to glance around and then went in. The pungent smell of sandalwood floated out as she opened the door, and her eyes narrowed as she took in all of the books lining the shelves and the display tables strewn about the place, crammed with all kinds of strange things—ceramic Buddhas, incense cones, Celtic jewelry, rainbow unicorn banners, purple geode candle holders, jars of herbs, and a whole lot more that Aneira couldn’t identify. Luckily she seemed to be the only customer in there.

Just then a woman’s voice greeted her from behind a cloth curtain at the back of the shop. “Hi, Aneira. I’ll be right out,” the voice called. Aneira wondered vaguely how she knew who’d come in the store.

                                                                                                                      

A few moments later, an older woman of indeterminate age pushed through the curtain and walked over to her with a warm smile on her face. She wore a dark purple tunic and black pants and was a tiny little thing, with pale skin and bobbed hair dyed brown except for strips of white that framed her face. Pretty, in that old lady kind of way, Aneira thought.

                                                                

“What can I do for you?” the woman asked pleasantly, smiling, her small hands clasped in front of her.

“Hi, Cari. How’s it going?” Aneira answered a bit awkwardly.

Aneira didn’t know really Cari, but she knew all about her family; they went way back in these parts, and all of them had a reputation for being a little odd. She’d seen Cari a few times at the Spindlewood Tavern where Aneira worked during the summer season. Dylan, the bartender there, had pointed out the woman with the “skunk stripes” who’d just walked in the door. “You know, she owns that voodoo store where you can get your fortune told and learn how to hex your enemies,” Dylan had informed her importantly. At the time, Aneira couldn’t imagine having a need for something like that, so she hadn’t given Cari another thought until this morning, when that little tidbit of memory had surfaced unexpectedly and offered the answer to her problem. 

As she gathered her nerve to speak, Aneira gazed around the store again at all of the strange items. “Wow, this is some place, Cari. You’ve got some pretty interesting stuff here,” she said, picking up a deck of cards with strange pictures on them and turning them over in her hands.

“Eh, gotta make a living. Is there something I can do for you, Aneira?” Cari asked again, staring at her with the same kind of intensity as that crow this morning.

                                                         

Aneira’s pulse quickened, and she took a deep breath. “Uh, yeah, I was hoping you could help me. I need some books on spells and magic and stuff.”

“Sure,” Cari replied. “What kind of spells? Are you talking about enchantment? Or a talisman?” Then, with a glint in her eye, Cari added, “How about a love spell to help with that bartender at work?”

Aneira flushed crimson at the mention of Dylan. “No, no, that’s not it,” she stammered. How did Cari know about him? she wondered. Then Aneira lowered her voice and looked around again to make sure the store was empty. “I was, uh, thinking of something more like a voodoo doll kind of thing,” she explained.

                                                                                                          

If Cari was surprised by this admission, she didn’t show it. “So, what are your intentions for this magic?” she asked in a casual tone. 

                                

Aneira was taken aback by Cari’s direct question. She frowned and blurted out, “It’s not really any of your business what I’m doing.” 

“Well, dear, it sure seems to me that you’re making it my business, now, aren’t you?” Cari reminded her gently. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you intend.” Cari waited for a moment and then added, “Does this have something to do with that sister of yours who’s moved back to town? I hear you two don’t get along any better now than when you were kids.” 

Aneira’s brows furrowed now. That’s the problem with living your whole life in a small place—everyone knows your business, not to mention your history and your family’s history, all the way back as far as memory will reach. And that’s usually quite a-ways. But the thing that frustrated Aneira the most was that Cari was right. Aneira wasn’t just angry at Mererid because of what she was doing now. She and her older sister had never gotten along. Never. As kids they’d fought for their mother’s attention and the meager scraps of love she’d throw them, with Aneira almost always finding herself with no scraps at all. Mererid had a history of taking everything that Aneira cared about.

She wasn’t sure why, but Aneira suspected that Cari somehow knew all of this. And while she didn’t like being questioned about what she was doing, Aneira realized that she had to trust Cari if she wanted her help. So Aneira said simply, “I want her out of my life for good.”

                                                         

“You know, Aneira, sadness and fear often masquerade as anger,” Cari replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aneira frowned again.

“I mean that maybe you should take a good hard look at what’s underneath before making any decisions that can’t be reversed. There’s always a middle way if you look for it,” Cari said, looking intently at Aneira.

Aneira looked away. In spite of herself, tears appeared in her eyes. There was sadness there, and if she was honest with herself she’d even admit to the fear. But really what she feared most was that Cari would try to talk her out of it. This time Aneira had a plan; this time she would do something instead of just being a scapegoat for her sister’s cruelty. No, this wasn’t a hasty decision Aneira had made—it had been a lifetime in the making—and she wasn’t going to be talked out of it.

Without meeting Cari’s eyes, she replied, “I just want to set things right, that’s all. Are you going to help me or not?”

Cari sighed and let it go. “Yes, I can point the way, if that’s what you truly desire, but remember this, Aneria: ultimately, you travel this road alone.” She locked the front door and led Aneira through the curtained doorway into the back of the store.

A few of hours later Aneira left The Mirror with a bag full of books on magic, four little clay bowls, a box of tea candles, incense, and some basic instructions on enchantment. Cari walked Aneira to the door when she left, seeing her off with an unreadable look on her face.

IV.

Manifestation

For the next six weeks Aneira studied the books and practiced the rituals. Finally she felt that she was ready, in spite of Cari’s warning that the study of magic takes much longer than that, years in fact, especially when attempting something as difficult as what Aneira had in mind. But Aneira reasoned that she didn’t want to learn all of the stuff in the books, just this one ritual, which seemed easy enough to her.

So on a bright sunny morning in mid-December, Aneira seated herself at the kitchen table with a cup of strong coffee and began organizing the jumble of books and papers sprawled in front of her. She picked up the to-do list she’d made and read the first item:

                   

Prfy yrslf w/ salt wtr b4 magic wrkings – see pg 108 of The Druid Magic Handbook

She grabbed one of the books off the table and flipped through the sticky notes jutting out of the top until she found the right page. “Let’s see,” she murmured, running her finger down the page, and read, Bathing in cold water, preferably in a stream or the ocean, is also a very effective way to prepare for magical work . . .

She burst out laughing. “You hear that, Sausage? I don’t think so!” she snorted as she glanced out the window at the icy lake. Dog lifted his head, looked at her blankly, and put his head back down.

“No, Dog, I’m thinking water from the tap will be just fine. All right, what do I need?” she asked and looked at her notes again. “A bowl and some salt. Easy enough.” Aneira dug an old plastic bowl out from under the cabinet, filled it with coldish water from the tap, stuck her finger in to test it, then added a bit of warm water to the bowl. She felt it again. “That’s better.” 

                                                       

“Now where did I put that salt?” she asked Dog vaguely, who was still roasting himself in front of the fire and didn’t even bother to look up this time.

Aneira saw the Morton’s perched precariously on the edge of the counter, rescued it, and sprinkled a generous amount into the bowl, added one more dash for good measure, then walked into the bedroom with the bowl in one hand and the notes and book in the other. She set the stuff down on the dresser and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom.

She walked over to the dresser where she’d set her things and slid the robe off her shoulders and onto the floor. Aneira felt awkward as she stood naked in front of the mirror. She disliked her appearance and usually avoided looking at herself too closely. Her body was sort of shapely, in a doughy kind of way, and definitely plumper than when she was in her early 20s. Her shoulder-length red hair reflected the morning sun that infused the room, making it look like her head had spontaneously combusted. She’d always hated her flaming red hair, her freckled, pale skin and watery blue eyes. Her sister Mererid had always been prettier than Aneira, or so she’d been told, with her auburn hair and green eyes. Mer looks just like one of those old-time movie stars, her mother had always bragged. Not like little Orphan Ani over there. She’s a hopeless mess.

A wave of shame swept over Aneira at this memory. She continued to inspect her image in the mirror, twisting and turning to see if she could find something acceptable in her reflection. No, Mom was right; she was hopeless. Aneira turned back to her task and shivered as she dunked the washcloth into the bowl of cool water and ran it quickly over her body, avoiding here, lingering there, until she’d washed from head to toe. Mostly. After a few minutes’ reward in front of the sunny window, she quickly put the robe back on, grabbed her papers and book, and headed back into the warmth of the kitchen.

An hour later she was finally ready to begin. Her bedside table stood in the middle of the living room draped with a white sheet, the four clay bowls more or less arranged at the cardinal directions. One bowl contained an incense cone, a second one held a tealight, the third some water, and the last one was filled with more Morton’s. And in the middle of the table sat a largish stone. It was nothing unusual, really, just a gray rounded rock about the size of Aneira’s palm, and heavier than it looked. She’d found it among a row of others that ringed the dead remnants of a past garden on the side of the house. She’d washed the stone in the kitchen sink and placed it in the window for three days, as the instructions had said to do. And now it sat, waiting, in the center of the table for her to enchant it with her intention.

Aneira spread her notes out on the kitchen table with the books propped open so she could refer to them as she went. She sat down and stared at the notes, the books, the table in the center of the living room. She could feel herself trembling slightly; nerves and too much coffee had made her jittery. This isn’t reversible, Cari had said, so you’d better be sure before you go through with it. But Aneira didn’t want it to be reversible. She saw no other way but forward. She breathed deeply and then grabbed her to-do list to see what was next.

Put on robe b4 bgning ritual

Aneira grabbed a handful of the purple bathrobe she was wearing and exclaimed, “Check!” and looked back at her paper.

Lite candle and insense

She grabbed the matchbook off the table where she’d stuck it earlier and lit the candle and incense cone. Now everything was ready. She continued to sit at the kitchen table for a moment, heart pounding, then got up and stood next to the altar. 

                 

Aneira followed the instructions in The Druid Magic Handbook for how to open a magical space. She stood quietly, with eyes closed, to clear her mind before beginning, and then walked in a clockwise circle around the table. She stopped at the north side and faced south. She couldn’t remember what to do then, so she ran over and grabbed the book and brought it back to the altar with her. She checked her sticky notes and flipped to page 135 and read, Raise your right hand palm forward to salute the Sun, which is always symbolically at high noon in the southern sky.

Aneira raised her hand and saluted the sun. I feel like a Nazi, she thought, and then quickly chastised herself for not being properly somber. Stay focused.

                                                  

After reading through the next few paragraphs, she went on to finish the opening ritual—proclaiming peace in the different directions and purifying the space with the stuff in the four bowls—but she skipped the prayer and chanting because it just seemed silly to pray to some High Holy Mighty Ones she didn’t even believe in.

Then the book said to perform a ritual called the Sphere of Protection. She’d studied this section of the The Druid Magic Handbook pretty carefully and even practiced the ritual several times to make sure she got everything right. She’d decided to adapt the ritual to her specific goal because John Michael Greer, the author of the book, said it would help the ritual pack a more magical punch. So instead of invoking and banishing the individual qualities of the elements in the regular way, she used the invocations and banishings to help her achieve her specific goal. She went through each direction—east, south, west, north, and the three forms of spirit—and asked for her intention to be granted and for all obstacles that might hinder her intention to be removed. When she’d finished with the protection ritual, she pulled the kitchen chair over to the altar and sat down on the north side of the table.

Aniera realized she’d been holding her breath, so she sat with her eyes closed for a few minutes, letting her breathing return to normal. Just then, Dog got up and stretched and trotted over to nudge her with his nose and bark. “Oh, no! Not now, Dog!” she told him, but when ignoring him didn’t work, she sighed and walked him to the front door to let him out. She stood in the doorway, freezing, until he was done, and then called him back into the house. She gave him a biscuit to keep him busy and then headed back to her chair.

                                                                                                        

She closed her eyes to settle herself again. Now came the most important part of the whole ritual, the part where she was going to enchant the stone with her intention. She felt shaky again, and a little sweaty. Aneira knew there was no turning back after this, but she took some more deep breaths and plunged ahead. She flipped through the book she’d left on the altar and read:

Once you have chosen your intention, imagine that the air around you is filled with the color that corresponds to the intention most closely.

Aneira had chosen violet, which was supposed to be the color of power—and Aneira felt she needed power more than anything else when it came to her sister. She put her book in her lap and stared across the altar, trying hard to see the color around her, and wishing she’d practiced this part, too. She furrowed her brows and squinted her eyes hoping that would help, but she just couldn’t see it. So she tried with her eyes closed. The closest she could get was to imagine swimming in grape Kool-Aid. It wasn’t exactly a very magical image, but it was the best she could do.

Next the book said to infuse the Kool-Aid with an appropriate mood. Aneira had no trouble with this part; she didn’t need any magic books or divine assistance to conjure up a feeling to go with her intention. All she had to do was recall all the years of verbal and emotional abuse she’d endured at the hands of her sister, along with her sister’s more recent—and far worse—crime of having returned. Aneira infused all of these bitter memories into the violet light that surrounded her.

Tears were in her eyes now and her heart thudded in her chest. She was almost there. Just the intention now, which she had to repeat three times and place within the air: I wish Mererid was dead, I wish Mererid was dead, I wish Mererid was dead. Then she said it one more time, just in case. I wish Mererid was dead.

                 

All that was left was the stone, sitting like a dead thing in the middle of the table. She picked it up and held it in her lap. A glance at the book said,

. . . concentrate on the idea that the intention flows into the stone and charges it.

                  

Aneira closed her eyes, felt the heavy stone resting in her hands, and focused intently on the purple air filled with her intention and all of her feelings of bitterness and resentment, and then she imagined pushing all of it into the stone.

Exhausted, head pounding, Aneira rested in her chair and looked down at the stone. Did it look or feel any different? One of her other magic books had said that all things are alive, even the ones that don’t seem to be. Well, if this rock didn’t live before, it sure as hell does now, Aneira thought wryly, and set it back on the table.

                                                                             

Then she closed up the magical space rather half-heartedly since most of her energy had gone into the stone. After clearing the stuff off of the altar she flopped onto the couch. There was only thing left to do, according to the book—As soon as possible after you finish the working, take some practical step toward the fulfillment of your intention.  

V.

It’s out of our hands now

Later that evening Aneira placed the heavy stone in her backpack along with a bottle of water and a granola bar and headed toward the door, with Dog in tow. She tethered him to the front porch and headed north up the road, away from town. She slipped a miner’s light over her head and switched it on. It was bitter cold, and Aneira wished she had a car. Heavy clouds had closed in, blocking any light that would have come from the waxing moon. She hated this time of year when the days were the shortest. The inky darkness scared her, but she couldn’t risk being seen during the day.

                                                               

So she stuck to the dirt road that ran along the lake, past houses mostly closed and dark for the season. The few that showed signs of life had smoking chimneys and were lit up with colored Christmas lights, which eased Aneira’s feeling of panic a bit. She found herself breathing harder than normal as the cold air stung her lungs. She had to stop for a minute to catch her breath and then reduced her pace to a slow walk.

                               

After a mile or so Aneira could see the mailbox of her childhood home up ahead, perched on the shoulder of the road. She turned into the tree-lined driveway and trotted quickly up to where it spilled out into an open space in front of the house. She was relieved to see Mererid’s car wasn’t there. The house was an old wood farmstead with peeling white paint and wide front steps that led to a wrap-around porch. Aneira felt a pang of sadness as she saw the place where she’d lived most of her life, but she didn’t have time to be sentimental.

Aneira climbed the steps to the porch. She had decided beforehand where she was going to put the stone. She didn’t want to risk it being found inside the house, but she needed it to be close. Luckily Mererid hadn’t done much cleaning since she’d moved in, so the porch was still piled with years of Mom’s stuff—grungy old shoes, rusted garden tools, an old metal chair long since missing its cushions, and the like. And right next to the front door sat a square plastic planter with the dried remains of an old honeysuckle vine from a long-ago summer. It wouldn’t even be noticed in there. So, with the rock safely planted, she hastened back down the porch steps and headed for home.

VI.

What will come will come

                                                                                                                    

For the next week, Aneira waited. She felt bone tired from all she’d been through, so she spent most mornings stretched out on the couch by the fire, the sausage warming her feet, watching the snow fall outside the window. And in the afternoons she worked part time making sandwiches in the deli at the gas station since Spindlewood had closed for the season. And all the time Aneira wondered what was happening with her sister. She’d forgotten to ask Cari how long it would take and how it would happen, and unfortunately the books didn’t say. So she waited.

And she watched. Mererid, she’d heard, had been hired as temporary help for the holiday rush at the Seven Cedars Art Gallery. Cross Village always flamed back to life again during the Christmas holidays, and the Seven Cedars drew in people looking for handmade gifts by local artists. So each day that week when in town for work, Aneira looked for her sister’s car in the parking lot of the gallery; and every afternoon the car was there when she got to work and was still there when she’d finished her shift and headed for home.

                                                                                                                                           

It was at this time of year that Seven Cedars hosted Cross Village’s annual Christmas tree lighting and open house—with music, hors d'oeuvres, and an appearance from Santa. The event attracted locals from miles around. It was always held a few days before Christmas, with the gallery open all day and the tree lighting at dusk, and this usually turned into one of the busiest days of the year for the gallery and their little town.

So Aneira was more than a little surprised to find that Mererid’s car didn’t show up in the parking lot the day of the event. It wasn’t there when she went in to work at noon and still wasn’t there as she walked by at 5 o’clock after her shift. Why hadn’t Mererid shown up for work at the gallery on one of the busiest days of the year? Aneira decided to try and find out.

                                                                                     

A crowd of people milled around outside the Seven Cedars waiting for the tree lighting to begin. Aneira sidled through them and entered the store. She headed to the counter where a salesperson was finishing ringing up a customer’s order. While she waited, Aneira glanced around and, as surreptitiously as possible, peeked into the back room behind the counter to see if she could spot Mererid. No, she definitely wasn’t there. Finally the salesperson—a pretty young girl in her late teens—finished up and turned to Aneira with a smile. “Hi, can I help you?” the girl asked pleasantly.

“Uh, yeah, I’m Mererid’s sister, and I . . .” Aneira started, until the girl broke in and interrupted her.

“Oh, you’re Aneira! I’ve heard all about you!” the girl replied, with a slightly amused look on her face now.

Aneira felt immediately annoyed. “Well, anyway, I was wondering if Mererid was here. I thought she was working today.”

“Well, she was supposed to, but she called in sick,” the girl explained. “That’s why I’m here. Granny asked me to help out since I’m on Christmas break and it’s so busy in the gallery today.”

“Oh, did Mererid say what was wrong? Nothing serious, I hope,” Aneira lied.

“Uh, no, I don’t think she said, but I’m not sure. Should I tell her you stopped by . . .?” she asked.

“No!” Aneira answered, rather too abruptly before catching herself. “I mean, no, I’ll just give her a call.”

“Ok. Well, nice to meet you anyway,” the girl said politely as she turned to help another customer.

Aneira made a beeline for home. Could it really have happened that fast? She was home only long enough to change clothes, feed Dog, and grab a bite to eat herself before she bundled up and headed back out. She hated going out this late, but she had to find out. The sky twinkled purple with stars. The weather had cleared, making it even colder than when she’d made the trip the week before. She took off at a lively pace to keep herself warm, but her feet quickly went numb in her shoes, and she could feel her chest tightening as the cold damp air entered her lungs. She stopped to catch her breath, stomping her feet and shaking her hands to get the circulation moving.

When Aneira reached the driveway, she crept down the graveled path warily, as quietly as could, and as she neared the house she could see Mererid’s car parked out front. Aneira dashed behind a large maple tree near where the spring-fed creek meandered past the left side of the house. “Well, if Mererid’s dead, it’s pretty recent,” Aneira whispered to herself when she spied the lights on in the living room and the smoke pouring out of the wood boiler on the other side of the driveway. Christmas icicles hung haphazardly along the eaves.

Just then Aneira could see the shape of her sister move in front of the curtained window, looking quite alive, and then another form, taller, larger, definitely male, came up to her. Dylan. The two forms embraced and kissed, and then pulled apart and stood talking before disappearing from view.

Initial shock led to comprehension and finally to horror as Aneira watched. “She’s not sick. She’s with him!” she said aloud. Aneira tore her gaze away from the house and started pacing, clinching her fists and grabbing her hair and crying. That’s when she saw a bicycle, his bicycle, leaning against a tree on the side of the driveway. She’d been too distracted to notice it when she’d arrived, but there it was.

                                 

She continued to pace the driveway, thinking, until her decision was made. She would confront her sister. She walked up the steps to the porch and sat on one of the rusted-out metal chairs to wait. Aneira felt wrung out, a deep down kind of tired that had settled in. She sat there perched on the edge of the chair shaking, whether from cold or from fear she couldn’t tell. Then she remembered the rock, hidden just a few feet away. She got up and walked over to the planter and looked down at it sitting there, dead, just a rock. It’s too bad it didn’t work, she thought bitterly.

Just then Aniera heard voices approaching the door and the handle turning. She quickly scooted to the dark corner of the porch and watched as Mererid walked Dylan over to his bike to say goodbye. They kissed again, and he pedaled down the driveway. Mererid turned back toward the house and started up the steps, not yet aware of her sister’s presence. So her face showed surprise when she saw Aneira standing there on the porch waiting for her. Aneira was glad she’d startled her sister.

“What do you want, Ani?” Mererid said gruffly as she continued up the steps to the porch.

                                                                                                

Aneira looked at her sister. Tonight Mererid’s auburn hair looked almost black in the moonlight as she stood there in front of her. Aneira thought Mererid looked a little tired, and definitely more than a little irritated, but pretty much normal as far as she could tell. She definitely did not look like someone about to die. Well, Aneira had never really believed the spell was going to work anyway.

Even though she feared confrontation with her sister, Aneira forced herself to speak. “Why didn’t you go back to Chicago after the funeral? If you liked it here so much why didn’t you come back before mom died, when she needed help?”

 “Mom didn’t need any help. You were here,” Mererid said, grinning. “And I wasn’t about to lift a finger for that old cow anyway.”

“Oh, I see, so you just left it to me. Just like you always did,” Aneira accused hotly, unable to control her rising emotion.

                                                                                                                            

“Well, I also have a house here now, which I didn’t have before,” she said and looked directly into Aneira’s eyes, waiting for her meaning to sink in.                   

 “Ever since we were kids you’ve always taken everything from me,” Aneira said, with her voice quavering. “And now you’ve taken the house and my town and even him,” she continued.

Mererid brightened and said, “Oh, so this is about Dylan!” She could see the jealousy splayed across Aneira’s face, and she could smell the fear, so she pushed forward, playing her role by rote in this dance with her sister. “But what do you care, Ani? You only went out on two dates, right?”

                                               

Poor Aneira—she, too, fell into easy step in this dance, paralyzed by her sister’s blunt but accurate accusation. She couldn’t conceal the wave of shame that crept over her: her face showed it all, as it always had. “Well, if you hadn’t come back to town we might’ve . . .,” she answered lamely. 

Mererid laughed harshly and interrupted her sister. “What did you expect—that he’d marry you?” she asked, amused. “Give it up, sis. He’s not the marrying type anyway. You know Dylan just likes the sex.”

Aneira’s pale face flushed red with embarrassment. “Well, I just, I mean we . . .,” she sputtered, unsure what to say.

“What, you mean to tell me that you never even had sex with him?” Mererid exclaimed gleefully. “Either you’re stupider or he’s a whole lot smarter than I thought!” she concluded, cackling with genuine amusement at her sister. “Yeah, give it up, Ani. You’re still a hopeless mess.”

With this final pronouncement, Mererid pushed past Aneira and into the house, shutting the door in her sister’s face.

                                                                                                                       

Aneira stood there, frozen with fury, looking at the door, a lifetime of hatred and jealousy gathered into her face. Then she calmly picked up the rock from the planter and followed her sister into the house.

VII.

And so we come full circle

It was past midnight by the time Aneira made it home. She parked the car along the side of the cabin and headed inside. She was greeted by Dog as she came through the door, and Aneira absentmindedly patted him on the head. After putting her backpack on the kitchen table she stoked the fire back to life, rubbing her hands in front of the flames and letting the warmth ease the growing tightness in her chest. She turned and stared at the backpack for a minute before reaching in and pulling out the stone. She turned it over in her hands, marveling again at its weight. She carried it into the bedroom and set it on the windowsill beside her bed.

Aneira packed a suitcase and set it by the front door. It was late, and she didn’t feel well. She needed a few hours’ rest. So she crawled into bed and faced toward the window, toward the stone staring mutely at her from the sill. Aneira looked at it a long time, glowing like a pearl in the moonlight, thinking that maybe it wasn’t so dead after all.