into a face she knew too well because it represented every childhood fantasy.
“Momma?” Danni whispered.
And it was her mother, standing there beside her, wearing the same skirt and blouse she’d been wearing in the picture Sean had given Danni. Effortlessly, her mother pulled her from the sucking mud of the grave. Danni felt the brush of her fingers, the warmth of flesh that didn’t really exist.
Taking her hand, Danni’s mother led her from the grave, through a bright green door that seemed to appear from nowhere and into a crowded room packed with furniture and knickknacks. Danni looked around, one strange and distant part of her noting the amazing trelliswork on a side table she passed, the sparkle of the crystal lamps pooling light against a pair of aged leather chairs. Massive paintings crowded every inch of wall space.
She moved to a pine coffer beside the window. Hundreds of years ago, the antique chest would have held the family’s treasures. Danni dreaded knowing what it held now.
Her mother used a key dangling from a chain to unlock it. She opened the lid and removed a large, canvas-wrapped parcel. It looked heavy, but she handled it like it was made of the finest glass. She set it down on the side table and began to gently remove the covering. Danni’s mouth was dry, her heart pounding. She didn’t know what was at the core of that bundle, but the cautious way her mother handled it made her afraid. Danni was shaking her head, wanting to stop her mother even as she finished and quickly stepped aside. Confused, Danni stared at the object she’d revealed.
It was a book. She let out a shaky breath. She’d expected something worse, something threatening.
Not knowing what her mother wanted, Danni crept closer. The book was bulky and irregular—not quite squared at the corners—easily the size of a seat cushion. Its black cover was made of leather, beveled with concentric spirals, like the comb the woman in white had held out. Jewel-encrusted gold and hammered silver twisted and twined around the edges and corners. A trio of circular lines connected in a mysterious lock fixed over the jagged edges of thick creamy paper. There were more symbols—like letters, but not any she’d ever seen before—set in a row across the front of the cover. She reached out to touch them, but her mother grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Slowly she shook her head.
Fingers curled into her palm, Danni let her hand drop down to her side. By degrees she became aware of a low hum trembling in the air. It pulled at the pit of her stomach and jarred her already stretched nerves. She felt hot and clammy, and she wanted nothing more than to back away, because suddenly she didn’t want to touch the book anymore. Suddenly she wanted away from it.
The humming became a drone that throbbed and pulsated all around her. Too low to be heard, too insistent to be ignored. It rose from the floor, dropped from the ceiling, pushed and shoved from the walls until Danni thought it would crush her down like an aluminum can. A heat began to glow in her mind, a fiery coal that flared in response. Eyes clenched tight, Danni tried to force it back, pictured herself as a fist, opening against resistance, expanding and extending until she’d created a space within the confines and she could breathe again. She didn’t know how or even what she’d done, but the pressure had eased.
She opened her eyes. Her mother stood stiffly to her left, white-faced and rigid, her gaze fixed with an emotion Danni couldn’t decipher. There was fear and there was anticipation, and both were directed at Danni.
As if on cue, they turned their attention back to the black book sitting like a fat spider on the table. Danni glared at it, wanting it gone, wanting nothing more than to see it thrown into the blazing fire and turned to ash. On some level she didn’t understand, she knew the book was responsible for the sick feeling in her gut.
Without warning, the
“Momma?” Danni whispered.
And it was her mother, standing there beside her, wearing the same skirt and blouse she’d been wearing in the picture Sean had given Danni. Effortlessly, her mother pulled her from the sucking mud of the grave. Danni felt the brush of her fingers, the warmth of flesh that didn’t really exist.
Taking her hand, Danni’s mother led her from the grave, through a bright green door that seemed to appear from nowhere and into a crowded room packed with furniture and knickknacks. Danni looked around, one strange and distant part of her noting the amazing trelliswork on a side table she passed, the sparkle of the crystal lamps pooling light against a pair of aged leather chairs. Massive paintings crowded every inch of wall space.
She moved to a pine coffer beside the window. Hundreds of years ago, the antique chest would have held the family’s treasures. Danni dreaded knowing what it held now.
Her mother used a key dangling from a chain to unlock it. She opened the lid and removed a large, canvas-wrapped parcel. It looked heavy, but she handled it like it was made of the finest glass. She set it down on the side table and began to gently remove the covering. Danni’s mouth was dry, her heart pounding. She didn’t know what was at the core of that bundle, but the cautious way her mother handled it made her afraid. Danni was shaking her head, wanting to stop her mother even as she finished and quickly stepped aside. Confused, Danni stared at the object she’d revealed.
It was a book. She let out a shaky breath. She’d expected something worse, something threatening.
Not knowing what her mother wanted, Danni crept closer. The book was bulky and irregular—not quite squared at the corners—easily the size of a seat cushion. Its black cover was made of leather, beveled with concentric spirals, like the comb the woman in white had held out. Jewel-encrusted gold and hammered silver twisted and twined around the edges and corners. A trio of circular lines connected in a mysterious lock fixed over the jagged edges of thick creamy paper. There were more symbols—like letters, but not any she’d ever seen before—set in a row across the front of the cover. She reached out to touch them, but her mother grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Slowly she shook her head.
Fingers curled into her palm, Danni let her hand drop down to her side. By degrees she became aware of a low hum trembling in the air. It pulled at the pit of her stomach and jarred her already stretched nerves. She felt hot and clammy, and she wanted nothing more than to back away, because suddenly she didn’t want to touch the book anymore. Suddenly she wanted away from it.
The humming became a drone that throbbed and pulsated all around her. Too low to be heard, too insistent to be ignored. It rose from the floor, dropped from the ceiling, pushed and shoved from the walls until Danni thought it would crush her down like an aluminum can. A heat began to glow in her mind, a fiery coal that flared in response. Eyes clenched tight, Danni tried to force it back, pictured herself as a fist, opening against resistance, expanding and extending until she’d created a space within the confines and she could breathe again. She didn’t know how or even what she’d done, but the pressure had eased.
She opened her eyes. Her mother stood stiffly to her left, white-faced and rigid, her gaze fixed with an emotion Danni couldn’t decipher. There was fear and there was anticipation, and both were directed at Danni.
As if on cue, they turned their attention back to the black book sitting like a fat spider on the table. Danni glared at it, wanting it gone, wanting nothing more than to see it thrown into the blazing fire and turned to ash. On some level she didn’t understand, she knew the book was responsible for the sick feeling in her gut.
Without warning, the
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