Sophie tightened her grip, and Cleo wormed her arms around Sophie’s shoulders.
“Uh, hush,” Cleo said, the words unpracticed and clumsy. “There. There. It’s, you know, going to be okay. Or whatever.”
Ian had wound his way to the side, and Cleo caught his amused gaze with a desperate one of hers. He grinned, and gently pulled Sophie off Cleo. “Let’s give our girl a chance to breathe, okay?”
He looked shocked when Sophie wound her arms around his midsection and began smearing her snot into his t-shirt. Cleo grinned wickedly, but stopped when she realized everyone else was staring at her.
“You might want to sit down for this,” Cleo suggested as she sank into her usual chair. “This will take some time.”
She went over the curse then. Her great-grandmother, Nan’s warning, Orlaith’s disbelief. She tried to be truthful, but she kept some of the more embarrassing parts somewhat opaque. Agnes’ steady gaze suggested she was fluent in subtext, though, and understood what she was saying.
Sophie had calmed down a bit, at least the waterworks were done. Mari sat next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Grant had a million questions, Cleo could tell, but he waited patiently enough. Agnes’ level look never wavered, but Cleo sensed her disappointment. It tied the usual knot of shame in Cleo’s stomach just that much tighter.
“The curse mimics mental illness,” Agnes said slowly. “That’s fucking diabolical.”
“You’ve never seen the marks after the first time?” Mari asked.
Cleo shook her head.
“So the reason you won’t come to barbeques at Sophie’s or game nights at Mari’s is because,” Agnes paused, “you’re cursed. I used to think it was us, that maybe you kept yourself apart from us for some weird, mystical reason. But the reason looks to be two-parts. One, you didn’t want to trigger the curse. Two, you didn’t trust us. You didn’t trust any of us, at all.”
“She protected you,” Ian said. “She protected all of you.”
Sophie sniffled and looked like she was about to burst into tears again.
Cleo stopped that right there. “Think about your questions and you can ask them. But right now, we need to focus on Opal’s mirror. The longer we have it, the longer it’ll take to cleanse the store. We lift the curse, then we’ll cleanse the space.” She explained to Ian earlier about the meditation, how they move around the fire, what he’d see. He promised he’d stay out of their way.
They gathered outside to meditate this time, however. Even with Ian stilling quietly and still, Cleo was too aware of his presence in the small space. Outside was better. He looked relaxed in his camping chair a few feet away and behind her. He was keeping his word and wasn’t interfering. On their way outside, Mari had leaned over and hissed at Cleo if Ian’s presence was a good idea. Cleo had just shrugged, but maybe Ian had heard her. Ian was blocked perfectly to stay out of Mari’s sightline.
They started the ritual. The woods sang a lovely, hushed tune. Cleo was always a little astounded that others couldn’t hear that sweet, comforting song. It harmonized with the grass beneath her feet and the crops in her garden. It soothed something she hadn’t realized needed soothing. She was barefoot, of course, and the grass was cool and damp underneath her feet. She felt cradled by the song of the earth, and loved that it was just for her. It was quieter than usual, but Cleo wasn’t worried.
Her meditation came easily tonight. Maybe it was relief from telling the truth. Or maybe, a treacherous part of her whispered, maybe it was nice to share this with Ian.
When she opened her eyes, Ian was watching her face. He seemed curious, intent, and the smile that crossed his face when he noticed her was a gift.
Cleo turned her attention towards the fire. Tonight they were sitting closer together than usual, the fire kept small so they could twine their fingers together. Most spellwork didn’t require touch. Most spellwork wasn’t so vile, though.
They began their chant to clarify the space and their energies, then chanted to help intertwine their energies and close the circle. As before, Cleo tried to use her will to break apart the seething mass of gelatinous snakes. One she managed to lift a small portion, sweat pouring down her face and back from the strain. Another small snake-like rope of the curse slithered up and brought it back down.
Cleo raised her head to the moon, frustrated. They just didn’t have enough power. It wasn’t working. She was just about to release Sophie’s and Agnes’ hands when she looked at Ian.
He stared at the curse in sick fascination, lip curled in disgust. She didn’t blame him. The twisted writhing mass was hard to look at, but even harder to unsee. They’d crept into more than one nightmare of hers, and she expected she’d probably have another one tonight.
Ian stood, focused on the pot hanging over the fire. He caught her gaze and tilted his head as if asking permission. She granted it, even if she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to. She found out a moment later.
Ian walked slowly to the fire, standing between Cleo and Agnes. He stopped just outside the circle of their arms, his knees brushing the back of her arm. He didn’t push, though, just stared.
His heavy brows pinched together, and then some realization dawned in his gaze. “Don’t stop what you’re doing,” he whispered, his voice low.
Cleo refocused her will on the mirror. They were moving faster now, fractals of anger and disgust gliding across the mirror.
Ian breathed twice. The snakes sped up. Cleo kept her focus on them, kept her will directed towards pulling them apart.
Ian pulled back slightly then leaned forward and spit on the snakes.
She and
