“We wouldn’t know if Houdini hadn’t showed it to us.” Seth clambered down the steep face of the berm, leaned the rusty shovel they’d taken from his mother’s potting shed against the door of the cabin, and swung his backpack off his shoulders, setting it gently on the ground.
They took turns digging a grave for the cat, making it deep enough so no wild animal would be tempted to dig the creature’s corpse up and eat it, and when they were finally satisfied, Seth gently laid Houdini on the grave’s bottom. Then Angel knelt down and carefully laid the three red chrysanthemums on the cat’s body, their stems together so they formed a bouquet. She added a thin layer of earth over the chrysanthemums, then laid the yellow aster so its bloom was resting on Houdini’s head. “So you’ll always have a patch of sunlight,” she whispered. Picking up the shovel, she quickly began filling the hole in, tamping down the dirt as best she could. When she was finished, there was still a mound of leftover earth, and she used the shovel to spread it around, mixing it with the fallen leaves and shattered rock that covered the rest of the thin strip of earth between the base of the berm and the wall of the cabin. By the time she was finished, the spot where Houdini was buried looked no different than anyplace else.
Seth hefted a large slab of loose granite from the berm and set it above the grave. “Nobody but us would ever even notice it,” he said. “But at least we’ll know where he is.”
Angel’s eyes met his. “And we don’t say anything to anybody.”
Seth nodded.
Angel’s eyes shifted to the cabin. “You want to try something?”
Her tone made Seth’s pulse quicken. “What?”
Angel licked nervously at her lower lip. “I was thinking — what if we tried out one of the recipes, and something really happened?”
Seth looked at her uncertainly. “Like what?” he asked, his voice reflecting the uneasiness he was feeling.
Angel shrugged. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, then: “But wouldn’t it be neat if we could actually do something to Zack and his friends?”
The beginnings of a grin played around the corners of Seth’s mouth. “You mean like a hex, or a curse, or something?”
“What are you laughing about?” Angel challenged. “Last night you were the one who was talking about how many people believe in stuff like that.”
Seth’s grin faded as he gazed at Angel. “All right,” he said after several seconds had gone by and the challenge in her eyes didn’t fade. “Let’s try it.”
They went into the tiny chamber, leaving the door open. Seth lifted the rough wooden bar that held the single shutter covering the window closed, and swung it open. As light and air flooded through the opening, they looked around.
Nothing had changed, yet somehow the little room felt different to Angel.
It felt oddly empty, as if something were missing.
Yet as she gazed around, everything appeared to be exactly as it had been when they first found the cabin.
The kettle still hung from the pothook in the fireplace.
A thick layer of dust still covered everything.
And yet…
Then she knew. It was Houdini that was missing. Once again she had to struggle against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, and when she spoke, her voice caught on the terrible lump that had risen in her throat.
“I hope it is real,” she said, crouching down to pull the loose stone from the fireplace and reaching deep into the recess behind it. Taking the book from its hiding place, she stood up and moved to the counter that ran along the longest wall. “I hope—” she began as she set the book down, but her words died on her lips as the book fell open and she saw the single word at the top of the page:
Beneath the single word were two brief verses:
Angel and Seth read the two verses over and over again. Finally, Seth asked, “How come it opened to this one?”
“Houdini,” Angel breathed, her voice breaking as the memory of the cat’s body lying broken and twisted at the bottom of the grave rose up in her mind. “I just — I can’t—” At last the tears she’d been struggling to control since they’d opened her locker overflowed, and a wracking sob seized her. “Why did they do it?” she cried. “Why —” Another sob choked off her words, but the little she’d said was enough for Seth to understand exactly how much pain she was feeling.
“Let’s try it,” he said. “Let’s see if we can figure out what we’re supposed to do.”
Angel struggled against yet another sob, forced it down, and again wiped her tears away with her sleeve. Her eyes focused on the first line. “ ‘Lover’s blood…’ ” she whispered, then looked at Seth. “What does it mean?”
“I think it has to mean your blood,” he replied, his voice barely louder than hers. “I mean, you loved Houdini, right?” Angel nodded, and Seth went outside, picked up his backpack, and brought it in. He fished around in the front pocket of the pack and produced a small Swiss Army knife. “Think you can do it?”
“H-How much do you think it means?” Angel stammered, staring at the knife but making no move to take it from Seth.
“It doesn’t say.”
“It has to,” Angel said. “Recipes always tell you how much you need.” Wiping the last vestiges of her tears away, she turned back to the book, but this time opened it at the front. The first page bore nothing but the title.
The second page listed all the recipes the book contained.
On the third page there was a poem that bore no title:
She read the verse twice more, then gave the book to Seth. “It looks like all we need is a drop.”
Seth read the verse through, then turned the pages until the book was once more open to the recipe. “Put some water in the kettle while I build a fire.”
While Seth began stacking kindling and wood on the hearth, Angel took the large iron kettle off the pothook and dipped it into the deep stone basin that was still full of crystal clear water, the steady dripping from the roof seemingly unchanged since the last time they were here. It took only about a quarter of the contents of the basin to make the kettle half full.
“What if someone sees the smoke?” Angel asked as Seth struck a match and held it to the kindling. The bone-dry wood ignited in an instant, flames leaping from one piece to another until the whole pile was ablaze. It took only a few seconds. As if to answer Angel’s question, there was a flash of brilliant white light and a clap of thunder so loud the floor trembled beneath their feet.
A second later a pounding rain began to fall.
“Nobody will see anything through this,” Seth said, staring out at the downpour that had materialized so suddenly.
“How are we even going to get home?” Angel asked.
“Maybe it’ll quit as fast as it started.” Seth hung the kettle back on the pothook and was about to swing it over the fire when Angel stopped him.
“I have to put the blood in.” Picking up Seth’s pocketknife, she moved close to the kettle, opened one of the blades, and held it against the forefinger of her right hand. Biting her lower lip so hard it hurt, she steeled her
