the wind carried it away. It splintered into tiny embers that flickered like fireflies before turning to ash.
Annie sat on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and staring out the window, pondering her grandma’s words. She could use some change. Lots of it. If only she could get rid of... No. No point agonizing over that, when she was so close to sleep.
A green glow skittered erratically in the swampy darkness.
Very pretty. Annie turned away from the bedroom window, yawned and slipped into bed, pulling a thin cotton sheet over her head like a cocoon.
Wait a minute... She jerked to a sitting position and peered out the window across the room. Each glass pane framed squares of refracted moonbeams piercing through tumbles of tree limbs. A patchwork quilt of the macabre.
But on second glance, no green, glowing orbs of light dotted the night’s landscape. Must have been a trick of the eye or the flash of a dream. Perhaps it was merely that Grandma had planted the suggestion of something magical happening tonight when they had gone outside after dinner and held a brief lunar ritual. Full moons represented death and change, a time for powerful magic.
A ball of light again materialized at the tree line, not more than twenty feet from their cottage. It burned blue at the center and green at the edges. Annie instinctively touched the silver cross nestled in the hollow of her throat, palm flattening above the rapid thumping of her heart.
A teal stream of light broke away from the orb, forming a tail like a comet hurtling across the night sky. The pixilated specks of color were magical as fairy dust, coalescing into the shape of an arm, beckoning her closer.
Dare she?
Annie scrambled off the bed, feet touching the rough-hewn pine floorboard, still sun-warmed from the day’s ferocious heat. She raced to the back door and slid into flip-flops she kept at the entry. Hand on the door, she paused and glanced to her left. Grandma’s bedroom door was open, and her deep, labored breathing wafted across the cottage. Annie softly tiptoed to the room and peeked inside.
Grandma Tia’s hair was wrapped in a satin cloth that nestled against a white pillowcase. Her lined face was relaxed in a way only produced by sweet dreams. The weight and worry of time and life’s sorrows laid aside in a few hours of respite.
She wouldn’t rouse her from slumber. Grandma Tia’s heart condition meant she needed rest. Annie’s eyes rested on the red flannel gris-gris bag hung on the bedpost. Which reminded her to grab her own mojo bag. She hurried back to her bedroom, retrieved it from beneath the pillow and tied it to the drawstring of her pajama bottoms. Just in case. A quick glance out the window confirmed the green light still hovered a few feet above ground.
Despite the late hour, humidity cocooned her body in a damp embrace the moment she stepped outside. To top it off, the light had disappeared again. She sat on the concrete porch steps and lifted her hair off the back of her sticky nape, waiting and watching.
Probably nothing but swamp gas. The night buzzed with a battalion of insects, and she cocked her head to one side, listening, actively expanding her energy outward to pick up even the subtlest of sound—the wind swirling clumps of sand, the hoot of an owl far away—all against the eternal ebb and flow of the distant ocean tide.
What was she doing out here? Normally, she wouldn’t think of investigating something alone, but, like a cat, curiosity overrode her fear.
Something prickled her skin. The air danced with a faint tinkling—like the fading echo of tiny bells rung from deep within the forest. Annie closed her eyes, gathering the vibration of musical notes, assimilating a pattern: one, two, two, three, two, two, five, two, two.
Melodic patterns had called to her since kindergarten when a teacher handed out metal triangles and wands. She’d pinged the base, and the ringing vibration had shivered down her spine. A living pulse that had been a first clue of her gift, her curse, her fate. Other kids had banged away on the triangles until the pureness of the music changed to an unbearable din, and she’d run out of the classroom.
She’d been running ever since.
But tonight’s high-pitched bell notes made her feet itch to dance and throw her arms open to embrace the night. It had a certain symmetry and lyrical quality that charmed. It drew her, tugged at her soul...
Annie opened her eyes. More than a dozen orbs of light danced in the distant darkness. They were a rainbow of colors and sizes and varied in brightness.
That was where the music came from.
They called her, beckoned her to draw near. She rose unsteadily to her feet, light-headed with awe, and slowly stepped away from the cottage. The lights bobbed and darted behind and between the oaks. All at once, the orbs disappeared, as if someone had turned off a switch. Annie ran toward the woods. For once she ran to the music instead of away from its source.
Wait for me. Don’t leave me behind.
As if hearing the unspoken words, a bluish-green orb flashed. A spectacular, southern aurora borealis. It was the first, lone light she’d seen from the bedroom window, as distinctive and individual as a human form. She ran across the yard, plunged into the woods, down a narrow trail littered with pinecones and broken twigs. Black night, thick with heat, pressed around her body, yet she stumbled forward, ever deeper. More lights bobbled ahead, just beyond reach. Mosquitoes buzzed her ears and nipped her arms and chest. The sulfur smell of swampland grew more pungent and sharp.
Annie didn’t care. The blue light glowed like a lantern against the darkness, and the crystalline notes played from its burning core. Low-lying branches scraped her arms and face, and her legs grew wooden with exhaustion as on she walked, following ever deeper.
A clearing opened onto a muddy bank, and Annie pulled up short at the sight of a brackish pond. Mud gooshed over her sandals and between her toes. The slimy sensation worked like a face slap. Blackness shadowed the night as a cloud passed over the moon, and the glowing orbs vanished once more. The music stopped, and silence gathered, dense and foreboding.
“Umm...hello? Anybody out there?” She didn’t know whether she felt more foolish or frightened. She lifted one foot out of the goo and almost lost a sandal. “Terrific. This is just great.”
Screeching erupted—as if a parliament of enraged owls or a volt of vultures were descending on her for interloping on their territory. Annie clamped hands over ears and squeezed her fingertips over the ear canals, but the noise and pressure felt like a bomber plane taking off inside her brain. Turning blindly, she ran, desperate to escape the sound attack.
What the hell is this? Where is it coming from? It was like a combination of an animal screech, a howl of pain, shattering glass and a jarring, jumbled chorus of dissonant chords, as if someone were banging an untuned piano.
Silence crashed the darkness. Annie leaned her back against an oak tree and hunched down, panting. Relieved the noise had stopped but expecting it to return any moment, her body was coiled and tense. She grimaced at the stitch in her side and tried to regulate her breathing to a slower pace. Calm down. Think.
She tilted her head upward, rough bark grazing her scalp. The moon glowed, laced with a web of black thread from the treetops. The sky held a thin promise of dawn, evidenced only by a violet-hued line in the east that graduated to black by degrees.
Great. So she knew where east lay. But that was the extent of her internal compass. And it didn’t help her figure out how to get back to the cottage. Best to
