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Not all curses are obvious. There was more than one curse on the Owens family; a second curse caused them to bear the blame for everything that went wrong on the island. Whether that second curse was a mutated part of Maria's original spell or a separate curse cast by one of the women she wronged cannot now be said, but it broke the same night -- though no one noticed for a while.
It began with small things.
Well, no. It began the night ten women gathered to save Gillian Owens from the spirit of Jimmy Angelov, when all together, they chanted and howled and laughed and banished his spirit beyond the Veil, sealing it away from the land of the living. Afterward, after they had eaten chocolate cake and drunk red wine, talked and laughed some more, after the gathered women had been seen out in ones and twos, none of the Owens witches -- with the exception of Jet and the youngest pair of sisters -- truly expected anything to be different the next day. Kylie and Antonia, who had been allowed to celebrate with the adults (though their chocolate cake was accompanied by sparkling grape juice, rather than anything stronger) could be forgiven for thinking so because they were too young to know any better. Jet was old enough, but ever the optimist. As she closed the door behind the last of them, Frances met first Sally's, then Gillian's eyes and shrugged. Tomorrow, that weary shrug seemed to say, things will be back to normal.
By unspoken accord, the Owens women spent the weekend at home. With Kylie and Antonia's help, Frances and Jet spent some time putting the house to rights, watching in amusement as both girls attempted to blow candles alight every chance they got. Sally and Gillian, meanwhile, settled in lawn chairs near the cliff edge, both wrapped in blankets, despite the May sunshine. Sally found the morning air a little cold, but Gillian felt the lingering chill of Jimmy's possession, when her own personality had been shoved into a deep, cold place and she could only watch while Jimmy took control of her body.
As they watched the sparkle of sunlight on the waves, Sally reached out and took Gillian's right hand with her bandaged left one, a reminder of how Maria's blessing had driven Jimmy out.
"I'm sorry, Gilly."
Gillian turned away from the view, meeting Sally's warm eyes. "For what?"
Sally looked down at their clasped hands. "For everything I said to you yesterday. I was wrong."
Gillian smiled gently. "So was I, Sal. Your path is yours to choose; if you don't want to use the power, that's up to you."
Sally shook her head. "No, you were right about that. I can't deny the power, and I can't deny that the girls share it. And if I don't teach them properly -- or let the Aunts teach them -- they'll make even worse mistakes than I did."
"We tried to send Gary away, you know."
Sally looked surprised at Gillian's confession, then thoughtful. "Is that what the syrup was all about?"
Gillian nodded. "The girls helped me make it. Do you remember when we were little and you cast the Amas Veritas spell? The girls found your old Book of Shadows and they were asking me about it." She looked at Sally keenly. "Gary's the one, isn't he."
Sally hesitated. She looked out at the ocean again. "Yes," she said finally. "Or at least, he's the one the spell summoned."
"Do you love him?"
"I want to," Sally replied softly. "But...."
"But you want to make sure it's real," Gillian finished for her.
"Yes."
"And you're afraid of the curse."
"That, too. He said he didn't believe in curses. But Michael didn't, either. He hadn't ever even heard of us before the Aunts cast their spell."
"It'll be all right, Sal." Gillian squeezed Sally's hand lightly, mindful of the bandaged cut on her palm; Sally returned the squeeze, a little tighter.
"I hope so, Gilly."
They sat that way for a long time, staring out at the waves.
~*~*~
On Monday morning, Frances and Jet walked into town at their usual hour to fetch the mail. As always, Jet gave sunny greetings to anyone who they happened to see. Normally, people averted their eyes, hurried past, or even crossed the street to avoid them. But then....
"Good morning," someone said.
"Lovely morning," someone else said.
"Good morning, Frannie," Frances' former fling Charlie said, when he passed them near Sally's shop. "Good morning, Bridget."
Frances was so shocked that she stopped and stared after him; it was the first time he'd spoken to her in ten years.
"See?" Jet said brightly, "I told you we just had to keep at it."
~*~*~
The first strangers appeared on the island a week or so later, heralding the beginning of tourist season. Sally liked tourists. They might not always be polite, but unlike the full-time residents, their contempt was reserved for all the islanders equally, not just for the Owens family. It was refreshing, in its way.
Still, it was unlikely that it was going to be a particularly busy day, so she resigned herself to spending most of it in the back completing mail orders. Most of Verbena's profits came from mail order; Sally sold not only her regular stock of bath products, but also shipped ingredients and implements like mortars and pestles, as well as charms and jewelry crafted by Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet. On the island, that part of the business was strictly word-of-mouth, but she had catalogs placed in certain shops in Salem and discreet ads in various New Age publications.
She was surprised, therefore, to see a couple waiting outside the shop as she approached. Both were well-dressed and no one she knew. Reporters? Travel writers? Maria's Island sometimes saw both. At least it wasn't close to Halloween; the tales about Maria and her descendants had made for some uncomfortable encounters with strangers in the past. The islanders could be bad enough, but they knew better than to come to the Owens house uninvited. Strangers weren't always that smart.
"Good morning," she said, politely, moving past them to unlock the door.
"Good morning," the woman replied. She was very pretty, Sally thought, with a wealth of thick, dark hair hanging down her back. The man simply nodded.
It was twenty minutes before Sally's opening time, but they followed her right through the door anyway. She sighed, but didn't say anything, as they headed for the shelves and started examining bottles and jars. She put her coffee cup down and stowed her purse, then went about her opening routine, rather pointedly counting out her opening bank before putting the cash in the register.
After thoroughly perusing the shelves, the couple both came to the counter with items in their hands. It was only after some back and forth over who would check out first that Sally realized that they weren't a couple, after all. Odd. Having one insistent early customer was strange enough, but two was unheard of.
The man ended up checking out first on the basis that he only had one item, a pot of mint-oatmeal shaving cream. Sally smiled as she placed it in the bag. "This was my husband's favorite. I hope you enjoy it."
The man looked at her as if the idea of enjoying shaving cream had never occurred to him before. "I'm...sure I will," he replied, and left.
The woman had a few things in her arms: shampoo, conditioner, face cream, hand cream. "This is a lovely shop," she said, as she opened her purse to withdraw an expensive leather wallet.
"Thank you," Sally replied, as she rang up the purchases. "Are you a visitor to the island?"
The woman nodded, handing over a large bill. "I'm on vacation for the week, and stupid me, I forgot to pack my shampoo."
"If you'll forgive me," Sally said carefully, "most people who forget things go to the shopping center on the other side of the island."
The woman nodded. "And I was going to, but when I asked the lady who runs the B&B where I'm staying for directions, she suggested this place, instead. She said I'd find better products here; said they were all handmade with local ingredients."
Sally nodded, trying to rein in her shock at having a local person actually recommend her shop. "Yes, I make everything myself." She handed the woman her change and carefully bagged her purchases. "Most of the ingredients are from my own gardens. Where are you staying?"
"Oh, at the B&B over on Farrington Street," the woman said. "That man who bought the shaving cream? He's staying there, too. Thanks a bunch -- maybe I'll be back in before I leave."
"Enjoy your stay," Sally said automatically, still trying to figure out why Nancy Johnson, the owner of the B&B in question and one of Sara Anderson's cronies, would point business in her direction. Sally and Sara – and, therefore, Sara’s friends, like Nancy -- had been at odds their entire lives.
She considered it on and off all day, and still hadn't come to a conclusion by the time she closed the shop and went home.
"What's troubling you, my dear?" Aunt Jet asked as Sally set the table for dinner.
Sally frowned down at the silverware in her hand. "Nothing."
"Come now," Aunt Jet said. "Whatever it is has your aura just rippling all over the place."
Sally sighed. She had never been able to hide anything in this house. She finished putting the silverware out, then settled into her chair. "It's just something odd, is all. It seems that Nancy Johnson has been suggesting to her visitors that they come to my shop, and I don't understand why."
"What's so odd about that, dear?"
"Nancy Johnson doesn't like me, Aunt Jet. She never has, since we were kids."
"Nancy Johnson -- isn't that Velma Standings' girl? Runs the bed and breakfast over on Farrington? Wasn't she one of the women who came out to help with Gillian?"
Sally looked up sharply at the sudden change in Aunt Jet's tone. She had gone from honest concern to the bland tone that indicated that she knew something that Sally didn't, but was going to plead innocence until Sally worked it out for herself. Aunt Frances had a similar voice.
"Yes," Sally replied slowly. "She was." For that matter, Sara Anderson and half the PTA had also been there that night.
"Perhaps she was just being neighborly. Supporting the Chamber of Commerce. You are a member of the Chamber of Commerce, aren't you, dear?"
"Their least-favored member," Sally said darkly.
"Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out," Aunt Jet said placidly and went back to the stove.
~*~*~
Gillian found herself in the awkward position of actually liking someone on the island who wasn't a member of her family. When she had accepted Sally's offer of a position at Verbena -- "Just until you get on your feet," Sally had said -- she hadn't really thought about the fact that Sally already had other employees. So on her first day, she had covered her nervousness with what really amounted to bad behavior -- sitting in the shop window barefoot, smoking, and slathering herself with lotions. But Linda had a solid steadiness about her that wasn't unlike the Aunts. Her children were grown and gone, so she had no cares about whether the church or PTA ladies liked her or not. She welcomed Gillian to the store, patting her arm in passing.
"Sally told us you just got out of a bad situation. If there's anything you need, let me know."
"Uh, thanks," Gillian replied, caught aback.
Carla, a free spirited neogpagan Goth, wasn't an island native, and she didn't give a flying rat's ass what anyone said about her. Gillian liked her attitude and her outspokeness; they actually had a lot in common.
"Yeah," Carla said, after Linda's offer. "What she said. If you need us, we're here for you."
Gillian had never actually had female friends on the island before. Boyfriends were easy enough, but women? The women of the island were too busy hating the Owenses for friendship.
On her first day back after the whole Jimmy thing, Linda enveloped her in a big hug as soon as she came in the door. "Are you all right, Gillian?" She pulled back, holding Gillian at arms' length, searching her face. "You look much better. No more problems?"
Gillian shook her head. "No. No more problems. He's gone."
"Good," Linda said emphatically. "And good riddance, too."
It was just the two of them this morning; Sally and Carla would be in after lunch. For a while they were busy dusting and straightening the shelves. Sally was insistent that the shop be kept as clean as possible, but refused to use magic to do it, so each jar and pot and bottle had to be dusted every couple of days. Sally didn't leave it all to them; she spent her fair share of time cleaning, as well.
For a while, they worked in a companionable silence, the only sounds being the clink of glassware and the swish of dusting cloths.
"Linda," Gillian said after a bit. "May I ask you a question?"
Linda glanced over her shoulder, but didn't stop her cleaning. "Sure."
"The other night? Why did you come?" Gillian found herself unaccountably nervous and clutched her dusting cloth in both hands, practically wringing it.
At that, Linda did stop what she was doing, a bottle in one hand, a cloth in the other. "You needed help."
"But it wasn't your problem," Gillian said. "We're witches -- nobody likes us -- everyone on this island has always hated us!"
"Three hundred years seems a long time to hold a grudge about someone having an affair with someone else's spouse," Linda finally said, carefully cleaning the bottle in her hand. "Besides, this is New England and Salem is just a ferry-ride away -- you can't swing a stick around here without hitting a witch or someone who claims to be a witch. And there are people on the island who like you. It's just that those who don't are louder, and those are the ones you're used to hearing." She replaced the now clean bottle on the shelf and turned back to Gillian. "You needed help," she repeated, a little more forcefully than before. "I was able to give it. Of course I came. And before you ask, yes. I would absolutely do it again."
Gillian floundered for something to say in the face of such honest sincerity. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Linda said with a smile, and went back to cleaning.
After a thoughtful moment, Gillian did, too.
~*~*~
Sally had just given a customer their change when she heard the sounds of that same tired old chant through the open door of the shop.
"Carla, can you finish this up?" she asked, already moving out from behind the counter. She heard Carla's affirmative, but her attention was already on the scene she could see out the shop's front windows. Kylie and Antonia were faced off against half a dozen yelling kids -- it looked like the usual suspects. Across the street, she could see Sara Anderson and her pig-tailed shadow Patty MacMillan coming, their faces thunderous. She hurried out the door to corral her own girls before anyone else ended up with chicken pox. She had no doubt that if Kylie willed it, Sara's little boy would end up with it again, despite the fact that having it once was supposed to convey immunity. Kylie, Sally was learning, was adorable, but had a vindictive streak more in keeping with her Aunt Gillian than her mother.
She got between the chanting kids and her own daughters and waited for the accusations from Sara to start. Sure enough, when she looked up, Sara was just drawing breath to start in.
"Daniel Nicholas Anderson! What do you think you're doing?" Sara waded into the crowd of kids and turned her son by his shoulder. "Did I or did I not tell you to leave Kylie and Antonia alone?"
Sally blinked. The half dozen kids looked at each other uncertainly. This was not how this was supposed to go.
"But Mom," Daniel whined, "you said--"
Sara's eyes narrowed and she cut him off. "I don't care what I may or may not have said in the past, Daniel. I distinctly remember telling you to stop this nonsense and leave the Owens girls alone. And if you weren't listening to me then, you had better be listening to me now. If I hear of any more of this," and now her gaze moved to all of the kids, before she focused again on her own son, "there will be consequences. Do you understand me?"
Daniel gulped and nodded. Sally almost felt sorry for him. The other kids, sensing blood in the water and not wanting it to be theirs, scattered.
"Now," Sara said. "Apologize to Kylie and Antonia. And to Sally for making a scene in front of her shop."
Daniel tried one more time. "But Mom--"
"Apologize," she hissed, and Sally could swear she saw a spark in Sara's eyes.
The boy turned. "Sorry," he said sullenly.
"Now go home," Sara ordered. "Straight home. No detours."
"Yes, Mom."
Sally knew she was gaping and swiftly schooled her expression before Sara could see her bewilderment.
"I'm sorry about that, Sally," Sara said. "I will have another word with him when I get home."
"Thank you," Sally replied. "Girls, tell Mrs. Anderson thank you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Anderson," they chorused, clearly as surprised as Sally was.
Sara nodded and she and Patty headed back across the street to Sara's tea shop.
"Mom, what just happened?" Kylie asked.
"I have no idea," Sally responded, gazing after her erstwhile nemesis.
~*~*~
The final Phone Tree Day of the school year arrived, finding Sally in her usual bitter mood. At least after today, there would be a two-month reprieve from the reminder of how little she was liked by her fellow parents. She had already forbidden Gillian from tampering with the selection process this month -- though Gilly would do as she pleased, as ever.
She opened the classroom door where the meeting was held to discover that she was nearly the last mother to arrive; they appeared to only be waiting for Sara. Everyone already had their notebooks opened and their pencils out, as if they were students waiting for a class to begin. She hesitated in the doorway, realizing that there were only two open seats in the classroom, and both would require her pushing past other women.
Then she looked more closely and saw that there appeared to be a sharp divide in the classroom; to one side were the women who had answered when she activated the phone tree to summon a coven's help for Gillian. The women who had refused to come were clustered on the other side of the room, and there didn't appear to be much communication going on between the two sides.
"Oh, Sally," Debbie Preston called, "come sit with us."
Sally blinked. The invitation appeared to be genuine, but Debbie was one of the few women who had at least spoken to Sally before. She made her way over to the empty seat.
"How is your sister?" Debbie gave Sally's arm a feather-light pat of concern. "Is she doing okay?"
"She is," Sally replied, wondering what rabbit hole she had fallen down. Everyone had been acting so oddly since that night. "Thank you for asking."
"I just want you to know that if you ever need any help like that again, I and my Dustbuster are just a phone call away." She smiled sweetly.
"That's very kind of you."
"You can count the rest of us in, too," Patty MacMillan said. "You have our numbers."
Sally could only hope that she wouldn't ever need that kind of help again, but while the ritual itself had been awful, the camaraderie in the immediate aftermath had been...nice. She had enjoyed laughing with the women who had come out to the house. Even Sara had been a bit giddy in the wake of vanquishing Jimmy.
And she suddenly found herself saying something she never thought she would. "If you all wanted to come out next Wednesday evening, we'll be having a little full moon party. I'm sure Gillian and my aunts would be happy to see you all again."
"That sounds like fun!" Debbie said enthusiastically. "Will I need my Dustbuster?"
~*~*~
The full moon came, thankfully this month, beautiful and pristine with no warning omens. Sally breathed a sigh of relief as she looked up at it, raising her wine glass for the usual toast. Around the table, the others raised their own glasses -- though, as usual, Antonia and Kylie had only sparkling grape juice. Even the Aunts agreed that they were a little too young yet for alcohol.
The feeling around the table was similar to that after they had last gathered, though perhaps a bit less manic since they were toasting the rising of the full moon, rather than vanquishing a vengeful spirit. Sally sipped from her wine glass, listening to the laughter and talk that flowed around the table. Across from her, Aunt Jet and Carla were engaged in a discussion of full moon rituals they had attended in the past, while Linda listened in, offering occasional comments. Linda and Carla, who had never shown any discomfort around the Owens women, had both been coming to these monthly gatherings for ages.
At the foot of the table, Gillian was holding forth on makeup and hair care to a rapt audience of Nancy Johnson, Patty MacMillan, and Mary Flanigan. Debbie -- without her Dustbuster -- was chatting quietly with Aunt Frances. Sally, meanwhile, had somehow ended up at the opposite end of the table with Sara Anderson. They were both sitting quietly, watching Kylie's and Antonia's attempts to catch fireflies.
"This is nice," Sara suddenly said. "Thank you for inviting us, Sally."
"I'm glad you came," Sally replied, surprised to find that it was true.
"I'm sorry, you know. For the way we've always treated you and your family. It's gone on too long. We've been trying -- all of us -- to change things," Sara said, looking up at the moon. "We can't change the past, but we can maybe make it better for the little ones." She nodded out at Kylie and Antonia, who had both managed to catch a firefly and were holding them in their cupped hands, the little lights blinking between their curved fingers. The girls laughed delightedly. After a moment, they released the insects, then set out to catch another pair.
"Thank you for that," Sally said, as both women smiled at the girls' antics. "I'm not sure we've been fair to the town, either. I don't think we ever gave any of you a chance, and I'm sorry for that."
Sara laughed. "Listen to us falling all over ourselves to apologize to each other. I'd think your aunts put a spell on us that night, but I think it was just time."
"Fellowship can be a powerful thing," Sally said quietly. "And yes. Three hundred years is a long time." She thought of curses, and their endings.
"Do you do this every month?" Sara asked.
"Yes," Sally answered. "And you have a standing invitation to come whenever you want to."
"Thank you," Sara said. "You'll let us know if we ever need to bring a broom again, won't you?"
"You'll be the first to know," Sally promised.
~*~*~
Maria's Island, Massachusetts boasts a small, but tight-knit and powerful coven of witches. It wasn't always so; a curse meant that the islanders took three centuries to come to terms with the presence of the witches in their midst, but when they did, the women of the island bloomed. There is a saying that time heals all wounds, which may or may not be true. But time -- along with a serial killer's vengeful ghost and fellowship’s blessing -- certainly worked wonders on Maria's Island.