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 nerves, then jabbed the point of the knife into her finger. Handing the knife to Seth, she held her wounded forefinger over the kettle and squeezed it hard.
Two or three drops of blood fell into the water and instantly vanished.
“Do you think it’s enough?” she asked, watching as the water seemed to swallow up her blood without a trace.
Seth shrugged. “How should I know?” His gaze shifted to the open door and the downpour outside. “Think you have to get the dirt from Houdini’s grave, or can I?”
Angel’s brows knit. “I probably better.” She moved to the door and peered out. The sky — crystal clear when they’d arrived only a little while ago — was leaden now, and the clouds seemed to be getting darker even as she watched. Certain that the rain was only going to get worse, she darted out the door, snatched up a pinch of muck from the spot marked by the stone Seth had laid over Houdini’s grave, and ducked back inside.
Surprisingly, though it was pouring outside, she’d barely gotten wet.
She went back to the kettle and dipped her fingers in. The fire was blazing under it, and the water had already turned warm. Rinsing her fingers clean of the dirt from Houdini’s grave, she wiped them dry on her sweatpants and looked at Seth, who was once more studying the book. “Now what do we do?”
“Let it boil, I guess. But what about this other thing? What’s ‘blur of grief’?”
Angel figured it out immediately. “My tears,” she breathed. “Every time I think about Houdini, I get all—” Her voice broke once again, and almost as if in response to her words, her eyes blurred with tears. She moved quickly back to the kettle, swung it out of the fireplace, leaned over it, and thought once more of what her cousin had done to her pet.