I waited until the early hours of the morning for Isobel to return home, penning a few notes in my journal and writing a few paragraphs on the likelihood of everything I'd learned. I couldn't sleep anyway, not after today.

When my alarm clock beamed 3:00 am, I slammed my journal closed and tried to get some sleep. I didn't.

The next morning, Syd told me Isobel had gone to the chapel after an early breakfast. It wasn't far from the house, a few minutes' walk. I decided to make a visit after asking Syd for direction. I didn't want to wait in a house that was becoming a place of doom and gloom.

It turned out the chapel was a wreck. The roof had half caved in, the round windows were cracked, and climbing ivy covered most of the left side.

Inside, pepper colored walls created a dark and downcast atmosphere. Mahogany seats were scuffed from years of use and lined either side of a long aisle.

I found Isobel crouched at the front pew, facing a giant, gold cross with her head bowed above clasped hands as she murmured.

When the murmuring stopped, she lifted her head, keeping her eyes closed. "I am pleased you came, Crystal."

How did she know it's me?

Did the Lockes have eyes at the back of their heads?

I took a deep breath and kneeled beside her. "I need to talk to you, Isobel."

"You must meet Reverend Sinclair," she said, ignoring the desperation in my voice. "He's been expecting you."

"He has?"

"Yes." She opened her eyes and turned to smile and run a hand down the waves of my hair. The motherly gesture made me tense rather than calm. I put it down to me being angry at Isobel for keeping things from me.

"His father baptized your mother and conducted many of the family's wedding ceremonies," she continued. "The Sinclairs have been a part of the family for generations."

"Was my mother religious?" I asked, surprised she had thought to mention something about her.

"Oh, dear." She laughed. "No, she was too rebellious and opinionated to serve one purpose."

"I think I can relate to that."

It was nice to have something else in common with my mother.

"Of course. You have her free spirit. But you must also have your faith, a godly support at hand."

Isobel glared at the ceiling and pointed. "You know your mother once climbed to the roof and sang happy birthday for my eighteenth birthday. She fell through and landed on a choir boy in the middle of her cousin Joe's christening." She held her finger to her lips as her eyes gleamed over with the memory. "You can still see the damage."

It was true. The corner was covered with uneven planks of wood. I smiled, grateful for the mess. It proved my mother existed. It proved she might have been fun.

"So, what were my mother's dreams?"

"To become a nun."

I looked at Isobel to see if she was serious.

She laughed lightly. "Oh, it was an ongoing joke of hers. She never understood their purpose or why they chose to give up their rights to live as they were born to. In truth, when her cousin Joe died from a rare heart disease, Sophia was adamant she would become a nurse."

"But she chose marriage instead?"

"Yes. Although prior to marriage, she was involved in various types of voluntary work and planned to continue medical school. She wanted to have a career as well as marriage. Your father was very supportive."

My heart sank. "But I held her back?"

"Oh, no." Isobel patted my hand. "You gave her more than she could have wanted, Crystal. Sophia must have realized a career wasn't everything she had hoped for, and was happy to become a mother."

I thought I'd go down the sloping deep end and outright ask her my next question. "But then she learned of the curse?"

"Yes." There wasn't even a pause or a way to try and think of a better way to say it. Just yes. Perfectly. Unaffected. I was shocked she was admitting it, believing it even. She could have lied and said Jess was hallucinating.

"You know? It's true?" I swear I could feel my blood pressure rise. "Is that why you weren't keen on me talking to Jess?"

"Unfortunately." Isobel squeezed my hand. "As for what this means, that cannot be sought."

"Why not?" I frowned. The irrationality of all this was beginning to aggravate me.

Did all the residents of Blacksville suffer from active imaginations?

Isobel looked at me despairingly. "My dear, it is beyond our understanding. We can only pray that the reason does not resurface."

"Is that why you brought me here?"

"Partly. Mostly it was because I needed to see you, bring you to where you belong."

"If this is all true, why did my parents change their identity? Wouldn't they have thought I would need you eventually?" My voice was on the edge of despair. What I had just asked was further proof why none of this could be true.

"Yes, it was careless. Yet your mother must have had her reasons. Like you, perhaps she did not believe in it. Still, we didn't even know you existed. If you hadn't resembled Sophia in that newspaper article, I dread to think what could have happened. Perhaps Sophia was convinced it was a strange coincidence rather than a curse. She must have decided to take the risk. But don't worry. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe now, Crystal. Everything. I mean that."

"But safe from what? You don't even know what it is."

Was this really happening? It was insane.

"True and it may simply be a superstition after all, fed so widely with fear it has eaten its victims into an early grave."

"It's unrealistic, Isobel. I can't believe you think it could be true."

She smirked. "If you keep thinking that way, you may reverse any possible fate. I would have preferred it if you hadn't known of the rumor, but Jessica's interference has now made that impossible. I suppose in this small, interfering town, you were bound to find out sooner or later."

"You said Jess is a little odd. Is this why? You didn't want me believing her?"

She nodded." But I've decided I couldn't keep it from you any longer."

"So...now what?" I couldn't believe I was asking.

"We forget and pray to the Lord for mercy and guidance. We ask to be steered from evil and cast away any shadows to have fallen among this family."

I was about to mention my dream when a man entered the room, dressed completely in black with a white collar. Reverend Sinclair, I figured, though he looked too young for the role. His flaxen hair was curly, and his thick moustache covered most of his top lip, making the bottom lip all the more prominent and a fleshy pink. It seemed out of place among his square jaw and a nose bent out of shape like a boxer.

"Morning, Isobel," he greeted informally.

"Good morning, Reverend. This is Crystal." She held my shoulders as if I might leave if she didn't.

He offered his hand and shook mine with a firm grasp.

"Isobel has told me plenty about you, Crystal. Welcome. I hope you've been enjoying your stay." His voice, I thought, sounded mechanical, like a news reporter with no feeling attached to the words. Or maybe I was just imagining it.

"Thanks. It's...uh, pleasant." I couldn't think of anything else to say, not after what Isobel had just told me. I was surprised I could think straight.

"Perhaps you could attend the fundraiser this weekend," he said. "There'll be music and games to involve the whole community in aid of refurbishing the chapel. As you can see, every bit of help would be beneficial."

It sounded like a day out for the over fifties, but I couldn't bring myself to turn him down. He suddenly seemed genuinely sincere with his invitation.

"Sounds great." I smiled.

Isobel smiled, too, probably more relieved than the Minister to hear me say it.

She stood and said, "We will all attend. Thank you, Reverend. We'll be on our way."

They held hands. I thought it inappropriately close.

"Do pray for us," she added.

"You are in my prayers and my thoughts, Isobel. The Lord shall guard you against all punishments." He looked to me next. "May God be with you, too, Crystal, and do come again. The Lord also accepts those who have turned away from their faith."

Isobel took my hand before I could respond, and with a nod to the Minister, she walked us down the aisle and out of the doors with her hand firmly on my back.

~ * ~

On the way home, I wanted to gather more information from Isobel's complicated use of vocabulary. I just didn't know where to start. And in truth, it wouldn't have lessened my confusion when I wasn't sure of what I believed in.

I had wanted things to get simpler, not all the more twisted.

First the visions in my bathroom and the attic, which I had, in my mind, come to resolve. And now this.

I was never someone who absorbed everything as the gospel truth. I was never someone who followed the latest political trend or complied without a question to regard it as valid proof. It had to be seen to be believed in my opinion, and all I could see right now was a woman who was relying on her prayer book and a priest young enough to be her grandson. He was just a creation of minds, put together by public preference.

Besides, weren't Reverends supposed to radiate love and warmth? Maybe I wasn't

receptive, but, I felt neither of those from Sinclair.

It didn't look like Isobel was going to bring up the topic about my ancestry any time soon. In my logical mind, I figured there was a rare condition that had affected the women; that it wasn't due to what Isobel claimed.

How could one woman from long ago cause such an effect?

It had to be an old wives tale that had gotten out of hand. And Isobel, no matter how intelligent and sophisticated, had been sucked into it.

Since we were getting closer to the house, I chose to ask Isobel more about my mother. I wanted to know everything, her favorite color, drink, restaurant, where she had travelled to and if she ever learned to swim or ride a bike. I wanted to know about her first kiss. If anyone could tell me these details, it was Isobel. They were close friends, practically sisters, which was why my time with Isobel was always anxious as I waited patiently to ask all of these questions. I was eager to be fed every piece of information until I was full and satisfied with the result.

"Your mother was a stubborn mule," Isobel quipped as she held my hand to help me cross a deserted road like an imbecile. "Never once listened to anybody. Not even her father!"

"Were they close?"

"Hmph...your grandfather was a schizophrenic, Crystal. A sick, sick man."

I should have known there was a history of it somewhere.

"It must have been difficult to raise her alone." I said.

"Oh, he had help. She was raised by her stepmother. Did I not tell you?"

"Um. No. Is she alive?" I doubted it, with the track record.

"She left him five years into the marriage. I'm unaware of her whereabouts." Isobel looked ambushed as she walked ahead of me. "Forgive me, Crystal. I must be misplacing my memory."

"Did he beat her?"

"Oh, heavens no. Although his words were enough to leave their damaging scars."

"How did she cope?"

"She kept busy. Studied plenty and kept to her room. She often took refuge with my parents when things became unbearable. She always was strong and independent. I always admired her for that. It was rather ironic how she made me feel safe when she was the one who needed protecting." Her voice withered on the last sentence as she dipped her head under a tree, keeping her head turned away, she said, "I should have been there for her in the end."

"You were. It wasn't your fault she distanced herself."

"Yes, but I should have tried harder, persevered. Instead, I gave in and languished all of my attention on my new husband."

"That was natural, though. You were newlyweds."

"It was selfish."

"You were human. And my mother made her decision."

Isobel turned to me, tears brimming. "I forgot her, Crystal." She hung her head and sobbed into her hands.

I didn't know what to do, and quite frankly, I was taken aback by the vast amount of emotion. Isobel didn't come across as a woman who often got upset or cried into her pillow every night. Not even the kind of person who dwelled on the past. I assumed the first time had been a phase.

Lifting her head, she pulled me into one of her tight hugs. "I have failed you both," she spluttered into my hair. "I shall not fail you again."

"I know."

I felt her pain, to the extent where I wanted her to stop crying and be the smiling, erratic Isobel again. It consumed all that surrounded us and everything kept within. I felt her grieve and despair, yet I couldn't release a single tear, shed the hidden ache in my heart I so wanted to lose.

Holding Isobel tighter and with a compulsion with which she held me, I knew I needed this firmer foundation to build upon. I was open to receiving it without my usual nagging doubts. I deserved a family.

We held hands as we walked the rest of the way home. In the driveway, Isobel paused and groped the collars of her shirt. Her eyes widened at the sight of an old station wagon that looked like it had never endured a car wash.

"Oh, no! It can't be," Isobel said.

"Who does it belong to?"

"To someone I hope it isn't," she answered, hurrying up the steps to the house. She entered the drawing room, and I was on her tail, wanting to see who had her so fraught with panic.

A woman sat at the table. Her curly black hair with fuzzed up ends was streaked a honey gold blonde. Her eyebrows had been penciled in and were uneven arches above a pair of heavy lashes. Her skin was spotless and ivory like Isobel's. Her thin lips were tinted red.

Gal was standing by the window, sipping on a glass of wine, while Cray was seated opposite the woman, slouched and refusing to make eye contact with her. His arms were folded and he had an unimpressed expression crinkling his forehead. He also seemed to be refusing to look at five cards that were face down in front of him.

The woman had been turning one as we entered.

"Hmm...you are trapped," she said, hovering a long, maroon painted fingernail above it. "Caught between your heart and head."

"That will be enough," Isobel said.

"Issy," the woman cooed. Her eyes flashed green then brown as she lowered her gaze and stood. Cray pushed back his chair and walked over to Isobel to whisper something. Isobel nodded in what seemed like agreement. When Cray looked at me, it seemed through me, passed my physical form and onto another layer unknown.

He left and I listened to his footsteps along the hallway and down the gravel driveway beside his car, until the sound of his engine faded into the distance. I couldn't help but miss his presence.

"Let's get a look at you." The woman held Isobel's shoulders and turned her to stare resolutely into her eyes. They were level in height, with similar pointed features. Except Isobel's skin was much younger. It also wasn't blotchy and pink. I had yet to be acknowledged.

"My, you are exquisite," the woman said. They hugged, but it wasn't returned by Isobel with as much affection.

"Why are you here, Marselle?" Isobel asked, so hard faced she looked unrecognizable.

"To see my big, brave sister. Why else?" she guffawed. "Gal, bring me another glass of that fine wine."

"Are you here for yet another loan?" Isobel asked who I realized must be her sister, Marsi.

Isobel took the glass of wine from Gal and drank all of it herself.

"You do amuse me, Issy. Now tell me. Who is this blustery young woman?" she glared at me.

Gal scowled in a way that was close to a grunting growl. Frothing at the mouth was the only likely follow up to the obvious display of hatred.

After a deep breath, Isobel said, "This is Crystal. Sophia's daughter. I shall be taking care of her during her visit." The daggers thrown in Marsi's direction were threatening, but she didn't care to notice. Instead she took my hand and stroked the palm.

"Hmmm, a creative hand," she said, her finger tracing invisible lines. "A very, very powerful hand indeed."

Gal snorted into his glass. Isobel poured herself another drink full to the brim.

Marsi brought my hand closer to her face with a smile. "You will gain the one you desire." She peered at me questionably "You do want him, don't you?"

I snatched back my hand to rub at the forming pins and needles.

"Or is there someone else of more interest?" she asked.

Gal watched from the other side of the room, now too engrossed in hearing my answer.

I flashed Marsi a bemused look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh but you soon will."

She placed her arm around me and a heavy scent of peppermint and jasmine hit my nose. It was pleasant but overpowering. After pushing me into a chair, she sat opposite me at the table. Isobel kept her back to us, perhaps drinking herself into a stupor.

Gal suddenly slammed down his glass and stomped out of the room. Something had bothered him. Then again, everything had that effect.

And considering Marsi was the younger sister, she looked older than Isobel. Her carnivorous grin turned into a frown just as I thought it. I wondered if she could hear what I was thinking. Could witches do that? I had to watch my brain activity.

The card facing up on the table was of two lovers dripping with blood. A sword ran through their chests. The word "Sire" was printed in gold capital letters along the bottom.

What type of tarot deck was this?

Marsi looked at me and flipped the card on the right. A pile of skulls and bones lay mounted beneath a crown. The word "Death" was prominent as the message.

"A debt for a deed. Good or bad"' she said, drawing a circle around the crown with her fingernail. "You could gain a prized possession." She almost hissed.

She had a voice that couldn't be trusted. I had sensed it the moment I saw her with Cray, the way watched him with a calamity and dispensable joy. She was a trouble maker.

"You're quite the resolve," Marsi purred, leaning back. "And you, dear Issy, are a match made in heaven."

I wasn't sure what she meant. It seemed Isobel did.

"Enough of your games, Marselle; what do you want?" Isobel turned to look at her with a face drained to an almost green.

"I missed you and the children. Is that a crime nowadays?"

"How long do you wish to stay?' Isobel did little to hide her disdain.

"Just a few days then I'll be out of your way."

Marsi looked at me in puzzlement. "How long is your visit?"

"Just for the summer," I said, trying to avoid her predatory stare.

"Then I've arrived in time to bid you farewell." She made it sound like for good.

"I hear you're from Utah," she added.

"Yes."

"Which part?"

"Cedar City."

"Ah, I lived there once."

"You did?"

"Mmm, dreadful place."

The conversation cut dead and Isobel resurfaced from her glumness. "I need to change and wash for dinner. Sydney will show you to your room." She swept out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Marsi staring at me like a wild cat about to pounce and rip me to shreds. Her nails tapped on the table to a soundless beat, perhaps waiting to savagely peel at my armor, a shield of protection, prepared for such an unjust attack.

Yet it never came.

Our inner thoughts stayed bottled up and kept for future reference.

~ * ~

I slipped out of the house to avoid dinner. I couldn't face it. Not with Marsi now a newer addition to the bizarreness.

Did the rest of the Lockes know about what Isobel was choosing to stand by with conviction? Did they pity my stranger than strange predicament?

I didn't want them to. If there was some mystery to solve, I could do it in my own time. Either that or I could forget about it and hope it was just an old spun tale.

The second option suited me just fine right now. I wanted to salvage my trip. I needed to, even for a short while.

I deserved a holiday.