Page 31 of An Invocation of Monsters

But our little run-in did have one fortunate effect. I now knew there were dark entanglements in this cozy little Society’s history.

Joseph had almost certainly been, and possibly still was, in love with my dead mother. It was written in every line of his face when he spoke of her; my gut feeling told me that he’d had it bad for Gillian, and I tended to trust my gut feelings.

I pinned that information in the back of my mind, its usefulness to be decided later. If he still felt loyalty towards her, perhaps he would be a gold mine of information with the right wheedling.

But for now… I tore open the box lid, waving away a spume of dust. The decades-old tape gave way without a fight.

Inside were several books, a few small boxes, and what looked like a photo album.

“Jackpot,” I whispered, carefully removing and arraying my gold mine on the coffee table.

The books were going to take some serious study time: one was a history simply titled Deepwater, and I itched to go for that one first, the ghost town popping back into my mind.

Another was apparently a genealogy that I could see no immediate purpose for, and one was simply a guide map to the area, the kind of guide you could pick up at a local gas station.

Finally, there was a book on witchcraft, which had Gillian written all over it. Beneath it, I found yet another hidden box.

With the exception of the first one, I wasn’t so sure the books would be much help. The boxes could be another matter.

I picked up a small one first, carved of wood and stained dark red, her name carved roughly across the top. The little latch was loose as I flicked it open and was hit in the face with the scent of ancient ganja.

A slightly-hysterical giggle escaped me as I looked down at the desiccated pot buds. I would never, in a million years, have pegged my mother as a pothead.

I closed the box and set it aside for the next one, still laughing. This one was a jewelry box, full of large gold hoops, necklaces strung with glimmering coins, even a filmy silk scarf folded up on the bottom, like something a carnival fortune teller would wear.

The giggles subsided after that.

All of these things were painting a very different picture of the mother I’d known, and the questions that arose weren’t entirely friendly.

If my mother had been such a free-loving, pot-smoking hippie in an occult commune, what had given her the right to be angry about Juno when she’d had to live with us?

Why had she been so insistent on living in a gray-and-white house, scrubbed of all life and color?

She was more than a stranger. She had actively cultivated a persona that was the direct opposite of everything she’d been here… the only place she’d apparently been herself.

I picked up the last box that had been hidden beneath the witchcraft book, my mouth set in a grim line. It was locked, but it only took me a few minutes of smashing at the tiny lock with the butt of my Leatherman to open it.

This one was full of letters.

I unfolded them, skimming the words and the signature.

I couldn’t no more live without you than the earth could live without the sun.

Love, Joseph

Everything we are, everything we will be, it’s all because of you, Gigi. When we open the door, we’ll cross together.

Love, Joseph

You went alone. I thought my promise meant more to you than that.

With love and hurt, Joseph

Why aren’t you speaking to me anymore? Is it because of him?

Please. Love, Joseph

There were no replies to him in any of them. No folded-up, scratched-out words from my mother to Joseph.

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