Page 40 of The Bairwick Witches
Schuyler refrained from speaking to the ones he saw. He wanted to curse each of them; demand they answer for Dev’s silence. His eyes focused on the path ahead of him, cutting through the weathered headstones, memorial obelisks, and crypts. The spirits stayed a distance behind him but followed.
Schuyler reached the top of the third hill and stood at the foot of Dev’s grave.Our Beloved Son,the headstone read.He stood, staring at the name carved into the granite. How many hours had he spent sitting there, looking at the simple headstone, talking to it, hoping the cold stone would be a conduit to his love?
It wasn’t, though. His love did not want to talk to him.
The scream Schuyler unleashed started in the pit of his stomach. A rumble that rose to his heart, where more pain was added, then into his throat, where the sadness warbled the cry, until it burst from his lips. The pained howl echoed through the cemetery like a sonic blast, followed by another, from the energy which circulated around him. The blast radiated outward, decimating the headstone, burning the ground around where Schuyler had fallen to his knees, and setting the willow tree ablaze.
“Why won’t you answer me?” Schuyler’s fists flared up again as he pounded on the scorched ground littered with pieces of headstone. “All this time, Dev, and nothing. What did I do?”
Schuyler felt his stomach lurch; his already shaky knees gave way. His anger could no longer be the levee which held back the sorrow he’d refused to deal with. And what he thought would be another scream, became a sob, followed by many more.
Schuyler rocked back and forth on his knees, hands clutched as his heart, as he begged Dev to answer him. To tell him what to do with the spell. But the silence produced only more uncontrollable sobbing.
An arm slid across Schuyler’s chest from behind him, holding him steady, which did not stop the rocking, bringing him back against a chest as another arm wrapped around him.
“Monkey.”
Beau spoke softly, and knowing his uncle was there caused Sky to break down harder.
“I got you, Monkey. I got you.” Beau held him tightly, as Schuyler wretched up in tears and heaved sobs—finally releasing all the pain he had not dealt with.
Without moving from the crouched position, Beau whisked his hand through the air, and the headstone repaired itself; the ground around them returned to being lush and green. He let Schuyler cry, and wherever his tears landed in the new grass, yellow and purple flowers began to grow.
They remained there until the sun set, Beau never moving, allowing Schuyler his full release until the well had run dry and all he heard were sniffles. Beau thanked the spirits of the cemetery for their help. They liked Schuyler; otherwise, they’d have done whatever was needed to protect their sacred space.
Schuyler remained quiet once they were home, but Beau refused to leave him on his own. They ate dinner as a family, though Schuyler had nothing. They adjourned to the parlor; Beau and Marshall read while Sky sat, staring out into nothingness, a few light tears continuing to escape his red eyes. Before retiring for the evening, they went to the sunroom for ice cream and stargazing.
They never once pressured him to speak, and for that, Schuyler was relieved. But as they looked at the stars, eating chocolate chip fudge ripple ice cream, he found the connection back to his voice and unleashed the whole story on them.
“Well,” Beau exclaimed, setting his empty dish down and waving his hand over it until another scoop appeared, “this is a three-scoop kind of evening, if I do say so. Yes, three-scoops for sure. Waist be damn—though, who we kidding? I keeps it tight.”
Schuyler expected Beau to follow up with a quip about how dramatic he had been. Beau often broke up serious momentswith his own brand of levity. The barbs never arrived; instead, Beau fought back his own emotions as he spoke.
“I’ve tried to reach Devion for you, Monkey,” Beau admitted. “A long time ago, soon after the accident, when you were in so much pain. That same pain was in your face today. And I hate it. It’s a pain I can’t take away, and the Goddesses know I’ve tried.
“I communed with the spirit world for days—hours at a time—with so many guides coming forward, trying to help. No trace of him, like his spirit was being blocked. I believe that’s why you’ve never heard from him.”
Schuyler couldn’t deny thinking about the spell. A chance to see Dev again, to talk to him. But it would only be a brief moment, too brief, and he was unsure if he could stomach having to say goodbye.
Marshall placed his hand on Schuyler’s back and began to gently rub, as he’d done when Sky was upset as a child. “You think this spell could work?”
“I’d need to review it to be sure, but his reasoning is sound. It’s not reanimation. It’s a temporal shift of spiritual energy into an ad hoc vessel for a brief period. In theory it doesn’t violate the Edict.”
“Might be worth exploring,” Marshall added.
“Marshall Kirkland-Croy,” Beau snapped, “the audacity of your very being to suggest somethin’ like that to our son. Monkey, you leave that spell be. I’ll never be able to show my face in town if my son was found guilty of breaking an Edict. I don’t need that kind of heat on me.”
Schuyler ignored Beau, addressing Marshall. “You think so?”
“Dolores is out there, waiting for something like this to pounce!” Beau interjected.
Marshall nodded. “Ifthe boy fesses up to everything, shows you the spell, and you believe it’s solid enough to work, I say do it. Say goodbye to Dev. Tell him to fuck off. Tell him you love him. I think today proved you have more unresolved feelings about him than you thought. You should do this.”
“Marshall!”
Marshall forcefully cleared his throat at Beau’s interruption. “Son, I don’t interfere much. You will do what you want, always have, always will, which is why I love you. But this one time, listen to your old man: you will plunge yourself into another level of hell if Issac succeeds doing that spell without you.
“If you aren’t there and Dev is brought back, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. What he would have said. Whatyouwould have said. And that’s a hell in which there’d be no end for you, my messy-brained pride and joy. If Dev is somehow blocked and we cannot contact him, then this is the only chance to find out why.
