32

The Oglethorpe-Williams mansion is only a few blocks away from my grandmother’s house, and I run all the way, with my long beaded gown hitched up to my thighs. I tossed off my silver Miu Mius outside the hall, hoping they’ll be found by someone with a shoe fetish and size-nine feet. I figure I have about a half hour before everyone realizes I’m not at the ball—just enough time to stuff some clothes into my backpack and get out of here.

I assume that once I cross the Savannah border, all the magic will wear off. I’ll be back to my medium-to-large self and sporting the old dreads again—or, worse yet, bald. I guess I’m okay with that, especially since Thaddeus said he liked me better the old way. But it also presents a packing quandary: Do I pack my old clothes, which I pretty much swim in now, or the new stuff? If my old body returns, I won’t be able to get even one leg into those size-zero pants. I settle for a mix of both old and new clothes, plus a couple of the most expensive pieces, because maybe I can sell those for extra cash.

The money is the trickiest part. Without my grandmother’s ridiculously generous allowance and her gold card, I have almost nothing. My mom left only her personal effects; and though her collection of crystals has a lot of sentimental value, it won’t bring much at a pawnshop. Of course, this house is full of expensive stuff, but even though I detest my grandmother and what she did to my family, I can’t bring myself to steal from her. The most valuable thing I own is my buzzard’s rock—a piece that wouldn’t even go for a dollar at a regular store. I touch it with my fingers, thanking my mother for the key to my freedom.

But then I remember all of those pearls and rings in my mom’s room. Technically, I inherited everything. She’d want me to have them. So, after changing from the ball gown into my cutoffs, I head out to the porch one last time to break into my mother’s room.

As soon as I do my signature awkward flip and hit the floor, I can feel that something is different. I’ve never been in here in the dark before. At those other times, I could feel my mother’s presence, but tonight it’s stronger.

In spite of myself, I’m spooked. I make a beeline to her dresser to look through the jewelry. Just as I remembered, there are a couple of strands of pearls with jeweled clasps, a delicate silver watch, and an opal ring. I guess my mom didn’t think she’d need them when she left Savannah.

Then I freeze. There is someone behind me. A woman. I can see her silhouette against the dim blue light from the window. And even though I might be crazy, I know exactly who it is.

“Mom?” I whisper.

She steps forward.

“The night they drove old Dixie Down…” she sings.

“Mom?”

It’s definitely her. She’s pale, and her eyes are darker than I remember, but it’s my mom. I reach out and touch her arm. Her skin is icy and clammy. I draw away.

“Are you alive?”

“Is Constance coming over?” she asks.

“Constance? Mom, are you okay?”

“We’re all going to the concert, right?” She looks around then back at me again. “Are you from school?”

“Mom. It’s Alex. Your daughter.”

“Sam?” my mother cries. “Sam?” She looks at me and screams.

“Mom! Stop!”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” She backs against the wall. “Why is everyone so late? The concert was years ago….”

My mom begins to sob. My mom. Here. Right now. I can touch her. She must be hurt, though. Some kind of head trauma. I race out of the room, heading for the phone in the front hall.

Heart pounding, I pick up the receiver, and my fingers are numb as they press the numbers 9-1-1.

The call disconnects. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice says.

I scream. Then I recognize the voice. “Sina!” I yell. “This isn’t the time to fool with me. My mother is alive!”

I hear Sina’s voice again. “She’s not. She looks alive, but she’s definitely not.”

“Where are you?” I shout into the darkness.

“Over here,” she says calmly.

I see a fuzzy shape crouched halfway up the wall. A shadow darker than the shadows around it.

“I don’t understand.” My words come out as a whine.

“If I want, I can be a boo hag,” she says. “I can slip my skin whenever I want. Tonight I decided I wanted to watch y’all at the fancy ball. Then I saw someone come out the window and run hell-bent for leather. ‘Who could that be?’ I said to myself. ‘Why, self,’ I said, ‘that appears to be Miss Dorothy Lee’s one and only granddaughter and the future of the Magnolia League. Now, what on earth is she doing running away from her big old soiree?’ So I followed you here, and I can’t say it hasn’t been interesting.”

“It’s not interesting, okay? My mom is really hurt! She needs help.”

“Your mother is dead.”

“But I just saw her.”

“You saw her spirit. Looks like your grandmother got between Louisa and her second burial, managed to trap her spirit somehow. She’s dead, but she can’t leave. No spirit could get out of that room. Not with those walls. We use haint blue to keep spirits out—looks like your grandmother uses it to do the opposite. Your grandmama may be mean, but she is smart.”

“What’s wrong with my mom?” I ask Sina. “She’s acting crazy.”

“That’s death. It messes you all up. You don’t have any sense of time. She thinks she’s your age again—and she’s terrified.”

“Sina, can you help me?”

“What are you offering?”

“I don’t know.” I feel frantic. I look at my watch. I have to meet Thaddeus in forty minutes. “What do you want?”

“I want something simple,” Sina replies. “I want an end to this bargain between the Magnolias and the Buzzards. I got other agendas. The problem is that only my daddy, Doc Buzzard, has the power to stand against your grandmama, and he would never do that.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“You’re the next in line for the mantle—your grandmother is grooming you to be next in command. Once you have it, you can shut down the League for good. So I’ll make you a deal: You cozy up to your grandmother and take over the League as soon as possible. I’ll learn how to free your mother.”

“How long will it take for you to figure it out?”

“Could be weeks, could be months. No more than a year. Maybe two. I’ll need to do some studying, some learning, some prying. In the meantime, I need you to burrow into the Magnolia League like a tick. And when the time comes, I’ll send your mother to her second burial, and you’ll take apart this League.”

“How do I know you’ll hold up your end?”

“Here,” she says, and a little purple bag, the size of my thumb, drops to the floor. “I made this out of the goofer dirt you brought me. Pin this to your mama’s shirt. It’ll bring her a little bit of comfort and let her get some rest.”

I pick it up warily and go upstairs. Inside the room, my mom cowers in the corner.

“Mom, it’s okay.” I rush to her side and put my hand on her shoulder. Her skin feels doughy.

“Get away!” she screams. My body hits the wall with a slap.

“Mom, quit it! Please!”

She growls like a dog.

Then I remember the book from the historical society. Okay, what the hell. I can try it.

“John the Conqueror,” I whisper.

“John the Conqueror,

John the Conqueror.”

I keep murmuring the words, moving slowly toward her. She watches me but doesn’t scream this time. It’s like talking to a wild animal.

“John the Conqueror,

John the Conqueror.”

I get about a foot away, then leap on her. My mom screams and scratches at me, but I wrestle her down and pin the mojo on her sleeve. She pushes me away again. This time, my head hits the corner of the bed. It hurts so much that I see a white flash.

“Mom…”

The last thing I see is her lying on the bed.

I open my eyes after what feels like a few days, but when I look at my mom’s silver watch, I see that only half an hour has passed. I’m supposed to meet Thaddeus in six minutes! My mom is asleep on the bed, the mojo pinned to her sleeve. She finally looks peaceful, the way I remember her, and I know in my heart that I won’t be meeting Thaddeus anytime soon.

I creep back downstairs. “Sina?”

“She sleeping?” Sina’s voice comes from my right. I look over—she’s taken her normal form again. But she doesn’t look sixteen anymore. Her face is as weathered as an old boat shoe.

“You’ve got a deal,” I say.

“If you promise, then I need a blood shake. Hold still.” She leans forward and cuts a small slice in my wrist with a knife.

“Ow!”

Sina hisses at me, and then I feel her hot breath on my wrist as she takes the blood into a vial. “Go back on this bargain,” she says, “and you’ll hurt in ways you never thought possible.”

“I’m not walking away, Sina,” I say. “I’m here until this is finished.”

There’s silence.

“Sina?”

She’s gone. I don’t hear anyone in the house. I go upstairs and carefully place the watch and the pearls back in my mother’s dresser. Then I slip out of the room. I have to get back to the ball. I put on my dress again—it still looks okay. My hair is mussed, but I can pass that off as the result of a night of partying. I wrap a piece of silk around the oozing cut on my wrist, slide my feet into my old flip-flops, and run downstairs.

Out on the street, I look toward Forsyth Park. Thaddeus is certainly already there, waiting for me. I could go and explain but, really, what am I going to say to him? I can’t betray him twice in one night and still expect him to forgive me.

“I love you, Thaddeus,” I say out loud. It’s true too. I really do. But he can’t hear me and, besides, I’ve made my choice. I love my mother more.

“I love you,” Sybil says, hugging Hayes.

“I love you too,” Hayes says, hugging her grandmother back. Sybil had pulled Hayes into an upstairs powder room, and Hayes had a sneaking suspicion that she was about to be given the keys to a boat, or maybe the beach house. Except her dad wasn’t there, and he was always there whenever money was being spent. So what was it?

“I am so proud of you tonight,” Sybil says. “And that’s why it is so hard to talk to you about this matter, but you need to know. Honey, your friend Alex has crossed you.”

“Grandmother, it was my idea to walk the stairs like that,” Hayes says.

Sybil reaches out her hand and cups her granddaughter’s cheek. Such a trusting girl, always sticking up for her friends. The kind of girl who always winds up in trouble.

“Sweetness, this isn’t about walking the stairs. Have you ever told Alex about the troubles with Madison last year?”

“Of course.”

“We all know that Madison didn’t mean anything by it; she was just a silly little girl making poor choices. But Alex has put a love spell on your brother. And not just one, but two. He could die, Hayes.”

“Alex wouldn’t do that,” Hayes says. “She knows what happened the last time. She knows how dangerous it is.”

“You know I worry, and I keep track of your things,” Sybil says. “Thaddeus has been missing socks recently, and last week he was missing a shirt. I wasn’t going to kick up a fuss, but then I found this under his mattress.” She pulls out a piece of brown paper. On it, unmistakably in Alex’s handwriting, is Alex’s name written five times over Thaddeus’s name. “You know what that is,” Sybil says.

“But they’re breaking up. He tried to break up with her….”

“Maybe that’s what you thought,” Sybil says. “But her hold on him is strong.”

Just then Hayes’s phone buzzes. She fishes it out of her clutch and sees the missed call from Thaddeus. She listens to the voice mail: “Hayes, I don’t want to leave things like this with you, but Alex and I have to get out of Savannah. We need to clear our heads, and we can’t do it here. I can’t tell Mom, because she’ll be angry, so will you? I hate to ask you, but if I talk to her, she’ll just try to stop me. I’ll e-mail when I can. I know you, H, and I know you’re going to blame yourself, but there’s nothing you could have done. By the time you get this message, we’ll already be gone. I love you.”

The message ends. Hayes plays it again, and then she looks up at her grandmother. “Why would she do this?” Hayes asks.

“I don’t know, sweetness,” Sybil says. “But I do know that Dorothy Lee’s granddaughter is not your friend. She may act like it, but she’s playing a dangerous game with your brother. I know these things can be confusing, but there is one thing you can always trust, and that’s family. You hold on to your family and you’ll always know which way is up.”

Sybil takes her granddaughter in her arms as Hayes begins to cry.

“I hate her,” Hayes says. “How could she do this?”

“Some people just aren’t right,” Sybil says, smoothing Hayes’s hair. “Some people think they can push and push, and they don’t ever expect other people to push back.”

“If that’s what Alex thinks,” Hayes says, her tears starting to dry, “she’s going to be surprised. Because I’ll push back. I’ll push back hard.”

The ball is still in full swing when I get back.

“Where were you?” Madison demands. If I’m not mistaken, she almost seems a little suspicious.

“I took a walk. Have you seen my grandmother?”

“Um, is Orang-Anna wearing your MiuMius?”

“I gave ’em to her,” I say, spotting my grandmother and making a beeline for her before my nerves fail. She is sitting on a fainting couch and talking with someone I was introduced to in the receiving line but whose name I can’t remember.

“Miss Lee,” I interrupt.

My grandmother looks up at me coldly. “Alexandria,” she says.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted before,” I say. “I’m a teenager. We’re flighty and irrational.”

“I see. Excuse me,” she says to her companion. Then she stands up and walks toward the bar.

I follow her. “I’m ready to do this,” I tell her. And it pours out of me in a rush. “I’m tired of fighting you. I’m tired of complaining about Savannah and threatening to leave. I’m not like my mother. I’m not going anywhere.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madison and Dexter trailing us. Hayes is coming from the other direction.

“You’re a young lady now,” she says. “A Magnolia debutante. The time for being ‘a teenager’ is over. You’re expected to be a woman of quality and character. I don’t think you can do that. I’m sorry, Alexandria, but you are right in one respect: You’re not like your mother at all. She had iron in her spine. You’re merely unhappy. She had character; you have whims. She believed in something. You’re just selfish.”

She asks for a vodka on the rocks. My grandmother believes that brown liquor is for men and lesbians.

“I know.” I want to argue with her. I want to prove her wrong, but there’s too much at stake, and so I swallow my pride. “I know. But I’m different now.”

“No,” she says, sipping her vodka. “You’re not different. You’re just wanting something. And even if you think you are serious, as soon as the wind changes direction, you’ll decide you want something else and off you’ll go. No, Alexandria. You’ve taught me not to put much stock in what you say, because tomorrow you’re liable to be singing a different tune.”

I didn’t come this far to let it end here. But how do I prove myself to her? And then I have an idea.

I turn to where Hayes is pretending not to eavesdrop. As I walk toward her, I unfasten the Fear Not to Walk Over Evil.

“You’re too smart to stay in Savannah all your life,” I say, and I hang the chain around her neck. I thought I would feel panic when I lost my only protection, but suddenly I feel calm. I feel right. “Your brother told me about this awesome summer program at Oxford. You should do it. You’re free now.”

Hayes just stares at me with hard eyes. Of course she’s confused. She knows what this means.

I turn back to my grandmother, who is looking at me the way she might gaze at a particularly difficult crossword puzzle.

“I know I missed the first dance,” I say. “But I’d hate to let all that practice go to waste.”

We stare at each other for a moment, and an understanding blooms between us.

My grandmother turns to Dr. Jonathan Bailey. “Johnny, is Owen near? I want him to meet my granddaughter. She’s got a bright future with the Magnolias ahead of her.”

My stomach flip-flops as Owen shuffles out from behind his parents. He’s a big, shambling blond who wears too much Axe body spray. The MGs call him SlOwen.

“Take her out for a spin,” his dad says with a laugh, clapping his grinning son on the shoulder.

“Shall we?” I say, and I offer him my arm. SlOwen licks his lips, and we walk out onto the dance floor.

“Moon River” is playing, and as we begin to waltz, I see everyone watching me. My grandmother is bragging about me to the Baileys. Madison and Dexter are walking onto the dance floor to provide me with some protective cover, because I’m a pretty terrible dancer—although not as bad as SlOwen. Hayes is staring at me, probably still moved by what I did. But now she’s turning toward the door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Thaddeus push his way past the guests, his tuxedo rumpled, a backpack over his shoulder. He stops when he sees me, and his face is cold and hard.

I want to run over and tell him I’m sorry, that it’s all a lie. I love you, Thaddeus. Seriously. But I can’t—not if I want to free my mother. And by the look on his face, I can tell it’s too late.

“I’m sorry,” SlOwen mumbles as he steps on my toes for the third time.

So am I.

Across the floor, Hayes is trying to talk to Thaddeus, but he’s already walking out the door and out of my life.

“Moon River” is over now. It fades seamlessly into a truly stellar version of “That Old Black Magic.” SlOwen’s hanging on tighter now—his grip is so tight that it’s hard for me to breathe. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. Instead, I draw my shoulders back like a lady and smile sweetly at my grandmother. She beams proudly, knowing nothing of the storm that’s brewing.

Hang on, Mom—I’ll get you out of there. I promise.

The White Glove War has begun.