Hell's Belles Read online

  “So how old are you guys, really?” I asked emptying my cup of tea. I started pouring another as the girls glanced at one another, clearly questioning how much they should tell me and who should tell me first. “I mean, none of you look older than twenty. At the most.”

  “Well,” Josephine started. “I’m the baby, I guess. I’m approximately 203 years old.”

  I almost spit out my drink. “What? You’re over two centuries old and that makes you the baby?”

  “Well, I was the baby. Until you, of course.” She glanced at Calista, “I was born in 1812. During the war. I don’t know who my parents are, I was abandoned at an Anglican church and somehow ended up in America around the age of two. Because of my ability to make people feel certain emotions it was easy enough for me to have people take care of me. Anyway, I’ve been engaged dozens of times, had numerous love affairs and have inspired great men and women to make beautiful art. Which is nice and all. But it’s hard to only be desired because of what you can do for other people.”

  Her face grew sad for a moment and my heart broke for this sweet girl who had become such a good friend to me in the last few days. But as quickly as the melancholy came on it immediately vanished when she said, “But then Virginia found me! Or I found her… I’m not honestly sure how that happened. She could probably give more details. At the time Virginia had her house in New York City, on the Upper East Side. I met Calista and Aleta. Honestly, that was one of the best times of my life. America was an exciting place to be! Jazz music, silent movies, the literary scene. I have such fond memories.” She sipped her tea and smiled at the past.

  I didn’t even know what to say. Sitting in front of Josephine all I could see was supple, perfect, freckled skin and glossy hair. She didn’t look a day older than me. She even skewed a little younger. The strangeness of all of this was not lost on me. I doubted it ever would be.

  Our waitress placed paper plates of food in front of us. The plates were filled to the edge with enough food to feed ten Belles. We silently dug in, the only sound was our lips smacking and an occasional. “Oh GOD. This is so good it’s just wrong.”

  Across from me I looked at Aleta. She ate neatly and precisely. I had noticed over these past few days that nothing seemed to shake Aleta. She was the rock on which we three stood. And apparently she had been watching me my entire life.

  I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask her.

  “How long have you been watching me?” I asked her. All three of them stopped eating.

  “Since your mother was pregnant with you.” She said it matter-of-factly, like she was telling me what the weather would be like tomorrow.

  “How is that possible?” my voice rose and I could see Martha Lou peeking out at us from the kitchen. “I mean. How did you know I existed before I even existed?”

  Aleta chewed slowly and thought on this a moment. She wiped the corner of her mouth delicately with one of the paper towels on the roll at the end of the table.

  “Emma, you’ve always existed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Cut it with the New Age crap. You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t think you know what I mean, Emma. As Emma, you are only eighteen years old. But your soul, your spirit, is as old as the rest of us. So when you ask me how long I’ve been watching you, it’s a much more complicated question than you think it is.”

  “Aleta,” Calista cut in. “This is entirely too complex to bring up. It’s too much. Hell, even I feel bad for her right now. We should really quit with the admissions unless Virginia is around to give it some damn context.”

  I stared at both of them. My head was swirling like it had just been flushed. I couldn’t keep up with any of it.

  “Okay. For now, I will keep it simple. I’ve been watching you your entire life. Not that I have been there every second of it, of course. But my ability enables me to see you through the people around you. There were times I was physically there, but the majority of the time I was seeing you through the consciousness of those around you at a given moment.” Aleta took a bite out of her cornbread and closed her eyes. “Damn, that’s some good stuff.”

  I put my fork down. “So you mean to tell me, you can take over people’s minds? That’s what you consider ‘keeping it simple’?”

  Calista responded, “None of this is simple. What you are finding out is something that a handful of people have ever known. As in the history of the world. So forgive us if we can’t think of a concise and eloquent way to put it.”

  We continued eating for a while after that. Josephine ordered two more pieces of cornbread. I tried to sort through all of this in my head as the rest of them started scrolling through their phones. Looking at mine I noticed I had a text from Virginia.

  Can’t wait to hear how the first day went!

  I felt guilty.

  “I just got a text from Virginia,” I said, holding up my phone. “Sounds like she doesn’t know we skipped yet.”

  Aleta started piling our plates in the middle of the table. “We should get going. Make it home before she does. Your new definition of home, that is.” She looked me in the eyes as she said it.

  As she stacked the plates and cups a memory came back to me.

  At my parents’ wake, I sat alone. Away from the lines of people looking to pay respects to closed caskets. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, yet I felt so incredibly lonely. I was a deserted island in a sea of mourners. A despondent girl surrounded by people. I had never felt so completely disconnected from human beings in my entire life.

  I was in a corner in the back of the parlor. Grandma sat up near the front, greeting visitors and comforting sobbing people. No one seemed to notice me back here. Maybe they had forgotten my parents had another daughter besides Merritt.

  I might as well be dead too.

  Out of nowhere a woman appeared. She was about my height, maybe a little taller. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. It was hard to tell. She had a long, graceful neck, and her brown hair was swept up into a French twist.

  “Hello, Emma.” She had a soothing voice. “May I sit with you?”

  I glanced up at her and shrugged. “Sure.”

  We must have sat there quietly on the couch for five minutes or so. We watched the people coming and going from the room. I could see Grandma was tired and I started to wonder when this could all be over.

  “She really does look tired,” the woman said.

  I turned to the woman. “Who?”

  “Your grandmother. She looks like she’s ready to be home. I’m sure you are too.”

  I gave her a strange look. “I can’t go home again. It’s a place that doesn’t exist for me anymore.”

  The woman’s eyes connected with mine. “Home is many places and people throughout our lives. The setting and characters change but the definition is the same.”

  I was frustrated. “Well, my definition of home is laying up front in caskets that have to be closed because there isn’t much left to bury. My definition of home was literally obliterated. There’s nothing left of it. So, thank you for trying to comfort me. I know we don’t know one another and you’re just trying to say something when there’s nothing to say. But home is gone for me. It will never be back again.” I stood up. “I need to use the restroom, excuse me.”

  “Emma…” she started. But I was already on my way out.

  We drove in silence across town back to Belle World. On Meeting Street enormous homes spilled out almost to the street, their porches like huge smiles greeting all who walked by. It was a beautiful day.

  But I was overwhelmed. Had any of my life been my own? It was like I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I thought I was one kind of girl and now I was finding out I had been something else entirely.

  “Aleta, can you just drop me off here? I really need to just take a walk and clear my head.” We were next to the First Baptist Church.

  Aleta and Calista exchanged glances, Aleta's brow furrowed with indecision as to my reque
st. “Is that such a great idea, right now?”

  “I just want to take a walk. I feel like the only place I've been alone since I got here has been lying in bed. It's a beautiful day, I want to be alone with my thoughts. A new school, Fort Knox under Charleston, Josephine being 200 years old, it's a lot to process. Cut me some slack here, Aleta. Please.” I wasn't sure why I was asking permission, but Aleta radiated such maturity that it seemed the right thing to do. I knew the only way I would get the freedom I longed for was by placating.

  “A walk sounds wonderful, Em, why don't I go with you? I can be your tour guide! You've barely seen any of the city yet,” suggested Josephine.

  “Thanks, Jo, another time I would love for you to show me around. If this is home, I want to know what Charleston sounds like, what it smells like. All I really want is to walk and breathe and think. Alone. I need space, guys. You have to be able to understand that? I have my phone, if by chance I get myself lost I'll call one of you, or Fiona.”

  Calista shrugged and Aleta reluctantly surrendered, easing the SUV to the curb, allowing me my escape. Before I slipped out I had a final question for the rest of the Belles.

  “I'm still getting my bearings, is the water that way?” I pointed up Meeting Street.

  Rolling her eyes almost out the back of her head, Calista replied, sounding terribly bored by the entire conversation, “We're on a peninsula. Water is in pretty much every direction.”

  Aleta gave Calista a cold stare and gently corrected me. “The place I think you want is the Battery. It's the other direction. Just a few blocks, you can't miss it. The entire harbor, a great view of the Bridge, good people watching, that's the way you want to go.”

  Following Aleta's directions, I strolled briskly away from the Belles, my mind equal parts Bronwyn Hall, Zillah March, Confederate gold, and Aleta Indigo. Passing a horse-drawn carriage filled with tourists gawking at Charleston architecture, I paused and thought about how much I really could have used Merritt right about now.

  Composing myself and following the smell of salt in the air, I soon reached the Battery. I went directly to the railing, looking out over Charleston Harbor, the horizon dotted with sailboats. I closed my eyes and just stood, ocean breeze blowing through my hair, the sound of gulls competing with a giggling child somewhere behind me in the park.

  And then I heard something mysterious. A peculiar singing voice, somewhere far away, using language I couldn't quite place but which seemed oddly familiar at the same time. The melody became clearer, although the words were still beyond my understanding.

  I looked around for the source of the music. Maybe it was a radio or someone performing in the park? Nothing was obvious, but the voice was so compelling I just had to find it. It couldn't be coming from the water, none of the boats were near enough, but oddly if I had to pinpoint it, the music seemed to be coming from out there, somewhere. I stood stone still, eyes closed, and focused as hard as I could on the tune, but it was still everywhere and nowhere, like a breeze. I decided standing in one spot wasn't helping, so I began to walk along the waterfront, following as best I could. I felt like I was back in the remote Nevada desert trying to get a signal on my phone. A few steps and I’d have a bar, then it was gone.

  I walked and walked, away from the Battery and up Bay Street, past railroad tracks and shipping containers, my determination to find the singer of the incessant songs in my ears not waning, despite my feet aching and lungs burning. I found myself on a path leading directly to the beautiful white suspension bridge I’d admired from my first sight of it. Something told me the answers I sought were somewhere on that bridge.

  I walked behind a woman pushing a stroller and then was brushed past by a jogging group of Citadel cadets, possibly the same ones who had been running in the Battery just a couple days ago. It didn’t matter. I had to find the source of the song.

  The music changed now, it was definitely stronger here, more compelling. The view was beautiful, and despite my legs screaming at me to rest, I knew I was close. My thoughts grew foggy, which I attributed to fatigue, so I discarded them all. All save my mission. Find the source of this music!

  Marching on defiantly, I approached the peak of the bridge, looking out on the sparkling river in wonderment. The music was definitely coming from the bridge. The middle somewhere. It had to be. It was so loud now I couldn't believe nobody else seemed to notice it, that people could even hear the songs or podcasts in their earbuds. I couldn’t bother to question the logic of this. All I could do was follow wherever it led me.

  VIRGINIA EMBERS

  Virginia Embers had been alive a long time.

  She was older than the state she now called home. She was older than the country she lived in. Virginia was older than most of the trees that lined the road she was driving on right now. Most of them, but not all.

  She had an appointment to meet with Dr. Ibis on Johns Island. Part of her had considered rescheduling it so she could see Emma immediately after school. She was worried about how she was adjusting. Part of her felt like she was throwing Emma to the wolves by making her go to Bronwyn Hall. But the larger part of her knew it was necessary. Emma had to start her life and find her purpose here.

  Which is why Virginia needed to see Dr. Ibis.

  Dr. Ibis was Aleta Indigo’s uncle, an ancient man who had lived in the Lowcountry for over two hundred years, but he’d seemed an old man even when he arrived in South Carolina two centuries ago. Virginia had met him at precisely the right time, long ago, and ever since they had been close friends. They met a couple of times a month and it was always at the same place; The Angel Oak.

  The Angel Oak was a true Charleston mystery. Most residents didn’t know anything about it other than it was a beautiful live oak that was thought to be up to 1500 years old. Its long branches hung low and stretched out far from its massive trunk. It was an oak straight out of a fairy tale and thousands of people visited it every year.

  But to Virginia it wasn’t a tourist attraction. It was the source of almost everything. Dr. Ibis knew the importance of the tree, especially to the future of the Belles. Now that Emma was back, it was more important than ever.

  Virginia turned onto Angel Oak Road. Mud stuck to the tires of her Range Rover and she winced at the thought of having to walk in her new Christian Louboutins across the rough terrain toward the tables that sat next to the massive oak.

  The door to the gift shop chimed as she walked through it. She waved to the kindly cashier and walked out the back toward the tree and a waiting Dr. Ibis.

  Dr. Ibis was almost as old as Virginia but unlike her, he looked every bit of it. His skin was papery thin and wrinkled. His body fragile, he sat cross legged at a picnic table, feeding some sunflower seeds to a pair of squirrels who sat patiently like dogs waiting for treats. At the sight of Virginia, he smiled and whispered a goodbye to his animal friends. The larger of the two squirrels nuzzled the hand that had been feeding him before scurrying away. Dr. Ibis was delighted.

  “Hello, friend,” he said reaching his calloused hand out to her. “You lookin’ mighty pretty today, Miss Virginia.”

  Virginia smiled. “Not so bad for an old woman, huh?”

  “Not so bad for anyone,” Dr. Ibis chuckled. “People must wonder what some high falutin’ white woman is doing with a shriveled-up old black man out in the boondocks.”

  “I hope it causes a huge scandal,” she laughed. “If they only knew how miraculous you are. Do you ever just want to blow people’s minds with the knowledge we have?”

  Dr. Ibis nodded. “It was more tempting when I was younger. Nowadays I just think about what a burden it can be.”

  Virginia noticed his face was solemn. “Is everything okay?”

  He shook his head. “I’m just tired of being alive. You know how it can be. Besides you and Aleta, I don’t have anyone. Everyone I have ever known is dead and gone. This tree keeps living and I’m beginning to think I might even outlive that. And it makes me sad, Miss Virginia
. People weren’t meant to live this long.”

  Virginia’s eyes filled with tears. She grabbed the hand of one of her truest friends. “That’s why we’re doing this, right? We have to end it. The only way we had a chance was by finding Emma. And now we have. We can finally make this stop.”

  She looked over at the tree, the Angel Oak that had lived and seen so much through its years here. Rumors had floated around that slaves had once been hanged from its beautiful branches. Virginia knew they weren’t just rumors. The pain of the past always hit her hardest at this spot.

  “It will be over,” Virginia’s voice gained command. “They can’t keep us here forever.”

  As shadows touched their feet and a breeze rustled the leaves of Angel Oak, Virginia could have sworn she heard, off in the distance, a familiar, sinister laugh.

  Chapter 21

  I reached the middle of the bridge and the song was louder than ever. It appeared to be coming from the churning waters of the river below. I glanced around at the people on the pedestrian walk around me. None of them seemed to hear anything. How was this possible?

  Something told me it was vital I get on the other side of the vertical railing. The song was beckoning me. There were small benches for tired joggers and walkers to take a rest on. If I stood on one of those, I could climb over the tall railing that prevented the walkers from falling off the bridge.

  Nothing in my head told me that this idea was ludicrous or dangerous.

  As I climbed over, a woman in jogging shorts yelled at me.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed. “Don’t jump! Nothing is worth this!”

  I looked at her, puzzled. She clearly didn’t realize the song was in control. That if it told me I needed to do this, I had no choice. The song had me enchanted. This choice was not my own. I was at the mercy of something else entirely.