Free Resurrection by Nancy Holder Page A

when you see Mom, tell her I’d like to talk to her.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “You won’t tell her about Richard and me?”
    â€œNo, no, I’ll leave that for you.”
    â€œGroovy.”
    By the time he had finished cleaning up and had changed clothes, there was half an hour left before guests were supposed to arrive. He tried to tell himself it hadn’t happened. He’d imagined it. But the cuts on his body proved otherwise.
    So he tried to force it away, compartmentalize it, save it for later. He immersed himself in the normalcy of the moment, or what passed for normalcy. Marie-Claire’s birthday parties were always over the top, and this one was shaping up to be no exception. A sparkling disco ball twirled from the ceiling of their finished basement, above the portable wooden floor she’d rented. The Bee Gees were blaring through the house. Spiral glow-in-the-dark garlands hung from the rafters, and she had set out lava lamps on card tables covered with tie-dyed tablecloths and fuchsia napkins. Then she changed her shoes for ridiculous high platforms and added some sparkle to her eyes and cheeks.
    While she was upstairs putting the finishing touches on her supercurled hair, he forced himself togo through a stack of vinyl albums in the living room, hoping he could slip some Jethro Tull into her relentlessly superficial musical selections. But his hands were shaking. He thought he was going to be sick. He kept stopping and checking under the sofa, the chairs. Opening closet doors and peering inside.
    Something attacked me. Something from hell.
    Then his mother walked in, and he felt the tension in the room soar sky-high.
    â€œWhat is it, Daniel?” she asked, her eyes hard and glittering.
    She knows, he realized.
    â€œShould be an interesting party tonight,” he said, trying to maintain.
    â€œYes. Marie will no doubt have a flock of her boyfriends here.” She appeared to use the term loosely.
    He set down the Jefferson Airplane record and gave her his full attention. “That bothers you?”
    â€œThey bother me. I want her to fall in love with someone who practices…” She stopped herself short and looked at him warily. He didn’t know if she was trying to pull information out of him or if she’d honestly said too much.
    â€œPractices what?” he said.
    â€œNothing,” his mother murmured quickly, turning away.
    â€œWitchcraft?” he pressed.
    She jerked and turned back toward him, her face pale.
    â€œThat’s right. I know,” he said. “You know I can read old French.”
    â€œLet me explain,” she said.
    Inside him something felt like a wolf leaping forward for the kill. His mother never thought she had to explain herself. It was as though he could feel her fear, her weakness.
    â€œDon’t, Mom. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. You found a book about Dad’s family. Now you think you’re some kind of powerful witch who can really control your kids. Maybe even defy gravity. Or stop the aging process.”
    She smiled thinly, a bit of the wolf coming out in her. “You have no idea what I can make happen.”
    He rose. “Yeah, I kind of do.” He unbuttoned his shirt and showed her the bandages. “Did you send that thing into my room to stop me from reading your book?”
    â€œOh, my God, honey,” she gasped. “What—what—?”
    Her reaction surprised him. And frightened him. If she hadn’t sent that thing into his room, who had?
    â€œMom,” he said, “it’s not just a book. It’s dangerous. There’s a reason it was lost. Stop. Stop it now.”
    â€œDon’t tell me what to do,” she retorted, sounding more the child than the parent. “You can’t stop me practicing the Old Religion.” Her gaze traveled again to his shoulder. “Tell me again how this happened. What thing was in your room?”