The Curse of Bloodstone. V. J. Banis

of a large earthenware bowl. Whatever the bowl had contained was spilled all over the tiles. At first glance Vanessa thought it to be blood.

      “What are you doing?” Vanessa demanded.

      Tutrice did not move. She sat with her head lowered. Her lips moved but she did not speak. Finally she opened her eyes and continued to look down at the tabletop, studying the objects scattered before her.

      “I conjure you,” Tutrice moaned. “I conjure you that you forthwith appear. Show yourself, oh dark and mighty master. Show yourself before me in fair and human shape without deformity or ugliness so I will not be afraid. Show yourself. Show yourself now.”

      “Stop it,” Vanessa said, stamping her foot. “Stop it, I say.”

      But Tutrice stayed as she was. “I conjure you by him to whom all creatures are obedient,” she moaned. “The elements have been spilled. The mortal mantle has been broken so that you may come through to me.”

      “Tutrice! I forbid this nonsense.”

      Still, Tutrice remained in her trance. “The sea runs back, the fire grows higher, the earth trembles in anticipation of you. Come. Come you in the name of Adonaiu Zabaoth, Adonaij Amiorem.”

      Vanessa’s rushed over to the table and with a wild move of her arm swept all of the objects from the table, flinging them in every direction. She grabbed Tutrice by the shoulders and shook her hard. “I’ve forbidden you to do this,” Vanessa shouted. “How dare you go against my orders.”

      Tutrice merely sat, numb and unhearing. Gradually she roused herself, turned her head slowly. “Go to bed, child. Leave me to my work.”

      “No. What are you doing? I demand to know.”

      Tutrice shrugged indifferently. “I am merely looking for information,” she said.

      “Information? What information?”

      “About Clarissa. You know Clarissa?”

      “Clarissa? Our cook? Of course I know her.”

      “She is dead,” Tutrice said. “She is dead but is not at rest. I was asked to try to find out why she is not at rest.”

      “I’ll have none of that black-magic nonsense in this house. I’ve told you before, Tutrice. I will not tell you again. I detest this foolishness.”

      “You detest it because you are afraid of it.”

      “I detest it because it is stupid. The dead are dead.”

      Tutrice shook her head. “No,” she said. “The dead are never far away from us. They are always here. We have but to reach out and they will be with us again.”

      “I will not have this mumbo-jumbo practiced here. I will not have it, Tutrice, and I will not warn you of it again. Now go to bed.”

      To Vanessa’s amazement, Tutrice threw back her head and began to cackle. “To bed, to bed. Do you find comfort in your bed, my pet?”

      Vanessa raised her hand to strike. Tutrice’s eyes bored into her and she froze with hand upraised. Tutrice was not smiling.

      “Beware, child. Do not threaten. I know everything. I can only profit you if you will believe in me.”

      Vanessa found herself trembling. “Sometimes you make me very angry, Tutrice.” Then without any warning she buried her face in her hands and began to sob without knowing why.

      “There, there, child. Do not weep. I am an old and difficult woman. Like the zebra, I cannot change my stripes. I must do what I am meant to do. I only wanted to help Carl, not disobey you. I promised I would help the poor man.”

      “Help Carl?” Vanessa sobbed, trying hard to stem her tears.

      “He asked me to find Clarissa, his wife. He misses her and knows I have the power to communicate.” Tutrice took Vanessa’s hand. “I did not mean to hurt you by going against your wishes. I thought you were fast asleep and with him.”

      Vanessa choked on a sob. She suddenly felt angry instead of sad. She glowered at the old Cajun woman. “Do you find pleasure in tormenting me with reminders of him?”

      Tutrice shook her head. “Your moods change with the wind. I do not torment you without reason. You should not be afraid to speak his name or to let mention of him be made. Simply because your stars did not coincide does not mean you should be afraid. It was not meant to be because he was not the right one.”

      Vanessa’s anger went as quickly as it had come. “Oh, Tutrice,” she sighed, letting her beloved’s face take form in her mind. “Why did it all end as it did? He was as the prophecy predicted. He was the bloodstone from the sea.”

      “No, you are wrong. He was not the bloodstone from the sea. Something was not right or it would never have ended, or begun,” she said.

      “But the prophecy in the Bible....”

      “He was not the one to fulfill that prophecy. Oh, I too wished it had been so. I, more than you, wished this to come about, but it was not right. We must wait. But I do not think Bloodstone is where we are to wait.”

      “Why do you hate this house so much?”

      “Hate it?” She paused, as though weighing carefully what she intended to say. “I have tried to protect you from Bloodstone because you do not belong here. And I had hoped you would learn that before it was too late.”

      “Of course I belong here.”

      Tutrice merely shook her head. “Oh, well, you are here now and here you must stay, I suppose.”

      “Yes, Tutrice, I must stay. I should never have left.”

      Tutrice smiled at something that gave her a secret pleasure. “Ah, if only it had worked out differently. If only he had been the one, all this would be changed now and the Bible would read true.”

      Vanessa knit her brows together. “Read true?”

      “It is not what it seems. Things seldom are, you know.”

      Without anger Vanessa said, “Do you never speak plainly? Why must you always make riddles? Can’t you tell me in straight, uncomplicated language the explanation of the prophecy? Please, Tutrice, tell me.”

      “The prophecy, the prophecy,” Tutrice scoffed. “I wish it had never been written.” Suddenly her eyes widened and she cringed and clamped her hand over her mouth. She stared about her, cowering, as if expecting some unseen force to punish her for what she’d said.

      Vanessa tried not to let herself get annoyed, for she knew how futile it was to try to get Tutrice to speak of the poetic prophecy in detail. But perhaps it was for the best that she did not dwell on the prophecy; it only made her think of him and the bloodstone, which made her unhappy.

      “Well, if you won’t speak of the prophecy, then tell me of Clarissa. When did she die? Was she very old? In the five years I’ve been away, I remember her but slightly.”

      “No, Clarissa was not old, just weary and ready.” Tutrice got up and started searching the room for the articles Vanessa had swept off the table. One by one she took them up and brought them back. “Clarissa is in that limbo world where she must wait.”

      “Wait? For what?”

      Tutrice shrugged as she placed the articles into a pattern. “When death touches you, you only stay dead for a while,” she explained. “Clarissa is in that temporary death. She will assume her proper place soon. Until then no contact can be made with her. She is dead, as we know death to be. But after her prescribed period of rest is ended, she will be able to communicate.”

      “You always talk gibberish. I can never make head or tail of what you say.”

      “It is because you do not hear rightly.”

      Without realizing what she was saying—for it was as if someone