* * *
Aunt Stephanie’s house was enormous. It had wings. It sprawled over an immaculately landscaped lawn. It looked too big for a family of ten. And Aunt Stephanie lived there alone? I was floored.
We pulled up in the car that she’d sent for us. Apparently, Aunt Stephanie had a chauffeur. She also had a brand new black BMW. I felt out of place in it, as if I was afraid I might break something or spill something or that my very presence might somehow destroy it.
Aunt Stephanie met us at the door. I recognized her from pictures my mother had shown me, but she was definitely older now. She was a somewhat plump woman with short, brown hair. She wore a lot of makeup. But she had a big smile and a New Jersey accent, which I kind of liked. Vaguely, I wondered why my mother didn’t have an accent.
“Oh my God,” she said as we approached. “Look at you, Azazel. The last time I saw you, you barely came up to my knees. You are beautiful.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said.
She was sort of brash, but I liked it.
“Who’s your friend?”
“This is Jason,” I said. “He was a foster kid at my parents’ house for a few months.”
“So you ran away together, then,” she said, ushering us into her house.
Inside it was even more breathtaking than outside. She led us into a foyer, tiled in white marble. There was a small table in the center, on which a large bouquet of white roses sat. Behind it was a massive expanse of space. The far wall was composed entirely of windows. Through them I could see a garden. It was fall, so not much was growing, but there were several very pretty evergreen trees and bushes.
“You poor things,” Aunt Stephanie continued. “You have bags?”
“No,” I said.
“Heavens! Just the clothes on your backs then?”
Jason and I nodded. I was glad to see that even Jason was a little taken aback with the surroundings and Aunt Stephanie. It was good not to be the only overwhelmed one.
Aunt Stephanie threw back her head and bellowed, “Marci!”
A tiny woman darted out into the foyer.
“Ms. Hoyt?” she said. Even her voice was tiny.
Aunt Stephanie waved her hands at us. “They need clothes,” she said. “Marci, measure them. Get them something.”
Marci pulled measuring tape out of her pocket and began measuring us. Jason and I exchanged glances over Marci’s head. What was going on?
“Honestly,” said Aunt Stephanie. “You look awful. Just awful. And you must be starving. I think Lydia’s whipping up something for lunch in the kitchen, so at least you’ll have something to eat, but my God, when was the last time you had a shower?”
“Um...” I tried to think. It had been awhile. “Friday?” I said.
“No,” said Aunt Stephanie, looking terrorized. “That’s horrible. Just horrible. Well, don’t worry, I’ve got bathrooms. Come with me.”
She started walking away. Marci was still measuring us. We didn’t move.
Aunt Stephanie looked back at us. “Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for?” Then she noticed Marci. “Oh, enough already, Marci. My God, you and I both know you can look at someone and tell what size they are. Just get some clothes. Have them delivered. I don’t care. But I want something here by the time both of them are done bathing.”
Marci bobbed her head and darted out of the room.
Jason and I followed Aunt Stephanie.
She deposited us both in separate bathrooms on the same wing. Once inside, I didn’t do anything for a few minutes. I just stood staring at the bathroom, gaping. This was a guest bathroom, and it was the size of my bedroom at home. It was all white like the foyer. It was too white. I was afraid to get clean in a bathroom like this. What if I got it dirty?
Before I’d even had a chance to undress, Aunt Stephanie knocked on my door with some clothes. “Marci’s getting more,” she assured me. “This is just a start. I don’t know if you like them or not, or if they’re in style. I don’t keep up with that kind of thing, but Marci has impeccable taste, and I’m sure we can trust her to have picked out something nice.”
She ducked back out of the bathroom without another word. I looked at the clothes. They were very nice. There was a pair of jeans and a peasant top. They still had price tags on them. I looked at the price tags. I gagged.
After showering, Jason and I joined Aunt Stephanie in her kitchen “nook” (if this was what she called a nook, I’d hate to see what a cranny was) for lunch. Jason also had new clothes. Our clothes did seem to fit us very well. Apparently, Marci was talented.
For lunch, we all sat down to eat enormous chef salads. Aunt Stephanie barely had a bite swallowed before she began talking. “Now,” she said, “you have got to tell me, Azazel, what happened? Why did you leave?”
I was hesitant. The last time I’d told this story—to Ms. Campbell—it really hadn’t turned out well.
“Don’t be shy,” she said. “There are reasons why I don’t speak to your mother anymore. And I told her that if she continued down the path she was on, she would lose her children. I warned her, but she did not listen. And so I just want to know exactly what happened, so that if I ever do see her again, I can say I told you so.”
“Well,” I said, still not reassured. This story was really weird. “My parents kind of surprised me on Halloween.”
“Oh my God,” said Aunt Stephanie, “she made you participate in a Black Mass, didn’t she?”
“You know about that?” I asked.
“Well, why do you think we disowned her?” Aunt Stephanie asked.
I was shocked. “I always thought it was because dad was poor.”
“No, no. That was fine.” Aunt Stephanie took another bite of her salad. “Everything was fine. Well, Mother was not exactly thrilled, but we dealt with that. I even tried to send your mother money, and, of course, she’s stubborn, and she wouldn’t take it. But when she found out she couldn’t get pregnant, well, she just went nuts.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “My mother didn’t get disowned until after she and Dad were married?”
“No. It wasn’t until she started doing all those weird spell things to try to get pregnant,” said Aunt Stephanie.
My hand went to my neck. I was still wearing the necklace my mother had given me on Friday. What had she said? Something about getting the pendant before she found out she was pregnant with me? From Mrs. Cantle, the woman who everyone said was a witch.
“And I guess they worked,” said Aunt Stephanie. “I mean here you are, a medical miracle. But the price, I’m telling you. To lose my sister to the worship of Satan. My God. It just...” For once, Aunt Stephanie seemed to be at a loss for words.
“So,” I said, more to myself than anyone, “all of it was just to have me.”
Aunt Stephanie nodded. “Yes.” She turned to Jason. “So were you there when this Black Mass happened?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” he said. “They, um, tried to kill me.”
“Oh my God,” said Aunt Stephanie. “You poor things. Well, look. Neither of you worry about anything. I am so happy you got away from that woman, from that place. You’ll be safe here. Just consider yourselves at home.”