Wind rattled the bones and crystals around us.

Delilah sat her needles aside and rose from the oak rocking chair. “I think I’ll go see if Mettie’s awake.”

“Yes,” Grandma said. “I’m sure he’ll be up and ready for breakfast soon.” The two women shared a quick kiss before Delilah disappeared into the house.

Grandma motioned to the ornate stone bench by the table. I fiddled with the hem of my sweatshirt and lowered myself onto the cool granite.

“Does anyone else know?” she asked, taking my hands in hers. Her cool skin quieted the nerves inside me that tried so hard to be rattled.

I shook my head, biting my lip. “No.”

“And the boy?” she pressed gently.

“His name’s Tim,” I admitted. “We’ve been going out for a while.”

“Do you love him?”

I looked past her into the woods, where a bluejay took flight. “No,” I finally said. “I mean, I like him. He’s nice. He makes me laugh. And he’s good looking. But I’m not ready to be a mother, Grandma.”

“You’re sure you haven’t told him?”

I shook my head, brushing strands of black hair behind my ears. “No, I haven’t told anyone.”

“Good,” she said, squeezing my hands. “Let’s keep it that way.” She rose from the bench. Her long skirts brushed the wood beams with a soft rustle. “Come inside.”

I followed her through a wall of heavy air scented with aged wood, incense, and another vaguely medicinal smell, like menthol and pine.

The single-floor house was crammed with the detritus of long lives. Another set of needles and a half finished scarf sat on an end table. Mom’s watercolor paintings and pastel drawings hung here and there, along with framed pictures of relatives. A dozen immortalized blue eyes seemed to follow us through the house.

Laughter spilled into the hall when we neared the kitchen. Delilah teased Grandpa about his hockey-puck biscuits while kneading dough in a yellow bowl. Her small freckled hands were coated in flour. Grandpa stood beside her slicing peaches. His long gray hair tumbled down his back like silver filament. Pots and pans hung on hooks on the teal walls around them.

Grandma didn’t pause when we passed by, but she looked over her shoulder and gave me a knowing smile. “Enjoy the little things. That’s the secret, Mara.”

“To happiness?”

“To everything.”

She led me onto a breezy sunporch, fragrant with flowers and citrus. A wooden table stood in the center of the room—Its surface scarred with knife marks beneath a patina of multicolored wax.

Potted plants held court in every corner, their leaves overflowing, some even reaching the floor. Shelves full of stones, jars, and random natural treasures like hawk feathers lined the walls. I couldn’t even fathom what these things were used for, but the charge in the air around me pulled me in. This was a space where things happened. Or rather, she made them happen.

Grandma moved about the room, plucking items from shelves and arranging them on the table. She placed a large glass bowl on the center and poured a pitcher of earthy water. “It’s from the artesian spring,” she explained, arranging a few bundles of herbs, a small vial of red liquid, and a white candle.

She looked up at me, summoning me with her eyes. “Come up to the altar, Mara. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

I slid out of my sandals and stepped toward her.

She looked down at my feet, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.

I placed my hands on the altar, while staring at both sets of hands. Hers steady, mine shaking.

Her quiet strength had a way of making people speak. Now the whispered stories made sense. Salome Crow could extract the truth out if anyone, even world class liars.

“I don’t want this baby. It’s just… I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to finish school. I’ve worked so hard and now…I…”

“… feel like it’s all slipping away,” she finished for me.

Tears coursed down my cheeks. My throat tightened, but my body relaxed at the relief of admitting it. I looked up at her, into my own eyes. Her gaze didn’t reflect my disappointment with myself. She really saw me. Her eyes saw through everything.

One night when Tim and I smoked some good weed, he started talking about mystics who accessed something called the Akashic Records. Was she one of them?

“You’re sure?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I can’t. Not now.“

Her gaze drifted out to the trees, as if listening to something far off. “This will take some time. You’ll drink it today. By tomorrow night, it’ll be done.”

“Will it hurt?”

It. Neither of us wanted to admit we were ending a life to save a life.

Her hands paused over the water. “It will feel like strong cramps. Nothing you haven’t known before.”

“And after?”

She dropped a bundle of dry leaves into a pestle and turned to me. “After, you are free to live as you want, but you’ll carry this decision with you. You need to understand that.”

I brushed tears away with the back of my hand. “I already do.”

Grandma didn’t speak again. The soft clink of jars and rustle of grinding herbs anchored me in a way nothing else could.

At one point she went to the kitchen to boil the water.

When she finally handed me the steaming cup, I took it with both hands, its warmth seeping into my skin.

My reflection simmered on the surface.

The tea burned its way down, leaving a taste like blackberry seeds. I sat the empty cup on the altar and looked over at Grandma, trying not to imagine the slow poison snaking through my body.

Grandma reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. She handed me a small green stone. “Green stones connect to the heart. Carry this as a reminder, child.”

I nodded, placing the stone in my left pocket. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just couldn’t…”

She squeezed my hand. “Having an unwanted child is worse than not having it at all,” she said. “He understands.”

“He?”

“The voice I hear is male.” Her tone carried the kind of sorrow that felt ancient. “That’s the truth, even if it’s hard to hear. But listen to me Mara. Crows take care of Crows. You’ll never be alone.”

I managed a shaky nod. “Thank you.”

She gave me a small smile. “Go on home now. Rest. I’ll have Mettie drive you.”

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dirt road. Grandpa remembered how much I loved his stories about traveling with the caravan when he was young. So he told me one.

I hugged and kissed him goodbye at the end of my driveway.

A heavy flutter behind me temporarily stole my breath when I reached the porch. Two Crows perched on the fence. The smaller one spread its wings and soared, taking a part of me with him.

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading! Follow me on twitter at: https://x.com/Valkrane

Like my author page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61569818831489

Or, buy me a coffee: https://buymeacoffee.com/valkrane

The image above was created with DALL-E, in the future when life slows down a bit, I plan to use my own art for these stories. But for now, this works.

Thanks for reading.

V.