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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Wind rattled the bones and crystals around us.<\/p>\n
Delilah sat her needles aside and rose from the oak rocking chair. \u201cI think I’ll go see if Mettie\u2019s awake.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Grandma said. \u201cI\u2019m sure he\u2019ll be up and ready for breakfast soon.\u201d The two women shared a quick kiss before Delilah disappeared into the house.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes anyone else know?\u201d she asked, taking my hands in hers. Her cool skin quieted the nerves inside me that tried so hard to be rattled.<\/p>\n
I shook my head, biting my lip. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the boy?\u201d she pressed gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis name\u2019s Tim,\u201d I admitted. \u201cWe\u2019ve been going out for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you love him?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked past her into the woods, where a bluejay took flight. \u201cNo,\u201d I finally said. \u201cI mean, I like him. He\u2019s nice. He makes me laugh. And he\u2019s good looking. But I\u2019m not ready to be a mother, Grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re sure you haven\u2019t told him?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my head, brushing strands of black hair behind my ears. \u201cNo, I haven\u2019t told anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d she said, squeezing my hands. \u201cLet\u2019s keep it that way.\u201d She rose from the bench. Her long skirts brushed the wood beams with a soft rustle. \u201cCome inside.\u201d<\/p>\n
I followed her through a wall of heavy air scented with aged wood, incense, and another vaguely medicinal smell, like menthol and pine.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Grandma didn’t pause when we passed by, but she looked over her shoulder and gave me a knowing smile. \u201cEnjoy the little things. That’s the secret, Mara.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo happiness?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
She led me onto a breezy sunporch, fragrant with flowers and citrus. A wooden table stood in the center of the room\u2014Its surface scarred with knife marks beneath a patina of multicolored wax.<\/p>\n
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. <\/i>Or rather, she made<\/i> them happen.<\/p>\n
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. \u201cIt’s from the artesian spring,\u201d she explained, arranging a few bundles of herbs, a small vial of red liquid, and a white candle.<\/p>\n
She looked up at me, summoning me with her eyes. \u201cCome up to the altar, Mara. There’s nothing to be scared of.\u201d<\/p>\n
I slid out of my sandals and stepped toward her.<\/p>\n
She looked down at my feet, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.<\/p>\n
I placed my hands on the altar, while staring at both sets of hands. Hers steady, mine shaking.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t want this baby. It’s just\u2026 I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to finish school. I’ve worked so hard and now\u2026I\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c… feel like it’s all slipping away,\u201d she finished for me.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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?<\/p>\n
\u201cYou’re sure?\u201d she asked, as if she didn’t already know.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I whispered. \u201cI can’t. Not now.\u201c<\/p>\n
Her gaze drifted out to the trees, as if listening to something far off. \u201cThis will take some time. You’ll drink it today. By tomorrow night, it\u2019ll be done.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWill it hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n
It.<\/i> Neither of us wanted to admit we were ending a life to save a life.<\/p>\n
Her hands paused over the water. \u201cIt will feel like strong cramps. Nothing you haven’t known before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd after?\u201d<\/p>\n
She dropped a bundle of dry leaves into a pestle and turned to me. \u201cAfter, you are free to live as you want, but you’ll carry this decision with you. You need to understand that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I brushed tears away with the back of my hand. \u201cI already do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grandma didn’t speak again. The soft clink of jars and rustle of grinding herbs anchored me in a way nothing else could.<\/p>\n
At one point she went to the kitchen to boil the water.<\/p>\n
When she finally handed me the steaming cup, I took it with both hands, its warmth seeping into my skin.<\/p>\n
My reflection simmered on the surface.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Grandma reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. She handed me a small green stone. \u201cGreen stones connect to the heart. Carry this as a reminder, child.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, placing the stone in my left pocket. \u201cI don’t want to hurt anyone. I just couldn’t\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
She squeezed my hand. \u201cHaving an unwanted child is worse than not having it at all,\u201d she said. \u201cHe understands.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe voice I hear is male.\u201d Her tone carried the kind of sorrow that felt ancient. \u201cThat’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.\u201d<\/p>\n
I managed a shaky nod. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She gave me a small smile. \u201cGo on home now. Rest. I’ll have Mettie drive you.\u201d<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
I hugged and kissed him goodbye at the end of my driveway.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Thanks for reading! Follow me on twitter at: https:\/\/x.com\/Valkrane<\/a><\/p>\n Like my author page on Facebook: https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61569818831489<\/a><\/p>\n