The Blood Keeper (The Blood Journals) (46 page)

Arthur. I am so sorry
.

I killed him, the man you’d known and loved for centuries. And then I went inside and waited for two weeks until you came home. I thought of running, but I waited. I had to know if you knew. If you’d expected to return to find him inside of me
.

It was a devastating, sticky afternoon, when the leaves hung limp on the oak trees and even the sparrows were too hot to sing. You drove up in that old Pontiac, and I stood on the top step of the porch in my favorite dress. It was peach colored with small oranges embroidered at the hem, do you remember?

You hopped out of the Pontiac, and there were two folks with you, Jessica and Dietrich, both dripping from the unaccustomed heat. You bounded across to me, smiling, and even though I said nothing, made no gesture of welcome, you kissed me and held my hands. You put the whole length of your body up against mine, and you breathed my name into my ear
.

“Evelyn.”

And I knew. I knew he hadn’t told you anything. I knew you expected me to be well, knew you wanted me here and wanted to marry me and wanted to spend our lives together. I knew you loved me
.

And I knew I could never, ever tell you what Gabriel had done
.

It was the day of my summer party.

I straddled a branch of the tall sycamore just to the north of the Pink House, tying long purple ribbons and crow feathers into the leaves. Silla sat below me, braiding the feathers individually with silver bells and little blue beads the color of Reese’s eyes. She finished one and glanced up, shading her eyes from the ripples of sunlight. The rings on all her fingers glinted bright. “Ready?” she called.

“Always.”

With a gentle kiss, Silla sent the feather floating up to me. It trailed ribbons and tinkling bells. I caught it gently, and stretched up to tie it over my head.

We’d gathered the feathers in the aftermath, and now more than three hundred feathered charms circled the house and yard. Everywhere I looked, Reese’s wings fluttered in the wind.

Laughter poured out of the house, where Faith oversaw Lukas and Nick as they angled chairs carefully out the front door to set up around the long picnic tables spread across the front yard. Donna was in charge of the meat, over with Eli at the grill. Hannah and Caleb played with chalk against the
garage doors. They’d drawn a huge pink and red tree full of stick figures and what might have been dogs.

Over the past two weeks, most of our extended blood family had come home. Some stayed to help rebind the curses that I could not, or to strengthen the magic of the trees. Others stopped in for a few hours, to pay homage to Arthur, and occasionally to Granny’s linden tree, as well.

Mostly, though, they came to see me.

The new Deacon.

They didn’t know my magic was not everything it had been. Even I didn’t know if it would ever be the same. It had been Silla who’d turned over my arm, inspecting the smooth, unmarked skin where my tattoos had been, and suggested my magic hadn’t vanished completely. That in time it might replenish itself the way our blood was constantly reborn.

She and Nick had returned with Donna the day after I’d burned up my magic and freed Lukas, in a pickup truck full of suitcases and cardboard boxes. Nick had helped Donna level rose ashes, and then gone into town for truckloads of volcanic stone and slate to spread out into a multihued rock garden. Silla and I had gathered up all the crow feathers, and I spent most of the first days holding them for her as she set them with preservation spells. She took me to town for a manicure and haircut, and for the first time in our acquaintance told me stories about Reese when he’d been her brother.

That night I had stood up and walked down the porch steps so that I could see the stars. Thick summer wind lifted my hair, and I listened to the quiet. Frogs chirped, and the
million cicadas screamed their songs of desire, but the trees no longer whispered to me. I’d burned their voices out of them, destroyed the man at their heart.

I’d looked back at the remains of my family sitting on the porch, Lukas using the tip of a small dagger to carve his name into the railing, Silla writing slowly in a leather journal, Nick flipping playing cards against the porch boards, trying to convince Donna that she really did want to play a hand with him and bet a flight to Oregon on the outcome.

I had thought of those kin slowly trickling back, and of Arthur and all his violet flowers. Of Gabriel and how passionately he’d loved and hated. Of Granny cupping my hands to pray. I’d thought of my dozen lost crows, and I’d thought of Will. I had so very much wanted him there, with me on the land, when there was nothing to fear and nothing to keep us from laughing.

Despite losing my magic, despite perhaps not being a very powerful Deacon, I decided to throw my summer party.

And here we were, expecting all sorts of people we knew, most of whom had never been to the land. The house had been scrubbed bare, most obvious magical paraphernalia tucked away, until it was only a farmhouse my family had owned for a handful of generations.

Ostensibly, the party was for Nick and Silla, who’d be driving out to Oregon in three days. But I knew, and they knew, that we were inviting life back into our forest. That we wanted to cover up the scars with new patterns of friendship and goodwill.

I climbed down from the trees after hanging the final crow
charm, and Silla and I stood together as the wind lifted them, spinning the feathers in tiny spirals.

Silla whispered, “Fare thee well, great heart. This earth that bears thee dead bears not alive so stout a gentleman.”

“Is that a prayer?” I asked, taking her hand.

She eyed me. “It’s Shakespeare, you heathen.”

With a laugh, I pulled away and went inside to bathe.

I took my time in water steeped with violets, pinned my hair away from my face, and slipped into a bloodred dress we’d found in Mother’s things. It fell from my shoulders in diaphanous layers, and everyone agreed it made me appear older even without any shoes, which I refused to consider.

With nothing else against my body, no rings or barrettes, no makeup or bra or necklace, I went into the kitchen for a silver cup. I filled it with cold water I’d infused with anise and honey, and carried it onto the porch.

Lanterns had been strung overhead, and torches set out for when the sun set. I smelled burning wood and greenery, saw squat vases of pink and white coneflowers set out on all the tables.

Donna came over, and I offered her the cup. She sipped, and kissed my cheek. I went to everyone, offering water and blessings. Little Caleb spilled it down his chin, and Lukas dipped in a finger and flicked some back at me. Nick suggested a nip from his flask might improve the flavor—and the magic. Faith and Eli drank together.

When all my family had imbibed, I waited at the edge of the driveway, and every guest who came was given my cup from which to drink. The butcher, our neighbors from the farmers’
market, the old couple who sold us sweet wine. Everyone who helped us survive, helped the magic survive even if they didn’t know it, had been invited. And I presented them with my cup. Most were surprised, and laughed it away, but no one refused. They made their offerings in return: we had music and plenty for the grill, colorful pasta salads and fruit Jell-O.

Our lands were admired, the pink color of the house exclaimed upon. Kids danced through the rock garden and played games in the azalea bushes. All of us caught up in conversation, about Arthur and Lyn, about old memories and the goings-on out in the world. A perfect cadence of chatter, enough to hide the silence of the trees.

I had long since retired my cup to the porch when Will and Ben and their parents arrived. I didn’t even see them at first, but Silla found me and whispered in my ear. I grabbed Donna and pulled her through the crowd of new and old friends. We met the Sangers at the edge of the crowd. I barely refrained from throwing my arms around Will, but he grinned at me all the same. His parents knew me, of course, but I introduced them to Donna, and I dragged them around to see where the food was, the coolers, and point directions into the house if they needed the toilet. All the while I stole glances at Will, my breath speeding up when I caught him looking back. My stomach twisted, and I feared suddenly that there would be distance between us.

But he was polite and as charming as I imagined a boy could be to so many strangers. He wore jeans and a green T-shirt that hugged his shoulders in a way that tightened my stomach. Silla came over to us, and he seemed at a loss for words until she
smiled sadly at him. He said, “I saw you in his memories,” and she rescued him by asking after his dogs, who she’d heard so much about, and then we were surrounded by others.

Lukas came to drag Will off and I almost died, but there were so many people, and I kept myself smiling and talking, remembering this party was a spell of its own, and just as important as any. I ate and I drank, I danced with Caleb on my hip.

The mosquitoes appeared, and there was much slapping and annoyed laughter, until the torches were lit and I saw Nick surreptitiously casting antibug wards all around the yard with Hannah’s help. The air tingled when they popped into effect, and the mosquitoes forgot about our guests’ blood.

It was sunset, and I desperately hunted around for Will. I found him at the front of the house, against the porch rail, talking with Eli and Ben and a man named Winchester who worked the stall beside ours at the farmers’ market. They were arguing through smiles about professional soccer teams. I leaned over the rail from behind and whispered into his ear, “Knock, knock.”

Tilting his head around, he said, “Who’s there?” Eli and Winchester gave us a knowing smile.

“Banana.”

Will’s eyes creased as he laughed, shaking his head, too. “Please, God, don’t remind me of
that
.”

I held out my hand. “Excuse us, friends,” I said. “I have business with Will Sanger.”

Everything about the last two weeks had been slow. Mom and Dad had forgiven us for our impromptu road trip. Probably because Ben covered for us with seamless lies. I’d passed all my finals—barely. And I snuck Havoc and Valkyrie into my bedroom every night. Set an alarm to get them out before Mom woke up in the morning.

Dad and I had a long discussion about the practicalities of me taking some time off before “furthering my education,” but I had a year to convince him before I graduated. It didn’t seem hopeless. Especially now that Ben was on my side. He argued that when it came down to it, I’d make the right choices. That Dad should trust me.

To make up for stressing Mom out, I looked up lavish recipes on the Internet that we spent hours on together in the kitchen. Seeing Mom and Dad relaxed after a great meal with smiles on their faces and their hands woven together when I came out of the kitchen with an experimental zucchini cake made life worth living.

We’d gotten the invitation in the mail just a couple of days ago. A little blue envelope with a postcard inside of a field of sunflowers. It said,
KANSAS GOLD
. On the back was a short message:
Please join us for a barbecue at five p.m. on the twenty-first, a going-away party for Silla and Nick. All family welcome!—The Prowd family
.

I showed it to Mom, who pursed her lips and stared at me thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “I’ll speak with your dad about it.”
Mab took me down through the forest, past the wide field of sunflowers, and to her silo again.

In the sunset, the tiles glared dark red and orange, like a pillar of fire. She stood before it, facing me, and her dress made it look like she’d walked out of that fire, all crackling with energy.

I didn’t know what to say. I could hardly breathe. “Come up with me?” she whispered.

I nodded, and Mab tucked that red dress up around her thighs to climb. If I’d had any doubts I was firmly back in my body again, they flat-out disappeared as I watched her move gracefully, dangerously, higher.

When she reached the top of her tower, she leaned back over and beckoned me. “Aren’t you coming, Will?” Her hair caught fire, and she was the sun. It flashed as the real sun sank lower, casting shocking color toward us from the west.

I gripped the ladder and climbed to her, head craned back, unable to take my eyes off hers. She took my hands as I arrived, and pulled me over and into her arms. Vertigo swept the hills into a spin, but I held on to Mab and focused on her. She smiled and started to talk, but I stopped her with a kiss. She tasted like the cherry dumplings someone had brought to the party: sugar and cinnamon, with a burst of hot red fruit at the edges.

Mab laughed. She wrapped her arms around my neck and lifted up off the ground. I closed my eyes, hugged her so hard her spine cracked. She squeaked, and I started to let her down, but she shook her head and gripped tighter. “Not yet,” she whispered.

I held on to her, eyes shut, breathing through the scratchy
curls that swarmed around my face. They’d picked up the smell of the grill, all smoky and delicious. I could feel her warmth through her thin dress, and had the urge to turn her around and move her hair. To kiss her where the black candle rune had been. Where I’d carved into her skin.