The Blood Keeper (The Blood Journals) (8 page)

I frowned and glanced toward the crows weighing down the branches of Granny’s linden tree. “The crows aren’t interested, either.”

“You don’t know that.” Silla stepped away from me and pointed sharply at them. “My brother wanted to live. He wanted to go to school and be a farmer, he wanted our family’s land, and to grow up and get married and have, like, a half dozen kids, Mab. You never knew him. You can’t know what he would have wanted.”

“I know what he wants now, and that is magic and flight. You don’t know who he is, because you never listen to him.”

“He can’t talk, Mab, he’s
crows
. Don’t you see? I’ve spent so much energy just to be able to hear him talk again!”

“But not for him.” I leaned in on my toes, to make myself as tall as she was. “Only for you. You’ve only ever done any of this for you. You’re selfish!
You
want Reese back.
You
want to turn him into a man again. You, you, you. Did you ever think why Arthur didn’t clap his hands and create Reese a new body? He could have, you know, he could have done that in a half a day—my God, I could do it myself in three! But Arthur did not give Reese a human body no matter how many times you begged, because
Reese never asked
.” I stumbled back, surprised at my own vehemence.

And Silla, who I’d always admired for the way her barrettes matched her cowboy boots, for the smooth polish on her nails and the graceful way she drew runes; Silla, who made me feel, with my unkempt hair and holey jeans, like nothing so much as an explosion; that Silla’s face cracked open for the briefest moment and she said, “And so Josephine has taken everything from me.”

The silence then was a hole in the world, deep enough to
draw Nick and Donna out of the house to observe the final wound.

In that moment, I only thought about my mother’s pride and boldness, not any of the horrible things she’d done. I drew myself up, and wind from all around pushed hair exactly like hers back from my face and shoulders. I said, “Reese was not taken away from you. You lost him.”

Her eyes glared past me, flicking among all the crows, and as one they raised open their wings as if about to leap into the sky.

“Let’s go, Reese, come home with me,” Silla said, turning away and walking smoothly toward Nick’s SUV. “Nick,” she snapped, and I saw him grimace at Donna and dash around to the driver’s side. He only glanced at me, a look that was half apology, half irritation, as he turned the engine over and slammed shut his door.

Silla climbed up so that she stood halfway into the tall car, one hand gripping the silver bars on the roof for leverage. “Reese!” she called.

One crow called back, a single, echoing cry.

We all waited. I only watched, my heart racing so fast I thought the blood might pop out of my fingertips. The crows perched behind me, and I felt their strength tingle against my back.

“Reese.” Silla’s voice was quieter now, though firm.

I heard the wind in the leaves and the solemn sound of crows settling in. They were not jumping into flight. They remained. At my back.

And it broke Silla’s heart.

It was no wonder she hadn’t called to invite us to her graduation. And no wonder Nick wasn’t too happy with me.

And now the crows flew overhead in a sunwise circle, sharp black silhouettes against the sky. I felt my spirit lift in my chest as I watched them; despite my dark thoughts, I was lighter and wished to step off the edge and float with them, to fly joyous circles and laugh rough and raw.

As the world darkened into shades of gray and purple, I crouched and pulled out my sharp bone blood-letter. The crows landed in the redbud, shaking the bells and wind chimes into merry, discordant song.

It was as much the Deacon’s responsibility to tend the blood family as it was to protect the land. My charms, one for every person marked by our magic, were here to remind me of that. Arthur had been loved by everyone, and so easily gained trust and respect. I had to try much harder not to say the wrong thing, or to put people off by my wild nature. I forgot to wipe blood off my mouth before going to the library, or left squirrel bones tied in my hair for the farmers’ market. I allowed a doll of earth and roses to run rampant, and left muddy, bloody handprints on the chest of the boy who stopped it.

I forgot that most people value human life over a crow’s.

The hardest thing I had to do as Deacon was to remember I was part of a family.

As always, I turned to magic for help. Under the shadows of my redbud tree, I pricked my tattooed wrist: the shock of pain shuddered through me, and I welcomed the rush of power
that tingled just behind it, filling my body and raising goose bumps on my arms.

With my blood, I marked my forehead, my heart, my palms, and the soles of my feet. I spread out on my back, making a five-point star with my head at the top. “I bind myself,” I said, blowing the words up to the first stars that glimmered through the curtain of purple sky.

“To the land I bind my heart,” I said. Above me all my charms dangled, dancing in the breeze. They were my family, tied to my tree, and my tree rooted deep in the land.

“To the land I bind my head.” I thought of Arthur, enveloped in a hundred purple flowers, part of the land forever. Of Granny buried under her linden tree.

“I bind my hands, that I may work for the magic and for the land.” I thought of Donna and Nick, wishing I could bind their hearts as a mother and son. And I thought of Silla, who was as much a part of this family as me but always thought she was alone.

“I bind my feet, that my every step be for the blood land, my every dance weave life between the earth and myself.” Now there was Pan, to be shown the patterns of magic. To be healed.

“Finally, I bind my dreams.” The crows flapped their wings, pushing warm, sticky wind down onto me.

With the blood-letter, I broke the skin over my womb, where the roots of my magic grew. I took a finger and drew lines spilling out from it, a star of blood over my belly.

I said, “I bind myself.”

I was the center.

You’d built the farmhouse yourself, just after the First World War: a two-story wood and brick home with an attic and storm cellar, at the top of a wild hill. I settled quickly into the bedroom in the northwest corner, and from my window I could see the whole of the front yard, stretching untamed from the porch to the ring of oak trees crowning the hill. There was plenty of space for a garden. Vegetables and herbs, I thought. Perhaps some roses
.

The three of us ate dinner that evening, a meal I insisted on cooking. You already kept the kitchen tidy, and plenty of butter in the larder. I whipped up a goulash with the last of the paprika from my grandmother’s hoard, wrapped in an old handkerchief she’d had straight from her own mother. Both you and Gabriel ate until you nearly popped your buttons, and I remember thinking it was kind of you, regardless of how well you truly liked my food
.

We gathered in the parlor with hot applesauce and cream, me on the delicate sofa and you and Gabriel lounging on rugs near the fire. The space filled with warmth, and although I felt the sorrow and loneliness of losing my family still crouched in my heart, your gentle eyes and Gabriel’s crackling energy soothed it
.

“What do you want here, Evie?” Gabriel asked as he set aside his bowl and leaned back onto both his hands. In the firelight his slick hair glinted like oil
.

You touched his wrist with just a flick of your fingers, and he shrugged one shoulder. “She isn’t offended, Arthur,” he said
.

“No, I’m not.” I took in his relaxed posture, and the way you, too, seemed to have softened into the room, with your boots off and your back reclined against the arm of the sofa. “It’s your home, and of course you should know what I want.” I bent and unbuttoned the ankles of my shoes, slipping my feet out and tucking them up under me. You followed the motion with your eyes, and Gabriel grinned as he stretched like a cat
.

“He never told me what you wrote in your letter,” you said, finally
.

I spoke directly to you: “My older brother died in France, and my mother of a weak heart last year. Father vanished a month ago, and the authorities suspect he was robbed and murdered. I performed what magic I could to find him, and he is not to be found.” I sighed as prettily as possible. “There was nothing for me to do but pay his debts, which were few to my fortune, and seek work. I remembered Gabriel from a visit just after the war, that he’d mentioned living here in Kansas where there is always work for a strong man and land all around. A city, perhaps, would be better suited to a young girl needing a place, but he spoke of the prairie with such”—here my eyes strayed to Gabriel—“such hunger and pride, it invoked the first desire I’d felt since Father disappeared.”

Gabriel’s smile curled deeper and he leaned forward. “Creating desire is a particular skill of mine.”

His insinuation made my eyelashes flutter, and I focused on keeping my hands relaxed in my lap. I raised my chin and said, “My girlfriends and the headmistress of my school warned me of coming to two men, no matter how I insisted we were related. I indicated the relation was much closer than it is.” I had no idea if our mutually powerful blood suggested
there was any truth in the claim, but it had worked with my would-be protectors in Chicago
.

You said with quiet assurance, “It was well done, and no lie. In the eyes of God, certainly, our blood is connected.”

I was able to meet your glance, glad to hear you voice the connection I felt already. “I did allow,” I admitted, shakily, “that if they do not have news of me within the month, to send the authorities here to you, to say you had no doubt done horrible things to me.”

Gabriel laughed again and got to his feet. “I like you, Evie. You have the courage of a blue jay—yelling and beating away birds five times your size to protect what’s yours.”

“And you do not need protection from us,” you added. “You’re safe, Miss Sonnenschein, here.”

I allowed myself a smile. “That is what I need, and all I want in addition is to be busy. To build a garden, perhaps, and cook and sew and learn the land. For now.”

All during the train ride from Chicago, I’d held dear the hope that you would offer me a home, knowing it was temporary. While I grew and learned, while I found my happiness again. After a few years I would take the train to Kansas City for college, would find a calling beyond the garden, then find a good man and raise my own family
.

But already those imaginings were breaking into little pieces. Every time you looked at me, a shard of my old dreams fell away
.

You would not let me clean the kitchen because it was my first night, instead dragging Gabriel in to help you. As the two of you banged around, as Gabriel lifted his voice in an old French song I could not understand, I walked outside into the darkness with the handkerchief of ground paprika
.

Cold wind brushed the trees together, making me shiver in the thin blue dress I’d worn under my coat all the way from Chicago. It was darker than
any night I’d ever seen, and the stars sprinkled across the sky like spilled salt. I rolled off my stockings and shuffled through the high, wild grass to the southwest corner of the house, which I thought would be best for my garden. Here there would be both shade and sun, where the hill cut down steeply enough that the trees didn’t grow too near the house
.

Kneeling, I dug into the cool earth with my fingers, sifting through the loamy soil. There I set down my grandmother’s mother’s handkerchief, with its little bits of paprika dust. I spilt three drops of blood over it and buried it all with a short prayer that it would settle my spirit and make roots for my heart
.

I dreamed about crazy-sharp rose thorns and struggles in the dark. When I woke up, sweat stuck the sheets to me. My mouth was a wasteland, and my chest ached. I stumbled to the bathroom. I rinsed and brushed and swished Listerine—twice. I was rewarded with a few minutes free of it, but by the time I finished my shower it was creeping back with a hint of blood. So was the quick memory of a rose petal falling out of my mouth onto the messed-up face of a mud monster.