Bloodroots

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  It amazed Olivia how normal Skyler could look when he had to. He leaned back in his chair and looked positively bland.

  "Yes, you're very late," Miss Rose reminded Olivia now, gesturing her forward. "Dinner is always promptly at noon. But since you've already missed

  dinner today, Mathilde can get you something else to eat in the kitchen."

  "Please don't bother," Olivia said, avoiding Mathilde's lethal glare. "I'm really not that hungry. And I apologize again for being late."

  "Sit down, child, before you fall down—there— yes, right across from Skyler. Goodness, you don't look at all well"

  Miss Rose surveyed her closely, but Olivia kept her head lowered, away from Skyler's knowing eyes.

  "I can't put you to work in the kitchen," Miss Rose said, tapping her water goblet with one frail finger. "Mathilde's much too temperamental, and I'm afraid it would only cause problems for you."

  Olivia felt a surge of relief. She had no desire whatsoever to spend time in Mathilde's company, and though she considered herself quite a good cook, the thought of working in one of those miserable little outbuildings didn't appeal to her at all. That must mean she was going to help Yoly in the house. As she waited for Miss Rose's verification, Olivia felt her spirits picking up.

  "We've all discussed the situation," Miss Rose went on pleasantly, "and we've all agreed that you should work where you're needed most."

  Olivia nodded, glancing around at the shabby decor of the dining room. "I know everyone has their own way of doing things, Miss Rose, but I'll learn fast and

  hi do—"

  "Whatever Skyler says," Miss Rose broke in. "Whatever Skyler says, that's what you'll do."

  Olivia felt her heart thud down into her stomach, then ricochet back up into her throat.

  "What? What did you say?" And she knew she was

  staring, she could feel the blank expression on her face, and from the corner of her eye she could see Skyler, his eyes narrowing, a sly smile easing across his lips.

  "Skyler," Miss Rose said again, nodding in his direction. "Is there a problem?" As Olivia turned slowly toward him, Skyler leaned forward in his chair.

  "No problems, Miss Rose," Skyler said smoothly. "There're never problems when I'm in charge. You know that."

  Olivia could feel herself nodding now, like Miss Rose was nodding, could hear her own voice, strained and peculiarly faint. "The gardens?" she murmured. "Yes. The gardens. I can do that."

  "Not the gardens, Olivia." Miss Rose shook her head, smiling gently at Olivia's confusion. "The gardens are quite beautiful, and it's time the rest of the place caught up."

  She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and reached for the cane beside her chair.

  "The graves," she said simply. "You and Skyler can clean up the cemetery."

  Obediently Olivia began to undress, casting an anxious look toward the open door.

  "Ain't nobody comin' up here," Yoly assured her, intercepting her glance. "They's all downstairs. And anyways, you'd hear 'em."

  Olivia held out her blouse, then hesitated. "Even Skyler?"

  It was Yoly who glanced at the door this time. "Well. . . only if he wanted you to."

  The muddy skirt slid to the floor, and Yoly bent to pick it up, her voice matter-of-fact.

  "You ain't never had a man before, have you, child?"

  Startled, Olivia stared at her. Yoly straightened up again, casting her a knowing look.

  "Innocent thing." Yoly spoke between clenched teeth and turned her head away. "That's just what I thought," she muttered. "But I has to be sure."

  Olivia didn't know what to say. Confusion and indignation struggled across her face, but Yoly wasn't paying any attention.

  "Why did you ask me that?" Olivia demanded.

  "You just finish dressin'." Yoly's tone ended the matter, and Olivia turned back uneasily to her clothes.

  She pulled Mathilde's blouse on over her head, then stared down at it in dismay. The cotton was so thin and flimsy it was almost transparent, and there was an opening in front that reached almost to her waist. As Olivia tried in vain to close it, Yoly made an impatient sound in her throat.

  "Don't you know nothin'? That's what this here ribbon's for." She yanked the blouse together, and now Olivia could see the tiny holes on either side of the gap as Yoly wove them quickly together. The ribbon was frayed, starting to unravel at one end, and

  BLOOD RO O T S

  even after Yoly had tied it in a fragile bow, the low neckline barely covered Olivia's breasts. Determinedly, she tried to lift it higher, but Yoly only shook her head at her.

  "Don't matter," she said solemnly. "It ain't gonna stay."

  "Well, maybe if I could just pin it—"

  "Child, nothings gonna help you, no matter what you do to that blouse." Yoly closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head again. "Why'd you ever come here, child? I'm only sayin' this for your own good—"

  "I can take care of myself."

  The words came out like a challenge, but as Olivia drew herself up and started to say more, the look on Yoly's face stopped her. For just the briefest moment she'd seen something there—something half sad . . . almost frightened—and her heart went cold, though she didn't know why.

  "Well, you better," Yoly said under her breath. "You sure better."

  Abruptly she headed back to the door. Olivia pulled the skirt on and started after her.

  "Yoly—wait."

  The black woman turned with a suspicious look. Olivia stopped a few feet away and stared at her helplessly.

  "I didn't mean to sound like that. I'm tired and mixed up. You've been nice to me and I shouldn't have—"

  "Don't trust nobody." Yoly's eyes went even darker, and once more a chill went through Olivia's heart.

  "Not even you?"

  For an endless moment Yoly's stare pulled her in . . . held her . . . then let her go. Without a word the black woman vanished, leaving Olivia alone.

  She rubbed her arms briskly, urging the goose bumps away. The heat was stifling, but she was deathly cold. She closed her eyes and heard Yoly's voice nagging in her mind. "Nothin's gonna help you, no matter what you do to that blouse ..."

  And what did you mean by that f Yoly? What did you mean about me being innocent? What were you trying to say?

  "Don't trust nobody . . ."

  She thought of Skyler. She thought of his face and his secretive smile and the way his brows arched above his green eyes when he said one thing and meant something wickedly different.

  She wondered how Miss Rose could have done this—forcing them to be together—but of course Miss Rose didn't know, Miss Rose couldn't know what Skyler had done, how Skyler had seen her, how Skyler had touched her—or surely she wouldn't be so cruel as to make Olivia face him again.

  But it will work out all right. It will work out, and everything will be fine. It will give me time to plan my strategy, time to watch and wait, time to feel nothing, nothing at all. . .

  "But I don't feel anything," Olivia mumbled, and she was frowning, arguing with herself, going out onto the gallery, walking slowly along the wall in the direction of the stairway. "I don 7 feel anything, so why did I even think that?"

  Her leg was throbbing—her head was throbbing— she pressed her hands to her temples and started down. She thought about the cemetery and all the work that needed to be done. She thought about the mausoleum and the figure she'd seen there that morning. She thought about Jesse and wondered where he was. And as her foot dropped down to the next step

  BLOOD ROOTS

  she was thinking about Skyler again when she realized there was nothing below her but air.

  Screaming, Olivia pitched forward and grabbed wildly for the railing. Her hands scraped old wood and splinters, and she heard a crack as they came apart in her hands. For one split second she saw the wall—the roof—then a slow-motion somersault of moss and mist and empty air as she plunged over the side of the stairwell.

  There wasn't time to s
cream again. From some remote awareness, she knew her body was preparing to hit the brick and stone spinning up to meet her, and her mind began to fade . . .

  She never hit the veranda.

  Instead of the hard ground, Olivia felt the hard strength of a body, and as arms closed around her, she looked up into a familiar face.

  "You should be more careful." Skyler grinned. "One of these times you really will hurt yourself."

  "Let me go!" Thoroughly shaken, Olivia squirmed in his grasp, but he only held her tighter.

  "Now, is that any way to treat someone who saved your life— again?"

  Her arms were wedged against his chest so that she couldn't pull away. "I mean it, Skyler." She was trembling violently, but her voice was deathly calm. "Put me down. I hate being held this way."

  The green eyes sparkled. "That didn't feel like hate to me back there at the bayou. As a matter of fact, you were a lot more agreeable when you were feeling desperate. Why, who knows just how desperate you'll feel the next time you're in trouble."

  "Put me down," Olivia whispered. "Now. Please."

  A laugh sounded deep in his throat. She felt his chin against her cheek, but she couldn't turn her head.

  "But I kind of like this arrangement/' he murmured. "And you remember what Miss Rose said? Whatever I say, that's what you do."

  Without warning he swung her to the ground and released her. She struggled to catch her balance and he reached out to steady her, his eyes doing a quick, thorough sweep of her body.

  "Very nice," he nodded approvingly. "But don't let Mathilde see you in those. She's liable to rip them right off you. Wouldn't that be a shame."

  Olivia jerked free of his touch. She watched as he moved to the stairway, watched his fingers sliding lightly along the broken banister. Halfway up, he bent to examine one of the steps and gave a long, low whistle.

  "Well . . . well. . . looks like something's missing."

  "What did you think?" Olivia said stiffly. "That I fell on purpose?"

  Skyler straightened up again. He brushed his hands off on one leg of his jeans.

  "The step's been cut. Deliberately, if I had to make a guess." He folded his arms across his chest and a lazy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You've only been here one day. Do you always make enemies this fast?"

  Olivia could feel her nerve faltering. She moved closer to the staircase but stayed on the ground, careful to keep distance between herself and Skyler.

  "But that doesn't make sense," she reasoned. "Why would someone deliberately try to hurt me?"

  Skyler's eyebrow rose. "Devereaux House is famous for unexplained accidents. Didn't Yoly tell you that?"

  "She told me to watch the steps," Olivia said, meeting his eyes with forced calm. "She told me that

  some of them were rotten, and that I should look where I was going."

  "And are you?" Skyler's gaze slid over her again. "Are you looking where you're going?"

  His eyes returned to her face. For an endless moment they watched her, and as she looked away, flustered, she saw their gleam of amusement.

  "Well, I'll give you a little advice, then." He shook his head, eyes widening in mock seriousness. "Be careful what you walk into around here. Especially with your eyes . . . wide . . . open ..." Without warning he jumped to the ground beside her, landing lightly as a cat. "Come on. We have lots to do."

  Olivia stood there, not moving. She heard the crunch of his footsteps heading off through the trees behind her. She heard him pause, and then she heard the sly smile in his voice as he called back to her.

  "If I were you ... I'd watch my back."

  She whirled around, but he was gone, and reluctantly she hurried to catch up.

  The afternoon was passing, and though the fog had dissipated nearer the house, a trace of it still hovered lightly over the gardens. Olivia tried not to follow Skyler too closely—just enough to keep him in sight as he walked ahead through the maze of green enclosures. Neither of them spoke, and Skyler moved quickly, sure of himself and the way he was going. They could almost have been walking through a dream, Olivia thought idly, weaving in and out through leaves, through flowers, through mist—and without really meaning to, she allowed herself the luxury of imagining, her mind drifting as peacefully as the fog around her. She was the mistress of Devereaux House, strolling through her peaceful domain, and

  had she but chosen to turn around and gaze behind her, the house would rise up in all its breathtaking, romantic beauty, welcoming and safe and full of lovely promises . . .

  She stumbled over a broken statue, and Skyler's chuckle brought her back to reality.

  "Hurry up." He shook his head with that patronizing smile. "Watch where you're going."

  And as Olivia stood and watched Skyler move off ahead of her, she was suddenly angry that he should be living here—that she was the one who had to hide her identity— he should be working for me, doing everything I say, Vm the one who really belongs here, not him, not any of them, just Miss Rose and me . . .

  She quickened her pace as she realized that Skyler had disappeared from view, but she found him again easily enough, standing just inside the cemetery, gazing around it with a critical eye. As he moved toward a low-hanging oak and brushed the moss aside, she noticed a variety of tools lying on the ground—shovels, pickaxes, hoes, clippers, even several pairs of garden shears. Letting her gaze linger on them only a moment, she turned her attention accusingly on Skyler.

  "It was you here this morning, wasn't it? You must have been working here, and then you hid."

  Skyler's eyes completed their circuit of the graveyard, then settled back on her, more apathetic than interested.

  "This is going to be a nasty job," he said.

  "It was you," Olivia insisted. "You were hiding here, spying on me. You wanted me to run, didn't you, so I'd go to the bayou, and then you could push me in. You wanted to scare me—"

  "If I wanted to scare you," Skyler said slowly, "I wouldn't need a graveyard to do it." He bent over and examined one of the shovels. "What the hell are you talking about anyway?"

  Olivia stopped, suddenly confused. Skyler squatted down and picked up the clippers, snapping the jaws together with a loud click.

  "Someone was here," Olivia went on, watching his face closely. "Standing right over there. By the mausoleum."

  Skyler's expression didn't change. "So you ran."

  "Yes. Of course I ran."

  His glance slid toward her, then away. His mouth tightened in a peculiar sort of smile. "As if it would do any good," he murmured.

  "What do you mean by that?" Olivia stared at him, but he got up and walked away. He stopped again beside one of the tombs and rested one foot comfortably on top.

  "And what makes you think it was me? Haunting the graveyard this morning?"

  He took out a pack of cigarettes. He struck a match and held the flame up, cupping his hand around it. Smoke curled like an aura around his head. His elbows seemed permanently stained from rich, damp earth, and there were scratches running along the hard, wiry muscles of his arms. Olivia opened her mouth but then closed it again. Skyler watched beneath hooded eyes.

  "Have you ever spent the night in a cemetery?" he asked unexpectedly. She struggled to hide her revulsion, but knew he had seen it register on her face. "Here." He hid a smile as he tossed her a trowel. "Start digging."

  "Digging?"

  "For weeds."

  "You can't be serious. It'll take forever to get all these."

  "What do I care about time?" Skyler shrugged. He squinted off across the crowded graves, his voice thoughtful. "What do they?"

  Olivia followed his stare, the cemetery moldering around them like an ancient city of ruins. In spite of the heat she shivered.

  "It's just. . .it's so..."

  "Dead." His eyes were on her again now, gleaming, that maddening smile lurking just below the surface. "Don't tell me you're afraid . . ." His voice sank as he straightened and moved closer. "You and I bot
h know that dead people can't hurt you."

  Olivia took a step back. Skyler stopped and blew out a slow, thin stream of smoke, as if her reflex amused him.

  "It's the spiders you have to watch out for. As big as your fist." He was watching her carefully, gauging her reactions though she was trying so hard to conceal them. "And the bats. Oh, yes, bats take over the tombs after a while. And snakes, of course. Big ones. Black .. . poisonous. Who can tell?" He waved his arms in an inclusive gesture. "All these weeds . . . and weeds .. . and weeds. They could be anywhere."

  Olivia met his stare coldly, but he only chuckled and walked back over to the gardening tools. Gritting her teeth, she knelt down beside one of the tombs and dug tentatively through the grass with her trowel.

  They worked in silence, each in separate corners, Skyler tackling dead stumps and tree roots, Olivia concentrating on impossible tangles of weeds. She

  found herself wondering just how long the weeds had been growing there, for they seemed stubbornly determined to stay, sprouting from the crumbling plaster, crawling from crevices in the stone. Each time she had to give a hard pull, she held her breath, fearful that the whole tomb would give way without warning. After a while she held up her hands and winced, seeing the blisters forming, and then she rocked back on her heels to rest. The air pressed down like a wet, smelly blanket. It was insufferably hot.

  "Did you bring gloves?" she called to Skyler. He paused and leaned on his shovel. At some time he'd taken his shirt off, and his lean, sun-bronzed body glistened with sweat.

  "What's wrong?" he called back.

  "Work gloves? I'm getting blisters."

  He shook his head and resumed digging. Olivia swore under her breath and continued her way down the side of the tomb. Here more weeds clung determinedly to the fragile foundation, and she had to bend low to get a good hold. She was crouched on her knees behind the tomb when she heard Mathilde come into the cemetery.

  There was something almost mesmerizing about Mathilde's voice—the lyrical, singsong sound of it as she called Skyler's name—yet something told Olivia to stay down out of sight. She eased flat onto her stomach and peeked around the corner of the tomb just in time to see Mathilde grab Skyler around the neck and cover him with kisses, molding her body sinuously against every curve of his. For a second Olivia wondered if Mathilde had surprised him, for Skyler didn't react right away, just stood there, hands on his shovel. But then the shovel dropped to the