Bad Blood

by Demitria Lunetta

  My aunt leaves me to my thoughts as we drive the rest of the way home, leaves me to the silent tears that flow down my face. She understands that sometimes you just have to cry.

  “HEATHER!” FIONA BURSTS through the doors, a hurricane of red hair and vanilla body wash. “I brought snacks and some films and gossip about…Where’s Abbie?”

  “Out with friends.”

  “The librarians are having a pish-up,” Asha says from the doorway. With Fiona’s grand entrance I hadn’t even noticed her there. “My dad too.” Her long black hair is pulled into a high ponytail.

  “Translation,” Fiona says loudly. “They’re out to get drunk.”

  I roll my eyes. They act as if I’m a complete foreigner.

  “Okay,” I say, leading them into the living room. “First things first. Gossip.” Before my aunt left she told me she knew it was hard, but I should enjoy myself. She didn’t want me sitting around worrying about her or Gram, since there was nothing either of us could do about it.

  “You mean about Asha’s sex life?” Fiona screeches as she tumbles onto the couch, stretching her long legs out and putting her hands behind her head. “Maybe she’ll give you the details, because she doesnae tell me.”

  Asha throws a pillow at her and sits next to me on the floor. I smile, remembering Robby’s pillow fight comment. “That’s personal,” she tells Fiona with a huff. Asha has more of a posh, “proper” Scottish accent than Fiona.

  “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” I say. “How is it going with you two? How did you convince your parents it was time to let you date?” I ask Asha.

  “I promised it wouldn’t interfere with my studies or my internship. I asked them to trust me, and they do.”

  “That would never work on my parents,” I say. Not that I’ve given them much reason to trust me.

  “Yeah, so all those sham group outings ended,” Fiona chimes in. “Asha and Duncan were always coupling off anyway, and I was stuck with Robby.”

  “Like you minded that,” Asha shoots back. “You’re the one always going on about how cute he is.”

  “Whoa,” I cut in. “Hold up. Robby. Our Robby. Dorky, short, chubby Robby?”

  Asha and Fiona exchange a glance. “Heather, you haven’t seen him in what, a year? He’s grown up quite a bit.”

  “Okay, I’ve seen him on Instagram.”

  “Those goofy pics?” Asha laughs. “He just does those for a laugh. He’s actually quite cute.”

  “He’s really, really fit,” Fiona confirms. “Not that I’m sweet on him or anything, but a girl can look, cannae she?”

  “More like drool,” Asha jokes, and this time she’s the one who gets smacked in the face with a pillow.

  “Are you guys teasing me? The old ‘let’s make fun of Heather because she’s American’ bit?” I ask.

  “No, he really is hot now,” Fiona tells me. I look to Asha.

  She shrugs. “He’s changed. I think he’s actually been changing for a few years now, but you’re so hung up on Alistair, you never took a proper look at Robby.”

  “I am not hung up on Alistair,” I protest. “I just think he’s a good person.”

  “Oh, Alistair,” Fiona says in a mocking falsetto. “You’re such a good person. And you’re so big and strong. Can I help you toss your caber?”

  My face warms. I try to change the subject from my longtime unrequited crush. “Well, I’ll get to witness Robby’s miraculous transformation for myself soon. I’m seeing him tomorrow afternoon at his ghost tour thingy.”

  “Woooo, Robby in a kilt,” Fiona sighs. “I believe our Heather is in for a treat.”

  I laugh. “I don’t know what spell you two are under, but I’ve known Robby…forever. I’m sure I’m immune to his charms.”

  “We’ll see.” Asha shrugs. “Hey, whatever happened with you and Derrick?”

  “Derrick?” He was a guy I hung out with last year, but there was no chemistry. We both liked movies, but he was into pretentious foreign films and acting like he knew everything. “We broke up. We weren’t really compatible.”

  “Meaning…the sex wasn’t good?” Fiona asks with a mischievous smirk.

  “Okaaaaay.” I clap my hands together and ignore her. There’s no need to discuss my utter lack of any experience when it comes to boys. “I need some candy.”

  “Sweets for everyone!” Fiona yells, throwing the candy up in the air. Asha rolls her eyes, then lets out a laugh.

  “I don’t know how you can eat all that processed rubbish.”

  “Well,” Fiona says, taking a mouthful of chocolate, “when your mom pretty much lets you do whatever you want and owns an organic foods café, the only way to rebel is to eat this processed rubbish.”

  Asha shrugs. “I’m training for a 10K. Either of you want to run with me tomorrow, just up to Hollyrood Park and the Crags?”

  Hollyrood Park has the highest point in Edinburgh. It’s a pain to hike up to the top, much less run to it. To be honest, I’m not the most athletic of people. I’d rather watch a movie than take a run. Fiona puts my thoughts into words. “That sounds dreadful.”

  “I like to run,” Asha defends herself. “It clears the mind.”

  “If my mind were any clearer, it would be empty,” Fiona tells us with a grin.

  “Yeah, Asha, I’m out too.” Last time I went for a run with her I barely got half a mile before my legs cramped up and I felt like I was going to die. “I’ll go for a walk with you, though, if you’re ever interested.”

  “Okay, but what are we going to do tonight?” Fiona asks, reaching for another candy bar. “I brought some films.”

  “Anything scary?” I ask.

  “Nope…romantic comedies.”

  “Sounds good,” Asha says. She’s always been a sucker for a good romance, even when we were little.

  “Well, I just downloaded a movie called Blood Dawn.” I pointedly ignore the fact that Asha looks like she just smelled something bad. “It’s about vampires….”

  “Oh, I’d watch that,” Asha says, relieved.

  “Um…well, they’re not exactly the sexy, eternal-love vampires…they’re more like the rip-out-your-throat-and-eat-your-face vampires.”

  Asha’s relieved look fades.

  “Hey,” Fiona cuts in, “as much as I love being scared out of my pants, how about we watch the rom-com first…then we can watch Bloody Mess.”

  “Blood Dawn,” I correct her.

  “That’s what I said. And after that we can watch TV, because James McAvoy is on a chat show and I dinnae want to miss a minute of my future husband’s dreamy, perfect face.” She does this sigh thing and stares off into the distance. Asha and I glance at each other and laugh.

  “Fine, then shove over,” Asha says, moving onto the couch. “Give me one of those Yorkie bars,” she says with a shrug. “Might as well enjoy myself.”

  “Should we order pizza?” I ask.

  “Aye!” Fiona shouts. “Extra cheese, pepperoni, and sausage.”

  Asha makes a disgusted face. “Half that, half plain cheese?” I ask, and Asha gives me a grateful nod.

  And when the pizza arrives and we all grab slices, laughing and joking, I almost forget all the things that are wrong with my life.

  I’m having trouble getting to sleep when I hear a key scrape against the door before it finally turns in the lock and my aunt stumbles into the flat. I get up from my makeshift bed of blankets on the floor.

  “Heather! What are you doing up?” she asks loudly.

  “Shhhh, Fiona and Asha are asleep,” I whisper. We head to the kitchen and I let out a laugh as she slumps into a chair with a grin. “And you’re drunk!”

  “I am no’ drunk!” she denies loudly. “But I am an adult whom…whom…” She can’t seem to remember what she was about to say. “You know what would be fantastic right now?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Chips!” she shouts.

  I laugh. “I think that can be arrange
d.” There’s a chip shop right on the corner that’s open really late.

  “Smashing!” she calls out. “Wake your friends and see if they want some too.”

  “As if anyone could sleep through that.” Asha appears in the kitchen, Fiona trailing behind.

  “Great. Join us for a midnight snack.”

  “More like a two a.m. snack,” I correct Aunt Abbie.

  “You seem well,” Asha says, hugging my aunt.

  “Better than well, she seems absolutely tip-top.” Fiona also gives her a hug and they sit at the table while I run downstairs to the chip shop. When I return and put down the bundle of chips, my aunt yells, “Beautiful!” and we all dig in.

  “I’m going to bed,” Aunt Abbie declares when we’re finished, wiping her chin with a napkin. “Dinnae wake me in the morning.”

  “We won’t,” we say in unison, which causes a fit of giggling.

  Soon Fiona is back on the couch, snoring away. Asha and I get comfortable on the floor.

  “Your aunt looks good,” she says. “From what my father told me, I was afraid…”

  I want to tell her about the chemo not working and how Abbie isn’t doing very well, but I don’t want to ruin the evening.

  “Yeah, she doesn’t seem sick at all.”

  Asha gives me a smile before rolling over, and soon the sound of her breathing is deep and even. I can’t sleep, though; I have too much on my mind.

  Not to mention the dread of what new horrors might haunt my dreams.

  PRIMROSE AND I cross the threshold together, and Mam looks up from the table. It is brimming with plants and flowers, beautiful and fragrant. Before her is her grimoire. The book holds all her secrets. Da is to never see it, never to ken about it.

  Mam smiles her broad, kind grin. “Sit, lassies. Your da is expected back tonight, so this is our last lesson for a while.”

  We eagerly go to the table, settling in on either side of Mam. I stare at the grimoire, so close all I have to do is reach out and touch its pages. But I stop myself. That book is full of magic. No’ the magic of fairy tales, which are just made-up stories, but real magic. Magic that uses the power of herbs and flowers and nature. Magic that heals.

  Still, my fingers ache to touch the book, each page painstakingly handwritten, each illustration drawn with care. I sit on my hands. One day the book will be mine, mine and Primrose’s, but no’ today. Today I have to listen and pay attention and no’ let my thoughts wander, not like Primrose. When I pinch her and whisper for her to pay attention she says, “It isnae my fault I would rather be outside, the earth between my toes, the Highland wind in my hair.”

  “Primrose.” Mam’s voice snaps us out of our squabble. “You always have your mind in the clouds, lass.” I beam, self-satisfied, but then she fixes her knowing eyes on me and I hang my head, chastised.

  “Prudence, I want you to name this plant.” She points to one on the table, a wildflower with fernlike leaves and creamy white petals. I reach for it and inhale the fragrance, syrupy and nutty.

  “Meadowsweet,” I say, placing it back on the table. Mam looks at me expectantly and I continue. “It treats fever and pain.” I ken them all by heart, but Mam likes to test us to be sure. There’s nothing worse than using the wrong ingredients in a physic. What is supposed to heal someone may very well kill them if used incorrectly.

  She turns to Primrose, pointing to a different flower. “Saint Columba’s plant,” Prim says without hesitation. She also knows all the plants by heart. She wants to impress Mam. “Gives courage to the craven.”

  Mam’s eyes are on me once again. She points to a flower that I have never seen before. “I cannae name it,” I confess. “It doesnae grow around here, does it?”

  “No,” Mam confirms. “It comes from the continent…it’s anise. It prevents bad dreams.” She hands it to me so I can familiarize myself with it, then gives it to Primrose, who studies it dutifully.

  Satisfied, Mam next takes a bundle of cloth from the table and opens it, showing the contents to each of us in turn. “And what is this?”

  “Belladonna,” Primrose and I say together.

  Mam nods. “Deadly nightshade. Poisonous. In small amounts it can be used to lessen pain.”

  She wraps the berries back up and puts them back on the table. “We should do something different today,” she tells us, and my eyes snap to Primrose, who grins. We’ve been waiting for this for a long time. We’ve been waiting on magic.

  Mam consults her grimoire and then takes a sampling of herbs from the table. She explains as she works how each flower, each herb, each ingredient, must be in perfect proportion. She drops them all in a bowl and crushes them with a pestle.

  “Magic isnae about witches and fairies and ghosties,” Mam tells us. “It’s about pulling on nature’s energy. It’s about knowledge and intent.” She rolls up her sleeve, revealing a scabbed gash that runs along the side of her arm from her wrist to her elbow.

  “I cut myself when I fell on the hill the other day, and I dinnae want your father to ken.” I grimace. Father gets angry over silly things sometimes. We’ve each felt his lash, Primrose more often than Mam or myself. She eyes me, wondering if I will try to correct Mam’s use of ken, but I dinnae dare.

  Mam takes the mixture from the bowl and dabs it on the middle of the wound. “Some women like to chant when they apply their salves,” she tells us. “It helps them concentrate, allows them to focus their intent. But I have always found words distract my attention.”

  She looks from me to Primrose and back again. “This salve will heal a wound, no matter who applies it. It will clean and help the skin knit together, and in a week or so the scab will fall off, and in a few years the scar will fade. The magic,” she says, “is what we add to the mixture. It is us. We pull energy from nature and channel it through ourselves. Few can do what we do.”

  She takes her apron and wipes her arm. Where once there was an uninterrupted gash, the wound is now in two parts, one near the wrist and one near the elbow. The middle is completely healed. I gasp.

  Mam urges us to try, and Primrose and I each mix a salve. I apply mine to the lower part of Mam’s arm; Primrose applies hers to the top. When Mam wipes them both off, the wound on the top is completely healed, as if she’d never hurt herself.

  Primrose grins. Magic is easy for her. It isn’t for me. The gash is still apparent near Mam’s wrist, and actually looks a bit worse. It has begun to ooze, dripping blood into the bowl I’ve used to mix her salve.

  My face tightens, and I know my expression is sour.

  “I will try again, Mam,” I tell her, grabbing the bowl. I’m embarrassed I’ve failed. I hate always being second best.

  “No!” Mam screams, slapping the bowl from my hands. Her look of shock echoes my own as she grabs me by the shoulders. “Dinnae ever mix blood into a potion. Do you ken?”

  I nod, fear coursing through me. Mam turns to Primrose. “Understand?”

  “Yes, but what if a wound is bleeding?” she asks.

  She takes a few breaths. “Only accomplished healers can dress a bleeding wound with magic. There is power in blood. Remember what I told you about intent?”

  “Aye.”

  “I can heal a wound without drawing on the magic of the blood, but you girls need to stay away from it altogether. That’s why I waited a few days for my wound to scab.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Why cannae we use the blood, if it is so powerful?”

  “Blood Magic is dark and shouldnae be trifled with,” Mam snaps at me. “We draw power from nature, no’ ourselves,” she says quietly. “If you were to use your own life force to heal, where would that leave you? Blood Magic is used to harm, no’ to help. Promise me that neither of you will ever try it.”

  “Aye, Mam,” I say. Primrose just nods.

  She tells Primrose to mix more salve while she cleans up the mess on the floor, wiping the blood from her arm. I sit and sulkily watch. I could have made another salve. I could have tried again.
When Mam is ready, she applies the mixture and her whole arm looks as good as new. The lesson is over.

  Primrose and I move the herbs to the shelf, putting each in its proper place. But she says she feels a little faint, so Mam has her take a seat.

  “It drains you, doesnae it?” She strokes Primrose’s hair and smiles. “Are you tired?”

  “Aye…but mostly I’m hungry.”

  She grins and gives her one of the oat cakes that we oftentimes eat for breakfast. I stand near her, my chest tight, my expression pinched.

  “Next time, it will work for you,” she whispers, but I dinnae want to hear her encouraging words. I glare at her.

  Mam gathers the grimoire and any ingredients that Da might find objectionable and bundles them in a linen bag. She carries them to the hearth and pulls out a stone on the bottom left corner. She places the bag inside and returns the stone.

  I feel a rush of pride, knowing something that even Da doesnae. Sharing that secret with Mam and Primrose.

  Mam goes out to milk the sheep, and I’m quiet as we clean the cottage and prepare the evening meal. Primrose isnae much help, saying that she is tired, so she has to stop and rest a lot, leaving me with most of the work. Her laziness doesnae improve my foul mood. I seethe, thinking of all the things that Primrose is better at than me. Why did she have to take this too? Da wouldnae like it.

  “This is wicked, what we do,” I say eventually. I want to irritate her, lessen her achievement. “It goes against God. Da would be angry with us.”

  “Dinnae tell Da,” she begs. “Mam isnae bad. She helps people.”

  “And what of Blood Magic?” I ask.

  “Mam said no’ to do it.”

  “No’ unless you know how,” I say, trying to upset her.

  It works. She stands and practically spits, “You dinnae say a word to anyone or…or…I will get a knife and use your blood in a potion. Mam said it would drain your life.”

  I’m shocked she’s said something so horrible. “You would never.”