Bad Blood

by Demitria Lunetta

  I pull at it harder and it gives way all at once, causing me to fall back onto my butt. I laugh and Asha grins, then whispers, “Shhh, the others are sleeping.”

  “More like trying to sleep,” Fiona whispers loudly. She comes over to us, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her red curly hair crazy-wild. “Why are you pulling apart your cottage?”

  I look into the hole I created by removing the hearthstone. “There’s something hidden in here.”

  I move forward, and Asha warns, “You probably don’t want to put your hand in there. You’ll cut yourself.”

  I ignore her and reach into the hole. My fingers brush against cloth and I grasp a bundle, pulling it from its hiding spot.

  “What is that?” Fiona asks.

  “I…I don’t know.” I unwrap the cloth carefully, and dried herbs flutter to the floor as I see what I hold in my hands. A book, ancient and worn, but not as damaged as it should be after centuries buried under a hearth. I touch the leather cover. It’s the grimoire. The one from my dream.

  “Heather, that looks really old,” Asha says. “Maybe you shouldn’t handle it. I think you need special gloves or something.”

  I can’t help it; I have to see what’s inside. I open the book, turn each page. The front pages are the oldest, the ink faded, the words written in a language I don’t understand. But as I turn the pages and the handwriting changes, and changes again, the words become legible, written in English: names of plants and herbs. Generations of knowledge are collected here.

  “I think…I think this is a healer’s book,” I say.

  “You mean one of your ancestors hid it there?” Fiona asks.

  “Maybe.”

  Asha shakes her head. “You should bring it back and show your aunt. I’m sure she can get someone at the university to look at it. Or I can give it to my father and—”

  “You’re not going to tell me it belongs in a museum, are you?”

  “It might….Wait…is that a movie reference?”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. I’ll show it to my aunt.” I retrieve the cloth from the floor and rewrap the book. Then I wrap it in one of my sweaters and place it in my backpack.

  I feel like I have to be by myself to process what just happened. “I…I need to get some air,” I tell them.

  Asha nods. “I’ll start breakfast.”

  “Aye. You do that. And I need to get some more sleep.” Fiona goes back to her place, cuddles up in her blanket.

  I put on a sweater, slip on my shoes, and sneak out, careful not to wake anyone else.

  I stand just outside the door, staring into the wooded area.

  There’s always a point in scary movies when the main character is confronted with some strange evidence and they have to decide to believe the impossible or continue on with their eyes closed to the truth. Usually, the ones who refuse to believe in ghosts/aliens/zombies are the ones who die horrible, gruesome deaths.

  So either I (a) believe I’m crazy or (b) start to believe in magic, in the ability to see into the past. Even if I choose (b), that still makes me feel like I’m completely raving crazy. The thing is that even if I think about it logically, the only thing that makes sense is (b).

  My dreams can be explained away, but not this. Not finding the grimoire exactly where I dreamt it would be.

  I walk around the side of the cottage, toward the hills, and spot Robby down by the pond. He hears me approach and turns around.

  “I was just looking out over the loch.” Mist hovers just above the water’s surface, pouring in from the hills. “This place…it’s…”

  “Bewitching,” I say.

  He turns to me, inches closer. I look into his dark eyes as he reaches up to my face. I think he’s going to fix my hair, like he’s done before, but his hand lingers on my cheek.

  “Heather…”

  “Yes?” His face is so close to mine. He bends down slightly; his lips brush mine softly. I’m frozen in the moment, and he pushes forward, his lips now greedily kissing mine. His hand gently caressing my cheek. I reach up and place my hand on his neck, and hungrily kiss him back.

  I didn’t know a kiss could be like this, all-consuming. A voice at the back of my mind whispers, You wicked girl. What have you done?

  The rest of the day we spend walking the hills and hiking through the woods. Asha knows a lot of different plants and names each one. Then Asha and Duncan sneak off for a while, and Fiona decides to remain in the cottage, draining the last of my computer battery.

  Robby holds my hand, but it’s different from before. Where his skin touches mine, I feel tingly. I can’t stop looking at him. How have I never noticed how cute he is? How did I spend all those years crushing on his older brother?

  That night we have a bonfire. I sit far from it, the flames unsettling. When Robby beckons me closer, patting the sleeping bag he brought out to sit on, I suck it up and ignore the way the fire makes me feel, like at any moment I could spontaneously combust.

  I distract myself by telling ghost stories to the group. First I tell one about the Baobhan sith, which is a kind of sexy Scottish vampire that lures men to their deaths so it can drink their blood. After that I tell the story of my ancestor who haunts the cottage. It’s complete rubbish, and I make the whole thing up, but it must be pretty convincing because Asha hides her head in her hoodie and refuses to come out until Duncan threatens to tickle her.

  Then Robby decides to tell a family-friendly Scottish folktale…about a man who got drunk and fell asleep in the woods. Three girls find him and try to wake him but can’t, he’s so sound asleep.

  “So one of the lassies takes a blue ribbon out of her hair, lifts up his kilt and…”

  “Robby, that’s not exactly family friendly,” I say.

  He grins. “Okay, well, she ties the ribbon somewhere any man would immediately notice. When he wakes, he spots the ribbon and says, ‘I dinnae know where you’ve been, laddie, but you’ve won first prize!’ ”

  Duncan guffaws and Fiona says it would have been funny, but she’s heard it a million times, and Asha says, “I don’t get it.” Then Duncan explains and she giggles.

  “Robby…,” I whisper.

  “Aye, love?”

  “Should we maybe say something to them…about us?” I ask, glad it’s dark and he can’t see my face redden.

  “Aye.” He stands, pulling me up to my feet. “I know just how to tell them.” He sweeps me in his arms and lowers me like we’re in some dance…or an old black-and-white film. He kisses me, and for a moment I forget where we are and who we’re with. Robby is all there is.

  Then I hear Fiona whoop and Duncan say, “It’s about bloody time.” Robby places me back upright and I sit, flustered and embarrassed.

  After an awkward pause I desperately want the focus to be on anything else, so I say, “Oh, Robby, I forgot to tell you, but I found a book today. It was hidden in the hearth.” I’m a little too close to the fire. The heat from the flames licks my skin. I shiver and scoot back.

  “It looks old,” Asha says. “She’s going to bring it to the university to have it examined.”

  “Heather thinks it’s a witch’s book,” Fiona adds.

  “I don’t. I was just thinking about how magical this place is. I’m open to, I guess, the idea of otherworldly possibilities.”

  “ ‘Otherworldly possibilities’?” Duncan asks.

  “Well, what do you guys think of magic? Do you think maybe those women…the Blood Witches…really could heal?”

  “Sure, with the right mixture of herbs, why not?” Robby says.

  “I think she means actual magic,” Asha clarifies. She’s right. I want someone to say it, someone to agree that magic can be real. That I’m not crazy.

  “Tell me you dinnae believe in that,” Duncan says. “Asha, I thought you were too smart for that.”

  “No need to be condescending,” Asha tells him. “My awa, my dad’s mom, was born in India. They believe in all kinds of stuff there. I mean
, my grandfather came to this country because a swami had a dream that they would be prosperous here.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Like, a prophetic dream?”

  “That’s what my grandfather thought. It’s funny, because the swami said they would raise a family here, but my grandparents’ children were all grown up by then. And after they got here, my awa got pregnant with my dad. He was their late-life surprise. Whenever my dad gets too uptight or worried about things, they remind him that he was the result of some mystic man’s dream.”

  “And what do you think?” I ask Duncan.

  “I think I can dream that it’s going to rain, and maybe it will, but just because it does doesnae mean I’m a prophet. There are all kinds of explanations for stuff like that.”

  “Aye,” Robby says. “Like a big fat coincidence.”

  “I’m glad your grandfather came here because someone had a dream,” I tell Asha. “Or we would have never met.”

  “Well, you already know my mom believes in all that spiritual healing nonsense,” Robby says. “You’ve all been to the shop, seen the hippieness.”

  “Maybe it’s not nonsense,” Fiona says. “Seventeen years ago my mum wanted to have a baby. So she went to Robby’s mum for a love potion.”

  “What?” Robby asks. “How have I never heard about this before?”

  “Because it’s completely mental.” She grins. She holds up the near-empty bottle of whisky. She must have stolen more than just the Drambuie from the shop. “And I wasnae drunk then.”

  “Well, get on with it,” Duncan says. “Tell us the story.”

  “So, my mum used the love potion on my da, got him to spend a few nights with her, and then when she got pregnant, released him from all responsibility.”

  “How romantic,” Asha says.

  “That’s not the point,” Fiona tells her. “My mom wanted a baby, and she used magic to get me…at least, that’s what she says.”

  “And you believe this?” Duncan asks.

  Fiona grins. “Naw. The real love potion was a few glasses of Scotch and some risqué lingerie.”

  “And what about you, Heather?” Asha asks. “Do you think there are things like love potions and prophetic dreams?”

  “I dreamt this cottage,” I say quietly. “I dreamt that the book would be exactly where I found it.”

  No, says a voice at the back of my head. Dinnae tell them.

  I should have known what would happen. That they’d look at me exactly as they are now, faces full of disbelief.

  “Guys, I’m just joking,” I say with a forced laugh.

  Asha’s face brightens. “Oh, you really had me going there. You sounded so serious.”

  Robby pulls me to him and we cuddle up by the fire. I look at the cottage, light from the fire dancing off the stone walls. The side windows look like two dark eyes staring at me. Was a woman really murdered in there? I dreamt that, too.

  “Let’s sleep out here tonight,” he says, wrapping the sleeping bag around us.

  “Okay,” I immediately agree, snuggling into his warm arms. It takes me a long while, but finally I fall asleep under the clear, starry sky.

  I FORGAVE HIM; of course I did. How could I no’? He is no’ to blame—her dark magic is. I explained it all, afraid that he would no longer love me because of what my family—what I—can do, but he only pulled me tighter. He said he was devoted to me no matter what comes and that he was sorry for his betrayal.

  But it was her betrayal.

  And now she tells me that she is carrying his child, though it has been hardly a month since she seduced him. In my anger, I threatened to tell Father about it, but she knows I wouldnae. She holds Jonas over me like a guillotine. We are at a stalemate.

  I offered to help keep her pregnancy a secret, to take the child with me when I leave with Jonas. I told her that we will raise it as our own and she need not be stained in the eyes of Father or the Church.

  She laughed in my face. She told me that she will take care of the child herself, one way or another. I shudder to think what she means.

  Perhaps it is better. I dinnae think that I could hate a child, especially one who is part Jonas, but I dinnae need a constant reminder of what Prudence has done to me. And this means that Jonas and I will no’ have to wait nine months to leave. We can go ahead as planned. This time next month I shall be back in the Highlands, a married woman, and one day a mother myself.

  And I will never see Prudence again.

  LEAVING THE HIGHLANDS makes me feel sad. Like I’ve lost something I can’t quite explain. I’m quiet on the drive back, and between Fiona and Duncan arguing about music and Robby asking if we should stop at the Scottish Heritage Center again to visit Fiona’s boyfriend, the sheep, it’s pretty easy for me to keep to my thoughts. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve accepted that my dreams are a window onto the past.

  “Where’s your mind today, Heather?” Robby asks. We’re back in Edinburgh. Nearly to my street. “We’re okay…aren’t we?”

  I smile. “Of course we are. I’m just tired.”

  “I’m knackered from all this driving,” Fiona says. “I’m going to sleep for a week.”

  I say my good-byes as we pull in front of my aunt’s house. I still feel awkward about me and Robby liking each other, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem with it. He steps out of the van and leans into me. His kiss leaves me breathless.

  “I had fun,” he says. “I hope we have more fun soon.”

  “We will,” I say with a flushed smile. He squeezes me again and I float through the door and up the stairs. When I get to my aunt’s flat, though, I come crashing back to earth. My aunt sits at the kitchen table and looks so small, so frail. I wish there were something I could do to help her.

  I insist she rest in bed while I tell her about the weekend, leaving out the fact that Robby and Duncan were there. After she falls asleep, I go to my room and take out my computer, remembering that Fiona drained the battery, and plug it in to charge. I also remove my clothes from my bag, and the bandages I’m sure to always have on hand. All that’s left is the book wrapped in cloth.

  I carefully lift the grimoire and place it on the bed. The brown leather cover is worn with age. There’s a mark on it that I didn’t notice before. At first I think it’s a flaw in the leather, but it was made on purpose. I take out a piece of paper and lay it on top of the cover, then carefully shade with my pencil. I hold the paper up to the light. It’s slight, but it’s there: a large Trinity knot.

  I push the paper aside and open the book, touching each page with care. Asha is right, I probably should be wearing special gloves or something, but though the pages look old, they don’t feel fragile like ancient paper should.

  The first pages are written mostly in Scots Gaelic. In the middle of the book, Gaelic and English words are mixed together. The last pages are completely in English, though an archaic form.

  I continue to flip through the book, my mind half on Robby, half on what the grimoire means. Women in my families were witches….Does that mean I’m a witch too? I stop on a page with a spell that looks simple enough, but I don’t know where to get ingredients like fresh lavender. I doubt they have it at the corner shop. Maybe an organic market? Fiona would know.

  I call her. “Are you home now?” I can hear the din of the café in the background.

  “Aye. And back to work,” she says. “I wanted to sleep, but my mum said we need the extra hands. The new waiter’s holding his own, though.”

  “The sexy waiter with the dreamy eyes?” I ask.

  “That’s the one.”

  I pause. “Does your mom still go to that farmers’ market on Tuesday afternoons?”

  “Aye, she always drags me along so I can learn the business. As if I care.”

  “Well, if I give you a list of things, can you get them for me?”

  “Like what?” I can hear the curiosity in her voice.

  “Herbs, mostly…and some other things.”

  “
Why on earth would you want herbs?” Then she groans. “Oh my God. It’s that book, isn’t it?” she asks. “You’re going to try and do a spell.” Fiona pretends to be a bubblehead, but she’s pretty sharp.

  “Maybe…”

  “Is there a love potion in there?” she asks excitedly.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to look.”

  “Well, I’ll get the stuff if you make up a love potion for me.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say. “Um…do you actually think it will work?”

  “I don’t care. I want to give it a try. Text me the ingredients and I’ll get everything. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Okay, gotta go. Got a ton of fat tourists to feed. See you soon.”

  I hang up the phone and scour the book, quickly turning each page. I know I’m handling it a bit too roughly when I get a nasty paper cut and drip blood onto the leather, leaving a dark brown stain. I take a deep breath. This thing is hundreds of years old and I’m not being very careful with it. I get a bandage for my finger, and when I return I gingerly turn the pages, searching for Fiona’s love potion.

  There’s something about “encouraging amorous feelings,” which is exactly what Fiona wants. I text her a list of ingredients, along with ingredients for a healing salve. Will these potions work? I need to know.

  I put the grimoire away in one of the drawers of my nightstand and lie back on my bed, my head fuzzy. I suddenly feel warm, like I did when I drank all that Drambuie. My face and arms are flushed and I’m a bit dizzy. I close my eyes and try to sleep.

  MY PLAN HAS backfired. I thought her will would be broken, her hope torn from her breast, leaving her in disarray, but she forgave him. She is as determined as ever to elope, to leave me forever. I cannae let her. I willnae let her have her happily-ever-after.

  She thinks I may be lying about the child who grows within me, but I am no’. Am I to be stuck with the stigma of a baby out of wedlock while she runs away to find her happiness? I hate her optimism. I hate her.

  I whisper in our father’s ear my doubts about her, tell him he knows what our mother was, what Primrose is, but he refuses to hear. He has grown weak in his old age. A whisky-soaked shell of the terrible man he once was.