Bad Blood

by Demitria Lunetta

  I’m banished to my room, where I decide to take a nap. I’m so tired, and my dreamless sleep is just what I need. By the time I wake up it’s night, and I stumble out into the living room.

  Aunt Abbie offers me a weak smile from her chair. She’s watching the news with my dad, while my mom is reading.

  “Hey,” I say awkwardly.

  “We went to visit your gram today and she seemed much better,” my father says.

  “Really?” My breath catches in my throat.

  For the first time in a long time, I have hope.

  The next day I’m the perfect daughter. I don’t talk back to my mom. I don’t get into any trouble. The only time I leave the apartment is to visit Gram with my parents. She’s crystal clear, and I don’t get any time alone with her to ask about the coven, but I can tell by her gaze that she knows something is up. After ten minutes of chatting with my parents, she’s also figured out that Aunt Abbie isn’t well.

  “The cancer, it’s back, isnae it?” she asks quietly.

  “Mum, we didn’t want to worry you….”

  Gram nods, asks about treatment. We promise to come back tomorrow. When we leave, I hear the nurses remark that it’s strange for her to be so sharp for so long.

  Back at the flat, I’m allowed to have my phone. Fiona’s recovering at home. I want to call Asha…but I don’t. The last time we spoke was too awkward.

  Robby shows up on day two of my punishment. To my surprise, I’m allowed to see him. We sit in the kitchen while my parents are in the living room, pretending not to listen.

  “So…,” Robby starts, studying the table. He looks up at me, fixes his blue eyes on my face. “What happened, really?”

  I glance at my parents, keep my voice low. “I…it’s really hard to explain,” I tell him.

  “Try me,” he says, but I can’t find the words. He reaches across the table and gently takes my hand. “I’ll start. I’m really sorry about the other night. I shouldnae have called you…well, you know.”

  I shake my head. “I was acting kind of crazy.”

  “Still, I’m glad you didnae punch me.”

  “I thought about it,” I admit with a small smile. I take a deep breath. “Look, Robby, I wasn’t at film camp at the beginning of the summer.”

  “You werenae?”

  I shake my head. “I was at, well, they call it a wellness center….” I don’t look at him as I tell him about the cutting, about the impulses. I leave out the magic and the ghosts because that’s just too much to explain. “Your mom helped me out a lot. That’s why I was there the other night. I’m much better now….” I trail off. I don’t want to see his face, his look of revulsion.

  He moves closer to me, takes my chin in his hand, and makes me meet his eyes. “I’m glad you told me,” he says. “If you need help, I’m here. Or if you just need a mate, I can do that too.”

  I swallow. “Just a mate?” I ask. He wants to be friends now, nothing more. “I guess this changes the way you feel about me.” I’m on the verge of tears.

  To my surprise, he laughs. “Heather. Don’t be daft. I have loved you for as long as I can remember.”

  “You have?” I sniffle.

  “And I love you now.”

  “You do?”

  “That isnae going to change.”

  “It’s not?” I can’t seem to form coherent thoughts, only ask stupid questions.

  “I’m yours, if you want me.” He gives me a big hug, then kisses me, even though my face is wet from tears and I probably look like a total mess.

  I hear my father yell, “Oi,” from the other room and my mother shush him and say quietly, “Leave them.”

  I break away from Robby and smile up at him. “Um…I’m still grounded, I think….”

  “You sure are,” my mom says. I roll my eyes, but I don’t really mean it.

  “But you can probably stay and watch some TV with us,” I tell him.

  “Aye,” my father calls. He scoots to the middle of the couch. “You sit here, Heather.” He points to his left. “And, Robby, you sit here.” He pats the cushion to his right. “And I’ll stay right here in the middle.”

  It’s my mom who makes him move so Robby and I can sit next to each other. It’s funny, my mom is so neurotic about me—and I guess deservedly so—but she sure loves the idea of me and Robby being together.

  He stays for dinner and after, until my parents finally put their foot down. When he kisses me goodnight, it feels not like the end of the evening, but like the beginning of something else. Something good.

  I haven’t cut once in the past week. Gram has been lucid, and we bring her home for an overnight visit. We have dinner together as a family and my dad tells lame jokes. Gram hovers over Aunt Abbie, who looks pale and only picks at her food.

  After dinner the adults sip whisky and tell stories about long ago. I’ve had enough of the MacNair family past to last me forever, so I just sit quietly until they go off to sleep. Gram gets her old bed, so I’m stuck on the couch, but I couldn’t be happier.

  Sometime in the middle of the night I wake from dreamless sleep. The flat is quiet, but something seems not quite right. I check my parents first, but they’re asleep. Next, I look in on my aunt.

  “Aunt Abbie?” I ask, peeking into her room.

  She’s sitting up in bed. The room is dark and smoky.

  “Heather, love…,” a weak voice says, and I see that it isn’t my aunt sitting up, it’s my grandmother. Aunt Abbie is still in bed.

  “Gram, why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask.

  “You beat them, didnae you?”

  “Primrose and Prudence? I didn’t beat them, I just made them understand they didn’t have to be so angry. Gram, they’ve left,” I tell her.

  “All those years. I could have stopped them. I was so afraid of death, but you were fearless. And now what does an old woman have to fear?”

  “They won’t bother you anymore. No more dreams, no more visions.” I am so relieved to be able to say it out loud.

  “It hardly seems possible.”

  “But it is. I don’t have the urge to cut anymore, and you’re you again. It was them all along, but now that they’re gone, we can be better again.”

  “Not all of us will be better, Heather. Your aunt’s in bad shape.” Her voice is so low. I take a few steps closer.

  “Gram…what…?” I notice the bowl, the smell. She has a small fire burning, her wrist dripping blood. Each splatter sizzles.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, though I can see. “You said you didn’t know how to do Blood Magic.”

  “I know enough.”

  “You can stop now. If you’re head is clear, you have so much more life to live,” I plead.

  “And what? Live while my daughter dies? There isnae a mother alive who would let that happen if she had the power to stop it. Let me do this for her.” She holds out her uncut arm to me. “Come, Heather. Sit with me.”

  And I do. I sit by my grandmother as she gives her life to her daughter.

  THE FUNERAL TAKES place on a Saturday.

  I walk slightly away from the group, through the headstones. The priest didn’t know my grandmother, and his voice is grating.

  Gram made her choice. She gave her life for her daughter. I’m sad, but it’s a gentle sadness. I was with her at the end. I got to say good-bye.

  I told my parents that Gram thought the horror movie I wanted to make was real. Her dementia was so far gone, my parents believed me. They told me to be thankful that Gram had her moments of lucidity at the end, that we got to speak with the real Gram one more time. They told me not to blame myself, that mental illness is to blame. It does run in our family, after all.

  Aunt Abbie’s cancer is in remission. My dad said something about a silver lining.

  Even though my mom can check me for cuts anytime she wants, I am definitely not off the hook. When we get back home, I have to go to daily group therapy sessions and see Dr. Casella three times a week.
But at least I still have a life.

  I’m done with magic. The cut under my arm, the one I made after I healed all the other scars, is healing. After a while it will fade, though not completely.

  I touch a stone grave marker. They’re not in my head anymore. Primrose and Prudence have found peace.

  “Heather.” Robby’s deep voice envelops me. I turn and offer him a small, sad smile.

  “Everyone is headed back to your aunt’s place,” he tells me. I lean in and hug him.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

  He kisses the top of my head and I look up. His lips softly touch mine, gentle and comforting.

  Fiona’s voice interrupts our moment. “Probably not the best place to make out. You know, in the middle of a graveyard.” She’s been on bed rest for days, but when she found out about the funeral, she insisted on coming. She’s paler than usual, but she’s okay.

  “Gram wouldn’t mind,” I tell her.

  Asha and I never officially made up, but Fiona doesn’t hold a grudge, so Asha has made it a point not to either. I put my arms around them.

  “Thank you both for being here,” I say.

  “Of course.” Asha smiles. “We’re your friends.”

  Robby wraps us all in a bear hug, and despite myself, I giggle.

  As we make our way up the hill to join the rest of the group, I can just make out the sound of children laughing.

  The wind tickles my skin, and it smells crisp, like the Highlands.

  I’m so glad that I get to publish a book set in Scotland. I’ve been in love with Scotland since I went to university there and always jump at any excuse to head back, whether in person or through my writing. Is it weird to thank a country? Well, anyone who knows me knows I’m a bit weird, so…thank you, Scotland! Thank you for inspiring me with your amazing history and beautiful places, and of course, thank you for kilts.

  I’d also like to thank my critique partners, Kate Karyus Quinn and Mindy McGinnis, for your insights and comments. Your words of encouragement were always appreciated. You guys are the best!

  Thank you to my wonderful husband, Justin, for your unwavering support. Your optimism may even rub off on me one day. Thank you for not judging me when I wear pajamas for three days straight, and thank you for the steady stream of coffee and snacks.

  I’d also like to thank my agent, Maura Kye-Casella, for all your hard work. And thank you so much for pointing to Bad Blood and saying, “Yes, that’s the one!” You’re the best agent anyone could hope for!

  Thank you to everyone at Delacorte Press. Thank you to my editorial team, Krista Vitola, Colleen Fellingham, Tamar Schwartz, and Megan Whalen. You now know all my dirty little grammar secrets…and that I have a mental block on when it’s appropriate to capitalize aunt! Also thank you to Adrienne Waintraub, who works tirelessly with schools and libraries. Thank you to Ray Shappell for all your work designing a kick-ass cover.

  And last but certainly not least, thank you, Wendy Loggia. I am so happy that I got to work with you on Bad Blood. I love that you push me to dig deep with the characters and to pull through plot threads I otherwise would have left dangling. I also love your smiley faces in the margins. They made my day so many times. I couldn’t ask for a better editor.

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