by Bella Falls
A slight rumble rose in my throat, and Blythe jabbed her elbow into my side. “What are you, a shifter now? Quit growling.”
I hadn’t even noticed the feral noise had been coming from me. But the more she addressed the detective directly, the more I believed my fingernails could grow into claws.
“Even though you’re a tad bit earlier than we expected, your rooms are already available,” she continued. “Once you have your room keys, come to the other side of the lobby and check into the conference. You’ll be receiving a nifty gift bag with a printed program of events and some local goodies. Tonight, you’re on your own, but tomorrow we’ll have an opening brunch in the hotel restaurant before the panels start. I hope to see all of y’all there.” She flashed a flirty glance at Mason one last time and left the bus.
I mocked her last statement, repeating it in a funny voice. “What kind of name is Haywood for a girl?” I mumbled under my breath.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Charli,” Blythe admonished. “Let’s get to our room.”
I wanted to protest and tell my friend I wasn’t jealous. But when Mason stood up with a cocky grin plastered on his face, I couldn’t deny the heat of disapproval rising in me.
“I can’t be jealous of what ain’t mine,” I admitted to no one in particular.
Blythe volunteered to get the room key for all four of us while Lily and Lavender waited with me at the long tables with volunteers sitting behind them to check into the conference.
When I got to the front, an older lady smiled up at me. “Hey there and welcome. What’s your name?”
“Charli Goodwin,” I replied, watching her flip through the names in alphabetical order.
“Here it is.” She pulled out a badge on the end of a lanyard. “Oh, you’re from Honeysuckle Hollow.”
“How’d you know that?” I asked, trying to look at what she held to figure out if something was written on it. “Iola,” I added, reading her own name tag.
“Uh, no reason. I guess I heard it from someone that y’all were here.” She thrust the badge at me and forced herself to grin. “You can get discounts off of the hotel restaurants and bars if you show it to them. Wear it at all times during the conference, please. Here’s your gift bag as well.”
Accepting the full tote bag, I appreciated how it changed colors from light blue to a dark purple. I guess it made sense to have magical items at a witches’ conference.
A bellhop helped us get all of our bags up to our two-queen bed room. He used Blythe’s card to let us in. We jabbered in excited small talk as we looked around the room and claimed beds.
I went to give the young man a tip and the tote bag still hanging around my wrist switched from purple to bright yellow. Panicked, I fumbled to find a good explanation for a regular human.
“Don’t worry, miss. The Carlyle Hotel is used strictly for visitors like you.” He winked at me, and I noticed the wrinkles around his eyes for the first time.
David, based on his name tag, wasn’t as young as he appeared. For a brief moment, his hair turned green and hung a little longer about his face. Recognizing his true nature, I appreciated his willingness to let the glamour go.
“You’re a witch?” I whispered.
A slight frown on his lips alerted me. “No, miss. My mother was a brownie and my father was a dryad. I got my mom’s size though.”
I glanced at the color of his hair. “Why the disguise? I like the green.”
He blushed in response. “The management doesn’t like us to show our…differences to the guests. Since I work directly with those like you, I’m required to maintain a glamour at all times.”
“If you’re part dryad, why are you working in the city? I thought most of your father’s line would want to be closer to nature,” I mused. When his cheeks and ears turned a brighter pink, I regretted my curious questioning. “Never mind.”
“No, it’s fine.” He looked behind him up and down the hotel corridor. Leaning in so only I could hear, he whispered, “You might find that not everything will be as you expected here.” Voices at the end of the hall alerted him, and he moved away from me, his glamour shimmering back into place and the verdant hue of his locks fading back to a dull brown. He held out his hand for the tip. “Thank you kindly, miss.”
“You can call me Charli.” I couldn’t shake the sense that he had more to say. “I hope I see you again, David.”
“Better not, Miss Charli. Enjoy your time here.” He hurried off before I could ask him another question. The door closed with a thunk, and I returned to the chaos of my friends.
Once we unpacked all of our bags, we debated what we wanted to do with the little free time we had before the night’s event. A knock on our door interrupted our list of possibilities. Blythe answered and invited the person in.
“It looks like four suitcases exploded in here,” Nana sassed. “Where y’all gonna sleep?”
“Wherever us birds choose to nest,” I answered back with an equal amount of feistiness.
My grandmother softened her glance. “Have you girls decided what you’re doing next? If not, I’d like to go shopping at the market and visit some people I know. I thought it might be fun to spend some time with my favorite granddaughter.”
“I’m your only granddaughter, Nana,” I replied, eyeing her with suspicion. She only called me her favorite when she wanted something.
“Exactly. Let’s go, girls,” she crowed, exiting our room without waiting to see if we wanted to go with her.
I turned off lights as we left, checking the locked door before following behind. I’d been sensing for weeks that Nana had something up her sleeve. Maybe today was the day she’d share. That prospect both thrilled and terrified me as we walked out of the hotel and onto the Charleston sidewalk.
Chapter Three
From the hotel, we walked past enormous houses with long porches hidden behind wrought iron gates bent in artistic curves and patterns. The market in the middle of the historic area consisted of several covered buildings with shops and vendors on both sides. Colorful goods invited us to buy and take them with us. If we weren’t careful, we could spend an entire day and all of our money shopping.
I entered a local souvenir shop section and perused the different gifts while Lily and Lavender debated over some pastel-colored tins of tea from a tea plantation located on a nearby sea island. Would my cousin think tea was a good gift? Or maybe I should consider getting her a T-shirt to remember being here. But a shirt might be too small of a gift, plus I had no idea what size would fit her.
“You’re thinkin’ so hard, there’s smoke comin’ out of your ears.” Nana tapped the side of my head. “What’s goin’ on up there?”
“Nothing,” I replied with a frown. As much as I could use some comfort from the one person who meant the most to me, I couldn’t burden her with issues about my supposed biological family member.
She opened up a crinkly cellophane bag of something green and offered me a taste. “Suit yourself.”
I reached in and pulled out a dried okra. Crunching on its salty flavor, I allowed my grandmother to guide me away from my friends to another vendor selling beautiful jewelry.
“Perhaps you can get your cousin a simple necklace or bracelet.” Nana fingered a silver chain with an ornate pendant that looked like some of the iron gates we’d passed.
I didn’t even have to ask how she knew. Nana always knew. “But is jewelry too big of a gift? Like I’m trying to buy her approval or something?”
My grandmother kept eyeing the different pieces. “That’s hard to say without knowing more about her or where she comes from. It can be hard enough to purchase a gift for someone you know, let alone a complete stranger.”
I placed my hands on my hips. “Okay, spill it. You know more than you’ve said, don’t you?”
She frowned once and cleared her throat, still not looking at me. “I know that when we did any investigation into her background, we came up with a lot of nothing.”
&
nbsp; The noise and bustle of the market disappeared as doubt filtered through me. “You think it isn’t a good idea to meet her?”
Nana’s shoulders slumped and she blew out a breath. Worry mixed with a tinge of sadness swam in her eyes. “I don’t know, Birdy. A part of me wishes she’d never contacted you. But that’s the selfish part, and I think you have to take this opportunity to reach out and explore how you feel about things. Maybe get some of the questions you’ve had all your life answered. And I can’t stand in the way of that.”
She placed a warm hand on my cheek, and I struggled not to cry in such a public space. Sniffing a couple of times, I tried to tell her how much I loved her in one gaze.
“I know, Birdy, I know,” she uttered. Taking my hand, she led me through the crowd and out of the first building.
The warm sun blinded me for a moment until we entered a second structure. Without stopping at any of the food stalls or to shop for other gifts, she led me to a vendor that featured bold bright pieces of art hanging on the walls and shelves full of stylized local items.
A young lady, wearing an African print yellow skirt and a red top with her hair in twisted braids covered by a yellow scarf, stepped out from behind the counter and greeted us. “Welcome to Gullah Gullah where we feature goods created by our community and artwork depicting our way of life. My name’s Titia. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“Is John D here today?” Nana asked, searching the area.
Titia’s mouth dropped in surprise. “You know my grandfather?”
“Oh my, don’t tell me you’re little Letitia? Child, I remember you when you were itty bitty and crawling around our ankles. You’ve grown into a mighty fine woman.” My grandmother beamed at the girl. “John D must be so proud.”
“Yes, ma’am, I hope so,” Titia gushed with pink cheeks. “And there he is, winding his way back to us.” She pointed in the distance.
A man who towered over the crowd with his height held up two drinks to keep them from spilling. When he caught sight of Nana, his bright smile lit up the place.
“Vivi Goodwin, you are a beautiful work of art standing in the middle of my gallery. What are you doing here?” His voice boomed louder than the general din of the people, and his infectious cackle caused me to chuckle.
Nana fluttered her eyelashes in jest. “John D, you haven’t lost a stitch of your charming ways. You still weaving your Lowcountry magic with your brush?” She opened her arms to accept his warm embrace after he handed the drinks to his granddaughter.
He gestured at the walls. “Been selling my work here for a couple of years now. Doing so well that we can feature some new Gullah artists. You looking for something in particular for your walls?”
It took me only a few seconds admiring the paintings to find one that called to me. “That looks just like our Founders’ tree.” I moved to stand in front of the large framed art.
“Ah, you found my latest treasure. That’s one I’ve done recently of the Angel Oak out at the junction of Johns Island and Wadmalaw. She’s an old live oak that’s got deeper roots than any inhabitants that have lived in the area. I took some liberties, leaving out the wooden supports for the biggest branches and all the tourists milling about,” John D explained.
Nana settled next to me, inspecting the same piece. “I hope I can take our group out there so you can see it for yourself after the conference. In comparison, our tree looks like its younger sibling.”
The artist had captured not only the image of the Angel Oak but also the energy of it. I swore if I put my hand on the canvas, it would pulse with magic.
“Don’t touch it, Birdy,” Nana admonished.
John D chuckled. “It calls to you, I can tell. And that there is just a lithograph of the original. It’s a high-quality copy because I’m not sure I want to let go of the original yet. But if you like this piece, I’ll give you a good price.”
I could picture exactly where I’d hang it in the house. If I removed one of Tipper’s older paintings that held no sentimental value for me out of the foyer and into another room, it could be one of the first things anybody saw when they entered my house.
Nana watched me with care. “We’ll think on it for now. But my granddaughter Charli here needs to find a gift to give to someone who’s an outsider to Southern culture.”
“She belongs to you, Vivi? Well, bless, I didn’t see the resemblance.” John D pumped my hand up and down. “It’s good to meet any kin of Vivi’s.”
I started to correct him as to why I didn’t look like my grandmother, but Nana spoke first. “You’ve met before, but she was a fair bit younger then.”
The artist’s eyes widened. “Now that you mention it, I do recall a few visits with your fine son and his family. Titia, that means you and Charli must have met before.”
His granddaughter joined us. “I remember now. We used to make crowns out of dandelions and clovers while my brother James chased yours.”
“And you liked to braid my hair,” I recalled.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “I still like playing with hair. That’s my main job at a salon right outside the city. The other girl who helps run the shop couldn’t come in today, so Grandpa called in a favor. On my day off.”
“I used to change your diapers, so you owe me,” teased John D. “Plus, you know your grandmama’s gonna be happy to have you eat at her place for dinner. Vivi, why don’t you and your crew come join us. You’d be more than welcome.”
Nana considered the offer. “I don’t know about all of us from Honeysuckle, but how about Charli and me join you? Will Mama Lee be there by chance?”
John D leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Well, don’t that beat all. I wonder if she knew y’all would be here. If you want to see her, come with me.”
Nana patted my arm. “You stay here and see if Titia can help you come up with a good gift for your cousin. Then come find me.”
“We’ll be on your right as soon as you exit the building,” John D explained, holding out his hand for my grandmother to take. “This way, ma’am.”
Titia giggled. “He’s a handful on any day of the week. Now, tell me who you’re shopping for and I’ll see what we can come up with.”
Blythe, Lily, and Lavender found me looking over all the products. I did my best to resist the pull of the Angel Oak painting, but it compelled me to look at it again and again. When Titia offered me the discounted price, I couldn’t justify spending that kind of money on one object. A little disappointed, I let go of my desire to take the piece of art home with me.
The other girls bought some smaller trinkets from my newfound friend and I left with a Gullah cookbook written by Titia’s grandmother, John D’s wife Retta, and a small burlap bag of stone-ground grits in a bag. If Abigail wanted to get to know something about me, she could start with understanding Southern food like traditional shrimp and grits.
The rays of the sun blinded me again when I walked outside, but my ears picked up Nana’s laughter. The four of us girls gathered around an older woman sitting underneath an umbrella weaving. On the tables in front of her, several different styles of baskets and containers waited for tourists to purchase. I picked up a wider flat piece to examine.
“That there’s a fan-style sweetgrass basket. It was used to separate the chaff from the rice on the plantations out by the Ashley River,” explained the lady, looking over her sunglasses at us. “When our people were stolen from the African shores, we brought our lives and skills with us and wove them into our survival.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Mama Lee, don’t you remember my granddaughter Charli?” Nana asked.
The woman stopped working with her hands and gazed up at me from her chair. “The only Charli I remember was no taller than this here blade of bulrush.” She held up the long green stem of the fiber she used.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Lee, and to reconnect with Titia.” The more of the family I met,
the more memories of my visits to the area popped in my head.
“Child, you can call me Mama Lee. Everybody does,” she corrected. “And of course, I remember you and your grasshopper of a brother tearin’ around the yard.” She gazed up at my grandmother. “Is this the one?”
Nana nodded once, and my curiosity grew. “One what?” I asked.
John D cleared his throat. “Now’s not the time, Mama. Maybe tonight after dinner.”
The older woman resumed working the sweetgrass with her fingers while talking. “Y’all comin’ to Retta’s to eat? If you do, you won’t go hungry for days.”
Nana assured her we would be there. It struck me as odd that she didn’t invite my friends to join us.
Mama Lee stopped working long enough to hand each of us girls a tan stemmed flower made out of knotted and curved natural fiber. “These here are palmetto roses made out of the fronds of our palm trees. They symbolize love and protection and will last if you take care of them.”
We thanked her and asked her advice to find a refreshing drink. John D offered to escort us to a nearby cafe, but Mama Lee asked for me to stay behind.
My nerves kicked into gear as I watched my friends go, and Nana didn’t offer me any clear explanation. Instead, she took the bag in my hand and nodded at the other woman.
Mama Lee stood up from her chair and held out her hands. “Come here to me, child.”
Her fingers curled around mine, and I waited in silence while she stared at me through her sunglasses. She didn’t say much of anything except a few grunts. Dropping my hands, she grasped my chin and turned my head in all different directions. It reminded me of Nana’s inspection of me when my great-uncle Tipper accidentally cast a death curse on me.
“What do you think?” my grandmother asked.
Mama Lee placed her wrinkled palms against my cheeks. “Well, Vivi, my first thought is that this here pretty girl grew up into a beautiful woman.” She gazed at me over her glasses and winked while chuckling low. “But yes, I think you might be right about her. I’ll have my great-grandson bring in some of my medicines from Sol Legare when he comes to dinner.”
