Bad Blood

by Demitria Lunetta

  “Carsick,” I call out as I lock myself in one of the stalls and wait for the need to pass. I put down the toilet seat and sit. I’m sweaty, and I wish Fiona would just leave. Eventually she does, but not before asking if I need help.

  “I’ll be okay in a minute,” I say.

  I start to count backward from ten. I get to one and start over again. I think of my cuts, of a knife slicing my skin. Why can’t I just be normal?

  After a while I feel like myself again, if a bit shaky. I go to find the others, hoping they won’t ask where I’ve been, but Fiona’s already told them I was ill.

  “I get carsick all the time,” I lie as Robby hands me a cup of steaming tea.

  I’m too drained to feel ashamed.

  I SHOULD HAVE healed her. I should have been there for her. Played nursemaid. I should have been here when they came for her, but I wasnae. I was with Jonas. I dinnae dare tell her about him. I wish I could. I wish we were young again, running through the Highlands, the wind in our hair and the grass under our feet. We had no secrets from each other then.

  When I came home that night, Prudence was gone. I feared the worst—that she was dead—and I felt inside me a horrific relief alongside my worry and grief. There was no sign of Father. He spends most evenings at the public house down the street. I thought to fetch him, but I knew he would not want me to come, no matter what. All I could do was wait and worry.

  Later Prudence stumbled through the door looking like she clawed her way out of a grave and fought death tooth and nail, and then all I felt was a cold shame. She is my sister, and I should not wish her ill. Is my love for this boy stronger than my love for my own flesh and blood? Must they be at odds?

  But now I have been by her side for a week, cooped up indoors, cooking and cleaning and being a good sister to her, a good daughter to our father. He didnae even know she had been missing.

  I cannae take it. I must see Jonas.

  Tonight.

  THE COTTAGE IS just like I dreamt. It’s a little bigger, made of stone, with a modern roof instead of brown thatch, and glass windows, but it’s exactly where I dreamt it would be, nestled on a hill. Behind it is a shimmering brook flowing into a small pond set against the green rolling hills of the Highlands. Heather, the plant for which I’m named, dots the landscape, bringing a brilliant purple color to the browns, yellows, and greens.

  Robby gets out of the car and stands next to me. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I just…I feel like I’ve been here before.”

  “When you were little? With your parents?”

  “Must be.”

  Fiona looks around. “Well, here’s as good a place to park as any, I suppose.”

  I eye all the stuff piled high in the back of the van. “Um…let’s get settled before we bring all this in.”

  “You have keys, right?” Duncan asks. “For the door?”

  “It should be open. There’s a man from town who checks on the place once a month. My aunt called him and asked him to leave it unlocked for us.”

  “She’s not worried someone’s going to rob it?” Fiona asks.

  “Um, look around.” I motion at the empty vastness. “There aren’t a lot of people out here.”

  Inside the cottage, the stone hearth looks functional, if a little worn with its hundreds of years of usage. “This must have been part of the original foundation,” I say.

  A rug lies across the gray stone floor, and a comfy-looking couch and chair face the fireplace. The air inside is cold and smells a little musty, but not unpleasant. There’s a side table with old family photos. I pick up one of a girl about my age. Gram. She’s smiling, but her eyes don’t look happy. No wonder. After what Aunt Abbie told me about Gram hearing voices, the haunted look on her face makes perfect sense. I put the picture down and shiver. My hand misses the table and I drop the frame onto the floor, cracking the glass.

  Everyone jumps. “Sorry, guys.” I pick up the splintered frame and put it back on the table.

  “You scared me half to death,” Fiona says. “I nearly wet myself.” That gets a giggle from the boys and a smile from Asha.

  “Yeah, this place certainly has atmosphere,” Asha says.

  “If by ‘atmosphere’ you mean it’s creepy, I totally agree,” Fiona says.

  “A whole family lived in this one room?” Duncan asks.

  “And the livestock in the winter,” Robby adds, “so they could keep warm.” Asha looks at him, eyebrows raised. “What? I know what I’m talking about. I read a pamphlet.”

  I go through a door to the right and there’s a small bedroom with a bathroom, “recent” updates that were made in the past century. The sink and tub are old-fashioned but have held up well, and the toilet is more modern. Gram must have replaced that at some point.

  “I call the toilet!” Fiona rushes through and slams the door. “I still have sheep drool in my hair!”

  Duncan puts his stuff in the bedroom and Asha follows, giving me a shy smile.

  “That’s sorted, then,” Robby whispers.

  “I guess the rest of us can all sleep in the living area like one big happy family,” I say. “Did anyone besides me bring a sleeping bag?”

  “Aye, my mum made me pack three,” Fiona says, rejoining us. “What?” she asks as I give her a blank stare. “She’s been busy with the café lately, but we used to go camping all the time. I bloody hated it, but I learned a few things.”

  I shiver again. It seems colder inside than outside, if that’s at all possible. “Let’s get a fire started and have some tea.”

  “I saw some chopped-up wood outside,” Robby says. “The caretaker must have left it.”

  Once Robby brings the wood inside, he and Duncan try to build a fire.

  “Let the big strong men handle this,” Duncan says in a deep, macho voice.

  Asha shakes her head. “I’d feel better if either of you big strong men weren’t hopeless city boys.”

  “Sorry, but that’s not going to work,” Fiona tells them. “The wood is too wet. Even if it lights, it will make the room all smoky. I brought dry wood,” she tells us. “Just in case.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s why your bags are so heavy,” Robby says.

  “Well, I feel useless,” Duncan says with a sheepish grin.

  Asha hugs him. “You’re not useless. You have other talents.”

  While the boys and Fiona get the fire going, Asha and I unload the van. My cell phone has zero bars, so Fiona agrees to drive me back into town so I can call my aunt. Asha asks to come too.

  It’s a relief to be away from the boys, if even for just a moment. We stop at the little village’s one tiny shop, which seems to be the town grocery store, liquor store, and hardware store. It has the most random assortment of wares. “Look,” Fiona says. “You can buy whisky and some yarn to knit a wooly sweater.”

  “Now, that’s convenience,” Asha says.

  “Do you have a phone?” I ask the woman behind the counter, who eyes me warily.

  She looks me up and down. “There’s a pay phone at the side of the store.” A pay phone? Really?

  “I didn’t know those still existed,” I say.

  Under her breath the woman mutters, “City folk.”

  “Can I have some change?” I ask, holding out a fiver.

  She gives me a look. “I’ll no’ open the register unless you buy something.”

  “Okay…” I look around. “Hey, guys, maybe it would be fun to make s’mores.”

  “What’s that?” Asha asks.

  “You’ve never had s’mores?” I say, widening my eyes. Unfortunately the shop doesn’t have graham crackers, but I decide Scottish shortbread will be a good substitute. Miraculously, Asha finds some marshmallows and chocolate, and we bring our haul up to the counter.

  The woman stares at Fiona. “I heard that Iain MacNair’s daughter was coming with her friends.”

  “Yeah, that would be me,” I say.

  “But you’re American.
”

  “I sure am….” She stares at me, trying to figure out if I’m lying, and I don’t know what else to say. “Can I get some change now?”

  She rings up our food on an ancient register, typing the price in and pulling a lever on the side for each item. She’s taking her sweet time but manages to stop staring at me long enough to notice Asha. “And where are you from, dearie?”

  “Edinburgh,” she says.

  “No, I mean originally.” She takes forever to bag up the food and hand me my change.

  “Edinburgh,” Asha repeats, a hint of confusion in her voice. Then understanding dawns. “But…my family came from India ages ago.”

  “Oh, India, right. It’s so nice that they made it here. I hear India is just dreadful.”

  “Thanks,” I say, heading out of the store and dragging Asha after me before the woman can insult her further. We find the pay phone around the side of the building, and I take a moment to marvel at it. This whole place feels like it’s stuck in the past.

  Once Asha and I make our check-in calls and get in the van, Fiona grins at us.

  “What?” I say.

  She holds up a bottle of booze and shakes it. Drambuie. “Where did you get…You did not just steal that?”

  “What?” she says, her voice sweetly innocent. “I told you I’d have to do something bad to outdo you two lying about the boys coming with us.”

  I look back at Asha. “And you’re okay with this?”

  She shrugs. “I think I can condone Fiona stealing from a horrible old racist lady.”

  “She was kind of racist, wasn’t she?” I do a false Scottish accent in falsetto. “ ‘Oh, you’re from America? I’m so sorry for you. I hear it’s just horrible there. And dinnae get me started on India….’ ”

  Fiona giggles and Asha guffaws.

  “Well, are you going to report me to the local authorities?” Fiona asks.

  “They’d probably just lock me up for being American and having a bad influence on you. You’d get away free and clear.”

  Fiona grins and starts the car. I was so excited to come to the Highlands, but now I just have a bad feeling, like my skin is too small for my body. I rub my arms.

  “You okay, Heather?” Asha asks.

  “Fine, just…” I look out into the misty woods. “This place just makes me feel strange. It has a lot of family history.”

  “Yeah, I feel the same way when I visit India. I don’t really belong there, but it’s kind of familiar….”

  Asha talks about India, and I try to keep myself from shivering. The shadows in the woods are definitely moving, and not in a trees-in-the-wind kind of way.

  Don’t be paranoid, I tell myself. I make myself breathe and count backward from ten. By the time I get to five, I feel better and join in the conversation, which has moved on to Asha’s internship, but my eyes stay on the woods, looking for more in the shadows.

  “Who wants more sc’mores? That’s Scottish for s’mores,” I say, waving my fork.

  “I don’t care what you call them, they’re delicious,” Fiona says.

  We’re gathered around the fire, happily eating s’mores. With no metal skewers, it’s a little hard to pull off s’mores, but I’m doing my best.

  “I’ll have another one,” Robby says. I’m using a fork to torch the marshmallows in the fire. Not ideal. I’m careful to let the flames just lick the marshmallow, and not to actually heat the metal of the fork. I don’t want to get burned. I think about all the lore I’ve been hearing lately about Blood Witches. I reach my hand farther into the fire. The wood pops and an ember lands on my hand.

  “Ow, crap!” I drop the fork into the fire, the marshmallow quickly burning into a charred lump.

  “Heather, are you okay?” Robby asks.

  “Yeah, just a little burn. I guess I’m not a Blood Witch after all.”

  “Did you actually think you were?” he asks with a grin. “You really are suggestible.”

  Fiona hops up. “I brought burn salve….Robby’s mum actually made it for my mum to use in the kitchen.”

  “Wow, how prepared are you?” I say. She gets the salve and puts it on my hand. “Thanks. Well, I’m done with being the s’mores bitch. Let’s watch a movie.”

  I set up my computer and place it on the side table so everyone can see, then take a seat on the floor between Robby and Fiona. We pushed back the couch and set up the sleeping bags to make one big comfy bed. Fiona pulls out the bottle she took from the town store. She takes a sip and passes it to me.

  “Um, no thanks.”

  “Come on, it’s good. It tastes like sweet whisky.”

  “That sounds disgusting.” I sniff it and it doesn’t smell half bad. I take a small sip. It burns on the way down but leaves a sugary taste in my mouth.

  “Want some?” I ask Robby.

  “Maybe just a wee dram.” He takes a sip. Both Asha and Duncan decline, so Fiona takes another drink.

  We pass the bottle back and forth, and soon I’m feeling tired. I close my eyes as I snuggle into my sleeping bag. It’s a strange exhaustion, because I’m also exhilarated at being so close to Robby, at sneaking the boys up here and coming without my aunt.

  I drink more of the alcohol than I should.

  The air in the cottage feels heavier somehow.

  And cold.

  ON THIS DARK, starless night I walk the streets of Edinburgh, my footsteps echoing eerily on the stone. I dinnae mind the cold, nor the rain, nor the smell of the city, but it is late and I would rather be home in bed. I am up because of Primrose. I awoke to her sneaking out the window. I wanted to follow her, needed to follow her. She is up to mischief; of that there is no doubt.

  I thought her oblivious to the world, lost in her own thoughts, but in front of me Primrose suddenly pauses. I halt as well. I feel like a wolf stalking its prey. She tilts her head and listens, and I hold my breath. I dinnae want her to see me. Whatever wickedness she intends, I plan to catch her in the act.

  She rounds a corner and I slowly follow her, peeking my head around the stone wall. A man nearly bumps into me, and I can smell his sour breath, reeking of whisky. He leers at me, but my look dissuades him and he stumbles on his way.

  I spot her again, farther up the road, and hurry to catch up. I needn’t have bothered, since she has arrived at her destination, a run-down doorway where a man barely older than a boy eagerly awaits.

  “Jonas,” she breathes, falling into him. He reaches out to her and holds her close, his mouth hungrily closing on hers. I cannot help the sharp gasp that escapes my lips. Her kissing a boy on the street for all to see, no better than a common whore.

  The boy clenches her arm, his want apparent, and an old familiar feeling trills inside me. Envy. The green-eyed monster rears its ugly head, and it is all I can do not to confront her now. Father will have her whipped for this, for meeting a boy in the middle of the night, for acting immodestly. She’s always been his favorite, has always had him fooled, but now he will see her as she is: deceitful and conniving. He will see her for her true self.

  The clouds part, and the moon’s light beams down on the street. Primrose turns, as if suddenly ashamed to be doing things in the light that ought to be hidden in shadow. I see her perfectly, from her long golden hair to the gentle curve of her chin to the slight bump on her otherwise perfect nose. Her face is etched into my memory. I want nothing more than for her look of joy to turn to one of pain. And I promise it will; by heaven and hell, it will.

  I hurry home. The house is dark. Father is no doubt at the pub. I quickly gather my ingredients.

  That boy is whom she has forsaken me for? Then I will have him.

  I crush the herbs with a pestle, then place them in a satchel. I take a knife and slice my finger, dripping blood onto the bundle.

  She returns as I leave, and I ignore her questioning look. I return to their meeting spot, his home, and knock on the door. He opens it and greets me with a ready smile.

  “I thought y
ou had to hurry home to your da.”

  I set my face into a wicked smile. “I was halfway there when I remembered I had made something for you.”

  I push past him into his one-room hovel. The kettle is already boiling, and I find a cup in the satchel I secreted in my pocket. I put the mixture in and pour the water over it.

  “Drink this,” I tell him. He blows on it to cool it, and sips it.

  “You want me,” I say.

  “Of course…” He takes another gulp of his drink. “Primrose…”

  I shake my head and he stops, drops his cup. “You are the sister. Prudence.”

  I nod and step closer. “You want me.”

  “I…” He looks confused. “I love Primrose.”

  I step closer still, until there is no room between us. “You may love her, but you want me.” The potion has done its job, creating a lust so great he has no choice but to sate it with me, especially when I pour into it all my intent, all my suggestion.

  I take from Primrose all that I can.

  WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, my mouth feels weird, dry and sticky, so I go to the bathroom and drink some water from the tap. Everyone is sleeping in the living room, including Asha and Duncan, despite having claimed the bedroom for themselves. Robby is nowhere to be found.

  I look around the room, my gaze settling on the flame low in the fireplace. These dreams I have…why is it that when I was Edinburgh I dreamt about the Highlands, and now that I’m in the Highlands I’m dreaming about Edinburgh? What does it all mean?

  I place more wood on the fire and touch the warm stone around the mantel, my hand trailing along the seams. I find what I’m looking for, a little nook, and a voice whispers in my head, You cannae be sure unless you look.

  I tug at the stone and nothing happens. I let out a little laugh and Asha asks groggily, “Heather, what are you doing?”

  I turn with a start. “Nothing. I just thought there was something here.”

  She comes up behind me, examines the hearth. “It looks like that stone is loose.”