by Sophia Danu
He stared at me through narrowed eyes for several long minutes before he cleared his throat and said, “I'm here if you need me. Number's by the phone. Keeley... ” He broke off and sighed with clenched teeth, apparently deciding to postpone whatever he was going to say. Thank the Goddess.
“I'll see you at the funeral home tonight,” he promised, making the statement a command as he walked out the door. The large stained glass door slammed shut behind him. The windows rattled at his exit.
I exhaled, an explosion of air that deflated me, but I stood still until I heard his powerful SUV drive down the mountain road, gravel crunching until he reached the bottom of the driveway. When I no longer heard the rumble of his vehicle, my shoulders drooped and I fell to my knees. I cried harder than I have ever cried. Falling into the fetal position, I released all the despair and sadness kept bottled up, covered by rage.
Thirty long minutes later, I rose and wiped my face on my tank top. I picked up my bags and walked down the long hallway to my room— taking in the pictures that covered the wall along the route. Images of a happy Nana and Pop prompted a smile and I placed a finger on the faces of my youthful-looking parents.
There were other portraits of my extended family in Ireland— sophisticated and stunning, my cousins, aunts and uncles posed in front of the impressive drawbridge and castle in one picture, around an inviting pool in another and seated at a long dining table at yet another. They are taken on the family estate in the town of Greystones where my grandmother was born and raised.
On the other wall were pictures of my school years from pigtails to long curls. The pictures brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked them away. How sweet of Nana to hang them all. She always made me feel special.
I went to my room and dropped the bags by the wardrobe. The antique, white lace spread and bright throw pillows still covered the bed. An assortment of pictures, posters and other teenage accessories filled the room. Nana left my room the way I had it as if waiting on me to come back home. The tears threatened again and I dropped on the bed, exhausted.
I rolled on my side. The sun streamed into the room and created a warm, inviting cocoon on my bedspread. I wasn't sure how I was going to get through the visitation tonight and the funeral tomorrow. The thought of enduring condolences from well-wishers depressed me further. I wanted to stay in bed and never get up. I felt close to Nana here in our home.
Emotionally lower than ever, I raised my head to look for the crystals that I kept on my nightstand. Soothing crystals were what I needed. As I looked at the antique table, I gasped and then a soft smile crossed my weary features. A bouquet of Nana's fresh flowers sat on the table in the sunlight.
I sat up on the bed, reaching for the flowers with trembling fingers, as if they were a lifeline. Holding the small crystal vase in my hands, I brought the flowers to my face and inhaled, taking the fragrance into my lungs. I closed my eyes and let the aroma permeate my senses and mind. A feeling of peace settled over me as I held Nana's flowers.
Did Nana replace these week after week as she did when I lived here? Why would she do that? Nana believed in the healing power of plants and aromas, but she wasn't wasteful. Every crystal, spell or plant was used for a purpose. Otherwise, it deserved to have its time in the sun, too, as Nana liked to say. I couldn't imagine Nana putting flowers in my room when I wasn't here to gain the benefit of their healing aroma and beauty.
Nana abided by a mixture of beliefs. She refused to personally label herself as Wicca, Christian or any other name, instead saying that her beliefs and power came from a time before there were such labels. She believed in God and the power of God's love and forgiveness, but she also worshipped the Goddess and the power of healing, spells and the moon. She raised me with the same philosophies and beliefs. She was a gifted healer and many called her a witch, although not in a derogatory way. She didn't mind the term. Humans need labels, she told me once, to know where they fit in relation to others.
The town of Blue Springs loved Nana. Many people came to Nana rather than Dr. Lewis, the residing physician. He respected her knowledge and opinion, too— calling to discuss patients and their recovery. As long as I could remember, townspeople came to Nana for remedies, tinctures, soaps, shampoos, candles and crystal jewelry.
All of Nana's creations were handmade. The mountains of Eastern Kentucky provided the knowledgeable woman a plethora of herbs, wildflowers and resources for her craft. Nana's personal herb garden covered the small clearing behind the cabin. I knew of several different locations in the surrounding mountains where Nana went to pick specific plants or roots, always rotating her harvesting site so that the resources would be sustainable. She revered and respected nature knowing that we are here by Mother Earth's good will and not our own accord as so many people assumed and took for granted.
Nana was an amazing woman, a true angel with tremendous healing power and a generous, loving spirit. She was a force to be reckoned with and a wielder of powerful magic. She helped mountain folk who had no money for doctors or hospitals with their treatment. She was ninety-seven when she died, but still young, frequently walking the mountains and working her spells.
Members of our family live longer than most— if we aren't killed by an unnatural death, that is, as many have suffered. Nana was ninety-seven, but she aged as if she were in her late forties. The people of Blue Springs accepted the anomaly as they did our talents. Based on past family records, Nana might have lived another hundred years. Anger seared through me that her life was cut short.
I squeezed the crystals in my palm. The sharp edges dug into my skin and succeeded in diverting my thoughts from my anger. I realized I wouldn't honor Nana if I went to her visitation seething with rage. Tonight was a celebration of her goodness and spirit. The rage would come again later and I would welcome it, but for now I would remember Nana for the magical gift that she was to me and the town of Blue Springs.
Along with our magical talent, another family legacy included two books. One was a book of the light and one was a book of shadows. The white book was embossed with gold filigree, the pages were crisp and bright white as if never used. Nana used this book in working her spells and healing magic, yet it looked as though never touched before and if that's not intriguing enough, it's been in our family since the beginning. That raises the eyebrow, doesn't it?
Nana once showed me the names of the magic-bearers in our family listed in the front of the book. The power was passed from daughter to daughter and there was always only one. While other members of the family were capable of magic, only the daughter's daughter was the keeper of the books. I was raised with the knowledge that one day my name would be listed in that spot. I guess that time was now.
The other book, the dark one, was black and dull. The pages yellowed with age. I remembered seeing Nana use the dark book only one time— after Byron's father killed his wife, Selma, in a fit of drunken rage. He passed away three days later of a fatal heart attack— natural causes I assumed because of his drinking and dissipated lifestyle. Most of the town's people were glad he was gone. He made many of their lives pure hell with his bullying tactics.
I touched the book then, those years ago when Selma died, curious of its purpose. Nana slapped my hands firmly telling me not to touch the book until she was no longer alive. I was shocked at her reaction.
She warned me to use the book for justice, never for personal gain or revenge. Nana was very adamant in her admonishment and it wasn't like her to be so firm so I obeyed and never touched the book again. I didn't want to disrespect the power by using it for personal gain. I was taught that taboo as a young child and abided by the rule vigilantly for fear of angering the Goddess.
But I'll never forget how it felt. Power thrummed against my hand when I rubbed the rough cover and caused my arm to twitch. Years later, I asked Nana about using the book of shadows against Byron's father. She told me that he molested his daughter, Renee and he was even worse with Selma gone. She prayed to God and t
he Goddess and was directed to mete out justice. She only despaired of how the elder Malone polluted his son's mind with his filth and said then that Byron would suffer his father's sins. I'd forgotten her prophesy until now.
Tired beyond words, I dismissed thoughts of the Malones. Despite the yawning emptiness I felt, it was good to be home. The thought sustained me for another minute before my mind naturally returned to Alex. I surrendered and as I lay there hiding from the world and remembered him as a teenager. He was five years older than me. Nana hired him to help around the house. It was her way to lend financial support to his single mom. He worked odd jobs like fixing the porch steps, painting the fence or rebuilding the drying shed after a hard storm.
I was ten when he first came to our mountain to work. I spent sunny days following him around. Love was evident in my eyes, I'm sure. The dark, handsome, muscular young man held an edge of danger and rebellion that thrilled my young heart. I told Nana he was the one for me and she agreed, but warned me that he needed space and time to come to the same conclusion. I'm such an idiot for not seeing the writing on the wall.
Unfortunately, I was seventeen and immature. My emotions were intense and consuming. I was in love and he was my world. I couldn't wait to tell him how I felt— especially since he was considering enlisting. So I laid it all out there... I can still hear the emphatic denial of his love. Words I have never forgotten or recovered from. I sighed and once again rerouted my thoughts.
I glanced at the flowers again. Fresh cut red gerbera daisies, white hollyhocks and purple zinnias filled a crystal vase— as if Nana knew I was going to be here. And why not? I thought, she wielded an uncanny talent for prophesy. Why wouldn't she know she was to die? Unlike me, her visions came ahead of time so she must have known. I remembered the vision of her death— arms outspread, the peace of her expression, the truck veering into her path after Byron tried to correct it. Yep, she knew— I was suddenly convinced.
I'd talked to Nana last week on the phone. She sounded distracted, but she stayed busy so I didn't consider it extraordinary. She talked about where she discovered new patches of ginseng and how she finally delivered Mary Wood's baby two and a half weeks late.
Before I hung up she told me how proud she was and how I must always remember my legacy— and that she loved me. Recalling the conversation brought tears to my eyes and I realized Nana did indeed know her fate. The call and the flowers were a message to me. With sudden insight I knew she wanted me to find the books, but why all the secrecy? Why not come out and say it?
The evil trickling into Blue Springs went far beyond the Malones. There was something greater here— something gathering power— stalking and waiting for the right moment. Nana knew about it and it killed her— even if Byron was the pawn used to carry it out. How I knew all of this, I'm not sure, but I know I'm right. There's a battle coming.
A sense of urgency filled me. Find the books. They were my heritage and essential to developing my gift. I knew Nana possessed power far beyond what she ever displayed. There was no need and she wasn't one to waste power. Determination filled me to wield it as wisely, cautiously and judiciously as she.
I went to college in California at Nana's urging. I was content to stay in Kentucky and go to UK— close to home. Nana was the one who insisted that I go across the country— so I could breathe, she said. She believed that I needed space to grow before I came back home.
“Every woman needs to grow in her own way, Keeley. I don't want to influence that part of you that makes you who you are. The Goddess will do that, but you need to be on your own and you can't do it two hours away in Lexington because you'll come home every weekend. You need space and you need distance. I'll be here when you return as the wonderful woman I know you'll be.”
But she wasn't here, I thought. She knew she wasn't going to be here— it's why she insisted I go so far away. I sighed and glanced at the clock. It was time to shower and prepare for the visitation.
I dreaded dealing with it. I didn't want to face the idea of never seeing her again— never talking to her. I didn't want to face everyone's sympathy. It would be a struggle to maintain my composure, but I would because I didn't want to grieve in front of an audience. I looked forward to getting back home tonight— where I felt surrounded by Nana— where I would search for the books.
Chapter Two
Alex sauntered through the front doors of the funeral home just as Mrs. Olinger crushed me against her bountiful bust. I caught his smirk and mentally damned him. Did he have to look so fucking perfect? Mrs. Olinger grabbed my attention from Alex when she put her hand on my cheek.
“Keeley, dear, you know Nana meant the world to my family. She treated Henry for his heart ailments and he's still kickin’ today. I don't know what we are going to do with her passin’ on. She's kept this town healthy, I tell ya. Now, I know she's taught you everythin'. We all hopin’ you are gonna’ come back here and carry on her work. Not that you want to think about that right now, dear, but you know that Blue Springs is your home. We need you and your gift. You have your place here, dear, don't forget that as you make your decisions.”
She patted me on the cheek and gave me one more squeeze before she moved on to the food table. The local women's church group filled the table to overflowing with salads, coleslaw, fried pork chops, chili, casseroles, watermelon and punch. Bless them. Plastic plates, forks, napkins and cups littered all available surfaces in the funeral home. Visitations and funerals in Eastern Kentucky were social affairs and everyone turned out for them, especially for someone as well-loved as Nana. I was pleased that so many came to honor her. I knew that she would be happy that so many people cared and appreciated what she did for them.
I sighed wearily. I was tired of standing and greeting. My feet ached in the high-heel shoes. I wore a slim black sheathe I bought in California. It was fine when I picked it up on the west coast. Now it felt out of place and I wished I had on jeans and a tank top. The dress was working for Alex if his heated gaze was any indication— maybe it was worth the absurd amount I paid for it.
He stood in a corner speaking with a friend, but he kept an eye on me at all times. Despite my duties in the receiving line, I managed to always know where he stood. I didn't like that realization. I was supposed to avoid him, not keep track of his whereabouts.
I mean really, he even looked lethal in a harmless setting like the funeral home. The air around him vibrated with an awareness and nonstop potential explosive reaction. His gaze looked... ready, territorial and possessive. I swallowed at the feelings that look aroused.
As I murmured some greeting and shook hands with another lady from church, I remembered the intensity of the passion I felt in his arms and the things we did on that summer night. That was before he made a fool of me.
I hugged someone else and shut the door on that train of thought. I shook hands with Mr. Talbot. After four hours, the line dwindled down and I was ready to get home. I felt a zing of awareness lift the hair on the nape of my neck. I realized Alex now stood behind me.
I looked at him, striving to show none of the turmoil inside. I was so tired. The flight, exhaustion, hunger and sorrow wore me down. I smelled the home-cooked food on the table and my belly growled in response.
“I'll get food for you,” he stated, without asking— attempting to take over in his typical male manner.
“No, thank you.” I didn't want to eat here and didn't appreciate him pushing his way back into my life as if he didn't devastate me and simply walk away four years ago. It was none of his business if I ate or not, he gave up that right! Unfortunately, this wasn't the place to air these thoughts.
He placed his hand on my lower back, still trying to control me. “Keeley, you need to eat,” he said firmly.
I pulled my arm from his grasp and he let me go— not wanting to make a scene any more than I did. “Look, Alex,” I whispered furiously. “I will eat when I get back. Mrs. Olinger and the ladies have already boxed some up for me. I'm not
going to eat here so back off. And let me point out that it's none of your business if I eat or not. Don't worry about it. And stop trying to be my friend.”
“Keeley... ” Alex growled as he grabbed my wrist with his other hand, obviously getting ready to lay down the law when Mr. Arin Solen stepped up in line. I stiffened instinctively and Alex shifted to stand in front of me, going from angry with me to protective of me in a second flat. Strangely I noticed him bare his teeth— and even they were sexy, white and glistening and strangely long in the eyeteeth. I looked at him oddly. He seemed... wolfish.
Solen always provoked that effect in me and Alex picked up on it. Nana didn't like him either and warned me to stay away from him and his property on the neighboring mountaintop. He reached a gnarled hand out to grasp mine, but Alex wrapped his arm around my shoulders, covering my clasped hands in a show of support and condolence.
Solen dropped his hand and his lips tightened to a thin line. “Very sorry about your grandmother, my dear. I'm sure the town will miss her.” His tone insinuated that he would not. He gazed into my eyes and I felt a brief moment of disorientation. Maybe I did need to eat. “Will you move back to Blue Springs?” he inquired attentively.
“Of course, Mr. Solen. Where else would I go?” I stated with firm resolve and defiance. I lifted my chin and faced him directly.
“I know kids these days,” he explained with a conciliatory smile. “They long for big cities and culture.”
“There is as much culture here,” I defended, “as anywhere in the world. This is my home. I am back to stay.”
“Well, if you ever decide to leave the mountain. Keep me in mind— I'll buy.”
“Mr. Solen, my grandmother just passed away. I don't think now is the time,” I said, offended.
