They were nearly charred in their blackness, with a sticky, tar-like substance clinging to some of the remnants. A pungent aroma painted itself across her skin, her eyes watering. The ruin stopped just past the fence line, at the thin, towering stalks of dill, planted for the express purpose of keeping out malevolent magic. But they’d sacrificed themselves in the process.
Years ago, Sadie had laughed when Gigi instructed her to plant the herb in abundance. After all, what kind of garden needed that much protection? But as they had planted under the soft, deep light of a Flower Moon, Gigi’s eyes had continually flitted over her shoulder, past the gate, to the stars. She’d crushed a moon blossom under her left heel before picking all the herbs for a protection talisman.
“What is it?” Sadie had asked.
“This work,” Gigi said in a low rumble, “it’s not without its blood, its wounds, its ghosts. Even though it’s meant to help, magic makes enemies. Remember that when someone knocks on the back door asking for you to fix some damned thing of theirs. Your decisions will leave you with a past to make you proud or a future that has too much risk to measure. Make sure you know which one you want.”
Sadie had scoffed at the time, but the more she tried to help fix the broken things, the more she wondered if she was meddling in places she oughtn’t. There always seemed to be an unseen consequence: the heather refused to grow back for weeks; certain animals wouldn’t come near her without hissing or growling; fires refused to light for her until she bathed her hands in goat’s milk and lavender to purify herself; and sometimes, a viscous scent trailed after her that smelled gray as ashen sorrow.
What kind of blood was on her hands? What sort of ghosts were following her into her future?
She got to her knees and with heavy arms began to rake the detritus into a pile with her hands, her nails instantly turning a sickly black. As she moved across the ground, the first tingling of fear started to trickle through her, her body growing dense with dread.
She could feel a pair of eyes watching her, slippery as eel skin and just as slimy.
With slow movements, she looked up as something caught her eye beyond the fence line. In the dense thicket of trees, she saw a figure looming.
Sadie had seen ghosts before, and this wasn’t one. A spirit, maybe. Someone with unfinished business or a grudge to settle.
The longer it stood there without moving, the more her chest tightened, until she could barely breathe. Was this the thing that had tried to wreck her garden?
At the thought, her blood turned hot, fire chasing away the ice, until her fingertips were vibrating with the chaos swirling in her breast. With steel mettle, she picked up a handful of dirt and watched as her anger lit the edges, flames licking across her palm until it burned in her hand and the ash took to the wind like the vengeful light of dying stars. But before the ashes could reach the figure, it vanished without a trace.
Something, or someone, was trying to get in. Without the dill, the garden needed a new defense. Sadie spent the next hour raking the burned foliage, removing every last vestige. She couldn’t let Gigi see this. Couldn’t add another worry to her plate. Sprinkling the dirt with ground asafetida root and soil from the four corners of the garden, she then burned the whole lot. The smoke was as pungent as bad dreams and bitterness.
When the ashes were cool, she sprinkled them around the perimeter, a protection that would last for a few nights, at least. As she sprinkled asafetida, she saved a little for herself. For if it could protect a garden from unwanted spirits, surely it could keep her from heartbreak.
It was time to take matters into her own hands.
At six o’clock she dragged herself upstairs to shower off the stench of ashes and soot and dirt. By the time she was finished, the scent of fried chicken was snaking its way under the doorjamb. She dressed in loose-fitting jeans, worn thin at the knees, and a cream cable-knit sweater. It was evening, so she allowed herself a look in the mirror. There were half-moons under her eyes, and her olive skin, though still tan from summer, was washed out. She rubbed some blush in. Not for herself, but so Gigi wouldn’t worry about her lack of color.
Slipping her feet into her well-worn leather sandals, she walked into the kitchen with heavy footfalls that thundered up to her heart and echoed bad omens. Gigi was there at the stove, watching over an enormous pan filled with fried chicken. The cornflakes were crisping golden as a summer sun, the hot oil filling the air like a promise. There was a pot of peas and corn simmering too. Sadie could still see the large pats of butter slowly melting.
“Hey, toot,” Gigi said.
“What’s all this?” Sadie asked.
“I just felt like cooking,” Gigi told her. “Baked beans are in the oven. And I’ve got a fruit salad here, but I don’t think it’s any good. Try it,” she demanded, handing Sadie a fork with a strawberry speared on it.
“Exactly how much sugar did you add to the fruit salad?” Sadie asked as she chewed.
“Now don’t you pitch a fit. It wasn’t edible without it.” Gigi leaned against the counter, her hand on her back as a grimace of pain flitted across her face. “I’m fine,” she said before Sadie could ask her.
“Mm-hm. And brown sugar in the baked beans?” Sadie asked, trying to keep her tone light but not liking the way Gigi’s body was bent over like a shepherd’s crook.
“And bacon. It’s the only way to make them,” her grandmother said resolutely, checking the chicken with a fork. “You know the Revelares were one of the founding families of Poppy Meadows, but my mother, she was a wanderer. Always chasing a man. I grew up here, but we settled in Oklahoma for a time. It was there she dropped me off at the bus station when I was twelve She told me she’d be back, but that if she wasn’t, to get on the bus to Chickasha and stay with my granddad.”
“By yourself?” Sadie asked horrified. “At twelve?”
“Things were different back then. Well, she didn’t come back. She was too busy to care. And I spent the summer with my granddad and hated every damn second. So, he told me that if I could save the money, I could take the bus to Newport Harbor, where my daddy worked in the shipyard. So, I sold my bike for thirty-five dollars, and that was a lot of money in 1942, mind you. Then I went door-to-door selling Cuticure, a miracle salve. If you had an ailment, Cuticure could fix it. When I finally got enough money, I took the first bus to Oakland.”
“And? Was it better than Chickasha?”
“Pfft, please. Daddy was seeing some dumb bimbo.” She stirred the corn thoughtfully. “I got to his apartment and she answered the door. Made me wait in the hallway until he got home from work. They didn’t want me. Nobody ever did. But I stayed anyway. And she’d lock me out while her and daddy had their ‘private time,’ so I spent every afternoon at the pictures until I had every newsreel and film memorized.”
“That sounds horrible.” Sadie frowned, absentmindedly eating the fruit salad with her fingertips and licking the sugar from her thumbs.
“Every Revelare leaves, but they always come back. That’s the saying. But my mother didn’t. I did. I always knew this was where I was supposed to be. But listen to me, blabbering on like an old fool. I just wanted you to know. Nobody ever wanted me except for your grandad. At least that’s what it felt like to a short, painfully shy kid like me with my huge nose and bullfrog voice. But I always wanted you and your brother. From the second I laid eyes on you, I knew you were meant to be mine. I hope you know that. I know it’s not good enough. I know I’m not your mother,” she said in a businesslike tone, taking the fried chicken from the pan and transferring it to the paper towels, waiting on the counter, to siphon off the excess grease.
“Gigi,” Sadie said in a voice soft as challah dough. But Gigi clucked her tongue. She never was one to get emotional. “Just so you know, your love has always been more than enough.”
“For you, maybe. But not for that brother of yours. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to know.”