Anna Dressed in Blood - Kendare Blake [61]
In the end, I stand alone in the center of the room, curls of smoke fading and dispersing into the ceiling. Thomas, Carmel, and Will are standing in a huddle, staring at me. The cop and the railroad worker are gone. So is the gun.
“That was—” is all Thomas can muster.
“That was what I do,” I say simply, and wish I was less out of breath. “So no more arguments.”
* * *
Four days later I’m sitting on the counter in the kitchen, watching my mom wash some funny-looking roots, which she then shaves and chops to be added to the herbs we’ll wear around our necks tonight.
Tonight. It’s finally here. It seems like it’s taken forever, and I still wish I had one more day. I’ve found myself in Anna’s driveway every night, just standing there, unable to think of anything to say. And every night she comes to the window and stares out at me. I haven’t been sleeping much, though some of that is attributable to the nightmares.
The dreams have been worse since we came to Thunder Bay. The timing couldn’t be worse. I’m exhausted when I shouldn’t be exhausted—when I can least afford to be exhausted.
I can’t remember whether my dad had the dreams or not, but even if he did he wouldn’t have told me. Gideon’s never mentioned anything either, and I haven’t brought it up, because what if it’s just me? It would mean that I’m weaker than my ancestors. That I’m not as strong as everyone expects me to be.
It’s always the same dream. A figure bending over my face. I’m scared, but I also know that the figure is linked to me. I don’t like it. I think it’s my father.
But not really my father. My father has moved on. Mom and Gideon made sure of that; they hung around the house where he was murdered down in Baton Rouge for nights on end, casting runes and burning candles. But he was gone. I couldn’t tell whether my mom was happy or disappointed.
I watch her now as she hurriedly snips and grinds different herbs, measuring them out, pouring them from the bowl of her mortar and pestle. Her hands are fast and clean. She’s had to wait until the last minute because the Five Finger Grass was hard to find and she had to go through an unfamiliar supplier.
“What’s this stuff for, anyway?” I ask, picking up a piece of it. It’s dehydrated and greenish brown. It looks like a piece of hay.
“It’ll protect from the damage of any five fingers,” she says distractedly, then looks up. “Anna does have five fingers, doesn’t she?”
“On each hand,” I say lightly, and set the grass back down.
“I cleaned the athame again,” she says as she adds shakes of slivered colic root, which she tells me is useful to keep enemies at bay. “You’ll need it. From what I read of this spell, it’ll take a lot out of her. You’ll be able to finish your job. Do what you came to do.”
I notice she’s not smiling. Even though I haven’t been around much, my mom knows me. She knows when something’s off, and she usually has a pretty good idea of what it is. She says it’s a mom thing.
“What’s wrong about this, Cassio?” she asks. “What’s different?”
“Nothing. Nothing should be different. She’s more dangerous than any ghost I’ve seen. Maybe even more than any Dad saw. She’s killed more; she’s stronger.” I look down at the pile of Five Finger Grass. “But she’s more alive, too. She’s not confused. She’s not some shifting, half-existent thing who kills out of fear or rage. Something did this to her, and she knows.”
“How much does she know?”
“I think she knows everything, only she’s scared to tell me.”
My mom pushes some hair out of her eyes. “After tonight, you’ll know for sure.”
I shove myself off of the counter. “I think I already do,” I say angrily. “I think I know who killed her.” I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I keep thinking about the man who terrorized her, this young girl, and I want to pound his face