A bone-tooth key.
Magic from the key tickled with energy in my palm. Its chain a dingy brass. A crinkled ribbon of cloth secured it in place. Someone powerful created that key. I hurriedly handed it back to her.
“Bone Layer brought it over to my mother, for safekeeping.”
I looked at her, surprised to hear this. “Bone? Why?” He had Grandmama to manage things.
She shrugged. “He told her ‘the truth will set you free.’”
“Set her free?” I hand her the key back.
Adaire shook her head. “Not her. You.” She glanced past my shoulder at the sound of voices moving closer.
“Free from what?”
We both looked over as a voice hit the door and heaved the couch back into place.
“Hell if I know—maybe he was talking about jail?” We stood. Aunt Violet tumbled into the house, drunk as a skunk, laughing as Joe Lucky Sr. pawed at her playfully. They both straightened and mocked sober at the sight of us.
Aunt Violet eyed the couch, then Adaire’s hand as she tucked it behind her back, shoving the key in her shorts pocket.
“I was just leaving,” I said, frazzled by what Adaire had told me.
“You ain’t gotta leave, baby girl. Joe was just going home. Wasn’t you, Joe?”
This was news to him. She shoved him out the door before he could protest.
Aunt Violet turned back around. Her short dark auburn hair flamed on top of her head, fierce as her brown eyes. Red and glassy from too much booze, but they were sharp enough to see something was awry.
“Don’t forget this,” Adaire called to me before I got out the door. She was bent over the table, scribbling something on a piece of paper real quick-like. “It’s the list of herbs Mr. Webb needs to heal up the gout in his foot.” She walked over and shoved the paper in my hand, then nodded once solemnly.
I gave her a look as I opened the paper. Find the scales of justice. She holds the truth.
Adaire died that Saturday. That was why the visions were no longer clear. And it had worried her what the fogginess meant. She’d never experienced that before; she said neither had Aunt Violet or Wyatt. She kept bringing it up, going over and over what she’d seen—or couldn’t see. I blew off her concern, telling her to stop pouting because her gift delivered a dud. I should have listened. Paid more attention to her fear. Maybe if I had, I could have helped her figure it out. Maybe I could have saved her.
Of course, she wouldn’t have been riding her bike if I hadn’t borrowed her car.
I unfold the tiny piece of paper with my cousin’s hurried handwriting on it. I didn’t have a clue what she was telling me back then, but I think I do now.
Find the scales of justice. She holds the truth.
The truth about Adaire or me, I’m not sure.
The kitchen light pops on.
Oh, shit!
I drop to the ground and roll under the porch. A random tuft of weeds pokes me in the face. Something skitters across my thigh. I stifle a squeal.
Seconds later, there’s a creak from the porch door as Grandmama opens it and calls out for Bone Layer. But it’s late, and I know there’s no task or chores that need to be done at this hour.
Through the wood slats of the porch, I watch Grandmama scan the yard suspiciously, scowling at the night. Not that her milky eyes can see, but she senses things. I hope not my breathing just below her feet.
There’s a rustling noise from the one-room smokehouse as Bone Layer emerges. He comes out the door, and his eyes land straight on me. Panic forks my heart.
He stalks across the yard with purpose, lantern shining from his hand. I shrink deeper into the darkness, praying it will conceal me. His thunderous footsteps rattle the porch. Dust sprinkles down. I shield my eyes.
“God has given us a purpose, and a cleansing must be had,” Grandmama says quietly to him. Bone Layer hums a deep noise that sounds like he understands what she’s talking about and the gravity of what it means. “It’s time. Fetch the bones.”
ELEVEN
Sins of the Past
There’s nothing like somebody suspecting you of murder to keep you up all night.
Oscar’s got my nerves all frazzled with talk about me going to jail. And it’s spooked Grandmama enough she sent Bone out in the middle of the night to gather bones kissed by moonlight for a protection spell. Probably to ward off Stone’s ghost that might come for us.
I get out of bed like usual at the crack of dawn to help Grandmama prepare for our rounds. We sell tinctures for fresh eggs. Trade pies for fruits and vegetables. Rarely do we get actual cash from someone. Eventually, I’m sent on my way to run my errands, delivering herbs to our clients like usual, while Grandmama prepares more jams for the coming weekend’s market.
That bone-tooth key itches in my pocket all day.
“Please explain to me again how going back to the scene of the crime will clear your name instead of getting you arrested?” Raelean snap-pops her bubble gum as she side-eyes me. Her brown hair flames around her head as wind rushes through the rolled down windows. Her blue Camaro purrs like a kitten, but the AC is for shit. Nice of her to drive me around, though.
She only questions this because she can’t see the whole picture. I can’t, either, to be fair. But it’s there, I just need to collect all the pieces first.
“The sheriff thinks I might have murdered Stone—which...threatening to kill him publicly at the courthouse like I did, probably wasn’t one of my better ideas.”
Raelean hums an agreeing sound.
