My shoulders sagged, and I allowed the loneliness that had onset within the marrow of my bones to seep to the surface. Since the message had come through notifying me that Jeanne was ill - was dying, I had felt off-kilter. Which was absurd, really, considering I had cut ties with her years ago, but the knowledge that the woman who had raised me shook me more than I cared to admit.
Perhaps this was what it felt like when you lost family, but I wasn’t certain, not having an abundance of experience when it came to loss.
Liar. The little voice in the back of my mind whispered, but I simply ignored it, walking towards the more populated area of the village, where stone houses lined the streets, overshadowed by the steeple of the ever-looming church.
I had booked a room at the Inn before I arrived, knowing full well that even if they had offered me a place to stay - had offered me their hospitality, I would have turned it down. I hated that it still stung, hated that they alone were able to dig into those wounds I had plastered long ago, forcing me to bleed my truth in front of a crowd of spectators.
As the village became more populated, people looked my way, but at least here I understood that it was because of my appearance and not of who I was.
Cresting right, just before the church, I slid into a narrow alley, allowing my fingertips to drag along the stone surface of the walls that seemed to press in, guiding me towards the Inn. I ignored the whispered words of welcome that seemed to rise up from the stones themselves - ignored the words of wisdom they bestowed. Once, I may have halted my steps, may have listened to the stone whisper its truth through the wind, but now I trudged forward, ignoring everything the village had to offer.
The bar was exactly as I remembered - only the last time I had been here, I snuck in underage and bribed the barkeep to serve me some wine. I had felt older taking that risk - pushed on a dare of Julian’s. Of course, we drank wine at home, were practically raised on it. But in the bar, it seemed almost daring somehow. The wooden paneling of the room made it appear smaller somehow - darker, and while some might have labeled it as warm - as homey, I simply felt suffocated.
I nodded once at the boy who stood behind the bar in greeting, watched his gaze flicker over my bedraggled appearance, lingering on my chest. Men could be so predictable. I didn’t stand there for longer than proprietary dictated, pushing off towards the small wooden staircase that sat adjacent to the bar - somehow its very structure defying the physics of nature.
With each step I took, the narrow staircase creaked, and I shut my eyes at the vision it seemed to evoke - the ones that saw me swaying and drowning. For a long time I had felt adrift, but Charl had changed all of that - had shifted a small Summer Camp club into something more than just a business - he had offered me a family.
After the funeral, I would contact Zoey - and beg her to connect with my grandmother. Zoey was a natural medium - her ability to slip in and out of connecting, conversing with those who had already crossed over, rivaled any I had met before her.
It was that thought alone that kept me going - that told me that all was not lost.
As my foot pressed against the last step, the stairway let out a groan, as if the establishment itself was somehow adjusting to my very presence. Two doors sat at the top of the landing - the only rooms to rent in this small sliver of the world, and one of them was mine - at least for a few days.
The smell of freshly pressed lavender accosted my senses as I opened the dark wooden door - yet another thing that hadn’t seemed to have changed during my time away. They still prepared the rooms with the herbs and scents freshly available to them. It was a place that seemed halted in time, oblivious to the outside world that seemed to peddle in all things contrived and fantastical. The sound of the cows in the distance was all I needed to be reminded of the fact that if I was looking for that artificial life sweetener, but I wouldn’t find it here.
The smell of the lavender tugged at the crevices of my mind, unthreading a memory. I had kept these locked away tight, unwilling to pull them out - to examine them, because if I did, I may have been tempted to turn tail and run straight back home - to beg my grandmother to forgive me - to take my place in the village, no matter the personal cost. And I couldn’t do that. So, instead, I kept the memories at bay, holding them behind the steel fortress of my mind, refusing to allow them an inch, or else I would surely drown.
But now, back home, the scents, the whispers, the language - all of it, was too much. And I braced myself, allowing the memory to wash over me, for fighting it would be futile.
Tanned hands gripped mine firmly, guiding my small fingers towards the plant. The scent was overwhelming - nauseatingly so, but I didn’t want to tell her that - didn’t want to give her any reason to be disappointed in me. She guided the knife towards the bush, forcing a small handful of branches that felt as if they were made of twine into my small hand, bringing the knife swiftly down in a fluid motion until I was left clutching the remnants of the bush and not the bush itself.
That cut had somehow made the scent stronger. My palm itched where the greenery pressed upon my lifelines, and I fought the urge to drop the plant to the ground - fought the urge to run away and play by the riverbank. But my grandmother had been adamant that it was time for my lessons to start, and sorting, organizing, and felling herbs was a continuous lesson, one I grew bored of easily.
“Lavender is one of the most powerful herbs in Magick, Marie.” Her voice was melodic, her eyes blue, and in that moment she seemed like the epitome of beauty. Her hair was copper to my blonde, and I wondered if one day when I grew into a woman, if I would look like her - be as powerful as her.
“Are you listening, little Marie?”
“Yes, Grandmother.” Even I could hear the sullenness in my tone. I didn’t want to be here - I wanted to be on the riverbank, throwing stones and building nests, I didn’t want to be cutting and memorizing herbs and spices for spells.
“Why is Lavender one of the most powerful herbs?”
I blinked at her, racking my memory, sifting through the many lessons she had forced me to sit through, finally coming up empty.
She smiled knowingly, having somehow anticipated my blank expression - my lack of knowledge. That smile only made my palm itch more - made the urge to run that much stronger.
“Lavender is versatile, Marie - it is neither light nor dark, but can be used for all. It is not simply honed for protection - although it can be used for that, it can also be added to curses. One day when you have a husband and a home, you will plant lavender at your entrance, for it is our sign - our way - to spot one another.”
I nodded, understanding the words she had spoken - absorbing the information she had bestowed, and yet, in hindsight, it wasn’t enough - I hadn't absorbed enough, learned enough - not from her anyway.
Still, that summer I paid attention, understanding that only the women who were gifted like us had a pot of lavender growing at the front door, whilst the others showered my grandmother with gifts and supplies, all vying to stay in her good graces.
I opened my eyes, forcing the memory back - forcing the emotion to recede with it. But it was never that simple.
I blinked once more, certain that I was hallucinating. For there, seated at the edge of my bed, was the demon.
“As Witches go, you are far more entertaining than I had bargained for.”
His voice was honeyed and sensual, sending warmth to flood my veins, and it only made me want to throw something at him.