I kneel next to Granny and draw the satchel out. It’s heavier than I expect. Inside, I find a book—its leather cover wrinkled like a corpse’s skin. Runes—sigils like the markings over the doorways in Ebba’s house, are burned into the spine. Symbols of protection. A faint buzzing plays beneath my fingers as I open the book. The writing scrawls across the pages, faded and nearly illegible. “What is it?”
“It’s a grimoire. A book of shadows.”
“Lands.” A witch’s book. I’d heard of such things. Sacred, personal journals full of charms and spells. I turn the pages slowly. They feel fragile and thinner than a Bible’s pages, like they might flake into nothing if I’m not careful. Drawings illuminate the text, worked in between the words and symbols. The image of a flaming tree stretches across two pages, its branches licked with red and orange. “It’s sure pretty.” The drawing seems to come alive under my touch, the fire flickering and moving. Heat blossoms beneath my fingertips, travels up my arm, and sets the rash between my shoulder blades to tingling. I gasp and pull back.
“You felt it? Just like I did.” Granny nods. “She’s chosen you, all right. That burning you felt, that mark on your back, it’s just the beginning.” Granny takes the book from me and closes it. “This is a powerful book, Gracelynn. The answers to anything you’d ever need to know are found in its pages. Women have had these sorts of books for centuries—it’s how they brought their old ways to the new country, so their daughters and granddaughters might learn the kind of work we do and more, besides. This grimoire is a living thing. It’s been in our family from the beginning, and in our family it will always remain.” The crease between her brows deepens. “It can be used for many, many things, but you must come to the book with clear intentions and a mind not to harm. Otherwise, the work might go wrong.”
“But why are you giving it to me? Shouldn’t you give it to Val, or even Caro, seein’ as they’re your blood?”
“Anneliese has chosen you. That’s why you’re marked.”
The rash between my shoulder blades tingles again.
“You’ve had dreams lately, haven’t you? Strange ones? Maybe even visions like I have.”
I nod.
“It’s Anneliese. She’s calling you. Just like she called me.” Granny runs a gnarled hand over the leather cover of the book.
“Blood ain’t got much at all to do with family—family is about love. Anneliese wasn’t Opa Friedrich’s blood, neither, but he raised her no different. Oma Elizabeth took in my Pa after Anneliese died and loved him like her own son, just like I love you.” Granny weaves her fingers through mine and gently squeezes my hand. “Anneliese can sense you’re special. I’ve always known you were special, Gracie. Knew it from the first time I laid eyes on you, with your tangled hair, them gangly, long legs, and a spirit made older by its troubles. You looked up at me with your big blue eyes and I felt a tug in my heart that knew no measure. It was me that convinced Val to take you in, because you belonged with us. With me.” Tears pool in Granny’s eyes and spill over. “The power in our family . . . it’s real enough, but the love is even more real, Gracelynn. Power don’t always look the way you think it should. I had a lot of learnin’ to do, just like you.”
I close my eyes for a minute, remembering the relief I’d felt that cold day in January when the Greene County sheriff came to our door with his hat in his hands to tell me what I already knew. I didn’t cry one single tear for my daddy. Some things just need to run their course. The only good thing Shep Doherty ever did for me was to lay himself down in that ditch with a belly full of rotgut moonshine and die. I thank all my angels every day for that.
I don’t want to think about life before Granny, so I clear my head of the past and drink in everything she just told me instead. Real magic exists? And I might be a witch? It’s all so confusing. I glance toward the grimoire, freckled with sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. My fingers ache to turn its pages and read what’s inside, but I’m also afraid that it might be too much for me to comprehend. I don’t know that I’m ready.
“And what about that preacher?”
“Yes. Him.” Granny unfolds from the floor, her joints creaking and popping. “There’s something familiar about the darkness behind those eyes. I saw some things when I had my last vision. You were all alone, in an open field, and a black wolf came running at you, with bared teeth. A wolf is a symbol. A symbol for the de—” She braces herself against the doorway and puts a hand to her head. “Lands. Got mighty dizzy all of a sudden. Probably just need a bite to eat.”
I grasp onto her elbow to help steady her. Her skin is like ice. My heart starts racing. Granny never gets sick. “You all right? You don’t look so good.”
“Gracie, I can’t feel my . . . I . . . ,” she slurs. “Get the . . . grim . . .”
Suddenly, Granny’s knees fold and she falls to the floor before I can catch her, her back arching as a froth of drool boils from her slackened mouth.
“Granny!” I drop to my knees next to her, panic twisting sharp as a knife blade between my ribs. For a moment, her eyes widen and meet mine, and I see my fear mirrored there. The fit overtakes her, lifting her hips from the plank floor and wrenching her limbs into unnatural angles as she seizes.
It’s like a scene from a play or a picture show, almost as if I’m watching from afar as I crouch over her, wailing and shaking her shoulders. I know I need to do something—that I should run for help. But it’s like I’m rooted to the floor—weak, worthless, and scared to death to leave her.
Her eyes roll back, and she shudders one last time as I call out her name.
Outside, a dog begins to howl. It sounds just like a wolf.
TEN
DEIRDRE
1881
Deirdre shrugged out of Robbie’s embrace, ears abuzz with the whir of crickets. The cloud-veiled sun was already hugging the ridge. She needed to get back to town, and fast. It had been nearly three weeks since she’d left home and gone to help the Bledsoes. Hannah was an easy mistress. Being in her employ had been the respite from Mama she hoped it would be. Best of all, her outings to gather herbs gave her an excuse to steal more time with Robbie.
She picked up her petticoats from where they lay on the wide slab of shale next to her, uncovering the swath of dark green moss stretched across its surface like a clawed hand. She hurriedly stepped into her skirts, then buttoned her shirtwaist over her chemise. Robbie woke and rolled onto his side, shielding his eyes from the light. “You leavin’ already?”
“Already? I’ve lingered too long as it is.” Deirdre wound up her hair and raked her combs through it, piling its frazzled thickness atop her head.
“Mrs. Bledsoe can manage without you.” Robbie stood and stretched, then circled her hips with his arms, pinioning her tightly to him. He pulled the unbuttoned collar of her blouse over the curve of her shoulder and kissed her there. Deirdre sighed. “Don’t you want to stay here, just a little while longer?” he asked.
Heat flared under her skin, though their couplings still left Deirdre hollow with wanting. She’d learned Robbie was much too eager to catch his own pleasure than coax her body into something she’d only ever caught the achingly sweet edge of.