“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.