Page 6 of Stronger Than Blood
I sighed. “Okay, you know I’m not looking for a boyfriend. The last one… Well, you already know about that. And I’m assumingthis whole serial killer thing is probably him. Although I’ve not seen him since the restraining order.”
She shook her head and looked sad. “Rory, don’t let one bad experience chase you from love, or at least the hope of love. You deserve to be happy.”
“And I am happy, or I would be happy if I had any natural talent besides seeing the occasional ghost… which incidentally isn’t helpful at all.”
She smiled. “Okay, so it’s time to have this conversation. I’ve resisted it long enough. Come on, I’ll fix us some tea.”
I followed her out into the shop. Madam Bellamy had become popular in our rustic little store in downtown Memphis after she’d moved up from New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina destroyed her old shop down there.
Not only did she know how to read people, but she knew how to create a shop that encouraged people to buy her goods and services. The incense that always burned in various pots around the shop was never too much, just an accent that told individuals they were in a shop that focused on the spiritual.
Most of the items for sale were directly related to the occult, but there were plenty of angels and crosses mixed in with the pagan items. No matter what your brand of religion was, your eyes would be drawn naturally to what you related to best.
She’d seen images of the storm and had managed to pack all her belongings and leave town before it hit, but she’d also been warned not to return. Madam Bellamy’s gifts were unusual in these parts. She’d been accused of being a devil worshipper early on, had been all but picketed by evangelical Christian groups, then finally, when she’d helped police find a little girl who’d been kidnapped before the perp was able to hurt her, she’d found her place, and the haters had all but disappeared.
She put out the beignet she’d cooked yesterday and warmed them up in her air fryer. She was the only person I knew whocould make those taste good the day after they were made. She poured her home-brewed tea, then sat across from me. “You have to go home.”
I paused as I reached for the beignet. “Um, why?”
“Were you not listening to the reading? Your past is where the future lies.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have a place to go back to. Besides, I hated my hometown; growing up there was horrible.”
She put her hand over mine. “Things have likely changed. Tell me about your family.”
I shook my head, wishing I didn’t have to remember any of that. “Well, I don’t know any of the ones still alive. My grandparents are dead. They raised me. My mom and dad died when I was too little to remember them.”
“All your grandparents are dead?” she asked before taking a sip of her tea.
“I… I don’t know my dad’s family. I never even met them. So, I don’t know if they are dead or alive. But, Madam Bellamy, they had nothing to do with us. Why would I even consider them?”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s not them, but I know you need to go back where you came from. Your journey will begin there.”
“My journey?” I said and, after taking another bite, stared across the store. Finally, I looked back at the woman who’d become like my real family in the past year and asked, “Where is the journey I’m going on supposed to take me, and why would I want to go there?”
She smiled. “Oh, son, life is a never-ending journey. This one is important, probably the most important one you’ve taken thus far. But do be prepared for all the challenges coming your way. If I’m not mistaken, there’s going to be just as much fun for you as challenges. Either way,” she said, putting her hand over mine, “it’s time.”
Chapter four
Mick
Igot up early to see Granny Ida off to Nashville with Mr. and Mrs. Stewart. I also didn’t want to get an earful about not getting the rest of the hoeing done in the garden, and of course, just thinking that made me chuckle. My buddies had come over once during the summer, and when Granny had told us we needed to be hoeing, they’d lost it.
When they’d left, I had the embarrassing job of explaining why hoeing was considered funny to my friends. My face glowed as she laughed so hard she said she was afraid she was going to wet herself. That woman was too much. Especially for a teenager.
After I finished in the garden, washed, and filed down the hoe again, I walked in the back door and was about to pour myself a glass of water when I heard something in the front room. “Did you forget something?” I called out and went to see what was up with Granny being back so early.
A sickly, dark feeling hit me in the gut like a wrecking ball. “Shit,” I whispered. It’d been a long time since I’d had that feeling.
I felt the dark roll in, blocking my peripheral vision. “You have no place here!” I yelled, just like the counselor told me to do. “Get out!”
I heard a malevolent chuckle and what felt like a cold, slimy finger slide over my face and onto my shoulder.
“GET OUT!” I yelled, and the feeling began to pass, the color returning to my vision.
I backed out of the room, not willing to let myself be vulnerable. When I got to the back door, I stepped out and locked it behind me. In the corner of the yard, under Granny’s prized plum trees, was an antique swing set. We’d sit out there and shell peas or snap beans when it was too hot to do much else.
It was far enough away from the house that I felt safe, and when I had my ‘spells,’ as Granny used to call them, no matter what the weather, it ended up being my place to go.
