The Blood Witch

3

Scarlet had repeated the story in her mind again and again on the drive to her grandmothers. She had thought that it would make better sense when she said it out loud. Especially in the comfort of the small cottage her grandma had raised her in. That place was truly a wonder, and Scarlet would bet that not a thing had changed since she left six years ago. Her grandma stood at the same old stove she had grown up getting timber for. The shrubs and plants covering the kitchen had continued to grow, and now they draped from even the cabinets and the refrigerator.

Scarlet noticed a minor hitch to Charlotte's rounded hip, and her grandma was moving at a slower gait than she recalled. However, she moved around through the entire story, and she listened quietly. She was making beef stew. The smell alone kept Scarlet talking, because whenever she ceased talking, her grandma stopped cooking. In the swirl of the comfortable smells and surroundings, Scarlet told her everything.

Charlotte didn't talk, and to Scarlet's amazement, she didn't laugh. No, Scarlet realized, her grandma did not even look surprised. When Scarlet was done, a bowl of stew and a steaming cup of tea were placed in front of her. She felt the anxiety leave her body as she reached for her spoon, only for her grandma to move the bowl and thrust the tea towards her.

"Sip the tea first, child," Charlotte said, her eyes not quite meeting her granddaughters. "You're going to need it for what I have to tell you."

Scarlet took the over-sized mug and waited for her grandmother to continue. She had been right; she thought. Her granny had answers. She remained quiet as Charlotte took a seat at the only other stool at the table.

"I listened to your full story and I only ask that you hear me out, darling." Charlotte said. "First, I have to ask, how old is your old grandma?"

"You?" Scarlet asked after speculating about it.

"Yes, how old am I?" She asked.

Scarlet realized she did not know how old her grandma was. Looking at her light brown skin, she had not one crease. She didn't look a day over fifty.

With a grin, Charlotte asked. "You don't know, do you?" Scarlet shook her head hesitantly.

Charlotte leaned against the wall of the stone cabin and stared at something over Scarlet's shoulder. "I was born on January first, eighteen-fifty," Charlotte started. "I was born in the west indies to my mother and father on a super blood wolf moon at six am. It would be a few years afterward that we would be stolen from our land. We were sold into slavery. I was twelve. By the grace of the goddess, we were not broken up. We were sold to a man named Mr. Barrow. I worked in the house, while my family was all in the fields. He was one of the good slaveowners back then. He didn't whip us much, and we only worked about six hours a day when it was boiling."

Scarlet was mortified. Her grandma had been a slave and at such a young age. Charlotte had shared many stories over the years, but never this one. Her grandma was one hundred and seventy years old. Did that mean she was immortal? Even with those questions swimming in her head, Scarlet asked, "Did you get away?"

Charlotte shook her head slowly. "We didn't dream of running away. We met other slaves, and we knew we had it good. It would be years later that I would find out why we had it so good. Mr. Barrow was not married, but there was a lady of the house. She was a slave named Lovey. Lovey was beautiful and so kind. She had a kind of power over Mr. Barrow. Whatever she wanted, he made it happen. Eventually, he freed her, but she didn't leave. One day, I caught them in a barn. They were having sex."

Taking a sip of her tea, Charlotte finally met her eyes. "It was not weird that they were having sex. Everyone knew they were in love. However, they were rutting away in that barn, candles everywhere, and in the darkness, there were other slaves chanting. Mr. Barrow paid them no mind as Lovey feed him roots from the ground before placing a nail in the heel of his foot. I was sure they didn't see me. It was all so strange then. The next day thought, Lovey cornered me, asking me what I had seen. I denied being there, but her eyes told me she didn't believe me."