Blood

The kitchen smells like onions and garlic, which means Reid is cooking since he likes to smother the real flavour of most meats with different spices, herbs and vegetables, much to my Gram’s dismay. Christ, if she doesn’t like it, she could cook for herself.

Gram is sitting in the corner by the wood stove with a big poker that I used to think she would use to brand me after seeing her brand some ponies.

Sean and my dad are sitting at the table, each with a hand of cards, and Reid’s facing the stove, but there’s another hand of card’s at the table that’s likely his. A fourth hand of cards lies opposite my dad, but the owner is nowhere in sight.

I step off the stairs and take another step towards my brothers when someone grabs my waist from behind, which makes me shriek a little.

All the boys laugh, even Sean with his little six-year old giggle and I spin around fast. David Fletcher grins at me and lets go of my waist.

I shove his shoulders and sneer at my cousin, “Shit, Fletch!”

“You make it so easy,” he says as he pushes his dark hair out of his eyes.

I turn away from my cousin and walk to the table to kneel down beside Sean.

“Let me see,” I say, and he pulls his three cards away from his eyes to show me an ace of spades, a nine of hearts and a king of hearts.

“The little devil thinks he’ll be beating me,” says Fletch as he sits back in his seat. I don’t think “sit” is really the right way to describe the way Fletch is posed in the chair. It’s more like he is lying on the chair instead of sitting on it.

You wouldn’t expect anything less from him, though. He’s the kind of person that doesn’t drink or smoke much because he’s naturally high all the time.

“Come on then, Reid,” says Fletch as he gathers his cards up in his left hand and holds them over his face.

I put a finger across my lips in the universal “quiet” sign, which makes Sean giggle, and crawl over to sit on the floor beside Fletch so I can see his cards.

He glances down at me with a sour look and pulls his cards away from my view, “Aw, piss off, Lorna.”

“It’s not like you have any decent cards to show me.”

He grabs a trick off the table and drops the cards on my head.

I roll my eyes and throw one of the cards back at him.

“Mikey, your daughter is throwing stuff at me,” Fletch whines.

“As long as it’s not me,” says my dad with a bit of a smile.

It’s kind of funny that my dad looks more like a cousin than Fletch does, but we all look like Fletchers, except George, he looks like my dad. The only thing Fletch got from his mum was his hair and the only thing we got from our dad was our personalities, except George.

I stand, walk around the table and pick up Reid’s cards. “Go on then, what’s trump?”

“Hearts,” says my father as he throws the jack of hearts.

Sean looks at me with his big brown eyes, just like Reid’s had been when we were little.

“The little one,” I say, and Sean carefully places his nine on top of the jack.

Fletch exhales through his teeth and throws out the queen of hearts.

My hand is the jack of diamonds, the ace of hearts and the king of clubs. “Christ, please tell me Reid didn’t call this,” I say as I throw the ace.

“Bad hand?” asks Fletch as my father gathers up the cards.

“No, but did he?”

“I made a great call,” says Reid from behind me.

“So he can speak!” cries Fletch in mock astonishment. “Come on then, I don’t want to beat your sister.”

“You ain’t gonna beat me, Fletch, you still only have two tricks.”

“For now,” he says with an evil grin, “Go on then, Mikey, play us a card.”

Dad throws out an ace of diamonds, causing Fletch to make an ooh, sound, making Sean giggle. Fletch smiles back at my little brother.

Sean looks at his hand with as much concentration as his little six-year-old mind can muster and then throws out the king of hearts.

“Christ,” says Fletch as he throws a diamond, shortly followed by my club.

Sean continues to study his card, making my dad tap his shoulder and say something that makes his eyes light up and his hands reach out to grab the trick.

We all throw our last card, and of course mine wins, meaning Sean and I won the hand, which results in Fletch calling me a witch and a cheat.

“See, told you it was a great call,” says Reid as he slides something that is likely chicken on a plate across the table to Sean. “Do you want any, Gram?”

She makes a sound of disapproval in the back of her throat that means yes.

Reid gives my dad a plate and then gives me one that he says to bring to Gram.

“Do you want to bring this to our grandmother, Fletch, since you’re so strong and able?” I say with a sickly smile.

“Oh, for the love of God,” says Fletch as he stands and takes the plate from me, but he grins at me when he goes past.

Fletch, Reid, my dad, Sean, Mattie—who is another cousin, and my Aunt Jo are probably the only people on the island that don’t hate me. Even Fletch’s dad, my mum’s brother, ain’t fond of me, albeit, it’s my own fault.

My mind wanders back to this morning in a car with Mallory Fionn, and how he was too big of a coward to even admit he had a problem with me. God, that boy was too afraid to say almost anything to me.

But his eyes…

“Jesus Christ, Lorna, move,” says Fletch as he tries to make his way past me.

I lean against the table to let him pass and ask why he didn’t just go around the other way.

“Because the food’s on this side,” he says as though there was no other possibility in the world.

I start to feel sick for no reason I can think of, so when Reid shoves a plate at me, I shove it in front of Fletch and walk back up the stairs. Reid calls after me, but I ignore him and head down the hall, to my room. I slam the door shut and collapse on my bed in a sudden spasm.

I’m asleep in half an instant, and while I’m asleep, I dream.

I’m ten-years-old again, running through a twilight lit forest.

Wanderers’ Wood is a dangerous place. Not because of crazed wildlife or hidden holes like in other woods, but because of something far worse. Something I have just stolen from.

The stone is still clutched in my left hand, where it has been since I first grabbed it in the faerie mound. Not a smart thing to do.

Now They are after me, chasing me through the tangled underbrush, gnarled trees and everlasting twilight.

My bare, frost-bitten feet beating against the forest floor is the only sound in the whole world.

I step on an unseen rock, falling to the ground and crying for a lot longer than I should have.

Six years later, I still have that scar on the bottom of my right foot.

Standing up and running is my only option if I want to live, so I do it. It’s excruciating, but I am so, so close to safety. Just a few more yards until I’m clear of this cursed forest.

Something grabs at my ankle, something that feels less like a hand and more like a tree root. I fall again, hitting my chin off the hard ground. Everything goes black for minutes and seconds uncountable. The root snakes farther up my leg.

I scream involuntarily as my vision clears.

There is another one ahead of me, moving into the forest at an agonizingly slow pace. I can only make out its silhouette.

“Dad!” it calls in an oddly human voice.

I recognize the voice, but remembering who it belongs to is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands: Impossible.

A man’s voice answers it, “What is it?”

“There’s somebody here!”

I feel the root slink away, but I still don’t look back in case the root is just waiting for me to become a moving target again.

The man asks the creature another question, “Who is it?”

I can see the creature clearly now, and realize with a surge of relief that it’s not a creature at all, but Mallory Fionn. Mind you, he can still be considered a creature.

“Owens!” calls Mallory.

I can now see Tim Fionn making his way into the Wood, thirteen-year-old Justin following close behind.

“Which one?”

Mallory’s now looking down at me with what looks like disgust. “The girl.”

I glare up at him and—remember that I was ten and that this is not one of my finer moments—spit on his rubber boots.

He looks behind him at his father and then back to me.

He’s completely awed. “Dad! She spit on me!”

I hear Justin say my name quietly to his father and then tell Mallory that he deserved it.

I give Mallory a self-satisfied smirk.

He glowers down at me.

“Lorna Owens,” says Tim. “What’re you doing so far from home?”

I scowl a ten-year-old scowl at Mallory for another few seconds before turning to answer his father. “I got lost in the storm.”

“Last night?” asks Justin.

I nod.

Tim shakes his head. “Yer mum and dad’ll be worried, Lorna. What were you doing in the Wood?”

I shrug.

Tim sighs. “Come on, then.”

He turns to go.

“I hurt my foot.” I say in my too loud voice.

Tim regards his sons for a moment and then motions towards me with his head.

I expect Mallory to protest but he doesn’t. Instead, he extends his right hand to help me up.

I stare at it for a long moment.

Mallory frowns. “My hand can’t bite, you know.”

I reluctantly take his hand and let him help me up. Even at the age of ten, I was too proud for my own good.

Mallory grins.

“What?” I snarl.

He looks confused for a moment before realization dawns across his young face. Mallory goes back to looking like he’s never smiled in his life. “Sorry.”

When I’m back home, safe in my room, I unclench my left fist.

I’d been scolded something fierce for running off into the Wood, which I hadn’t done in the first place. They had taken me while I was playing with the chickens. I wouldn’t have escaped without my prize.

The little stone glows in my palm, no bigger than a beer bottle cap. It changes colours every few seconds going from brown, to yellow, to green, to blue, to green to brown, to yellow. Each colour is like a piece of the island: the brown is earth, the yellow the twilight of the Wood, the green the colour of spring leaves, the blue the streams running across Faer.

It’s the most wondrous thing I’ve seen to this day.

I stare at the little stone for what seems like hours, maybe days until I finally realize it must be hidden.

I think in an almost panic of where I can hide it without my mother ever finding it.

The answer slips into my mind as easily as air slips through a cracked door.

I walk across my room to the loose floor board. I have to struggle to pull it up but it eventually comes free.

There is a shallow cavity beneath the board where I carefully stash my stolen treasure.

I wake up in the hollow light of morning, feeling as though my head is about to split in two.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m out of bed and at the loose floor board, pulling it free.

The stone sits where it always does, changing from brown, to yellow, to green, to blue, to green and back to brown.

I realize looking at it that I’m thinking about Mallory Fionn’s grin–something I haven’t seen since that day six years ago—and how I might have been the cause of it. And then I feel foolish for thinking about Mallory Fionn, who can’t even speak his mind, who likely hates me and I’m not sure that I don’t hate in return.

I replace the floor board and try to push the thoughts of my faerie stone and Mallory Fionn away, being less successful than I would have liked.