Chapter 13

The next morning, I stood before the kitchen sink filling the coffee pot’s glass carafe with water, preparing to make another pot of coffee. The first pot, I had sucked down to the dregs, and though it had carried me through the early hours of the morning, exhaustion was setting in and I would need the extra coffee if I was going to make it through the day.

Busy with the task, I gazed out the window above the sink, a family of scissor-tails had caught my attention as they taught their fledgling to clean itself in a small area of sand and soil in my backyard. The father sat on a low limb, watching for predators, the mother, dropping onto her stomach, flapped her wings in the soil, disturbing the dirt and creating puffs of dust in the air. Within seconds of the mother regaining an upright position, the fledgling would drop to its stomach, imitating its mother’s actions.

I watched them until the water had reached the twelve-cup mark on the carafe. Turning off the faucet, I made my way over to the coffee pot and dumped the water into the reservoir, afterward, placing in a clean filter and coffee grounds, I started the machine.

As I listened to its perk, I made myself a bagel, smearing it with strawberry cream-cheese, then taking a bite, I returned to the window. When I saw the scissor-tails had gone, I felt a little saddened, but with a shrug, I grabbed my cup and refilled it for the thirteenth time, placing it against my lips for God only knows the count.

With the fresh coffee heating my tongue, I considered how to fill my day. I was finished with the painting and only lacked delivery—that would come later in the day, so, for now, I was at a loss of what to do with myself for the day.

A light shrug rolling from my shoulders, I decided the first thing I needed to do was cleanse my home, and making my way to my expunging supplies, I gathered what I needed—a smudge stick and lighter. Afterward, making my way into my studio, where I had first heard the voice, I slid down onto my butt on the floor, then setting my materials to the side, I slowly began drawing in deep lungfuls of air as I cleansed my mind, spirit, and body. With my meditation done, I regained my feet, and gathering my supplies, I began cleansing.

Once my sage was emitting the amount of smoke I wanted, I began waving my hand over the stick, beckoning the smoke to spread before me as I walked the room, commanding, “Any negativity and any spirit intent to cause harm, to me or anyone else who enters my home, you are to leave my house and space, and go to where you belong.”

I continued the ritual in every room until I had them cleansed to my satisfaction. Afterward, I returned them to my supply chest and checked my herbs. I hadn’t gathered herbs in a while, and as a result, I could see I was now running low.

Exiting the room, I made my way through the cabin and into my laundry room, then after sliding on my boots, I made my way to the back door, exiting my home.

After I had gathered what I needed out of the small shed that sat near the cabin, I began walking across the stretch of my back yard.

It was hot and muggy outside, and I would have preferred wearing shorts and flip-flops, but the wetlands was not the place to be so careless with your welfare.

As I walked, I had to admit to myself, I was not looking forward to reentering the bayous. There were places in town I could have bought some of what I was in need of, but others I couldn’t. I could only gather them from the woods behind my house—as I had specifically grown them. Where the knowledge of how to combine these particular herbs and make hybrids came from, I had know idea, it just seemed I’d always known what was needed and of how they were to be used.

It didn’t take me long to reach my little garden within the woods, and I quickly bent to my task.

As I was picking the herbs, for some reason the words the female voice had spoken popped into my head. ‘Learn who you are.’ I had wanted answers to that question and others my whole life. Why was I abandoned by my parents? Why had they not wanted me? What was my lineage—obviously I came from a line of witches, but which side? Was my mother the witch or my father? Perhaps both? And how was I to learn the answers? If that wasn’t the thousand dollar question.

With a shake of my head, I climbed to my feet and began the return journey to my cabin.

After I had put away my herbs, I wandered back into the living room, and picking up my phone, I began scrolling through news feeds as I considered calling Brielle. It seemed forever since we had hung out, and it had been Brielle who had told me of my immortality. She was a soul reader, a witch who could feel characteristics, personality, memories, feelings, and if a person had a soul. She’d tried for many years to read me, but had never been able to, up until just recently, when she’d just gazed at me with wide-eyed surprise, then with a shake of her head, she mumbled, “Doresh el ha-metim.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “What?”

Brielle, still staring at me, breathed, “Syd, your soul...it’s very, very old—in fact, you’re immortal.”

“Yeah, sure,” I’d laughed.

Brielle just shook her head. “I’m serious, Syd.”

“Um-hmmm,” I'd murmured, humoring her. But inside I'd been shaking.

Later, when I had returned home, I’d looked the words up she’d uttered, then sat staring at their meaning on my phone's screen: Necromancer.

Brielle still had not told me why she’d said Necromancer, as she refused to talk about it, but whatever the reason, it had spooked her.