Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(29)
May heard her own voice rise up, ready to give witness to her own terror, but a few strained groans were all it could muster before her mind commanded her to flee. She ran. Not like the old woman she was, with stiff hips and aching knees, but like a frightened deer that has heard the first gunshot and knows that there are hunters in the wood. She carried on, not stopping and not looking back until she arrived at the gray dirt road that led to her house. Then her years caught up with her. Drops of sweat rained from her forehead, even though she felt colder than she’d ever been. Her heart was pounding so fast in her chest she thought this might be the death of her, but the white walls of her small house peeked through the scraggly pines, and their promise of safety urged her on. The adrenaline that had carried her home deserted her completely, leaving her to struggle the short distance to the house, feeling every bit like there were lead weights around her ankles.
She carried on around the bend, one heavy halting step after another, already breathless when she arrived home. Though she thought she’d had all the fright a body could survive in a single day, the sight that welcomed her stopped her dead in her tracks. The Beekeeper, masked by her heavy veil, stood at the center of a miraculous garden that had sprung up since morning. A few hours ago, there had been only spotty grass and dry soil in this place. Now buds were bursting into full bloom, their opening timed for May’s arrival.
May drew nearer, and after several moments passed, she realized her feet were no longer touching the ground. A part of her mind told her that she should be terrified of this creature, but its warning voice grew fainter the closer she got. May rubbed her eyes, certain the shock she had just suffered had stopped her heart. She could not be floating. She knew that. And this impossible creature could not have returned. Could not be standing dead center in a miniature miraculous Eden. No. None of this could be real. She opened her eyes, sure the image would have faded.
Still, the Beekeeper remained, and now May recognized the buzzing sound that accompanied her presence. It was matched by a kind of fluttering, shimmering vibration that made it impossible, even beneath the glare of the full sun, to capture a steady image of her.
May glided right up to the edge of the garden, where the intoxicating scent of yellow jessamine, a flower long past its normal blooming season, vied with whiffs of white gardenia and a kaleidoscope of four-o’clocks. Bergamot and honeysuckle beckoned a tiny hummingbird that hovered and bobbed, as if in homage to the Beekeeper, the founder of this feast, before darting around the flowers.
The soles of May’s feet lowered to touch the earth. All fear had sloughed off now, and her heart told her to run and throw herself into the Beekeeper’s waiting embrace. But before she could move, before she could act on her will, Martha appeared before her, walking clean through the Beekeeper without taking notice of the creature’s presence. The flush of the magic fell away, causing the garden to disappear, its miraculous flowers disintegrating to dust, and May’s unquestioning trust of this creature seemed to melt away in the same instant.
Martha came to a stop in front of May and grabbed ahold of her wrist, piercing her with her frightened, tear-filled eyes. “There were men come by a while ago.” She pointed toward May’s house behind her. “Things are pretty busted up in there. What did you do, anyway?” She dropped May’s arm and pushed her way around her. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know nothing about it. I’m sorry, May. I truly am. But I can’t have any kind of trouble. I can’t be a part of this.”
“But the girls . . .”
“I’m sorry, but I got children and grandchildren of my own to worry about. I can’t go getting mixed up in whatever trouble you’ve done gotten yourself mired in. I’m sorry,” Martha said again, but she didn’t look back as she stomped her way toward the drive, her determined pace carrying her quickly away from May’s yard and toward the bend in the road.
“Let this drab little sister go home.” May jumped at the sound of the voice, and turned to find the Beekeeper once again stood behind her, although the miraculous garden seemed to have disappeared for good. “You don’t need her, ’cause you have me.”
“I gotta see to my girls,” May said, sick at heart for them.
“Don’t worry about your babies. They’re safe. And we’re gonna see to it they stay that way.”
“But they must be frightened.”
“Frightened? Those babies of yours are a hell of a lot tougher than you think. If I were you, I’d make sure they knew it was me before I stepped foot inside. They’re getting ready to flatten the next person through the door.” The Beekeeper first chuckled, then pushed the bottom of her veil to the side and spat. “Dry. Dry. Dry. What the hell does a body have to do get a drink around here?”
Something about the sight of this faceless creature spitting in her yard convinced May she must be dreaming. Any moment she would awaken. Begin her day, her real day, not this mad fantasy that couldn’t possibly be real.
“I can get you some water . . .”
“I do not want water,” the creature’s tone turned harsh.
“Chicory, then,” the words tumbled from her mouth. “I have chicory. I could brew you some.”
The Beekeeper lunged forward. “I do not want your damned chicory. Do I look like a whore for your damned chicory? What kind of goddamned house do you keep, that you ain’t got even a drop of drink for your friends? Your mother, she knew how to treat a guest.”