Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(30)

This was madness. May crumpled, falling to her knees. Dream or no, she’d had enough.

“There, there, my dearie. Not to worry.” The Beekeeper waved a gloved hand in the air, and a bottle appeared in it. Her other hand pushed back the bottom of her veil, revealing the same terrible emptiness that had so frightened May the night before. It was a blankness, a void that gave a person’s very soul a sense of vertigo, as if there were a danger of toppling into it and falling forever.

The eternal darkness she sensed within the creature caused her mind to flash on the horror at the turnoff. “Did you kill those men?”

“Only the one,” the Beekeeper responded. “Needed the other alive to tell the tale.” She took another swig. “That bastard used those men to send you a message, so we used them to send him one back.”

She wanted to feel bad that a man had died, but she couldn’t. May began shaking. She wrapped her arms around her chest to help still the trembling.

“You calm yourself.” The woman waved her free hand over the bottle in her other hand. May jolted when she felt the glass in her own hand. “Go on, taste.” May began to refuse, but the Beekeeper carried on. “It is very good rum. It has the pepper’s fire,” she added before returning her focus to the bottle. “No? Your mama and I used to drink until we were both falling down drunk. Falling through each other. Falling through the stars.” A wistful delight sounded in her voice.

“I am not my mother,” May responded, holding the bottle out to her.

The Beekeeper wiggled her gloved fingers, and the bottle was once again in her clasp. “More’s the pity,” she said, then brushed back the veil for another swig. As the veil fell back into place, she jumped to a new train of thought. “She can see me, you know, your little one, even though she isn’t of your blood.” The creature’s tone made it sound like she was contemplating the implications. “But the other two. The ones who should be my daughters. Nothing. I stand directly before them . . .” The Beekeeper was suddenly mere inches away, her veiled face an intimate distance from May’s, her hand waving before May’s eyes. The Beekeeper took a step back, then stood there swaying, “. . .and nothing.”

May trembled. “She’s my grandbaby. Blood or no.” Fear and longing battled in her spirit.

“Well, of course, the heart speaks the truth even when blood itself lies.” The Beekeeper fell back, suddenly several yards away. “But the little one. She’s claiming the others’ magic. Making it hers. This is something that should not be.”

This odd being frightened and soothed her in the same instant, but the need to protect her own pushed her toward the side of caution. May squinted, trying to pin the quivering image in place for inspection. “What . . . are you?”

To May’s amazement, the veiled creature began sashaying from side to side, her feet lifting and landing in a peculiar kind of dance. “I am what I have always been and what you would make of me.” She began to weave a circle around May, brushing up against her, catlike. “Embrace me, and I am the gentlest of mothers. Flee me, and I am the cruelest of predators. Offer me again your da—” She paused playfully on the word, then continued, “—delightful chicory, and you will find out for yourself where I land between those two extremes. Your foolish Prohibition has ended, has it not? For all I have to give you, I do not ask for much in return. Your mother certainly had no trouble finding a suitable offering.”

“My mama told me never to have any dealings with you.”

The creature snorted, her veil puffing out a bit as she did so. She stopped her dancing and took a few heavy old woman steps toward May’s house. May was about to chase after her, intent on stopping her before she could reach the children, but the Beekeeper came to a halt and eased down onto the front steps.

“It’s true, my friend didn’t want us to meet. I promised her that, if possible, I would let you pass through this world without knowing me. That’s why I have stayed in the background, keeping a watchful eye over you but never initiating contact,” she said, then slipped the bottle up beneath her veil. This time she took a long draw from it. “But that son of a whore . . .” She paused. “Maguire,” she offered, raising the bottle in salute. “The worm forced me to break my vow. Just as he forced you to break yours.” She leaned back on the steps, propping herself up on her elbows and splaying her legs in the most unladylike fashion possible on the step below.

“But he ain’t gonna mess with you now.” Pushing herself up a bit, she turned her face to the heavens, as if she were greeting God himself. “He ain’t gonna risk it now that he knows I’m still around.” The veiled face turned back to May. “You’re gonna have to let me teach you the things I taught your mama. And her mama. And her mama before that. Hell, girl, your family and me, we go a long way back.” The Beekeeper held her hand out to May. May felt ill at ease; Maguire had made a very similar statement. Did this creature, too, feel it somehow held ownership of her people?

May took a step or two closer and reached out, willing herself to have the bravery to touch this phantom. Her quivering hand fell back to her side. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid.”

Focused on her guest, and her own trembling, May hadn’t noticed the front door opening. It was the screech of the screen door that alerted her to Jilo’s presence. The little one pushed the door outward, and with one chubby fist in her mouth, stumbled out onto the porch. Her eyes filled with delight at the sight of the Beekeeper.