VenCo(77)

“We need a spoon,” Stella blurted. “A silver one. With an old witch on it.”

Christ, Stella. Lucky had reminded her on the way to the cabin that she was going to keep things close to her chest; if the woman was actually powerful, she would see the details for herself. Otherwise, how was Lucky supposed to know who was the real deal and who was sending them on a goose chase?

“Salem. A man named Low crafted it.” Morris spoke in a monotone, his finger once again tracing shapes on the scarred wood. Lucky found herself watching his hands, which were long, slender—delicate for a man up here. She wondered if they were soft . . .

“You are looking for the sixth . . . no, the seventh of a particular set.”

“That’s right.” Lucky was reassured. Maybe Ricky had called May, and May had briefed her nephew on it all, or maybe he was the real thing. Either way, he was a part of all this. “We need to know where it is. Maybe . . . around here?”

“Well now, let’s see.” He got up and rattled through the shelved jars.

While his back was turned, Lucky leaned over the table, whispering, “Hey . . . hey.” Stella glanced over to her. “You know about the move, about the apartment?”

Stella stared at her for a few seconds, then shrugged. She turned around in her chair, putting her back to her granddaughter, and asked Morris, “You got any gold in those jars? Aren’t there mines in these hills?”

He chuckled. “No gold. My aunt and I have no use of it. Now, dandelions? That’s gold. Sang, even more so.”

“Sang?”

“Ginseng, you call it. We hunt it around here. Use it for medicine. Sell it in town when we need the cash.”

Lucky watched his mouth as they formed words. His almond eyes narrowed in on her face, and she felt blood rise in her cheeks. She wondered what he sounded like when he whispered, close to your ear. She wondered if he would grab her neck when he kissed her, hard and insistent. God, what the fuck was wrong with her?

There was a sudden flurry of small taps on the outside of the house, like sharp claws clambering up the siding. She felt the sound in her spine as if that was where the ascent were happening. She shivered when it reached the base of her skull. She got to her feet and went to the kitchen window to look out. The trees closest to the cabin were all bending towards the structure, their longest branches tapping on the walls like urgent knuckles. Her breathing was getting tighter and faster now. “Are you sure there’s no cat?”

Morris quickly turned back to the shelves. “Let me see if I can find something to ease your troubled breathing there, Miss St. James.” He picked up a jar, opened it, and came over to shove it under her nose. She was distracted still—the trees on the far side of the clearing barely moved. How was the air so different in the same space? She wondered if they got tornados up here.

“Wait,” she said, jerking her head away from the jar. “What is that?”

“Just an old remedy. Take a big whiff and you’ll feel better momentarily.” His accent had changed, and he was speaking at a quicker pace. It made her want to slow down in response. She leaned away from him.

He was moving differently now too—more angles, fewer curves. There was something frantic about his cadence. It felt like there was a flock of birds in the cabin. “Is there something wrong? Morris?”

“No, no. I just want to help,” he said, though his eyes were on what was happening outside the window.

“I think we’re going to head out before the weather gets worse,” Lucky said. She could feel herself being pulled towards the door. She wanted to be far away from him. It was as if he suddenly smelled bad.

“I’ll try it!” Stella grabbed his wrist and pulled the jar to her face.

“Wait!” Lucky yelled.

But it was too late. Stella leaned in, nose past the glass rim, and inhaled. Her eyes immediately filled with water. “Smells like pepper. Old pepper and maybe . . .” And then she began sneezing. She sneezed so hard she doubled over and farted, then, laughing, sneezed again and blew a fine spray of snot over the counter.

Morris sidestepped in front of Stella just as she let go another massive sneeze. “Now, if I’m going to help you, I’ll just need a few more supplies.” He bolted across the main room, disappearing through a door on the far wall, slamming it shut behind him.

Stella caught her breath and wiped at her nose with her sleeve. Lucky asked, “Why would he think pepper would help me breathe?” Her skepticism was moving into suspicion. All she could think about now was leaving the cabin and getting outside so she could breathe.

Just then the front door opened, revealing a tiny, skinny old woman in khaki coveralls, her long grey hair piled on top of her head and held with a silver hat pin. “Well, now, who do we have here?” she asked. The tone was amused, but her face wasn’t.

“May Moon?”

“Uh, yes. And this is my house.” She waved her arms to indicate the space.

“Yes, sorry.” Lucky felt like she was being chastised by a teacher. “Your nephew let us in.”

“Nephew?” The woman looked around with a little more urgency now.

“Morris?” Lucky said, turning to point to the far door. “He’s in the back room. Getting supplies?”

“Supplies? That’s my damn bedroom.” May Moon dropped her tote bag by the shoe rack and crossed the room. “Is he looking for bras and an ass whooping?” She glanced back at Stella and Lucky, who seemed to be frozen to the floor. “And who in the hell is Morris?” She didn’t wait for them to answer, throwing open the door.