Page 6 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

Palmer sat in a chair at Gemmy’s side. She wore another suit, this one plum colored with a champagne shell underneath and understated silver jewelry. She whispered conspiratorially about the races of monsters in charge of my sister’s recovery. “I’ve spoken with your care team, and they are very optimistic. The lifeforce I am feeding you, coupled with Doctor Xiong’s healing abilities—she’s a Celestial Maiden, you know—you will be in excellent health when we are done.”

Gemmy beamed at Palmer and deftly moved her fingers across the screen of her AAC device. The mechanical voice echoed around us. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.”

Palmer squeezed her arm. “Nonsense. To be honest, I am the parasite in this situation, my dear girl. It’s Gatlin you should thank.” She chuckled, rising from her seat. “Which, on that note, I should go see about another patient a few doors down. If you’d excuse me.”

I sat on the other side of Gemma in shock at Palmer’s bluntness. She did survive off of lifeforce, and for the year I would be her all-she-could-eat buffet. To hear her refer to herself as a parasite, though––I didn’t like it, and that feeling bothered me more.

A sharp pain snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see my sister's hand retreating from my sore shoulder.

I focused back on her, watching her stiff hands move through the signs.

“What have you been telling your wife?” The anger on her face was vivid.

“We’ve barely been alone for me to say anything! We haven’t even been married for twenty-four hours!” I signed back, ending forcefully on the word for hours, moving the upright forefinger of my right hand in a clockwise motion around my flat left hand.

She sighed, puffing. “Well, I don’t like this parasite business. Tell her we don’t feel like that! You don’t feel like that, do you?”

I ran a hand through my hair, receiving another slap. “What!” My hands moved slightly forward to the sides, palms up. “She’s not a parasite, but she is harvesting lifeforce from my body!”

“Doesn’t she deserve to live? If this cancer has taught me anything, it’s that life is precious. Considering the folklore surrounding her people, Palmer”—Gemmy fingerspelled her name— “is only doing what her people have done for thousands of years. At least she asks consistently for consent! Most of her ancestors would ‘ride’ their victims all night and they’d wake up none the wiser.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and pointed at my chest. “I––”

Gemmy’s first two fingers angrily snapped against her thumb: “No. You don’t have to fall in love with her. You have to respect her for what she is doing because I would be dead otherwise.”

I wiped a hand down my face in frustration and a little shame. Giving Gemmy my focus again, I signed, “I know, and I am grateful. I’m just…”

“Just because she’s a monster doesn’t mean she’s monstrous.” She clicked her tongue like our grandmother used to when she shamed us for being empty-headed. “Think about this the next time you judge her for her biology. I swear, you can be so narrow-minded for an artist.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I leaned onto the arm of my chair, resting my chin on the palm of my hand. Gemmy sighed again, settled back into her mountain of fluffy pillows, and closed her eyes. Maybe she was tired of looking at me. I wasn’t enjoying the internal view myself.

Palmer couldn’t help how she was created––were Boo Hags even born? Did she just step out of the mists like some sort of goddess? Palmer looked like she could have. Or did she have siblings, too? Were they alive anymore? From what I’d discovered from our few conversations and the even fewer myths I’d found online, I believed she was older than the twenty-five years she looked. Eternal like a vampire, magical like a witch, able to disappear like a ghost, and supposedly, if the online forums were correct, she took her skin off at night and flew around stealing lifeforce like some sort of paralysis demon. Could she turn into a mist by slipping through the cracks in houses? Or maybe she could flatten her body like a mouse? And then there was mention of a blue paint that kept her kind away. What was that about?

My mind raced through the confusing jumble of online research and the few recorded stories by the Gullah people that I found preserved there.

I looked over at my twin, finding her watching my internal struggle.

“You could just ask her, you big dork,” she signed. “Whatever is running through that thick skull of yours is only going to get worse if you don’t ask. Communication is the key to a good marriage.” Her lips twitched, her hands still clasped in the sign for marriage.

“Oh really?” I made a skeptical face at her as I pointed at my bottom lip and flicked my finger outward, cocking my head with extra attitude. “You know that from experience?”

Gemmy stuck her tongue out at me, no ASL necessary, her brattiness making my heart lighter. At least she was feeling more like herself.

The door to her hospital room opened, and Palmer walked back in. The walls seemed too close, as if she had taken all the oxygen out of the place along with a person’s lifeforce.

Her nude stilettos clicked across the glossy tile, her long stride eating up the distance to the hospital bed in no time. “Doctor Xiong will be along to examine Gemma momentarily. I have some business I need to attend to before we go to the estate. You could come with me now, Gatlin, or spend the rest of your day with your sister?”

Gemmy gave me a pointed look.

“Er, yes. I should go with you,” I agreed, noting the self-satisfied smile my sister was shooting at me.

“Excellent. I have some council business, and it would be good for you to familiarize yourself with the layout of Club Nyx and the other council members.” Palmer turned to Gemmy with a look of concentration on her face.

Palmer raised her hand to the middle of her chest, her hand splayed open, signing the word “feel.” Her motions were a bit jerky. “Better,” she signed clumsily, her hand going up to her mouth instead of her chin, pulling her fingers to the side and closing her fist, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Gemmy clapped for Palmer, beaming at her like a good student while I sat there dumbfounded. I could count on one hand the people who had attempted to learn ASL to communicate with Gemmy. Their excuses had always been a variation of Well, she can hear, can’t she? and encouraging her to use her AAC or a pad of paper and a pencil. Whatever was easiest for them and never what would make Gemmy feel included.

And the fact that Palmer had taken the time, I didn’t know how that made me feel—a lot of things I didn’t want to inspect closely. Gemmy tugged on my arm, getting my attention.

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