Page 51 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

Bonnie places a bundle of dried flowers down and pulls out a small crumpled picture from her skirt pocket. “Your grandmother was as devil-may-care as they came and as sensible as, well, you understand don’t you?” A chuckle slips past her mouth.

I nod, and she hands me a picture of them when they were much younger. They looked every bit like my mother. Grand-mère died when I was young, I barely knew her and Mama never shared much about the rest of her family’s side. She kept a lock on her box of pasts and I took to the understanding that it might have been a sore wound that would never heal. This would feel less like crossing a river on bare feet if she were here. She might not have had all the answers, but her soothing voice would have made me feel so much better.

“She fell pregnant with your mother, and despite what a joyous time that was, our lives could not have drifted apart further. While she took on motherhood, I met Annbeth.”

The wind slowly picks up, rustling the leaves around us, and gusting the flowers potted onthe tombstones. There is always something about a graveyard that is serene, and like I’ve sung aloud, the dead are a much better audience. Resting or restless souls settle under us and it’s rather calming to know that death is the only promise that will never change. The sky is ashen with clouds of amherst grey hues, and the frigid blows make the rustic building up ahead creak, as if it’s hollow.

“Beth was a troubled soul andLaura Janeonly knew how much I simply could not keep my hands away from them. I thought I could help her, and in more ways than one she silently asked for it. I just never opened my eyes to see in time.”

Her Irish accent reminds me of a cave hidden behind a waterfall lit with glow worms, like a night sky. I do not know why. Quite witless of me to not heed anything else she says, but to turn my attention to the way she speaks. Am I losing my sanity even more?

“The Oracles Of Gryclusm weren’t a clan of any sort, but rather a craft. Annbeth was different, and what a forlorn matter that the abuse she endured at her husband and son’s cruelty to protect her daughters was in vain.”

“The articles do speak of her as a witch.” Naseria winces out the last word. seemingly wiser to speak her mind out than I am. And despite Miro’s gentle rubs on my back, I cannot shake the stiffness in my bones.

“Because she was one. Or so she said. She practiced occultism among other things, but above all, she was a mother that adored her children. However, the world laughed and gave her a bastard son who took his father’s ways and three daughters that failed her.”

“The Ace Of Spade,” I whisper out the sentence like a secret. I came upon the name some time back, but I hadnever associated it with Annbeth. It did not make sense then, but now it’s as clear as heaven’s uncrowded brow.

“Right on the nail dear, when she killed her son and husband, she thought she was protecting them, but to her end, they turned into the very thing she detested.”

She had three daughters, who are rumored as theAce Of Spade.Their father was an organ trafficker and, in turn, they continued to hold the throne to his acrimony. Or so I thought.

“But why Sybactus?” I understood that you do not probe where the source rains when your crops grow. But it seemed as if there was more to the sisters stepping on our town’s soil.

“Isn’t it salient, their mother was stoned in your town, until she was flailing limbs and dried up blood.”

The sky tears a loud roar above us, a telltale of the rain soon to wash down on us. I want rain, I want thunder, and I want it all to wash away the reality of what is. This is a lot to hold. I look up and blink a couple of times, forcing back everything that wants to pour out of me.

The killings are to avenge their mother. It doesn’t quite make sense yet.

“Thank you Bonnie, this is quite a lot to grasp in one night, and with the rain nearing, we better get back.” Naseria stands, clasping the book she had been taking notes in and throws it in her bag.

“No need dear. Sybil will walk you back, but can I have a moment of your time, Odessa?”

I nodagain.

“I’ll be right behind you.” Miro hesitates a little before standing and following Sybil and Naseria down the path we had come with.

Once alone, I see her mask fall, the smile she wore dropsto a frown and those eyes that sparkled with humor collect tears. Her hands grasp my own, holding them tightly as a tear makes it past her round cheeks to the ground.

“I know it is not quite the news you were expecting, little one, however when there is rain, something will surely bloom.”

“You have an accent, are you not French?” she chuckles lightly.

“I am, but I was so young when I made a home in Scotland. How about this, my home is here and when your heart is ready, come by and I will clear those questions laying on the tip of your tongue.”

“I just need a little time to wrap my h?—”

“Take this,” she hands the wreath of dried flowers and they are sorted rather lovely, “and when you come again, we shall make another for you to take with you.”

“Thank you.”

What an outré thing my life has become. To desire the truth, yet fail to take it.Denial is bliss,and how I long to know what that felt like. Because indeed, be careful what you ask of, lest it come true.

Chapter 31

Wild Rose

---