Sugarcane and Indigo

Don't Ask Questions You Don't Want the Answers to

"You brought that boy into this house, didn't you!" Grammie hissed at me at breakfast the next morning.

    I froze where I stood pouring my cereal before slowly resuming. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Grammie."

    It'd do no use to lie directly to her. I got my ability to taste lies from her after all.

    She grabbed my elbow and whipped me around to face her. For such an old woman she was surprisingly strong. "Don't you lie to me by not speaking the plain truth, child!"

    Her anger coated my mouth tasting so strongly of orange peel that I couldn't help but gag.

    "Why did you bring him here," she demanded, shaking me once, "Why would you bring a stranger into this house?"

    "He's not a stranger!" I cried, desperately trying to pull away. Desperate to put some distance between me and the awful taste of her aura. "He's lived here before!"

    Grammie's nails dug into my arm as she squeezed tighter. "What does that mean?"
    "It means he lived here before!" I yanked at my arm but she yanked me closer. The taste was overpowering now. "His name is Indigo! He's Violet's brother."

    All at once she dropped my arm like I'd burned her.

"Violet's brother?" she asked.

I nodded, cradling my arm against my chest. Bruises were beginning to form.

Grammie didn't say anything, just looked far off into the distance like she was trying to see something important. She finally turned to look back at me. Her bone white braids were falling out from its bun and into her wrinkled face.

"Why is he back?" she asked.

"Lie, don't tell the witch a word," a fern hidden in the corner suggested.

I hesitated. Ferns were usually quiet, but when they spoke it was best to listen.

"He wanted a change of scenery. That's why I invited him over, Grammie. I wanted to make sure that he didn't know about the secret."

"And does he?" she demanded.

I shook my head. "I used a potion to make him speak the truth, so he might suspect that you have a little power, but he's nowhere near the truth of it all."

Grammie nodded and speaking to herself, muttered, "He doesn't know yet. That's good."

I didn't say anything. My arm was throbbing where she had grabbed me. She turned to look at me.

"Stay away from him, child. He's no good for you." Her milky eyes stared deep into my own, looking for any hesitation.

I nodded quickly. It was best to agree with Grammie when she got into her moods. This was the reason I'd never touch voodoo as long as I lived. Voodoo wasn't black magic but it still stole its way into your ọkàn - your soul - and buried itself deep inside. Used incorrectly it had a way of twisting people up. Grammie always said she had never misused the voodoo but still, if it turned me into anything like her, I didn't want it.

There was a long moment of silence between us as I kept rubbing her finger marks off my arm and she just stared at me. Finally, she clucked her tongue and turned to go her shop room. She came back moments later with a paste made from willow bark and witch hazel and grabbed my arm once again.

As she rubbed the healing paste into the newly-formed bruises she began to speak. "Do you know how much I love you, Lavender?"

"Yes ma'am."