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I gave Rook a confused look, but he only shook his head.
"I see you brought me someone else,” she said.
Her pale green eyes were covered by a white-ish film. Using both Rook’s guidance and a wooden walking stick carved with runes, she came towards me. Her eyebrows furrowed with worry. "Oh dear."
I caught her grip with my hands, holding her steady. "Hello. I’m?—“
"Oh, I know who you are, dear," she cut me off. “You're de Duvall girl. De older one."
“How'd you know? Did someone—Lux—tell you I would be with him?" I tried to get any clues from Rook but he gave me nothing.
"Lux? Oh no, she didn't say nothin' of de sort. She knows better." Her hands moved over the top of my head, then down my shoulders. "I'd recognize dat storm cloud anywhere. Ever since your ma died, God rest her soul."
I stilled, my heart picking up. “My mom? What do you know about her?”
Threading bony fingers through mine, she insistently pulled me towards the shop. "Come wid me. I need ta read you."
Rook's lips pursed in disapproval but he opened the door, holding it for us. I stared up at him, my stomach churning. Suddenly wondering if he’d pressed me against this shop on purpose. Remembering Lux’s words—Rook is dangerous.
Who was this person? Could I trust her? Could I trust them both?
I was falling for Rook. And, so far, he’d taken such good care of both Callie and me. And yet, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t playing a game. Seducing me for his own means.
He, himself, had told me not to trust people. That he wasn’t a good person.
There were too many men in my life who’d only wanted to use me. Was Rook one of those men? I still didn’t know for sure.
But, she’d mentioned mom. Maybe I could find out more about what exactly had happened to her.
Determined to find out the truth, I stepped forward, passing under Rook’s outstretched arm. His gaze followed me, a small smirk to his upper lip, as if he’d sensed my inner struggle—and my decision to trust him.
Swallowing hard, I entered the shop, hoping I wouldn’t regret it.
* * *
A warm, honied smell filled my nose, and soft, earthy tones met my eyes. Rows and rows of jars filled with herbs. Beautiful piles of spices in wooden bowls. Colorful shelves of candles, their inventive names written in calligraphy. Reggae music played softly over the speakers.
‘Inzu ya Apothecary’ was written on the back wall in gold foil, and I relaxed when I realized what kind of store this was: a shop dedicated to all things xudoo—the mystical religion still practiced by some of the Gullah.
The woman had taken Rook’s hand, holding it as he carefully guided her around tables of displays, even though she didn't seem to need it. I followed behind them, noting that she was surprisingly nimble for someone who had to be in her late eighties to early nineties, and skinny as a rail.
Too skinny, sickly skinny.
“De people here, dey know me as Mama Bondo, but you call me Kuru. Know who else calls me Kuru?” she asked me.
“No.”
“De woman you mentioned. She’s my granbaby.”
“Lux?” I suddenly remembered Lux mentioning her sick grandmother.
“Mmhmm,” she hummed.
“Hello, Mr. Craven,” a cashier stood behind the wooden counter. I’d noticed her eyes had glued onto Rook the minute we’d entered.
“Greetings,” Rook responded stiffly.
She tossed long twisted braids over her shoulder, her expression eager and practically glowing. “Can I help you with something?”
