‘Took you long enough.’
* * *
It’s a strange sensation, having a whole other person inside your skin. It feels like I’m a human-shaped glass fish tank, and every step makes the water of my grandmother slosh up my sides, almost tipping over the edge.
Patricia holds on to my elbow. “Bree? Talk to us.”
“I’m…” I blink several times, in what feels like slow motion. “I’m okay. Except I feel drunk.”
‘And how do you know what being drunk is like?’ Grandmother says, jabbing at my ribs somehow.
“Ow,” I say, and grab my side. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”
Mariah shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Possession is really rare. It’s never happened to me, personally, but my uncle Kwame gets possessed all the time. Family spirits take his body for a spin, or sometimes they sit inside him and the two of them just talk and fellowship awhile until the ancestor leaves.”
“Not every Medium gets possessed?” I cry, panic rising slightly.
“Nope. Mediumcraft is a branch of root with its own sub-branches. All different because ancestors themselves are different.” Mariah peers up into my eyes. “Wowwwww. I can definitely see your grandmother in there.” She stands back and raises her hand for a high five. “Welcome to Club Medium!”
I can feel my grandmother frown at her gesture, so I frown too. It all makes me a little woozy. “Thanks? I don’t understand, though. Why didn’t I find out I was a Medium when I was a kid?”
“Perhaps it’s the Bloodcraft, and the original nature of that spell. You’d have to speak to an ancestor who knows and, as your mother said, you’ll need to go back further than your grandmother.” Patricia hums speculatively. “Your mother practiced Wildcraft, which is a different branch. Different power. As a Medium, your power is wound tightly with death, and as your family’s Bloodcraft is triggered by death, perhaps the two branches intertwined in you until they became tied together in unpredictable ways. I’m afraid I’m not certain.”
Mariah cocks her head to the side. “But why didn’t both of your branches manifest when your mom died?”
The answer appears in my mind before I even finish the question. “That’s my fault.” I see the truth of it in my mind’s eye. “That night at the hospital was the birth of… this version of myself that I named After-Bree. The…” I look to Patricia, and she nods for me to continue. “The trauma created her, but I spent all of my energy containing her.”
Patricia nods. “Sometimes our brains protect us until we’re ready. The most important thing is now you know. And right now, you have help from Mrs.…?”
“Charles,” I say instantly. The name sprung into my mouth like it had been launched there.
“Mrs. Charles. So nice to meet you,” Patricia says warmly, her accent slipping in slow like molasses. “Will you be stayin’ long?”
“No,” I reply. “She’s just here to act as a lighthouse.” I pause and try to turn my vision inward to ask a question. “A lighthouse?” I hear an answer. “Oh, a signpost for an older mother. She’ll pass the request on to the ancestor who can show me how to control my power, and where it came from. All she can do is ask. I will have to wait for the answer. It may take a while.”
Patricia bows her head. “I understand. Very generous of her. Thank you, Mrs. Charles.”
I take another two steps, and the sloshing feeling gets worse. “Jesus, Grandma. Can you get, like, more dense?”
Somehow, she slaps me in the face. I blink, chin twisted over my shoulder. “Ow!”
‘That’s for taking the Lord’s name in vain!’
“Wow.” I stare at Mariah. “Did you know your ass can get called out from the grave?”
“Girl, yes.” Mariah nods in sympathy. “Happens to me all the time. The worst, right?”
I nod. “I’m just…” I stumble slightly, hands out for balance. “I need her to calm down or something. I’ll never make it home like this.”
“Here.” Patricia hurries over from where we’d been sitting. “Eat this.” She shoves a pear into my hand and the glass of juice. I eat and drink, and I swear I feel my grandmother’s mouth moving long after mine has stopped. After a moment, she seems happier. More settled, like she’s found a nice rocking chair in there and has decided to sit awhile.
“Okay.” I stand upright, testing my legs. I feel full but not unbalanced. “That’s better.”
“You need a ride?” Mariah asks.
I nod as emphatically as I dare. “Yes, please.”
* * *
When Mariah pulls up to the lot by Old East, she stops me before I get out. “Remember, you need to focus. You gotta keep her from spilling out, but keep your guard up so other ancestors from your line don’t come knocking,” she warns, squeezing my hand. “The hardest part of being a Medium is closing the doors once they’re opened. The unsettled spirits, the eager ones, look for ways in and you’re much more open to your ancestors now. And listen, this is the South; there are a lot of unsettled Black folk in the ground.”
I nod. “Thank you for helping even though you barely know me. It means… everything.”
“And so it is,” Mariah says with a smile.
Before I get out of the car, Patricia’s warm fingers rest on my cheek. “Thank you for letting us in. I’m proud of you, Bree. I hope you find your answers.”
44
WHEN I WAKE up late the next morning, Alice is already gone, and a text is waiting from her on my phone: At the library!
My grandmother is still there inside me, snoozing.
For the first time all week, I let myself miss Nick. I see the hurt on his face and feel the shame of causing it. What must he think of me now? That I used him, I think. That as soon as I got what I needed, I dropped him and everything we’d found with each other. In truth, I did. I used him and accepted his kindness along with everyone else’s. Leaving was bad, but leaving things like I did was worse.
I can’t move forward with this hanging over my head. I tap Alice’s text and stamp out a quick response.
Hey, do you have Charlotte’s number? I’m gonna need both y’all’s help.
* * *
While I wait for Alice and Charlotte to come over, I take the rest of the day to wash my hair—and it’s the most therapeutic, loving thing I could have done for myself. Condition, detangle, deep condition with a heat wrap, paint my nails and watch a movie while I wait, rinse. I emerge from the shower with my hair wrapped in a microfiber towel and rub the foggy mirror until I can see the genuine, full smile on my face. Tangles gone. Scalp clean. Curls moisturized and bouncy. Head and soul lighter.
More me than I’ve been in months.
* * *
Charlotte ends up bringing over a dozen dresses and a chest full of jewelry—and they aren’t just hers. Some are from her friends down the hall and on the floor above us. “Kappas, a few Sigmas,” she says. I’m grateful she’s such a busybody, because otherwise I wouldn’t have any options two hours before the gala.