The Spirit Tree (9 page)

“Tessa Marie, get down from that tree,” the white-haired woman called to me.

Her voice woke something inside of me. The human part of my brain recognized my great-grandmother. I tried to call to her and shook my head in frustration. I landed beside her feet and looked up. Dottie ran toward the house and opened the front door, motioning for us to follow.

Mae nodded, and I flew toward the house, swooping down under the awning and through the front door. I landed on the kitchen table and waited. Mae and Dottie stood near the table, watching me. Neither seemed to know what to do or say.

“Change back, Tessa,” Mae said.

I didn’t understand. I knew the words and the meaning, but didn’t know how I’d changed in the first place. How could I change back? I shook my head and stretched my wings.

“Tessa Marie, you have to change back or you’ll be stuck,” Mae cooed to me.

Fear tinged Mae’s voice. I launched from the table and flew toward the window. The bird in me saw sky as a way out. I crashed into the window and fell to the dish drainer—glasses and plates falling, shattering.

“Dottie, go get Marvin,” Mae said as she approached me.

The door opened, and I tried to make a break for it, but my wing hung limp. I paced the countertop, looking for a way to get down. The walls closed in like a cage. I needed to get out of the house. Panic threatened to choke the air from my lungs.

The door opened again, and a man and woman came inside. The door—I had to get to the door. The man smiled and reached for me. Humans were not to be trusted, but wasn’t part of me human? I screeched and tried to fly away, only to land with a meaty thud.

I nipped his hand when he touched me. The moment blood hit my tongue, my feathers flared to life. Smoke filled the air as a dish towel caught fire. The flames licked at my feet but didn’t burn.

“Tessa, you must stay calm and turn back,” he whispered to me, and scratched the feathers on the top of my head.

I closed my eyes and tucked my head down to give him more room to scratch, hating myself for giving in to the affection. Humans, with their false smells and smiles. The animal in me hated him, but the girl loved the attention.

The older women began to hum a song. I’d heard the song before, but not hummed—whistled.

I opened my eyes. A strange man carried me in his arms.
Why am I naked?
Exhaustion made my head and limbs too heavy to move. He carried me into my bedroom and set me on the bed. Someone turned on the spigot, filling the tub. I touched my chest, and something crusty and sticky coated my fingers . . . blood.

Voices carried from the other room. I made out Mae’s voice among the lower tones of men. I tried to sit upright, and the room spun. The area between my breasts ached, and breathing hurt. It had to be one hell of a bruise.

“Gram?” I called from the bed. Bits and pieces of memories came uninvited, none of which made any sense.

“Gram Mae? Dottie?” The voices outside the door quieted, and Mae poked her head into the room.

“I need water.” My throat burned. “Please.”

Mae brought water and Detective Aaron Burns. He stayed by the door as if afraid to come into the room. I sipped the water, murmuring “Thanks.”

Aaron smiled and dipped his chin. I must look like death eating a cracker. Only I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“He wouldn’t leave until he saw you for himself.” Mae winked. She set the glass onto the nightstand, and grinned as she left the room.

“Hi?” I smiled.

“Hi, yourself. I hear you were saved by a cast-iron skillet?” He pulled the chair from my desk and sat beside the bed.

I winced and touched my chest. “Is that what happened? I can’t remember.”

Aaron watched me with concern. “Your aunt and great-grandmother refused to send you to the hospital. I tried to argue, but they’re a formidable pair.”

They must like him if he’d argued and come out of it in one piece. “I’m okay, but my chest is sore, and I have a headache. How long have you been here?”

Aaron made a show of checking his watch. “Four, five hours.”

“Why did you stay so long?”

“Besides the fried chicken?” He laughed. “I wanted to tell you we have the man who tried to shoot you. His prints were on the gun.”

I nodded and closed my eyes. He was holding something back. I remembered bits and pieces of what happened, and had some freaky dreams, but I couldn’t put it all together. Aaron wasn’t the one to ask. “Are you closing the case?”

“Not yet. There are still some unanswered questions. It’ll be closed soon.” He glanced out the window toward the field. “There’ll be uniformed officers and inspectors from the railroad working near the house for the next day or two.”

I tried to get a breath around the lump in my throat. “I’m not very good company right now.”

Aaron stood and kissed my brow. “I shouldn’t have done that when you aren’t able to fight me off. I have to go. Get some rest.”

I reached for his hand. “I wouldn’t have fended you off, even if I could. Thanks for waiting for me to wake up.”

The door opened and another man entered. I remembered him, only I’d forgotten his name. Aaron glanced between us. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”

Aaron clamped his hand on the other man’s shoulder as he walked out and closed the door. The exchange made me curious. What in the world had gone on while I slept? Aaron acted like he and this guy were friends. I suspected Gram Mae had something to do with it.

“How are you feeling?” He stood near the foot of the bed.

“Tired and sore.” I frowned. “I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”

“Marvin. Dr. Marvin Hicks.” He motioned to the chair. “May I?”

“Of course. I remember now. I called your office. They said you’d taken emergency leave. My uncle wanted me to give you something.”

Marvin seated himself, his expression more serious. “Dottie gave me the cedar box, but I believe it was meant for you, my dear.”

“My uncle told me to give the box to you.”

Marvin tilted his head. “What else did he tell you?”

“Dottie and Mae were in danger and I should take the box to you. People would be looking for it . . .” I lowered my voice. “He said to tell you I was his granddaughter, which is wrong. I’m his grandniece.”

Marvin turned his head toward the window. I didn’t know this man from Adam, but I thought I could trust him. He reminded me of my uncle, but it was more than just a shared ancestry—he had the same kind eyes.

“Tessa, perhaps we should have this conversation when you’re feeling better?”

“No, I need to understand what’s going on. Wait. You were here? When I was shot? I remember that you’d just arrived.”

Marvin nodded. “I helped Dottie and Mae take care of you.”

I remembered him carrying me twice: once after I was shot, and once when I was naked. “What happened? Did that old skillet really take the bullet?”

He appeared to be in a silent debate. “No. The skillet didn’t stop the bullet. It shattered on impact, slowing the bullet down. You were shot in the chest.”

My head sank into the pillow. I couldn’t have been shot. Aaron said they refused to take me to the hospital. People went to the hospital when they were shot.

“Tessa, you died. I carried you around the house, out of range of the shooter. You had no pulse. The bullet went into your heart.”

“Then how am I still alive?” My heart pounded, proving him wrong.

“You rose. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. You are a firebird.”

I laughed and shook my head. When I met his gaze, I stilled. “Like a phoenix?”

He shrugged. “Our people call it a firebird. To my knowledge, there hasn’t been one here for centuries. You had to inherit it from your mother.”

“Trust me, Dr. Hicks, my mother isn’t anything special. Sometimes I wonder if she’s even human.”

He rested his hand on mine. “Tessa, your mother wasn’t—she wasn’t the woman you know to be your mother.”

I’d always fantasized that I’d been switched at birth. I never fit with Darlene. As a child, I dreamed someone would tell me I belonged to a different family. Now that it had happened, I didn’t want it to be true.

“Charlie had a daughter,” he continued.

“Atsila,” I whispered.

“Yes, her name was Atsila.” He squeezed my hand. “She was Nunnehi.”

“Nunnehi? Native American fairies?” My brain hurt. “I’m a firebird, and my real mother was a fairy?”

He nodded once. “They aren’t the little folk who fly around visiting flowers. They are another race. They protected the Cherokee and tried to save the old ones from the relocation. It is believed that when the English settled in our lands, most of the Nunnehi died from Western diseases or war, and some may have gone underground—no one is sure. If any still live, they are hidden in the Appalachias. Some believe full-blooded Nunnehi are extinct.”

“If she was Charlie’s daughter, she would be half-blood.” As soon as the words fell from my mouth, the truth clicked in my brain. “Charlie?”

Marvin nodded and waited for it to sink in.

“How? I mean, why did Darlene raise me?”

“Her child was born a couple of weeks before you. Darlene’s baby died of SIDS at three months old. Charlie worked a forgetting spell on Darlene. He made her believe that you were her daughter.”

“That’s so wrong.”

“He did what he thought was best for you.”

I pressed my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes. “Do you know who my father was?”

“Charlie never spoke of your father.”

I nodded. I’d never had a real father. My jaw slacked as I stared at Dr. Hicks, unable to make sense of my thoughts. Then it hit me—hard. “Mae isn’t . . . ?”

“She is human."

“She isn’t Charlie’s mother?” I croaked out the words.

“Not by birth, no, but she was a mother to him.”

“She isn’t my great-grandmother by blood. None of them are.” I shook my head and laughed, not wanting to believe any of this. “I don’t care. She is more family to me than anyone.”

Dr. Hicks remained silent while I sorted it all out.

“She visits me. Atsila. Since I was a little girl, her spirit has come to me.”

Marvin smiled. “I’m not surprised. Dottie tells me you can see spirits, and you’re an intuitive, possibly a seer.”

“I get feelings sometimes. Like the day Charlie died, I knew someone was going to die, just not who.”

“Now that you have shifted, your other gifts will become stronger, much stronger.”

“I’ll see ghosts and be able to tell the future?” My intuition came in handy, but I didn’t see an upside to seeing ghosts.

“Yes, but eventually it will be a part of you, and you will learn to control it.” He stood.

“Wait. Please don’t leave.” I didn’t want to be alone. I had more questions.

“Easy, little flame, I’ll be right back.” He smiled and walked out.

I cringed when Dr. Hicks used my uncle’s pet name for me.
Charlie had to know I was part Nunnehi. Did he know I was a firebird? Had more than my red hair earned me the nickname? No, this couldn’t be real, any of it.
Soon I’d wake up from this nightmare.

Dr. Hicks returned with Uncle Charlie’s composition book and handed it to me. “I cannot read the pages.”

I ran my hands over the cover. “Neither can I.”

“Try.” He insisted.

The change in his tone gave me pause. What difference did it make to him if I could read the book? I slid the rubber band off. The writing remained an unfamiliar mess of symbols and scribbles. As I stared at the page, the symbols began to make sense. “I can read it. It’s a spell book.”

Dr. Hicks’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward. Something about him gave me the chills. I reached for the amulet, but it wasn’t around my neck.

I closed the journal and set it between me and the wall.

Marvin frowned. “Do you remember what happened after you were shot?”

“No, just that you were carrying me. I had the most bizarre dreams, though.”

“In your dreams, were you flying?” His voice lowered to a whisper.

“I saw a bear, and then I was flying. I saw three men with guns. Blood, a lot of blood.”

“I’m the bear you saw. I’m a shifter, like you, only my animal spirit’s a bear.”

“Did I kill those men?”

“Your animal spirit did, yes, with my help.”

“Is that the last of them? Who are they? Why do they want to hurt us?” My chest tightened, and my body burned from the inside out. “Oh no.”

“Drink.” He held a cup to my lips. It smelled like feet and tasted even worse.

Dr. Hicks sneered as the liquid slid down my throat.

I woke to the pink ruffled curtains swaying in the breeze. It tasted like something had died in my mouth. I wandered into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, yet the taste persisted. A haggard reflection stared back from the mirror. My stomach loudly reminded me I hadn’t eaten in days.

The cold fried chicken tasted like ashes on my tongue. The tea oozed, syrupy and thick. Even toast made my stomach clench as it turned to a paste. I gave up on food and searched for my cell phone.

Wednesday, I’d slept for almost two days. Twenty-four missed calls and twice as many missed text messages. I set the phone aside.

Someone had scratched out a note and secured it to the fridge. I didn’t bother to read it. The thought of a bath enticed me, until the possibility of conjuring the spirit of my dead mother crossed my mind. I wanted to speak to her, to ask the questions that floated around in my mind, but I needed time to process everything I’d learned. Not to mention, my talks with her were cryptic at best.

“I need to get out of here,” I mumbled.

Without any thought to the consequences, I stripped out of my night clothes and opened the window. Standing in the room bare as the day I was born, I wondered if I’d suffered from a psychotic break. I sat and put my head in my hands, trying to force myself to cry. I needed to let the emotions out, but none came.

The burning in my chest returned. Instead of letting it consume me with fear, I focused on the sensation. It didn’t burn like an open flame, as it had before. It reminded me of sinking into a warm bath. My back bowed as my body tried to resist the change. I forced myself to relax, and the warmth filled me.