{"id":3615,"date":"2011-02-06T05:32:07","date_gmt":"2011-02-06T09:32:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/themagicalbuffet.com\/blog1\/2010\/12\/16\/"},"modified":"2011-02-06T05:32:07","modified_gmt":"2011-02-06T09:32:07","slug":"immortal-blues-part-two","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themagicalbuffet.com\/blog1\/?p=3615","title":{"rendered":"Immortal Blues: Part Two"},"content":{"rendered":"

By Greg Bullard
\n
\nWelcome to part two of the nine part fiction series \u201cImmortal Blues\u201d by Greg Bullard. In part two we meet The Crone, Isabella, and her granddaughter Marisela. In search of answers do we instead get more questions? Need to catch up? You can start at part one here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

An hour past midnight, I\u2019d made good time; Isabella would still be up. With a click I flipped shut my watch and slid it back into my pocket. Tilting my head up and to the side I eyed the moon, bright and high in the clear sky, it\u2019d be full in a few days. Sighing inwardly I turned left and stuck to the street lights, skirting the edge of Prospect Park instead of walking through it. It may be late, but I couldn\u2019t take the chance of being seen in the moonlight, too many questions.<\/p>\n

I covered the last few blocks warily. Already it had been a long night. Someone was trying to kill me, leaving me with two big questions. First, I wanted to know who. Second, I wanted to know how they could have a gunman waiting for me in the shadow of an alley I hadn\u2019t even known I was going to pass by until I wandered aimlessly in that direction.<\/p>\n

Minutes later I could see Isabella\u2019s house in the distance. Dim light filtered through the age-stained, white lace curtains, spilling out onto the stoop of the old brownstone. I could feel the power of the wards even as I approached.<\/p>\n

Seconds later, standing in front of the doorway, I waited. There was no need to announce my presence, they knew I was here. When the door opened a lovely girl of medium height, in her early 20s, wearing a white dress craned her neck back to watch me as I towered over her. Her full, petulant lips sat below large, dark brown eyes. The flawless olive skin of her face was framed by straight, long, black hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cMarisela,\u201d I said in a rough, whispered tone, inclining my head slightly by way of greeting, \u201cMay I speak with your grandmother?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s late, she\u2019s asleep,\u201d she answered in curt, clipped tones.<\/p>\n

Tilting my head to the side, I nodded at a tiny bowl of honeyed milk and fresh baked bread sitting on the sill, visible through the window and said, \u201cShe\u2019s expecting me. She always leaves an offering for the Wee Folk when she expects me.\u201d<\/p>\n

As if on cue the frayed voice of the old woman cut in from beyond the hallway, \u201cPlease show our guest to the sitting room Marisela.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes Grandmama,\u201d she answered, stepping back to allow me into their home.<\/p>\n

Without needing a guide, I took the first left and passed through a dark velvet drape to the dim sitting room beyond. A windowless room, there were no electric lights, and it shown with the flickering illumination of the few dozen candles burning within.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I take your coat?\u201d Marisela asked. Her words were polite, but carried the usual biting tone she used with me.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo thank you Marisela,\u201d she flinched at my use of her name, \u201cI shan\u2019t be long.\u201d<\/p>\n