Blood and Salt by Kim Liggett

wanted to be there. But there was no warmth in her; she gave off the acrid scent of mourning.
    â€œTake three leaves and braid them together, one after the other,” Beth said.
    I tried to do it, but my wet fingertips slipped and fumbled.
    Beth was patient and encouraging, but Lauren countered that with a lot of heavy sighing and eye rolling.
    â€œWhen the ceremony starts,” Beth said, “we’ll cover your eyes with a sash and I’ll lead you to the line of eligibles. The Larkin women have a heightened sense of smell. Under different circumstances you’d use your senses to recognize your soul mate.” Beth leaned in as if she were going to tell me some deep dark secret. “Katia chose for you. Number nine.”
    Lauren accidentally crushed one of the leaves in her hand. Beth gave her a wide-eyed look of horror.
    â€œI’m sorry.” Lauren whispered so quietly, I wondered who the apology was for.
    I went back to work on the wreath, but it felt like the leaves were wrestling against me.
    Beth kept glancing back at my brother, who was beingdoted on by a girl with two long coppery braids. She had taken it upon herself to clean and re-bandage Rhys’s skinned knee. He looked like he was going to pass out.
    â€œWho’s that?” I asked as I leaned forward in the tub, trying to get a better view.
    Beth turned back to me, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, that’s my half cousin Betsy Grimsby. She’s unintended, too.”
    Clearly, Beth had a little crush on my brother. “So, tell me about number nine,” I said, trying to distract her.
    â€œYou’re still not braiding the leaves right.” Lauren glared at me through her shiny black lashes.
    â€œThen why don’t you do it for me.” I pushed my shoddy work toward her.
    â€œBelieve me, I would if I could . . . but I can’t.” She forced it back into my hands.
    I had no idea what I’d done to piss her off, but she made me anxious. And I hated being this bad at anything.
    â€œWe
can’t
help,” Beth patted my arm. “It has to be your own creation. It’s tradition. You’re doing really well for your first time.” She could barely say it with a straight face. “I mean . . . it’s more symbolic than anything.”
    I looked down at the limp massacred leaves in my hands and laughed. “Poor number nine.”
    Aside from Lauren’s sour mood, the atmosphere was jovial. Everyone seemed excited and full of life. It was contagious. Ihad to remind myself that these people were total freaks who wanted to steal my mother’s body.
    â€œShe’s ready,” Lou said with a flourish of her pruney fingers.
    The women helped me out of the tub and began to smooth the warm, gold-flecked oil into my skin. It took everything I had to make myself stand there and let them do it. There wasn’t anything sexual about it—in fact it was just the opposite, it seemed almost reverent, but I got irritated when people even brushed up against me in the subway. The plan had been to gain their trust, but I didn’t expect the process to be this hands-on.
    â€œYou look perfect,” Lou said as she slipped a sheer white cotton sheath over my head. “Just as I imagined.”
    I ran my fingertips over the delicate lace scalloping the neckline, wondering if it was the same gown my mother wore on the night of her wreathing ceremony.
    Lou led me to a full-length mirror. I couldn’t help but smile. I looked like a painted tintype from another century. I knew the girl standing before me, but she looked like a better version of me. My loose waves were threaded with tiny white sweet alyssum blooms. Skin smooth as silk. The long willowy lines of my body seemed more powerful now, the downward curve of my mouth that had always felt childish had become sensuous—even my eyes appeared more striking, like deep water that had been set