10
EVIE
“ M ama, please!” I screamed.
Where was Idris? I had to find Idris. No one was coming to save us. No one was going to protect us.
It was all up to me.
I heard Idris screaming. The walls of the house were crumbling and rotting, and my vision was going in and out.
“I can’t see!” I wailed. “Mama!”
They were laughing at me. The whole room of them. Cloaked in black, their prayers echoed through the disintegrating house. My mother and father, the entire coven… and, oh Lillian… they were here too.
My black dress was stifling. I couldn’t make sense of the dreamlike warping of time and jagged memories and metaphors. The only thing I understood was that I needed to find my brother.
He was so small, still a child. I heard him scream again. Was he still a baby? He was just a baby.
We had to go.
I climbed the staircase, but it kept growing taller and steeper, and Idris’s screams farther and farther away.
I couldn’t—I couldn’t?—
I screamed, and the darkness consumed us all. As our flesh was pulled from bone and our souls scrambled, all I could think was: I bet my family’s last thought was how much of an endless source of shame and disappointment I was.
I awoke with a scream lodged in my throat, but the memories of my nightmares were hazy and hard to understand.
As always, the prevailing feeling was an overwhelming terror for my brother’s safety.
I used to rush to his room across the hall after these dreams, back when we both lived upstairs in the main house. I would have to make sure he was safe in his bed. I was only soothed when I saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Even then, sometimes I’d have to stay with him until morning, just to be sure.
I’d tried to stop the habit as we got older. It became less frequent as the years passed. The compulsion always grew stronger in the spring, reaching its peak late summer.
This morning, I had that familiar urge. But Idris was at university, and I hadn’t seen him since that day at the coffeeshop. He’d be home tomorrow night for dinner.
I could wait until then. He would hate if I showed up unannounced in this state of mind.
My lip was sore from how hard I was chewing on it. I took deep breaths, reminding myself that the paranoid thoughts dominating my mind weren’t true.
We weren’t in danger. No one was coming for us. No one was watching our every move.
We were safe. We’d been safe for over a decade.
I was so disoriented that the memories from last night were slow to surface.
Why couldn’t I remember getting into bed? I rose, staring down at my blush pink dress in confusion. I’d been sober, as always. I remembered running all the way home. But I couldn’t recall anything else.
I shut my eyes tight. Calm the hell down, Evie, I scolded myself. It was probably just stress. I’d clearly been too exhausted and emotional to change clothes before sleeping.
Everything was okay. I had it all under control.
I got ready for my day, sliding into the soft, oversized light-blue shirt I wore as a casual dress. Then I got to work, refusing to even think about last night until I’d created at least two new products and drank two cups of coffee.
My crafting and spell room was my haven. When I entered the space, I already felt ten times lighter. Flowers and herbs hung from lines of string strung along the walls to dry, while others were kept alive in pots and vases, depending on their intended usage. There were countless shelves of crystals, candle holders, vials, glass bottles, and other tools or adornments. I liked to grow or collect my own materials as much as possible, keeping the magickal energy pure to ward against contagion.
Magick was both an art and a science. While some rules could be bent or manipulated, others remained rigid, and it was all dependent on the particular witch, spirits, and energies involved at any given time.
Witchcraft was best thought of as an ecosystem. Witches who ignored basic tenets of reciprocity, harmony, and balance would be continually frustrated by their lack of results.
In the center of the space was my altar, where I visioned, made offerings or sacrifices to the spirit world, used divination tools like tarot or pendulums, and created new spells and sigils. It was a wide standing altar, with shelves and storage underneath and hand-drawn white sigils all over its surface for power and protection. The altar itself was painted pastel pink.
Because fuck the color black.
My magick was pretty and pink.
While I sipped coffee and nibbled on a piece of toast, I selected a purifying bundle of herbs to burn. The energy in the cottage was tense and heavy, a reflection of the inner chaos of my mind. I couldn’t have any of that mental clutter affecting my magick.
I snapped my fingers, lighting the bundle with a touch of conjured fire. I let the flame glow for a few seconds before I blew it out. I then allowed the herbs to smolder and release a steady billow of smoke. I took soothing inhales as I moved about, thanking the spirits of the land for their aid and protection. I fed the spirits of the doorways and windows, asking them to banish all negative influences from my space. I asked Selena for clarity and wisdom. I asked Helia for the ability to heal and help all those who found my products.
I didn’t ask the Dark Goddess for anything. Lillian and I were not on speaking terms.
I called to the four cardinal directions and their corresponding influences and elements, then to the worlds above and below.
I made an offering of fresh berries and roses at my altar. I offered the sustenance not only to spirits who already supported me but also to those who might stand down and out of my way for a seat at the offering table.
Let there be harmony between us for all of our days.
As I entered into the ideal headspace for witchery, my head cleared, my lungs released deep, soothing breaths, and my heart was filled with gratitude and excitement.
The world around me became brighter, and I knew I was no longer alone.
I smiled. “What are we making today?”
It was a day of creativity and breakthroughs. Not only had I been called to create a healing salve for one of my regular buyers, but I’d also devised a new spell to invoke and feed the muses for artists who need a boost. The spirits were particularly jazzed about this one, insisting that it was going to help the right people at the exact right time. I crafted a sigil and consecrated three candles with the correct corresponding herbs, oils, and crystal fragments. Then I wrote down instructions for proper usage and tied the papers to each candle with a sparkly golden ribbon.
I’d ended up becoming so absorbed in my work that I forgot to feed myself lunch. I was woozy, glowing, and beaming with pride when I finally exited the cottage.
As I approached the main house, I could see Mena bustling about in her art studio on the second floor. She turned and caught sight of me through the tall, arched window. She waved a paint brush in greeting before moving away from the window.
In the kitchen, I made Mena and myself lavender and lemon tea as I soothed my stomach with a chicken sandwich.
“Darling,” she exclaimed as she entered. “Whatever magick you’re cooking up today, keep it coming!”
I grinned as I passed her a mug and stood opposite her at the marble counter while I finished eating.
She was in a floor-length, billowy, tunic-style magenta dress embellished with brown vines. Her glasses today were large, leopard print ovals.
“I was struck, as if by lightning!” She continued, raising her arms in a grand gesture as if opening herself up to the gods. “And I knew I must paint right away. Who was I to deny such a call?”
She sipped her tea, staining the yellow mug’s rim with the burnt red shade of her lipstick. “How was the party?”
I swallowed. Ignoring what had happened last night had allowed me to enjoy my day immensely.
“You made the right call pulling a Valentin hello,” I said.
She tilted her head back with laughter. “I’m never wrong about these things.”
I sighed. “I’m starting to believe you about that.” I quickly changed the subject. “What did you do last night?”
“Well, I went into town to dance,” she said, her lips shifting into something mischievous. “Evie, I swear I don’t know how these things happen to me, but I ended up at the most marvelous party with the most interesting and strange people. It was only when everyone began to undress that I realized it was an orgy!”
I almost spit out my tea. I shook my head. I was already keenly aware of how much cooler Mena was than me. Than any of us, really. She still managed to shock me with it at least twice a week.
“You know me,” she continued. “Orgies are a perfectly acceptable way to spend your Tuesday evening. But with strangers? Not at my age. That’s a young person’s game of roulette.”
She paused, one of her well-manicured dark brows lifting. She shook a finger at me. “You evaded the question.” Her eyes narrowed before she let out a sigh. “That whiny man child ruined your night, didn’t he?”
“Mena,” I said, but it was a feeble protest, given that she was right.
Why hadn’t Jacob come to see me today? Did he think it was my fault—that I was being too sensitive? Or was he too drunk to notice how hurt I was?
Or, the worst, most nagging possibility—perhaps he’d simply let Kailey take my place.
“I’m glad you’ve finally heeded my wisdom,” she said, the mischief in her eyes back to its enthusiastic dance.
“What wisdom, specifically?”
“That two boyfriends are better than one, of course,” she said.
She was talking about the case of the mysterious gifted book that still hadn’t been solved. The most plausible explanation I’d come up with was that it had been from one of my friends from Celeste’s or a grateful client, but the anonymity was strange. I figured someone would own up to it eventually.
“That way, when one boyfriend is dragging you down, you can merely focus on the second. And if the first never shapes up, replace him.”
“Thank you, Mena,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Sound advice.”
After Mena and I finished lunch, I set up camp in the gardens to escape into a fantasy world. Though my focus kept drifting away from the pages and back to my worries.
During my workings this morning, I’d pulled tarot cards for my relationship with Jacob, against my better judgment. I pulled Death and the Three of Swords. The Death card was self-explanatory. Something was ending, and a necessary rebirth loomed. The Three of Swords was an image of three swords piercing a wounded heart, the most classic depiction of heartbreak and loss there was.
In other words, it was over. We were breaking up.
I didn’t read any more cards after that.
Most of me was heartbroken, but the strongest part of me was relieved. Jacob had betrayed me. And if that wasn’t enough, I certainly couldn’t be with someone who put my safety at risk. No matter how badly I’d wanted to feel special and chosen, like a grand romance was within reach and not merely a lofty fantasy.
But, later that evening, when Jacob finally showed up on my doorstep with a bouquet of pink snapdragons and a box of fine, dark chocolates—that strong, knowing part of me went quiet.
I accepted the gifts, and I let him apologize and shower me with the softest touches and kisses. I let him convince me that he was not only willing to change, but that he was capable of it too.
“Get dressed for dinner, my love. I’m taking you somewhere special,” he said. “I have a whole night planned for us.”
Here was the effort I’d been hoping for, that romantic show of appreciation. Maybe he really did understand what I wanted. Maybe the thought of losing me was enough to motivate him to treat me the way he knew I deserved.