Chapter 24
M y cute little Airstream was gone. It had been a sturdy structure as travel trailers went but no match for a magic fireball assault.
“How’d a curse talker do something like this?” Ida asked as we stomped around the charred remains of my home.
“Probably a spell he bought somewhere.”
“Yeah, but a powerful spell like that would probably go for low-five figures.”
“Try high-five,” I said. “And that’s if you can get a fire elemental to sell you one. They don’t like to part with their precious flames.”
“Why not?”
“They’re possessive of them, I guess.” I kicked over a chunk of charbroiled aluminum. “Damn it, I don’t have a thing left.” I wrapped my arms around my middle. While I’d been out on the sidewalk waiting for Ida with Ronan, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t lose it when I saw the damage.
Wishful thinking. I was very close to losing it.
“Good thing I had those magic books at my place, I guess,” Ida said.
“True.” In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten about Beau’s magic books. “Did you find anything useful in them?”
“About the hex bags? Sorry, no.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got Bronwyn looking into it.” I bent down and brushed my fingers over a patch of charred grass. All my houseplants were gone.
“Mom’s Crassula ovata,” I said, sighing.
The jade plant had been a gift from her, a piece of her to keep with me on the road. I’d given cuttings to people over the years—jade plants grew quickly—but the original plant had been in my trailer. Now it was gone. Just like her.
A warm, furred body rubbed against my shin. Cecil scuttled across the grass, down the short path, and up to the toe of my boot. “Hey, guys. Thanks for looking after things while I was gone.”
“ Meow .”
Chitter.
I turned my back on the trailer, unable to look at it anymore. “Come on, let’s all go to the garden room and?—”
“Miss Lennox, I need to talk to you. Alone.”
A petite Mexican-American woman with jet black hair pulled into a harsh bun stood there, hands clasped behind her back. She was a porcupine shifter, and her animal suited her well.
Ida’s brows dipped down. She straightened her shoulders and opened her mouth.
I shook my head. “It’s all right. Seńora Cervantes has a right to complain. What happened here shouldn’t have. Go on now.” I shooed the three of them toward the garden room. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ida, Cecil, and Fennel left, walking backward and grumbling the whole way. I loved that they felt protective of me, but it would be best if they didn’t start a fight with another tenant. Besides, what I’d said was the truth. Maria Cervantes’s mobile home occupied the space beside mine. She must’ve been terrified when the Airstream went up in flames.
“I’m so sorry. You have every right to be angry about what happened here. The spell should’ve held. I’m going to start doing the protection spell bi-weekly until?—”
“No,” she said.
I sighed. “I understand if you want to leave. I’ll give you this month and last’s rent back so you can find another place. I don’t know if you gave Mom a deposit, but if you did, you’ll definitely get that back, too.”
“No.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You will continue doing the protection spell as you have been. I’ve seen what you look like after you cast it, and you cannot possibly do it every two weeks and remain healthy,” she said, in her precise, Spanish-accented voice. “The spell did as it was supposed to. No people were harmed, only property, and that can be replaced.”
My throat itched; I felt like I was going to cry. This woman had been mean to me since the day she’d moved in, judging my clothing, makeup, hair, outside activities, and lack of magic. She’d been around for a decade, and I’d never heard a single kind word from her.
That she’d picked today to show a sliver of compassion meant a lot.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You belong in this place. Just as your mother belonged here. You are not the same witch she was,” she said, “but that is neither here nor there. You are our witch. And this is your home.”
She had me completely turned around. The senora had long ago perfected the compliment sandwich, except hers was usually constructed with a cruel dig in between two less-mean insults.
“Here.” She brought her hands out from behind her back. Her nails were sooty around the cuticles, which was entirely unlike the fastidious woman. “I thought you might want this. It ended up in my yard,” she said quickly.
It was my clay jarrito mug. The one with the red flowers that Mom had gifted me for my birthday the year before she died.
I was stunned into silence. There was no way this had ended up in her yard.
“It has a crack on the back, so don’t fill it with coffee. But it can hold other things.” She shuffled a little, her discomfort evident. “I was the one who told Lila where to buy this. The artisan is in East Pluto if you would like to have another made. I will bring you his card.”
I hugged the mug to my chest. “Gracias, senora.”
“De nada. Cuidado, Betty. Be careful with yourself. This place would not be the same without you.” She shook herself and cleared her throat. “I expect a month’s free rent for my pain and suffering. The fire scorched my rear awning.”
“Yes, of course, Senora Cervantes. I’ll get that fixed,” I said to her retreating back.
Ida was reclined on my chaise when I walked into the garden room, Fennel in a fuzzy black ball at her feet. Cecil was at his worktable. I flopped onto the stool in front of my workstation and set the mug next to my soldering supplies.
“So what happened last night?” Ida asked. “Start from the beginning, in case one of us missed something.”
I told them everything, including the part with Mason Hartman sending someone to bring me soil—or coming himself. Once the powerful wolf had shifted, he would’ve been mostly healed, though exhausted.
“Huh. Maybe that wolf won’t kill you after all,” Ida said.
“Oh, he still might. He chose not to let me die today. Tomorrow might be another story.”
When I got to the part about Sexton being my grandfather, Ida’s face lost color. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“No. But he says he is. I don’t know why he’d lie.”
“He’s a demon. Lying is their birthright.”
“I know. I’ve been going round and round in my mind about it, and I just can’t think about it anymore. I have to find a place to live, buy some clothes, and piece my life back together. I don’t have room in my brain for anything else right now.”
Cecil, who’d been focused on some project at his workbench, turned around. Clasped in his arms was a small, terracotta pot of soil and a tiny, singed cutting of a jade plant.
“Mom’s Crassula ovata?”
Cecil chittered gently. He set the pot down and took a shy step back, his purple hat showering the pot with pollen.
“Where did you—? How did you—?” Tears filled my eyes, clogged my throat. “Never mind. Thank you. Thank you, thank you .” I bent down until my head was level with his and nuzzled the tip of his nose with mine. “This means so…” I glanced down at the string-of-pearls plant bed nestled next to Fennel’s. “You know exactly what it means, don’t you?”
The purple hat flopped forward as he nodded.
“ Meow .” Fennel leapt up onto Cecil’s workstation—something he never did—a set of charred keys hanging from his mouth.
“Mom’s keys.” I took them from him and gave him a nose nuzzle, too. “Thank you.”
“If you aren’t ready to stay in the cottage, I’ve got a spare room.” Ida came over to the three of us and rested her head on my arm. “There’s no closet space, but there’s a twin-sized guest bed and I’ll even throw in a pot of coffee in the mornings.”
“You temptress, you,” I said.
“And I’ll feed you dinner, too.”
I tipped my head against hers. “I love you all, you know that?”
Cecil chittered, Fennel meowed, and Ida said, “Well, of course you do. We’re great friends.” She fished a small pot from her sweatshirt pocket and held up Meredith. The tiny mandrake frowned at all of us and beamed at Ida.
“We’re not friends,” I said. “We’re family.”
I spent the night at Ida’s instead of Ronan’s. I’d needed to clear my head.
Ronan had understood, even if he hadn’t been thrilled. He also seemed to understand even better than I did why I’d decided to move into Mom’s house today.
Though move into was something of a misnomer. I had very little, aside from myself and a couple of magic books, to move.
“You need your own space.”
“I do, but it still feels like Mom’s space, not mine. Not like I have much choice, though.”
“I think you’re making the right decision, even though I know it’s tough,” he said. “Call if you decide you want to come over—or if you need me to come stay with you,” he said.
“What if I want you to come stay?”
“Call then, too.”
Ida also offered to stay, and I knew Fennel would come if I asked. Cecil, too.
In the end, however, I decided against inviting any of them over. I needed to order my thoughts, which meant I needed some time alone.
Entering the cottage hadn’t been as difficult as the last few times.
The smell of the house evoked good memories—winter nights on the sofa in front of the fireplace talking plants and magic, dandelion salads at the kitchen table, my old bedroom where the walls had been papered with 70s rock groups until I moved out and Mom turned it into a guest room.
My boot heels clicked on the wooden floor as I whipped dusty white sheets off the living room furniture. The place still smelled like her, like basil and mint, the teas she’d loved to drink. Lemon furniture polish, a trace of creosote from the fireplace, and the flat scent of emptiness.
There was nothing by the front door except the image I carried of finding her there. It had been the worst day of my life, and yet, as I uncovered furniture and old memories, it occurred to me that it wasn’t how I remembered this house.
Not entirely.
The photos on the wall reflected Mom and me through the years: my awkward phases, my rebellious phases, and the phases where we couldn’t seem to reach each other, no matter how hard we tried.
The yellow cabinets in the kitchen brought to mind an argument we’d had, when she’d brought the paint home and it wasn’t blue. Mom had wanted sunshine in the kitchen, and I’d wanted rain. I still believed I was right about that.
The hole on the back of my old bedroom door that perfectly fit the toe of my then-favorite pair of Vans. A fight over a boy, probably. I couldn’t remember the fight, only the way the door had felt on my foot and how I’d apologized for kicking it.
It was all here, all of it. My history with Mom. It was good and bad, and it was also neither good nor bad. It simply was. And now, the house and I would create a new history. One that included Ida, Fennel, and Cecil. Also, Gladys, Trini, Jacqueline, Sandra, Sra. Cervantes, and even cranky Meredith the screaming mandrake, gods help me.
And Ronan.
Mom’s queen-sized bed was made up but hadn’t been slept in for three years. There were nightstands on either side of it, and an empty dresser and dusty mirror on the wall by the closet. The walls were white, the floor was wood, and the only decoration besides the mirror was a vibrant watercolor painting of a sunflower above her bed.
One of her clients had painted it, a woman she’d helped escape an abusive husband years ago. I’d kept it because it was a beautiful, tangible reminder of the good Mom had brought into the world. Something I needed to remember when I grew frustrated with her secrets.
Ida had helped me deal with Mom’s things after she died. We’d boxed up clothing and other items to donate, disposed of expired toiletries and makeup, and moved the indoor plants to the garden room. But many of her things were still here: furniture from my bisabuela, artwork and record albums, and special books meant for witch eyes only.
And the family grimoire, of course.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. After the couple of days I’d had, I was tempted not to look at the screen.
“This is Betty.”
“Hi, Betty.” Bronwyn’s soft voice came over the line. “This is going to sound strange, but I think the hex bags might be a mix of protection and curse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I still have some research to do, but from what I’ve found, the ingredients used for the knots are key to the intention of the spell. And these were all organic. That tells me the spell caster, or hexer, was keying the bag to an earth magical. Since your hair was in one, I’d say it was you.”
I’d been pretty sure that was true, but it was good to validate it.
“If we assume the blood was freely given, it’d have to be from a creature capable of consent. That leaves out animals—except shifters and those like your Fennel—and includes humans, paranormals, demons, gods…”
“Do gods even have blood?” I’d have to summon one to find out for sure, and that wasn’t happening. Demons were scary enough. Gods, even demigods, had to be next-level horrifying.
“Some do,” she said. “Our history tells us about paranormals who made blood pacts with gods.”
Good point. “Why would we assume the caster had consent for the blood?” I asked.
“No reason in particular. We could assume the caster didn’t have consent and arrive at an entirely different conclusion. I’ve allowed for both.”
“Okay, then. What’s your first conclusion?”
“That whoever buried these on your property was trying to protect you from something. This spell isn’t just powerful, it’s precise. It’s like a strong heal charm—keyed to a specific person. The curse would be for whoever the caster felt was your enemy.”
“And your second conclusion?”
“The caster wasn’t trying to protect you from an enemy. The caster believed you were the enemy. The bags were to curse you.”
“I don’t feel cursed.” I shrugged. “At least, not the way you mean.”
“Yeah, I’m partial to conclusion one. It makes the most sense. If the bags had been buried there for a while and hadn’t hurt you, I find it more plausible to believe they were there to protect you.” The sounds of a bell and people talking filtered into the phone. “Got to go, sorry.”
“Thank you for this,” I said.
“You’re welcome— Be right with you, sir. Yes, we do. Aisle three, past the calming bath salts —Hey, Betty? Be careful. If someone planted not one, but two of these bags on your property, they were dead serious about what they were protecting.”
She ended the call, and I let the phone fall into my lap.
More than one? She’d planted twenty-eight of the things. If what Bronwyn said was true, Mom was either doing a very late version of helicopter parenting, or she was convinced something bad was coming my way.
And had set up protections for me that would outlast her.
“I know you loved me, Mom,” I said to the empty house. “I’m trusting that you were doing your best to keep me safe. But it would’ve been nice if you’d left me a note and told me what the hell was going on.”
It took me the entire day to clean the cottage and do the laundry. I stopped by the local DiscMart and picked up groceries, some makeup and toiletries, and a few items of clothing to tide me over for now. After a dinner of deli tomato bisque soup, I sat on the porch steps with a glass of mint tea and watched the sun go down.
“Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest played through the crackly speakers of Mom’s old portable radio. I dug my bare foot into the soil then pulled it out to watch the dirt dissipate and absorb into my body. Magic tingled beneath my skin.
“ Vita ,” I whispered, and the magic flowed into the soil, lighting it up. It glimmered like a sea of diamonds, holding the glow for far longer than it ever had.
A smile broke over my face.
“I don’t believe you need the power word anymore.”
The voice sent ice up my spine. I yanked my foot out of the soil, and it went dark.
“Are you asking for permission to enter my land?” I yelled.
“We can speak like this if you prefer. I won’t take it personally.” Sexton spoke in a conversational tone, as if he wasn’t standing thirty feet away.
I sighed. It would do me no good to refuse him. Best just to hear him out and send him on his way. “You have my permission to enter the property up to my porch.”
In the last week, I’d tracked down a dead Lothario wolf, been stalked and stabbed and healed, learned my mom had kept a lot of secrets and found my way back to the soil after three long years. I could handle a conversation with my … grandfather.
He walked in gliding flashes—each step eating up at least ten feet. “May I sit?”
“Sure. Why do you think I don’t need the power word anymore? And why didn’t you tell me that’s what it was when I asked you before?”
He lowered himself onto the porch beside me, knees creaking. It had to be an affectation. If he’d wanted to, he could be a silent as death’s final breath. “You have to figure out some things on your own.”
Apparently, I’d had to figure out a lot of damn things on my own.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“The mandrake. Why did you hire me to retrieve her?” The answer hit me the minute the words were out of my mouth. It was so obvious I was embarrassed I hadn’t seen it sooner. “Meredith wasn’t for you, was she? She was for me.” When he didn’t immediately answer, I said, “The Persephone’s Ear, too. You knew I was going to need it.”
“I did not know any such thing.” The chill in his voice made me flinch. “The mandrake was meant to be a protection for you. Persephone’s Ear was meant as an emergency measure. In case someone from the other side came for you.”
“Like Belial,” I said.
He nodded. “You recall I mentioned that I have been temporarily banished from the otherworlds. My only means of crossing into them is through Persephone’s Ear or a summoning from the other side.”
“You were planning to defy the banishment and come to my rescue if someone yanked me into Hell?” I asked.
“Yes. I would have come for you.”
I didn’t know what to do with my emotions about that, so I asked the next question that popped into my head. “Were the hex bags to keep me from connecting with the soil here?”
“No. They were to keep you safe from our families’ enemies.”
“She planted so many.”
“Your mother was very worried. Rightly so.” He let out a gusty breath that frosted the blades of grass under his shoes. “I am sorry for what Lucien did. I did not anticipate the depths of his anger. Your father?—”
I held up a hand. “No.”
“No?” He cocked his head to the side. It creaked, too.
“No. I don’t want to talk about that right now. There’s too much else.” I waved my hands around to convey the general too much -ness of everything.
“Very well. Do you have any more questions for me?”
“Only one.” I squeezed my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. I was terrified of his answer, but I needed to know. “Am I like you? A demon?”
He stared at my hands. “Like me? No. You are a witch.”
“And the other part? Am I also … a demon?”
“That’s a complicated question. And it involves the person you do not wish to talk about.” He stood, and this time didn’t creak at all. “When you’re ready to hear the whole story, I’ll share it with you—the parts of it I know. Until then, I shall leave you to recover from the ordeal I inadvertently inflicted upon you.”
I shook my head. “Lucien made the choice to kill me knowing that I was innocent in all this. You might be guilty of making him angry enough to come for me, but he’s the only one responsible for his actions. He chose to kill me—to try to kill me.”
Sexton nodded. Again, no creak.
I knew it had been an affectation.
“I will call you soon. Please answer.”
“Not too soon. I need time to process all this. Please respect that.”
He nodded again, this time remembering the creak. Such a weird thing to worry about, but I didn’t say anything. It was as if trying to appear more human was his way of extending an olive branch.
“Goodnight, Betty,” he said, and winked out of sight. When I was sure he was completely off the property, I rescinded his invitation.
“Diamond Girl” by Seals and Croft began playing on the radio. I let the soft music wash over me. Released my fists and shook feeling back into my hands.
The soil surrounding Mom’s house rumbled ever so gently. It was calling to me.
I dipped my feet into the soil once more, marveling again at how it responded. Sexton was right; I didn’t need the power word. Not anymore.
Everywhere I looked the soil sparkled. It wasn’t the full-powered magical connection I’d once had with it, but it was a start. A good start.
And it was enough for now.