Chapter 2
Hazel
Not a darn thing productive gets done for the rest of the evening. My research is stagnant as my thoughts are concerned with something else. Or rather, someone else.
How am I supposed to think when I just had an encounter like that with Finley? He’s never stood close enough to touch before. He’s never come to the back of the library by the local history section when I’m back there.
Our fingers have never touched before.
The touch still lingers.
And the way he looked at me, up and down, his eyes going dark… It was just the two of us. The tension cracked and I swear there was something there. He must feel what I feel. I know it to be so.
The way he held his breath, like he wanted to touch me but couldn’t bring himself to do it…
I leave the library well before closing and skirt the outside of the stacks. If I see him again, I’ll say something awkward, and I just don’t want the spell to break. It was too real. Too obvious.
It occurs to me on the walk home that a spell might be exactly what’s needed. My lips twitch up with hope, a spell will do nicely.
It’s a blustery night, cool and clear, and as I take in the fresh air, I can’t help but notice the energy all around me. It’s electric and powerful. The moon is the smallest sliver of a crescent. So close to the new moon.
It’s impossible to think about anything else when I can still feel the place where Finley’s fingers touched mine. It’s like I’ve veered off the path I was on and onto an unfamiliar one.
My apartment couldn’t be more familiar. More like a refuge for my racing thoughts.
I live in a cute two-story apartment building with eight units.
Mine is the one closest to the trees on the opposite side of the lot, which means it’s also closest to the river that runs through the woods.
The backyard is nothing but trees and a few potted plants on my concrete patio.
That’s a good thing in terms of energy. I like to picture the river taking away any stress or confusion I feel and replenishing the earth around it as it goes.
But a river could also carry a spell away. Delivering faster than I could on my own.
This is all I need in an apartment. I do most of my research and admin tasks for the shop from my velvet mustard yellow couch, and I’ve never needed more than one bedroom. It’s a cozy place for a single person.
Tonight, I can’t help but notice just how cozy it is. Another person couldn’t live here. Well—they could, but we’d be on top of each other, and probably sick of each other within a week.
For the first time, it occurs to me that this apartment might not be enough for the rest of my life.
How am I to envision Finley on my sofa, with the colorful patterned rug beneath the wooden coffee table made of a single slab of raw wood and iron stand beneath.
Surely he’ll need a leather chaise across my sofa.
The thought stops me in my tracks. Oh, I can see him here.
When I moved back, I thought I’d keep the apartment for six months and look for a house during that time, but nothing ever called to me.
There wasn’t any reason to get a bigger house when the shop’s inventory could stay in the house and there was no one else to share the space with.
I added my modern art prints covering most of the walls with splashes of color in antique frames.
I think cozy eclectic would describe the small place.
As I step back I try to imagine a leather chaise and it simply wouldn’t fit.
Perhaps it is time to move. When you have a desire, you must make room for it in your life. Show the universe that you are ready.
I take off my coat and hang up my bag, looking into my place with fresh eyes. It’s neat and clean with tidy secondhand furniture, most of which I got from estate sales. I’ve made it into a home, but it’s a home that’s starting to look like it could be packed up any second.
I’m getting way ahead of myself. Time to take a step back and sit on a cushion I keep near my balcony window. It’s too cold to crack the window but I can just barely hear the soothing breeze.
I replay everything that happened in the library, with an intent on simply observing.
For some reason, I keep imagining it from the far corner of the aisle, behind my table. That’s where that sound came from, didn’t it? I’d swear on my life I heard a gasp.
Maybe it wasn’t a gasp. Maybe it was an echoed whisper from another person in the library, traveling along the shelves until it got to me.
But I can’t stop picturing me and Finley from that distance, as if I was also leaning over the table, holding my breath as I watched.
We were so close together.
If I’d stumbled or leaned, I’d have leaned right into him.
I picture Finley’s face as he held his breath. That’s when he must’ve started blushing, because his cheeks were pink when our hands touched. I swear they were. And the memory stirs a warmth within me.
And there’s me, staring up at him in awe. In my memory, the energy between us was palpable. A force pulling us together. I can still feel it now. I close my eyes relishing it.
From this mysterious viewpoint, it seems that way, too. I’m leaning into it, starting to lift my heels from the floor, and Finley exhales and leans toward me, and then—
A shiver rushes across my shoulders. It’s closer to a cold breath than a gust of wind, but my skin prickles all over my body, and I leap up from the cushion.
“There was something there,” I say to my apartment.
The white mushroom lamp on my side table turns on, startling me, but it’s fine—I have it on a timer so it’ll be on when I get home.
I’m only here early tonight because Finley touched me.
And then he invited me to look at the library’s collection of rare books and records.
That’s definitely something.
I just know that tonight was important. It couldn’t be clearer if somebody had written it in lipstick on my bathroom mirror. It’s time to cast my own spell.
And as if I knew it would be needed, there’s a candle sitting out on my countertop on a small black plate.
My heart ticks up. I’d been meaning to set intentions for the transition into winter, but for whatever reason, I didn’t get around to it.
I left my box of matches out, too. The box of matches is nearly empty and it’s then that I smirk at the design on the two sides.
One being the death tarot card and the other the lovers. How fitting.
Before snatching the candle, I reach under the sink cabinet and tear off a bit of paper from a brown bag.
“You’ll do,” I whisper.
Goosebumps brush down my shoulders as I stand straighter. My little apartment kitchen is alive with energy, like I’m standing in the center of a circle made up of coven members, all of them sending their energy into me.
It’s completely possible that they met here hundreds of years ago, and their intentions were so powerful and focused that I can still feel the echoes of them, even now.
Perhaps they are my guides. I know not every detail of what lies on the other side, but at this moment I feel as if it’s meant to happen.
The calm power is a bright white light that surrounds me.
I take the candle and matches and paper back out to my living room and bring my cushion over to my coffee table.
The table is set up with a small stack of books, a chunk of clear quartz sitting proudly on top.
And a little selenite bowl of small crystals.
Quickly, I snag the rose quartz and slip it into my bra.
Casting spells never looks as dramatic as it does in the movies, but my heart pounds anyway.
The chill of the rock against my heated skin does nothing to calm the adrenaline racing through me.
I cross my legs on the cushion and close my eyes again. With my left hand over the crystal, my right still holds the candle and I move it back and forth between my thumb and forefingers.
Casting spells is something I take seriously.
The only thing more serious is casting a spell meant to directly influence another person.
I avoid that whenever possible, because you can never fully control the impact of a spell on others.
You don’t know their life’s purpose or the details of what they’ve been through.
The spell can twist and turn in ways you never imagined, and the wrong spell could come back on you in a form you didn’t predict.
I decided long ago that I would rather avoid spells for those who do not consent.
As I concentrate, though, the answer comes into my mind, clear as a bell.
Cast on Finley. It is him you crave, and the energy running through this town is far more dangerous to influence.
I ask myself whether this is true three times, leaving plenty of time for a feeling of dread or foreboding to come over me, and it never does. Perhaps I can word it in a way where it is to show me. Center myself.
Finally, I’m settled enough to reach for a pen on the shelf underneath the coffee table.
I write the truth of love could not be more obvious on the paper and roll it into a tiny scroll. If he desires me, I will know it without doubt. The highest of feelings he has for me are shown to me and only me. I do not wish to change his heart, only for myself to know it.
That’s the heart of this spell. It’s not to force Finley to do something that’s wrong for him, or that he doesn’t want to do.
It’s not to change him in any way. It’s to bring clarity to the tension between us and let us both see what’s possible before we go any farther.
Before I move from my apartment and buy a leather chaise.
At that thought I snag the dark blue sodalite from the small bowl in front of me.
“For clarity,” I whisper and then gently place it beside the iron plate.
Then I light the candle and watch the flame burn into the dark for a few moments, breathing deep.
I stare at the flame and whisper once more, “For the good of all and to the harm of none, let me clearly see the feelings he holds for me.” The air around me is practically vibrating.
I wouldn’t be surprised if a spirit actually materialized—that’s how real the energy feels.
I believe in this spell. I believe in what I feel. It’s as real as the library, or my apartment.
“For the good of all,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel.
“And to the harm of none, do what you must to make Finley realize his feelings for me.” I’m speaking to everything as I cast. All the forces in the universe that could bring us together or keep us apart.
I’m speaking to energy and fate and destiny, and I can almost hear it listening.
I can hear how it’s holding its breath to catch every word.
“Let him feel the most intense and highest feelings of passion that are possible in this lifetime for us. Let him understand them and see them clearly. I—I want it now.” A lump appears in my throat, and my voice falters.
I didn’t realize how much I wanted this until I spoke those words.
I tried to tell myself I was only interested in Finley, but I was lying to myself.
I’m more than interested. What’s between us feels as old as fate, and I need to know if he feels that, too.
“I need to know,” I admit to myself, and to my spell.
“Show us both if he is capable of wanting me and loving me. Make him feel this knowledge in the depths of his bones. Make me feel it in the depths of my soul. Make me know.” The energy in my living room swells, and the hairs on the backs of my arms stand up.
Whatever power is listening to my spell, it knows I’m almost finished.
It knows there’s only one more element to add—the element of time.
It might be the most important element, because without clear boundaries, the spell could take longer than a lifetime to work. “Make me know by tomorrow’s eve.”
I hold the tiny scroll with truth of love written on it above the candle flame, and it catches immediately. The scroll turns to ash on the iron plate, and the energy in the room seems to tighten around me until it takes my breath away.
Then, just as suddenly, it releases.
I know there’s no gust of wind in my apartment.
I know there aren’t even any open windows.
But there is a puff of air, like someone whistling, and the candle goes out.