Chapter 7
A drop of water pelts my curls and a chilled wind clips at my exposed arms as I walk under the local music store’s awning.
The scent of early morning showers hangs in the air.
It just stopped raining minutes ago, and the water is still beading off the rooftops into little puddles on the sidewalk.
I step over one of them and turn in to The Good Hex.
Chimes sing as the door closes behind me, and I breathe in the calming aromas of sage, spices, and earth. I love it here.
The store is a mix between a cute little clothing boutique and a metaphysical shop, but it’s mostly clothes.
Right up front it features an eclectic collection of skirts and gowns that I plan to look through before I leave.
To my left is a clearance rack with literally every color of the rainbow on display.
The other racks are more muted with earth tones and soft fabrics that my fingers will one hundred percent be feeling.
Everything from jeans to scarves and belts, to turtlenecks and tunics, a rack of printed tees with funny sayings—my favorites—and so many pieces of jewelry.
I’ve bought a few outfits here, like the flowy fern-green dress that’s in my closet.
It’s super cute, but I didn’t realize it was so sheer when I first tried it on.
I pass between the eye-level racks of clothing and a wooden display case filled with earrings and pendants while music that could have easily been in an episode of Shadow and Bone or one of the old Lord of the Rings movies whispers overhead.
What I’m looking for is nearer the back, almost like it’s purposefully partitioned off from the rest of the store. The metaphysical part.
I reach the back and a wonderful world opens up.
Candles line the wall and wooden buckets sit beneath them, stacked two deep.
Each one is filled to the brim with crystals.
Clear quartz, moonstone, sodalite—one of my favorites for balancing out my emotions—agate, amazonite, and so many more.
The colors range from solid black to twisting bands of purple and white, and hodgepodges of turquoise and browns, and deep blood-reds and celestial-looking blues.
“Let’s see.” I lean in and examine the various shapes and sizes.
I need a citrine stone and some selenite after this week.
Citrine to attract some prosperity, maybe get Hayden to actually like me when he wakes up, and in case that doesn’t work, the selenite is to stop me from making poor-ass decisions.
And give me some calm when it all does hit the fan, because oh, it’s going to.
“Pretty.” I see a slender piece of citrine behind a bucket of sky-blue celestite. It’s perfect. I reach to grab it off the top before a familiar voice stops me.
“Did it pick you?” they ask with that leftover Cajun accent. I look to my right and Eliza’s eyes light up with recognition.
“Eliza!” My voice raises at least two octaves.
“Kenzie!” Eliza throws her arms out and engulfs me in a big warm hug. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”
“My neither,” I gasp. It completely left my mind that she could be here. “Still can’t seem to process that you're Hayden’s aunt and you work here.”
“No, darling, this is my shop. Was my mama’s before me, rest her soul.” Eliza dips her head briefly.
“Oh.” I drop my chin, sorry to bring that up, even if I didn’t ask.
“It’s okay.” She grins again. “Was many years back.”
“I didn’t know you owned The Good Hex,” I say.
“Well I do,” Eliza chuckles. “You’re one of my few regulars.”
Then she knows I get witchy stuff! Suddenly I’m worried Hayden’s parents might find out I’m a witch and hate me.
What would they say? They prayed over their meal yesterday.
A lot of people don’t understand us. They think we’re wicked, or out of our minds, or something in between those.
They don’t realize that Christian witches are a real thing too, not that I am one, but still.
However, they did seem good with Eliza, and she owns this place.
I’m just overreacting. That has to be all.
“I’m not a…” I stop short of saying it. Hell, it’d be a lie, like a recanting of who I am, what I am. I can’t really say a recanting of my faith because, well, it isn’t religion exactly for me. Not exactly, at least. I try again. “I’m…a…I—”
“You’re what?” Eliza eyes me, but there is no malice or condemnation in her eyes.
“Uh…” I don’t know what to say, so I just blurt it. “I’m a witch!”
Eliza shrugs. “Me too. A green kitchen witch.”
Oh. She’s a… She’s one too. I’ve never met another witch. I thought I was the only one in a hundred miles. Something in the revelation feels like a weight lifted.
“Really?” I can’t contain my excitement. “I seriously thought I was the only one up here.”
“No, no, dear.” Eliza shakes her head. “You’re not the only one. We’re only two of a handful, but we’re not alone.”
“That’s so cool! And I just met you this week because…” Oh shit! It can’t be. Could it? Could this all be happening because of my love spell? I clamp those thoughts behind my lips as she smiles so kindly. “It’s like fate.”
“Maybe.” Eliza nods cheerily and then looks toward the buckets of crystals. “So, were you looking for something in particular?”
“Yes, actually.” I nod and point toward the citrine stones I’d been looking at. “I need some citrine and selenite, and some basil too.”
“Well, the herbs are over here.” She points behind us, where there’s another cluster of wooden buckets surrounding a circular table to our right made from an old wooden wheel covered in trinkets. “Of course, you know that already.”
“It’s okay, thank you!” I go again to pick up the citrine stone I’d eyed earlier.
“Ah, one already picked you?” she asks, and I stop short of touching it.
“Uh…” I shrug. I’ve heard it said that your crystals and stones should pick you, they should call out to you, but after over a year of practicing I don’t get it. “Actually…what do you mean? I’ve never understood what people mean when they say that. How does it pick me?”
“It’s different for everybody.” Her perpetual smile rises. “For some it’s just a feeling, others intuition. Me, I seek guidance from my goddess and see which stone calls out to me. But that depends on you. Maybe it's just your intuition.”
“Calls out to you?” I ask.
“Yes.” She comes a step closer and holds out her left hand above the bucket of green jade without touching any of the stones. “I don’t touch them at first. I just let my hand hover and feel for any pull. If one tugs at my senses, then that’s the one.”
“What if you don’t feel a tug?” I ask. This means a lot to me and I don’t want to waste time down the wrong path.
“Then just pick one,” Eliza says. “It doesn’t have to be some big gotcha or ritual every time. You probably know this already, but witchcraft is all about the individual, it’s you figuring out what works for you.”
I nod. I’ve been trying to tell myself that for months, but I always feel like I’m doing it wrong.
Am I using the right stone? Does the website I’m looking at have a clue what energies they actually hold?
Should I mix those herbs or not? Did I say my intent right?
The questions run ablaze half the time, and usually it’s just me and the internet trying to figure it out.
“Okay,” I say, when I should thank her. Just that one piece of advice from an actual witch did more in my heart to soothe my questioning than a hundred internet searches or any of the books I’ve read.
I turn to the pile of citrine and hold my left hand over it, less than an inch from their polished surfaces.
Did I just feel something? I squint and try to focus, but Hayden’s face, complete with the tube running under his nose and feeding tube in his arm, eclipses my focus.
Shit! My concentration breaks, but I keep my hand in place.
I’m literally standing here trying to get a hope and prosperity stone to call out to me in front of his aunt while I keep up the lie that I’m his person.
Now the only feeling rushing through my hand and entire body is guilt.
Guilt for staying in the hospital room. Guilt for not correcting them.
Guilt for sitting at their table for Thanksgiving. Pure guilt.
“Give it some time if you need to,” she says, but at the sound of her voice another set of gray eyes flash in my mind, and I snatch up the stone closest to my fingers and back up.
“This one!” I gasp.
“Oh.” Eliza forms a tiny O-shape with her lips and nods. “Very good.”
I focus and slow my breathing. Don’t let her see. To cover it, I put my hand over the selenite and wait a full point five seconds before snatching a random one off the top.
“Looks like you have this down,” Eliza says.
You know what? I can get herbs later.
“I gotta go,” I tell her.
“You don’t need the basil too?” she asks.
Ugh. Yes, but I’d rather leave. Gods, I do have to pay for this though.
“Oh, yes, that too,” I say, trying my hardest to hide my nerves. I take off toward the herbs and grab a satchel labeled BASIL and show it to her.
“That it?” she asks.
Gods, I hope so.