Eva
“Any luck with that guy?” Riley says, pointing to Catrick Swayze who is currently sleeping with his paws tucked under him like a fuzzy little loaf of bread, a top ten cute cat pose.
“Yeah! I got him up to the porch a few days ago.”
“You’ll win him over eventually. I guess we know you’re not a familiar witch.” She nudges my shoulder with hers.
I do my best to swallow down the irritation that flares up every time someone observes the kind of witch I’m not. No one means any harm, but I’d like to go one day without thinking about my deficiencies.
“I wish. He would be living inside with me by now if that were the case.”
Catrick flops over onto his back and stretches out his legs. That cat will be mine, he just doesn’t know it yet.
“So, the other day at the café got weird with that lady and your mom,” Riley says.
“Yeah, super weird. I saw her looking in the window after we closed the night before, too.”
“I don’t like the idea of some witch snooping around.”
“Maybe she knows something about the leylines or the fog,” I wonder. “Someone around here has got to know what is going on.”
“Hm. Who the hell knows anymore.” Riley shrugs, apparently not as bothered as I am about all the strange stuff going on.
“I’m going to see if I can get him.” Slowly, she gets up and stalks toward the sleeping Catrick Swayze.
His eyes are closed, but his ear twitches back, aware of her movement.
There is no way she holds him before I do.
I’ve been paying my dues, feeding and sweet talking him every chance I get.
The cat springs to his feet and bounds a safe distance away when Riley steps on a crunchy leaf, dashing her hopes of a furry snuggle.
The smell of smoke tickles my nose, “Oh shit! The pumpkin bread!” I run inside and pull out the now-burnt offering for Pomona and set the pan down on the stove.
I can't imagine the Roman goddess of harvest would be pleased with this particular contribution. “That’s a bad omen if I’ve ever seen one. ”
Riley pinches her nose shut. “It’s not that bad,” she says kindly. The loaf is solid black and hard as a brick. “I’ll get this out of here before we piss off Pomona though.” The baking tin joins the ever growing pile of burnt and ruined supplies on my porch.
Riley comes back in as I finish the spell to dissipate the smoke with my trusty feather.
“What’s that,” she points to the table.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” I warn her as she stands over the grimoire. The way those pages moved on their own last night was eerie and maybe even a bit intimidating.
“What is it?”
“Just your average cursed spellbook,” I say dryly.
“It was sitting right here when I got home.” Conveniently leaving out the part where I accidentally accepted Grant’s proposal.
I need to figure out how I feel about it first before I bring her into it.
Plus, I slept like shit last night, and I’m in no mood for a lecture—one I probably deserve.
“Ooh! A mysterious book shows up on the holiday celebrating the balance of darkness and light!” she says theatrically, wiggling her fingers at me.
“When you say it like that, what could go wrong? We totally stepped into a campy ‘90s witchy movie!” I match her sarcasm.
“It is weird, though. Where did it come from?” she asks, flipping open the cover.
“No clue. You didn’t see it yesterday when we were setting up the altar?”
“Never seen it before, and I would definitely remember this.” She lifts up the book and turns it in her hands, studying all sides. “I don’t think it’s a spellbook though. I can usually get an inkling of magick when I pick up a book.” Riley flips open the cover, “See? The pages are blank.”
“What?!” I peer around her to get a better look. “When I opened it last night, there was this rush of energy, and the pages started turning on their own. I definitely saw a spell in there.” I point emphatically.
“Eva, come on. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life.”
“No, I’m serious!” I jerk the book in front of me to get a better view.
“Did you do it then?”
“Yeah, right. I said ‘hell no,’ slammed it shut, and went to bed.”
Riley pulls the book back to inspect it, but the pages are still totally blank. “Girl, you’re seeing stuff. Clearly, you didn’t get enough sleep.”
“I know I saw something, I’m just not exactly sure what it was,” I mutter, flipping through the empty pages.
“I told my sister I’d babysit. Gotta help her keep that work-life balance.” I’m sure she says goodbye, but my mind latched onto something she just said.
Balance. I stare at the scale on the mantle while my mind wanders. Thoughts of the holiday, the fog that came out of nowhere, and the trouble with the leylines move quickly in my head.
Everything feels out of balance.
I pace back and forth in the kitchen, following the chain of thought.
Maybe I’ve been going at it all wrong. I’ve been trying to reveal the fracture in the leylines, but what I should be doing is restoring the balance!
The grimoire flips open and the pages flutter just like before. Coming to a rest as inky shapes slowly appear. They morph into hieroglyphs, Latin, and Arabic. Finally taking a permanent form in English. Chills raise the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. This is it.
A detailed list of ingredients is written in ornate calligraphy in a tidy column. I still can’t make out what the spell is exactly, but I push on, impatient to get some answers.
A smile crosses my face when I see chickweed on the list. This feels right. A refresher on the proper usage from Paige came at exactly the right time. Everything is coming together, pointing me in this direction.
My most recent attempt was to develop a spell to amplify my weak magick. From the list of ingredients, I can tell it’s not for amplification.
Clear quartz for intention, salt for boundaries, mugwort for awareness, sage and vervain for opening. My pulse races as I move around the kitchen, gathering everything.
Oh no. My cauldron! How am I supposed to use this baby cauldron? Fuck it. It’s all I’ve got, so it’ll have to do. I mix the ingredients, carefully incorporating them together. Forcing my hands to be slow and steady while working in the small kettle.
“Please don’t let me mess this up,” I quickly pray to Pomona.
I place the cauldron on the floor between the kitchen and dining room giving myself plenty of space to work around.
The crystals are laid out next representing the four points on a compass.
I make a witch’s circle with purple candles and swirl spruce resin around each element.
“Salt! Where is the salt?!” I say with exasperation while fumbling through my pantry. “Aha!” I pour a thin line of salt around the whole set up.
I stand back and draw in a sharp breath before slowly letting it out. A spike of fear rushes through me when I place an iron skeleton key in the potion, as instructed. I’ve always been wary of iron, the metal of Mars, the god of war, but continue with the spell anyway.
And for the final step, I place two singing bowls on the floor.
I begin with the lower frequency first, moving the wooden mallet along the rim in a slow and steady movement.
Then, I do the same with the smaller brass bowl, creating a higher frequency.
The sounds blend together and grow unnaturally loud.
The potion heats to a boil, even though it’s sitting on my floor away from any heat source.
The magick under my skin roars to life. It’s working!
A blinding light flashes from the candles.
Flame shoots across the resin lines connecting the candles.
Light, sound, and smell all intertwine, yanking the breath out of my lungs.
I gasp for air, but nothing comes. The vibrations from the singing bowls become visible, rippling through the air.
The soundwaves get tighter and more frantic, screaming in my ears.
I gasp for air as darkness swallows me whole.