CHAPTER 23 #2
We pull onto the interstate and Sparks directs the bike into the shoulder.
She leans flat against the bike. I follow suit and Sparks lays on the throttle, accelerating in her “open” lane.
The guardrail is inches away from our arms. I hold my breath and tuck in my elbows.
Hazard lights flash ahead as signs alert that the road is closed for construction.
“Bridge out.” The recommended detour is packed, a traffic jam at a complete standstill.
“Hold on!” Sparks yells over the wind.
“What do you think I’m doing back here?” I don’t know if she heard me, but I tighten my grip regardless.
Sparks blows past the detour, not even faltering.
“Sparks, the bridge is out!” How could she miss the signs?
“I’m going to jump the gap!”
Bad idea. Bad idea. We lean into the curve and the bridge looms ahead of us.
Or well, what used to be a bridge. A twenty-foot gap is where the bridge should be.
I see Sparks doing the math in her head.
There’s no way we can make it. The SUV slows behind us, ready to intercept us when we brake. Stopping isn’t an option.
“Gun it!” I order.
“We can’t make it!” Sparks shakes her head and decelerates.
“Do it!” I lean up and force her hand forward, opening the throttle.
“Are you crazy?!”
She tries to pull her hand back, but she can’t keep the motorcycle steady.
She gives in and pushes the throttle on her own.
Where there’s a bridge, there’s water. Hopefully.
I wrap one arm tightly around her midsection and close my eyes.
Yes, a river! I force the water up, freezing it into a ramp spanning most of the bridge.
It’ll have to do. Sparks swears and leans flush with the bike.
I hug her with both arms so tightly I’m not sure she can breathe.
The motorcycle darts up the ramp, wheels spinning in the air.
The bike lurches as we land, but Sparks is able to keep us stable.
I turn and shatter my impromptu ramp, flipping off the SUV as I do so.
“Don’t you dare tell Derek,” Sparks cackles.
I throw my head back laughing as she revs the engine, and we soar through the wind, feeling completely free.
Derek is seething when we pull back into the parking garage hours later.
Hands on his hips, he paces back and forth griping about our recklessness and blatant disregard for our safety.
But his tirade dwindles as he sees how happy Sparks is as she skips into the compound, twirling me in her arms. He grumbles about her workout the next day before a soft smile replaces his scowl.
I give him a knowing nod as the elevator door closes. Don’t worry, I’ve got her.
Sparks sprawls on her couch, cradling a book in her arms. She reads slowly, still struggling with some of the larger words.
It doesn’t discourage her though, if anything, it drives her to consume harder material.
Her lips move soundlessly as she mouths words to herself, eyebrows scrunched in persistence.
I make a note to ask her what she’s reading about later.
In her kitchen, I fill a soup pot with water and set it on the stove, turning on the burner.
Normally, I try not to use tap water for my spells, preferring moon or rainwater, but I don’t have any here so tap will have to do.
I dump in some ingredients, measuring with my gut.
Cinnamon sticks, cloves, apple slices. The water starts to simmer, and the aroma fills the air.
A pair of hands rub my shoulders. I didn’t notice Sparks set down her book.
“Whatcha cooking?” She whispers in my ear.
“It’s a simmer pot.” I stir the water, channeling positive vibes into the vessel. “Not meant for eating, just to… I don’t know.”
My voice trails off, embarrassed. I don’t talk about my family’s witchcraft often. It’s weird and taboo, but I was raised on simmer pots and tarot cards. The arcana is in my blood, and though I don’t practice as often as I should, I do believe in it.
“Hey.” Sparks frowns, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to hide any part of yourself from me. Tell me about the simmer pot.”
“It’s a spell,” I stammer. It feels so dumb when I say it out loud. “As the water evaporates, it adds energy to the air. Depending on what herbs and such you add, you can create a specific intention.”
“Magic, huh?” Sparks eats a sliver of apple that was abandoned on the cutting board. “What does this spell do? Are you creating Snow White’s apple?” She teases me, but there’s no malice in her words, just lighthearted curiosity.
“Nothing that crazy,” I chuckle, relaxing as I continue to stir with the wooden spoon. “This is a fairly basic protection spell. I was just hoping to make you feel safer in your home.”
“Thank you.” She twiddles with the apple core in her hands. “That’s very thoughtful.”
“Don’t mention it.” I shrug. “I know you probably don’t believe in it, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Actually,” Sparks pauses, a confused look flashes across her face, “some things happened last year that I can’t explain.”
Concerned, I set the spoon down and lean on the counter, giving her my sole attention.
“Two main things I guess,” she continues. “Your grandma gave me a jade necklace at Christmas. She said it would save my life or something. I was attacked on my motorcycle and crashed. When I woke up, the bead was shattered. Somehow, I survived. I don’t think I was supposed to.”
I didn’t know Mimi gave her a talisman. Mimi must have known more about Sparks than she let on. I squeeze her thigh reassuringly.
“A different time, I saw your tarot deck in the corner.” She shivers recalling the memory. “I thought it would be fun to take a card, like a game. But the card I got… that was not fun.”
“Which card did you pull?” Different cards flash through my mind, which one could have scared her? Maybe the devil, or death, or judgment? No card is “bad” per se, but those names are off-putting.
“The Hanged Man.” The light drains from her eyes. “It was telling me I was going to be killed.”
“That’s not what that card means.” I blink rapidly, taken aback.
“He was being hanged.” Her hand brushes her neck. “What else could it mean?”
“Oh sweetie.” I pull her off the counter and into my arms. Her hair is soft as I stroke it reassuringly. I grab my phone and pull up a picture of the card to show her. “He’s hanging by his foot, Sparks. This isn’t an omen of death.”
“Huh?” She zooms in on the picture, seeing I’m right.
“The Hanged Man can mean many things,” I explain. “Most commonly, he warns you to slow down and think through your decisions. Other times he represents sacrifice or the need to let go and let the universe guide you. It helps to draw a few cards and read them as a whole.”
“I still don’t like it.” She hands my phone back. “This water magic feels better.”
“I also lean toward spells.” I switch off the burner, content with how much water evaporated. “Divination is hard to understand, and the future tends to not like being controlled. Manifestation is more wholesome.”
“What other spells are there?” She leans against the counter.
“Really, there’s a spell for anything you want.” I place the cutting board in the dishwasher after scraping off the apple remnants. “Fortune, happiness, cleansing, whatever.”
“What about love spells?”
My eyes latch onto hers, reading her emotions. Lust. Passion. Desire. She shakes her hair out, arching her back.
“I suppose,” I ponder aloud. “A simmer pot wouldn’t be the best vessel. I would imagine an oil or ash approach would work better.”
“Do it,” she challenges.
Her eyes darken with need as I lean past her, rummaging through her spices.
She doesn’t have what I would typically use, but I find plenty of replacements.
I pull a small ramekin out of the cabinet then select an orange from the fruit bowl.
My hands move quickly sprinkling the dried herbs and spices into the dish.
Red chili flakes, ginger, dried rosemary, basil.
I smell the mixture, wafting the scent toward me.
More chili and basil. I peel the skin off the orange, tossing the fruit to Sparks.
“Eat that,” I command.
“Is this part of the spell?” She separates a segment of the fruit.
“Sure.” I shrug. She rolls her eyes but eats the fruit just in case.
I find a matchbook and strike the stick along the starter.
First try, the fire is lit. Carefully, I drop the match in the ramekin.
Sparks leaves the counter to watch as the spices burn.
We wait until the fire consumes it all and goes out on its own.
I shake the ramekin slightly, allowing the ashes to mix and cool.
I take a pinch and rub it between my fingers. Yeah, that should work.
Sparks steps out of her clothes and lays on her bed. I strip as I follow her, setting the precious ashes on her bedside table. Her breathing quickens as I straddle her, dipping my finger in the ashes.
“Are you ready?” I whisper.
“Cast a spell on me,” she purrs, leaning her head back.
My finger leaves a dark streak on her abdomen as I draw the romance rune. It’s shaped similar to a three-leaf flower, one petal pointing to each hip and to her sternum. The ashes are still pleasantly warm, and Sparks exhales comfortably below me.
“It’s official,” I croon in her ear. “You are now irresistibly in love with me.”
“My turn.” She wraps her legs around me and flips me to the bed. Sparks looks down at the rune decorating her ribs and tries to replicate it on my torso. She purses her lips, unsatisfied. “It’s missing something.”
A laugh escapes my lips as she draws hearts on the remaining canvas around my collarbones. Her thumb rubs my cheekbone as she cups my face, leaving a smudge of ash. I didn’t think I could love her any more, but as the heat from the ash radiates through my skin, I know I was wrong.
“There,” she whispers, eyes locked onto mine. “Perfect.”
Looking back at her, I would have to agree.