Chapter 7 #3
“Fine. Spit it out,” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You will have your magick back, if it is the last thing I do. I know you do not trust me, but believe that if nothing else,” he portends, his voice jagged but earnest.
“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” I sneer, my voice like acid.
I expel a long, rankled breath. His presence is so exhausting.
I don’t believe a word of it, but he can go on pretending he’ll be the hero of my story, all noble and full of righteous anger.
Maybe it will keep him busy and out of my way.
His icy blue gaze bores into mine a few moments longer before he finally turns on his heel, departing in the opposite direction.
I’m still frozen in place, watching him as he goes.
The ghost of his arm lingers around my waist. His hold was brusque and efficient.
But it still stirs a glimmer within me that’s incredibly uncomfortable to ponder.
I try to shake it off as I finally tear my eyes away from his retreating form and angrily stomp the rest of the way to my automobile.
When I get home, all is peaceful and quiet.
Moon and stars it’s a relief to have the house to myself right now.
There’s no sign Norrell followed me again.
The rest of my guests are still at their meetings and they’re on their own for dinner later.
I head upstairs to change and put away my mom’s brooch.
Before I return it to its box, I run my thumb over it and then impulsively bring it to my lips.
Wearing it brought me closer to her today.
Reluctantly, I set it in its box and close the dresser drawer where I keep it.
I slip on a pair of linen pants and a fitted cotton shirt and head downstairs.
I haven’t set foot in the workshop since Samhain, but I find myself drawn to it right now.
Opening the door, there are no great surprises behind it.
The room is neat and orderly, unlike when it was my mom’s.
Most of the supplies and equipment here are useless to me now.
Maybe I’ll ask Sunny if she wants to use it while I can’t.
Her apartment is on the small side, so she might appreciate making a mess here instead of her kitchen.
Wandering down the hall, I fill the electric kettle for tea and grab my favorite mug.
The boys trot in behind me looking for dinner now that I’m home.
Vanny paws at my leg as I lean against the counter, trying to hurry me along.
Earl Grey sits in front of his empty bowl and stares at me with unblinking eyes.
“I know what I’m good for,” I quip as I raise an eyebrow at them. Still, I obey their command and pull two cans of food from the cabinet. They meow demandingly as I walk over to fill their bowls. I’m instantly forgotten as they gobble down their meal.
The kettle is done and I pour water over the tea bag in my mug.
I bring it with me and exit the back door to the garden, plopping down on a patio chair.
It’s the only time I’ve had to myself today, without work or incessant questions or well-meaning but overprotective uncles.
Now that I’m alone, there’s nothing to distract me from so many lingering painful memories that busyness keeps at bay.
Everything that felt alive in my house, that connected me to my parents, is now just switched off.
Mayhap that’s why I wore the broach today.
There’s no enchantment in it. It was simply a pretty piece of jewelry my mom loved.
I do too. The whisper of their magick still drifting around the house, and even the shop, is lost to me.
The family manor is now just a drafty old house.
Their belongings are just objects collecting dust. Their remaining essence is gone.
If my magick is truly gone for good, I’ll sell the shop.
The house, too. Maybe I’ll finally travel like my mom always encouraged me.
There would be nothing holding me back. And I’d be more or less human anyway, so it would be easy to navigate their world.
As the last of the family line in town, there’s no one left to judge what I do but me.
I’m sure my parents would understand if I left behind everything generations of my family held dear.
Mayhap well over two centuries in Monstera Bluff is a good enough run for the Mayweathers, even as its founders.
The tears welling in my eyes blur the garden in front of me as my mind weighs this heavy choice.
A visit to their graves may help me decide.
Fifteen Years Ago
Branches catch my ritual robe, abrading the fabric as I stumble through the woods. I can’t bring myself to care. My parents aren’t here to see it anyway, only their remains. They weren’t even old yet. Still so full of life with big plans for the future. But death doesn’t care about any of that.
My dad was asked to travel to Norway to translate between groups of Whispered Folk in a dispute.
There were enough languages involved to make translations complicated.
My mom joined him since she had never seen that part of the world.
They were looking forward to a long vacation afterward.
They traveled via portal to Oslo and then flew to a smaller airport far north in the country to catch a private plane to the meeting site.
They never made it. The plane crashed on the way.
A mechanical error, the authorities said.
Until their remains arrived, I thought it was a mistake. I couldn’t believe they were gone.
Somehow, one of the most painful parts for me is that my parents never got to experience those places they had been so excited to visit.
It was going to be so special for them. My dad hadn’t accepted work like that in a while.
This was a rare opportunity. They were supposed to be gone a month. Now they’re gone forever.
I trip over a tree root, and Norrell’s hand steadies me as my legs move of their own accord.
I can’t see where I’m going. Tears blind my vision like a mask.
He’ll guide me if I walk the wrong way. There’s a path in the woods, but it was too crowded.
I need space. Voices in the distance let me know we’re close to the graveyard, hidden in an enchanted copse of pine trees where the coven buries our dead.
A new tree is planted above the remains of each witch, and a plaque is attached to its trunk so that the tree grows around it like its frame.
There are many generations of witches buried here. Now it’s my parents’ turn.
Norrell’s arm slings around my shoulders as we get close, holding me into his side.
He slows our pace as we approach the large crowd already gathered.
There must be a thousand people here, not all of them witches.
So many friends and acquaintances from town are paying their respects.
Norrell guides us to Walt and Acton, who sweep me into an endless embrace.
Walt’s shirt is wet under my face. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop crying.
One of the elder witches begins the funeral rites.
I stare at the big hole already dug into the ground with two wooden boxes in it.
It’s hard to pay attention to the rites when this is the last time I’ll be this close to my parents.
Norrell squeezes my hand, letting me know he’s here.
It pulls me out of my spiral in time to hear the most important part of the ceremony.
“May the ancestors claim Estelle Mayweather and Whitt Mayweather. And lead them on from step to step through the veil into the quiet and deep everlasting peace of the next realm where they will spend eternity. May we carry their love and wisdom with us until we are reunited again,” the witch recites.
A sob wrenches from me as the readings end. Norrell hauls me into his chest, running a hand soothingly over my back. I stay there inconsolable for a time. Eventually, he tries to get my attention.
“Ada, my ember, it is time for the gifts,” he murmurs. He gently pulls the items we’ve brought with us from a bag over his shoulder. We will place them in the grave to bring with them through the veil. That’s the sentiment anyway.
“Family is invited to bring their gifts first,” the witch requests.
Walt, Acton, Norrell, and I step forward first. Each of us lightly toss our gifts into the grave.
I brought a bag of my mom’s favorite tea and a small bottle of my dad’s favorite scotch.
Norrell adds cuttings from the garden for my mom and a book on ancient languages for my dad.
Extended family members follow behind us, coming from out of town.
We greet each other as we pass. It’s clear we’re all in a daze, still shocked by their untimely deaths.
The witch continues, “Everyone else is now welcome to gift Estelle and Whitt with beloved objects to bring with them into the next realm.” Slowly, over the course of the next hour, friends and acquaintances who have joined us to mourn my parents place their offerings inside.
A few gifts are elaborate, but most are something simple like a freshly picked flower or a trinket.
We then watch as the graves are filled over with dirt, leaving space for planting the tree they’ll share.
Walt, Acton, and I decided they would like that.
The sapling is held steady until its roots are covered and packed down with the remaining dirt.
It’s elevated by all the gifts left beneath.
After the grave markers are magickally bound to the sapling, the presiding witch hands the four of us watering cans to be the first to offer it nourishment. It’s said the tree will grow taller the more deeply the loved one is held in our hearts. Theirs will be as tall as a redwood.