3. The Cat’s Cradle
Chapter 3
The Cat’s Cradle
T he shop calls much stronger this morning. It’s a gentle caress on my skin, crawling up my arms and leaving the little hairs standing on end. After sucking down a delicious cup of coffee, I walk down the back stairs.
My hand lingers on the door. I may have moved out last night, but this right here—this is the true point of no return. There’s still the slim possibility that, if I turned around now and begged for days, my mother would forgive me. But, if I go inside...my relationship with her will never be the same.
Deep breath in.
Screw it.
I open the door and step in. A sense of calm, of relaxation, immediately takes me over. That, and the smell of burning incense.
“Good morning, sweetheart!” Grandma chirps from her chair. The stairs seem to have dropped me right into her curtained-off office, if you could call it that. It’s more like a private garden room—complete with hanging potted plants and ivy twisting around the windowsills—with the biggest armchair I’ve ever seen in my life. I actually have to look for her in the mass of cushions.
“Good morning, Grandma,” I reply, closing the door behind me.
“You’re exactly on time. I love a punctual woman,” she teases, standing from that absolute cushion monstrosity. “Let me give you a reminder tour?”
A reminder tour?
Before I can question it, she takes my hand in hers, the almost twenty bracelets around her wrist jangling. With a wave, the curtain blocking off the room pulls away and I’m hit with memories I didn’t even know I had. I’m left barely standing, my legs wobbling beneath me. I remember running between the bookshelves with Laura, giggling and making a mess. I remember creating little ‘potions’ in the largest cauldron we could carry, throwing in whatever we thought looked good. Daddy caught us right before we lit the entire building on fire.
Dad. How could I have forgotten him?
“Steady on your feet, my dear,” Grandma says, wrapping her thin arm around my waist. “Memories can bowl you right over if you let them.”
“I just...Why didn’t I remember?” I ask, blinking a tear out of my eyes. The weird fog. Anytime I tried to imagine this shop, I’d get stopped by some veil. I just accepted it as another thing that didn’t make sense, but something caused it.
“It was a decision made by your mother, and that’s all I’ll say about that.”
I snort. Of course it was my mother. Who else but her? What else has she stolen from me? Stealing my life, my future, my decisions wasn’t enough, apparently. She had to steal my memories of the one person who actually loved me? She’ll be lucky if she ever sees my face again.
Grandma places a cool hand on my arm. It’s like I’m burning from the inside out with white-hot rage. “The past can’t be changed. Instead, let’s reacquaint ourselves.”
I nod, stepping with her further into the space.
It’s exactly the same as my new memories suggest. Clean, but weathered in a comforting way. The smell of old book pages, leather spines, incense, and herbs permeate the very walls. It’s like Grandma intensified—I love it.
“Over here are the books. Spellcasting, potion-making, gardening, the history of our line. Everything is here.” Grandma has wrapped her arm around mine as she points.
“The history of our line?” My interest is immediately piqued. I know almost nothing about the Pruitt line.
“I figured you might be interested in that. You can peruse these books as much or as little as you desire. If you have any questions, I’ll answer what I can.” She pulls me further along the shelves. “Ingredients are over here, but I would prefer you ask me before taking anything. More often than not, I’ll give you ingredients from my own garden. This stock is for customers—plus, mine are better.”
“Keeping the good stuff for yourself? I approve.” I brush my fingers along a long ivy plant.
She lightly slaps my arm as we halt in front of the counter. It’s glass, with all manner of crystals and jewelry on display inside. An ancient cash register sits on top. “Don’t sass your Grandma. Now, this is you.”
“I’m not a counter.”
“You’re also not funny, sweetheart.”
“That hurts.”
“You’ll be working up front. I don’t expect you to be able to answer every question you’re asked right away, of course, but I expect you to handle each customer with the grace they’ve come to expect at The Cat’s Cradle. Understood?” She may be small, but my grandmother makes an imposing figure when she wants.
I nod. “Yes, ma’am. But what about magic?”
“Let’s see how you do today. Then we can discuss a training schedule if you’re still interested.”
A mass of black fur jumps onto the counter in front of me. Rosie, the ancient creature, somehow still has all the energy of a youthful kitten. She caused too much trouble scratching the furniture during Grandma’s visits, so I haven’t seen her in at least three or four years. Her fur has only grayed a little bit and she still has a small notch in her left ear from a fight with a stray.
“Hello, you.” I scratch lightly under her chin until she hisses and jumps into Grandma’s arms.
“Be good.” With a conspiratorial smile, Grandma and her little demon cat head back into her curtained-off room, leaving me alone in the shop.
I don’t want to be good. I’m like a kid in a candy shop. Must touch. Must touch everything. My feet carry me—completely on their own—to the ingredients as I dig through all that lies before me. Crystals, herbs, candles, books, little wooden totems—oh my! How much of this is legitimate? Do some herbs and crystals really help focus a spell or is this mostly just for show?
The scents are overwhelming. It’s as if I’ve been in the kitchen all day as flecks of sliced herbs stain the pads of my fingers. I’m building piles of my favorites from each category almost subconsciously. The books spill out behind me.
The bell rings and I look down at the mess I’ve created. Grandma is not going to be happy about this.
“Welcome to The Cat’s Cradle!” I say, hoping that Grandma will rescue me. “What can I help you with?”
“You must be new,” the older woman says with a smile. “Don’t trouble yourself, darling. I’ll just go back to see Elizabeth.”
“Dotty, don’t torture my granddaughter.” Grandma emerges from her room with a flourish. Does she open the curtains with magic every time?
Dotty’s eyes light up as she looks me up and down. The woman is, I’m guessing, around my grandma’s age and has a matching sense of style. Boho chic meets old witch. Lots of bangles. “This is your granddaughter?”
“That’s what they tell me.” I shrug.
“Shush!” Grandma whacks me lightly on the arm. Then she takes in the mess. She shakes her head, but she can’t hide the slight smile at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t understand how you’ve managed to make an absolute mess in only a few minutes.”
“It was an hour. I can do a lot of damage in an hour, Grandma.” Do I have a sense of humor? That’s new.
Dotty chuckles. “She’s definitely your granddaughter, Lizzy. Why don’t you give the girl a break and clean the place?”
“Because she needs to learn that I’m not here to be her maid. Cleaning it by hand will do her good. Now, come on back, I have our tea ready.” Grandma pulls her friend into her room with a pointed stare in my direction.
Message received.
I regret my mess as my eyes travel along the shelves. This is not made easier by the fact that I barely know where anything goes. Grandma has everything labeled pretty well, but I genuinely don’t know what lavender looks like.
I guesstimate where things go, and by the time I look at the clock again I’ve made it look halfway decent. Instead of worrying about my haphazard job at cleaning, I focus on the spellbooks:
Healing Herbs and Their Properties.
How to Conjure: Creating Out of Thin Air.
Household Spells for Beginners .
Ah—that sounds like a perfect place to start, since I am definitely a beginner. You’re coming with me, gorgeous. I pull the book off the shelf and bring it to the counter, brushing dust off the cover. The back description reads in deliciously swirly writing:
As you begin your journey into magic, reach for Household Spells for Beginners. This tome is perfect for those who have a basic knowledge of the craft and wish to expand their skills. Want to learn how to clean your home in less than a moment? Make a delicious dinner for your family in a flash? Household Spells for Beginners is for you!
This is the beginning of my journey into magic. It’s like this book is made for me and I can’t wait to dive in.
“Hazel?” Grandma’s voice echoes through the shop. “You can take your lunch break now. Only thirty minutes! Don’t take anything from the shop to lunch with you.”
So close. How did she do that?
“I’ll be back for you,” I whisper to the book and grab my jacket.
Turns out there is a dynamite sandwich shop on the corner that I have somehow never set foot in. I don’t know what is in this marinade, but I want to bathe in it, or eat it every day for the rest of my life.
Or both.
I return to the shop holding my chocolate chip cookie with five minutes to spare. The household spells book beckons from where I left it on the counter, contents just waiting to be discovered.
Grandma would be pissed if I got chocolate fingerprints on it—so cookie first, book second.
“Ah, you went to You’re Great in Bread,” Grandma says from the stacks of potion ingredients, where she is probably fixing my clumsy attempt at cleaning. It seems her friend left during my lunch break.
“You should’ve warned me about this place. I may be addicted now.”
“They do make a very good sandwich. You know, they buy their herbs from here.” With a saucy wink, she waltzes off to her room.
Why am I entirely unsurprised she put some of her witchy woo-woo on it? I should’ve known there was no way this sauce was anything but magic.
I wipe off my hands and sit down behind the cash register. I’m ready to dig into this damn spellbook as if my life depends on it.
Hell, maybe it does.
I crack the cover and... oh . Warmth spreads from the tips of my fingers to my toes. Thunderstorm crackles scent the air and a smile breaks across my face. I’m supposed to be here, in this moment. I’m supposed to be learning magic. God knows how I know that, but I do.
The first page says “Cleaning Spells.” I could’ve used this a couple hours ago. Maybe someday I’ll get to the point where I can do these spells nonverbally, but for now it looks like I’m learning Latin.
“Grandma, you got any dust I can borrow?” I yell across the store.
Her snort, and an equally sassy meow, rings through the shop. “You do realize you’re in a magic shop with a plentiful offering of old books?”
I walk over and grab the oldest looking book I can find—um, heavy much?—and lug it back to my counter. It smells of old , and has a layer of dust so thick I could write messages.
I turn to Household Spells and read through the page. According to this, I just recite the words and then poof—magic happens. Seems a little too easy, but let’s give it a try.
“Purgomundus Purus,” I whisper. I’m not sure what I expected to happen, but it wasn’t a whole heaping pile of nothing. One speck of dust could’ve wiggled.
“Purgomundus Purus,” I repeat, louder this time. Okay, there’s the wiggling. Still not clean.
“Purgomundus Purus.” Did a few specks disappear? “Purgomundus Purus!”
“If it were just reading and repeating, witchcraft would be much easier,” Grandma says as she emerges from her Grandma-cave.
I sigh. She’s right, of course. “Practice makes perfect?”
“Exactly. All skills take time to master, including witchcraft. You may have been born a witch, but you aren’t a spellcaster yet. It’ll come with time.”
“How much time?”
“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.” She settles her bangle-clad hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. “Try deep breathing, emptying your mind completely, and then try the spell again.”
It’s not like I’ve ever been known for my patience. Granted, I’ve never been known for anything.
I close my eyes, inhaling as deeply as I can. The smells of the shop fill my nose—herbs, dust, and a light layer of cat—and I allow the warmth and pull of the magic to fill my lungs. I exhale.
“Purgomundus Purus.” The magic, the warmth, flows through me and into the world like a wave.
“You’re a natural after all. Open your eyes.”
I open to find the entire store, not just my book, has been wiped clean.
Oh.
Maybe I can do this, maybe I’m meant to do this. My eyes sting as I take in what I’ve done. I’ve never felt like this. Like I’m finally doing something with my life, not just stuck in the rut my mother forced me into. Controlled me into. Manipulated me into.
I’m finally someone.
“Customer,” Grandma says, right before the bell above the door rings.
I’m distracted by customers for the rest of the afternoon, but the sense of pride never leaves me as I help each person.
“Do you teach your art class tomorrow? That’s Saturdays and Wednesdays, correct?” Grandma asks as we close the shop at the end of the day.
A slight smile graces my lips. “Yes.” My classes have been my only opportunity to get out into the world. My only connection to life around me. I suspect the only reason my mother let me teach them was because they didn’t pay me. No money, no independence.
She nods. “You can have Saturdays and Wednesdays off, then. We’re closed Sundays as well. I know your class is only an hour or so on those days, but it’s good to have time off. And tomorrow we can discuss a training schedule. It’s best you get started with magic quickly if that is the path you’re going to take.”
“Can I...” Deep breath. “Can I take Household Spells with me tonight?”
Grandma clicks her tongue, unable to hide her slight smile. “While I don’t want you getting into the habit of taking things out of the shop and leaving them upstairs, I’ll make an exception tonight.”
“Sounds good. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“I would do anything for you, your sister, and your mother. I know that I don’t particularly help with reducing tensions in our family...”
I raise a brow.
“Hush. I have my own reasons for my actions. One day I’ll have to get over my own issues and act like an adult, I suppose. But, not today.” She laughs.
I hug her tightly, pretending I’m not ridiculously intrigued by what she just said. I’m not opening that can of worms.
Not tonight.