6. Roses
Chapter 6
Roses
A n entire Sunday lies before me, and I have nothing to do. No one to answer to, no one to please, no one. I can do whatever I want.
And I want magic.
The smell of it, the way it flows over my skin, the all-encompassing warmth of it. There is no comparable feeling. There’s nothing on this Earth that can recreate the overwhelming sense of peace and calm.
And I’ve only done one spell.
Household Spells for Beginners sits on my glass coffee table, beckoning me like an old friend. My hand skitters over the old leather.
“What new things can you teach me? What doors can you open for me?” I ask the air around me. I shake my head.
Air can’t answer.
This time I’m going to read more of the set up, and not just jump into the first spell I find. I want to do this right. The font is swirly, exaggerated, but still surprisingly legible. The pages crackle as I turn them.
This version is well loved.
Before you embark on your magical journey, it is imperative that you prepare your space. While spells don’t require an altar—and many witches don’t use one once they become more connected with their magic—it can be a grounding space for the new witch. Create your altar with your magic in mind. Candles, herbs, and crystals can all enhance your own connection to magic and your element. Experiment and find what resonates within you.
Altars? Elements? Crystals? I’m not even past the first page and I’m already in over my head. I wish I had some basis of understanding, some bulk of knowledge I could pull from, but I’m just shooting in the dark. All because of whatever happened to my father. All because my mother couldn’t handle it and decided the best way to move forward was to cut us off from a huge part of who we are. To isolate us.
A frustrated growl rips out of me. I’m so sick of being isolated and small.
I need help. I need guidance.
I need Grandma.
My hand blindly searches along the couch until I find my phone threatening to fall behind the cushions.
Hazel: Grandma, I wanted to try out my spells but the book says something about an altar? And elements?
I will be entirely unsurprised if she tells me to wait until Monday to discuss training, as she called it. But I want it now. Despite not understanding half of what this page says, I feel a pull in my gut. The breeze from the open window ruffles my hair.
Grandma: Meet me downstairs in half an hour.
That’s even better than I was expecting.
I jump up from the couch and bound into my bedroom, brushing the tangled mass that is my hair.
Grandma is fantastic, but she can also be savage. It’s where Laura gets it from.
I grab my keys from the counter and wander downstairs to the shop a few minutes early. Even with the lights off and the silence hanging in the air, the store is still warm and inviting. With all the occult items in here, and considering how I’m terrified of my mother’s basement, which contains no witchy things, I’d expected it to be scarier.
My fingers trail along the candles. Scented and unscented. Is my magic more an unscented candle or a scented candle?
That’s something I’d never thought I’d consider.
The book said to find what resonates with me. How do I figure out what resonates with me? Is there a tingly feeling? A little witchy voice in my head that will tell me which one is right?
“Starting without me?”
I jump so high I swear I float a little at the proximity of Grandma’s voice. I turn to find her right behind me, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
My hand lands on my chest, feeling the erratic beat. “You scared the shit out of me, Grandma.”
She tsk s at me. “No one should be able to sneak up on a witch. But we’ll fix that.”
Thanks for that.
“Before you start your altar, you need to agree to a training schedule,” she continues. “Practicing with spells on your own is all well and good, but without true training you won’t get far. Are you willing to agree to three times a week?”
I nod without thinking about it. I don’t need to think about it. I want to train and I want to learn. I want everything I missed out on. The frustration from earlier threatens to bubble up again, simmering slowly under my skin. I didn’t miss out on anything, it was stolen from me.
If I don’t see my mother again, it’ll be too soon.
“Where did you go?” Grandma asks.
I shake my head, trying to physically dust off the anger. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll train three times a week. What do I need?”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word. She gestures to the candles I was looking through.
My fingers trail over them, and I eye the different sizes and colors, breathe in the different scents. My hand stops on one. It’s unscented and carved in the shape of a large white rose.
When I was four years old, it was my first Valentine’s Day with a little sister. Admittedly, I didn’t love that the attention of my parents was now split between the two of us. I was very happy being an only child up to then. My father noticed—of course—and asked me to be his valentine. He brought me home a big, fluffy bouquet of roses and took me out to dinner.
Just the two of us.
These are the candles I want. Roses, for my father. For the man who saw his daughter for who she was, and provided what she didn’t know how to ask for.
“This one.”
“A good choice. Color is important to candle magic. White represents new beginnings, which this certainly is for you. Take a few and put them in here.” She hands me a small bag.
I put four of the candles into my bag and continue toward the herbs, like the book said. Unfortunately, there are even more choices here.
Awesome.
Each herb is labeled with an explanation of its magical properties. Oh Grandma, you saint.
Angelica, protects the home and garden.
Chamomile, attracts money, protects the home, and aids meditation.
Yellow Dock, aids in spells for happy homes.
That seems like the perfect mix for me. A few sprigs of each go into the bag.
“Does a coffee table count as an actual altar, or do I need something fancy?” Possibly a stupid question, but my only experience with witchcraft is sneaking old episodes of Charmed when Mom was asleep.
Grandma snorts, following behind me. “An altar is what you make it. Some are more simple, using coffee tables and such. Some get custom altars made. It’s quite unique to the person.”
Not entirely helpful, but it works. My feet carry me through the aisles, and I hope something will speak to me.
I stop at the crystals. They’re bound to be helpful, right?
Onyx, for focus and discipline.
Amber, for warmth and well-being.
Sodalite, for insight and clarity.
Quartz, for manifesting and improving the power of the other stones.
Two of each make their way into my bag.
An itch crawls along my spine, telling me to go back upstairs. That I’m ready and it’s time. All I have to rely on is my intuition, so I lift my gaze to Grandma.
“I think I’m ready?” I can’t help the question. It was meant to be a statement, but I’m fully prepared for her to tell me I’ve missed something imperative.
She wordlessly gestures for my bag, and slowly goes through the items as I shuffle from foot to foot.
After what feels like three thousand years, she finally nods. “I think this is a good starting point.”
My breath escapes in a relieved whoosh. My instincts may be able to carry me through the awkward beginner stage better than I initially thought.
“You can go upstairs and experiment on your own for today. Training starts Tuesday. Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday will be our schedule, each evening after dinner.” She smiles. “Now go. Have fun, and I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”
I kiss her cheek and turn to leave without a second look.
There’s a chill in the air as I open the apartment door. It brushes past me purposefully, reassuringly. It raises goosebumps on my skin and settles my nerves all at once; my head is clear.
Thank you, whatever that was.
Settling down on the couch, I empty the contents of my bag on the coffee table. I’m not sure how to arrange the items, so I guess I’ll just figure out what looks good to me. I place the spellbook in the middle and arrange the four candles around it in a circle. The crystals go between the candles, and the herbs surround the book.
It’s rough, but it works. I light the candles using an old matchbook I found in the kitchen cabinet and open the book.
Dishes taking up too much of your precious time? Instead of leaving them in the sink to ‘soak’ overnight and hoping someone else tends to them—clean them in a flash!
Well, then. I have a dirty coffee mug from this morning, so why not?
“Purgo Catino,” I say. Of course, nothing happens.
Nothing happened the first few times with the other spell. What was it that Grandma told me to do? Breathe, relax, let the magic guide me.
Or something. I wasn’t listening when she said it before.
I close my eyes and breathe. The scent of the herbs fills my nose and I lift my hands to feel the gentle heat from the candles.
“Purgo Catino,” I repeat.
I open my eyes to a clean mug.