33. Dirt and Honey
Chapter 33
Dirt and Honey
H e leaves in the morning, just like he said he would, in a quiet retreat. I only know he’s gone because I can’t sleep. So I get the honor of witnessing the door closing behind him.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
Tears splash from my eyes on the knotted wood floor below. Will I ever not ache like this? Will I ever not hurt in that small spot in my rib cage reserved for him? He’s carved out a space there and I know no one else will ever fill it.
“I’ll make us some tea,” Grandma says instead of good morning. Her yellow floral slippers pad along to the iron kettle on the stove.
I sigh, wiping my cheeks. “The strongest stuff you’ve got, please.”
She murmurs a spell under her breath and the stove comes to life instantly. Flames lick at the bottom of the kettle, steam already rising. I sit in a creaky wooden chair, at the matching table in her perfectly sunny breakfast nook, as she opens a particularly witchy cabinet full of herbs, crystals, and things I’ve never seen before.
Is that a small animal skull?
I don’t think I want to know, honestly.
“Why do you have a skull in your cabinet?” Good to know my mouth still functions without my brain as per usual.
A smile breaks on Grandma’s face for the first time since Mom disappeared into a water bubble with a psychotic warlock. “Do you not, Hazel?”
“Was that a joke?” I smile back, the ache still there. It’ll always be there.
She takes a few herbs and grinds them with a mortar and pestle. “An attempt. It’s part of a protection ward I purchased at the market a few years back. I assume it’s nothing more than decoration, but it amuses me.”
It matches her decor well enough. If ever there were a witchy woman, it would be my grandmother. Her and her little cottage in the woods.
She finishes preparing the tea and, bringing two surprisingly bland brown mugs to the table, sits beside me. The scent wafts up and I wrinkle my nose involuntarily.
“What the hell is in this, Grandma?”
“A mixture of amaranth, eucalyptus, marjoram, and valerian root.” She gestures to the raw honey sitting on the table. “You may want that.”
“I realize I asked for your strongest stuff, but why did you pick this mixture exactly?” I lift the steaming cup to my lips and take another whiff. Yeesh .
She sips hers delicately, not even making a face. “Amaranth for repairing a broken heart, eucalyptus for health, marjoram for easing grief, and valerian root for helping couples reunite. The honey is purely for taste.”
Have to give Grandma her credit, she nailed that mixture. Despite it tasting like literal dirt. I pour more honey in, more than is probably appropriate. But I intend to drink this entire damn mug and I can’t do that as is.
The silence is a heavy blanket on top of what is actually a beautiful autumn morning. The sunlight streams through the red and orange leaves of the woods and into the kitchen by way of a large bay window. Even the air smells of crunched leaves and soft ground despite us being indoors. It’s my favorite time of year.
At least it used to be.
I sigh, the sound escaping from the most wounded part of my heart. “What are we going to do?”
It’s the same question I asked last night, and I’m not sure why I expect to hear a different answer. I don’t really, but it would be nice.
She simply shakes her head, two tears slipping down her cheeks, sipping her tea.
Fuck this.
“Well if no one else is going to figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do next, then I’m going to. Because this sucks, and I refuse to let us all wallow.”
Grandma’s eyes raise into her silver hair, but she remains quiet. Allowing me the space to do whatever it is I’m doing.
I swallow more tea and clear my throat. “For one, this whole family rift thing is shit. I don’t like whatever is going on between me and Laura, and I can’t fix that from the apartment.”
“I would agree with that statement,” Grandma says, nodding for me to continue.
Let’s go. “I’m going to move back into the house, and I think you should, too, for a while. We need to heal as a family. I won’t let this be like Dad again. This isn’t going to further separate us. And we’re going to train, teach Laura and myself more about magic so we can be prepared for whatever Draven has planned. Because he will be back, and we need to have something in place for when that happens.”
She nods, a prideful smile replacing the tears on her face. “And Noah? What about him?”
Right as I was getting into the groove, Grandma? Et tu, Brute? The imaginary knife embedded in my chest twists a little deeper at the mention of his name. The crack in my armor.
“I can’t force Noah to talk to me.” My voice cracks over the words, as true as they are. “I can’t force him to be ready. I will always be here, but there’s not much more I can do. He knows where I stand.”
At the very least, I know that to be true. He knows I’m here and I’ll be here for the rest of my life.
“I do hope he comes back, but if he does not...” She places her hand on mine. “I’m on your side.”
My Grandma. In her fuzzy white robe, her thick floral slippers, and with her silver hair piled on top of her head. The most constant person in my life.
“And,” she continues, “I think moving back into the house is a very good idea and I’m happy to accompany you. A woman needs her space, so I won’t stay every night, but I will stay a majority of the time.”
A snort-like sound bubbles from my throat. It’s not a real laugh, I don’t think I’m capable of that right now, but it’s something.
The slight smile on her face falls. “You’re also right about Draven. We haven’t seen the last of him, or the band of daemons he calls brothers. We suffered a major loss yesterday and I will not accept another.”
I merely nod. For some reason, I just can’t wrap my head around Mom. When Dad died, I cried immediately and for days. But this feels different. Maybe it’s because I’m older, maybe it’s because Mom and I were in such a troubled place. It’s different.
I forcefully clear my throat. “I guess I’m on my way back to the house. Think Laura changed the locks on me?”
“Probably.” Grandma stands, taking our empty mugs to the sink. She’s not wrong. Laura would absolutely do something like that, despite the slightest progress we made last night. If anything, it’d be more like her than the woman I spoke to.
“Can you send my stuff back to the house? Someone promised to teach me how but then never did.” I stand as well, shooting her a look.
She at least has the decency to look vaguely guilty. “I’m happy to.”
I guess I should probably brush my rat’s nest of an auburn mess and head over. Right as I reach the bathroom, a thought strikes me.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Is the house sentient?”
A slight chuckle is my only answer.