36. Blinking
Chapter 36
Blinking
L ater that evening, I’m staring at my desk. Grandma left a small, brown leather notebook there for me to write a letter to my mother. Writing has never been my outlet though—it’s art. I wouldn’t even know how to write anything.
Noah would. Noah would have the perfect words. Maybe that’s why it was so weird that he wouldn’t even speak to me. Noah wants to talk about everything and anything, and I would listen for hours if he let me.
Stop it, Hazel. You’re just torturing yourself.
I need to sketch, paint, do something. Grandma’s spell placed all my things from the apartment back perfectly, without me having to touch anything. Too perfectly, since my desk was still messy. Could’ve used some organization in that spell. I rummage through the drawers and find a dusty sketchbook. It’s halfway filled with little creatures and cartoons I drew in high school.
Just going to flip on past that embarrassment.
I reach an empty page, grab my stupidly expensive colored pencils, and lie against the pillows.
I’m past the point of no return before I even realize what I’m drawing. Noah’s eyes. Brown-black, with the little star of green in the right eye. His bushy eyebrows hang above like furry curtains. Before I even knew him, I knew exactly what his eyes looked like. I knew every little detail of them. Every fleck of color. I spent hours of my life drawing them and I know somewhere deep in my broken-ass heart that I’ll continue no matter what he decides.
“I miss you,” I whisper to the eyes.
They blink.
Wait, what?
I’m going crazy, obviously. Paintings and sketches don’t move. They don’t. That’s not a thing. Right?
“Are you, um, blinking at me?” My voice trembles.
This is totally normal. I’m just asking a sketch if it’s sentient. Shit, the house is sentient, why not anything else?
It blinks. Just once, but in the exact same way as before. I wait a few more seconds. Another blink. Almost like it’s a timed action.
“Grandma?!” I call, not moving a single muscle other than my face.
Grandma opens the door with far too much nonchalance for my liking. This is a family that has been through some shit in the last few days. I would appreciate a little hastiness. Maybe a door slam.
“My sketch is blinking at me.”
She smiles. Smiles . “Yes, and?”
“What do you mean ‘yes, and?’ The sketch. Is blinking. At me.”
She pads softly over and sits on my floral bedspread, smoothing the fabric with her hand. “Witches who have artistic abilities have been known to imbue their work with some of their magic. It’s not uncommon for witches to sell paintings that move, or for books to allow you to smell the foods described inside. It’s part of our gift.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to your granddaughter obsessed with painting?” I barely suppress the most epic eye roll in history. May have been record breaking. We’ll never know now.
Her smile tilts downward, guilt weighing heavily in her eyes. “I figured you would have seen it at the market. I suppose there is much I forgot to tell you over the past few weeks.”
I sigh. “I’m behind in a lot of ways, but especially when it comes to magic. It’s not your responsibility to get me completely up to speed.”
“While I appreciate your uncharacteristic understanding, you and your sister have both been failed. And I have played a part in that. Would you like me to take you to the market? Show you the artists and their pieces?”
I consider her offer. Going there would be good for all of us—her and Laura included.
“If we can convince Laura to join us, I think it would be good for us to get out of the house as a family.”
Always the eavesdropper, Laura pops her head round the corner in the way she used to when she was younger. “I need new shoes. What the fuck are we waiting for?”
It’s now that I realize I’d completely forgotten about the existence of Ash Cedar, and that Laura has decidedly not, if the way she’s tugging me in the complete opposite direction of his smirk is any indication. Those green eyes follow us until he’s out of sight.
“Have you seen him since the last time we were here?” I ask, my feet tumbling underneath me, threatening to send me headfirst into the dirt path.
The market is exactly the same. Herbs and smoke cloud the air, witchy gowns flow around the ankles of ancient women and cats weave between their legs. The market comforts me, despite the attack last time I was here. It has a homey warmth that relaxes all my limbs.
Laura scoffs, squeezing my hand tighter. “I don’t know whom you’re referring to, but the answer is no.”
“How can the answer be no if you don’t know whom I’m referring to?”
“Because it’s no!”
“Girls!”
Laura abruptly stops, causing me to run smack into her back. It’s the only time I’m grateful she’s taller than me, because her hair cushions my impact. We turn back and wait as Grandma catches up with us.
She huffs as she approaches. “You walk as if the devil himself is behind you.”
“I mean.” Laura smiles in the way that makes me want to curl into myself. She inherited it from Mom. It’s the I’m-about-to-say-something-bitchy smile. “Have you seen yourself lately, Grandma? When was the last time you combed your hair?”
Grandma blinks once and a giant piece of dirt flies from the ground and right into Laura’s perfect blonde hair. “I don’t know, dear, but it looks like you have something in yours.”
Goddamn that’s savage.
Instead of the bitch fit I expect, Laura giggles. A delicate thing, but the first real laugh I’ve heard from her in a very long time. “Touché.”
Before anyone can ruin this moment, I link elbows with both women and continue our walk through the stalls. Maybe the Pruitt-slash-Hollis women can get through this. Maybe we’re strong enough to suffer through multiple deaths and lies and daemons and warlocks and losses of soulmates. Maybe.
“So, to whom are we not referring?” Grandma says as she takes control, leading us toward a white tent-encased booth with multiple paintings set up.
An ear-splitting screech erupts from Laura. “I can’t believe you heard that!”
“At this point I’m pretty sure everyone heard that, ” I mutter. Instead of indulging in what will surely be Spar Part Two between them, I break free and step under the white tent.
Inside is my wildest dream. At least twenty paintings line the sides of the tent and stand on easels in little rows. They’re all different sizes, ranging from above-the-mantel to little-postcards-by-the-register.
And they’re moving.
One of the larger paintings shows a roiling sea with a stormy sky above it. A lighthouse sits in the distance, blinking so subtly I almost don’t catch it. My eyes feast on this painting as if I haven’t eaten in years.
This is what I want.
This is what I’m meant to do.
I’ve struggled so long with who I am, what I am, what I want. Who I want to be. And for once, I know. I know what I want, and it is this .
I want to create paintings, drawings, sketches that do this. And I want to sell them in my own little booth. Have my own register, my own business cards, my own witchy muumuu.
Okay, no, I don’t want a muumuu. If I ever wear one, I expect Laura to curse me. I’d welcome it.
“I was overcome when I first saw the shop,” Grandma says softly, her hand landing on my shoulder. “It is a beautiful thing, to discover your purpose in life.”
I rub the back of my hand against my cheek, and then the other, clearing the tears. Oh, I’m crying in the middle of a stranger’s business. Yep. Very cool.
“I want to do this, Grandma.” My voice is steady, confident.
Of course I want to do this. I’m having some sort of emotional breakthrough in the middle of a random woman’s stall. But it needed to be said aloud. There’s something powerful in words.
She nods. “Then that is what you’ll do. You will practice and create, and once you are ready, we’ll get you a booth of your own.”
Laura watches the paintings, avoiding looking at either of us. It’s obvious she doesn’t know what to say, and I don’t know what she’s thinking. I used to always know what she was thinking.
Before I can open my mouth, as if summoned by her magic itself, Ash Cedar strolls by. He’s still quite lumberjack-esque, taller than a man ever should be and wide enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he could lift a car.
He doesn’t say a word, but he brushes Laura’s shoulder ever so slightly as he walks past and she...shudders. Rears back as if she’s been burned.
Interesting.
I’ll be poking that bear later, but for now I stand in awe of what will hopefully soon be mine. A booth where I can sell my paintings. Where I can be happy.
And maybe I’ll be forever alone, but some part of my heart still hopes that Noah will be by my side.
Actually.
“Ash!” I call, running after the hulking figure. I can feel Laura’s displeasure from here, but he’s the only one who can help me.
He slows, turning to face me as I catch my breath. “Yes?”
“I need your help with something.”