Page 6 of A Bond with the Dark

I try to hold on to my composure, but as the words form on my tongue they freeze. Splinters from the jaggedness of them slice me, knowing that after I utter these words, we’ll never be the same.

The world is different now.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “Mama and Dan passed away last night.” The words are no less frigid and venomous as they’d been unspoken.

“What?” they both say on a breath.

“What happened?” asks Maggie.

Tears prick my eyes as I borrow strength from the air to keep talking. “There was a fire. The police said someone left the stove on.”

“Oh my god,” Hilda sighs.

“That wrecked curse,” says Maggie in the background.

“Oh, Sayah,” Hilda replies. “Do you need us to come out there?” She sounds strange. As though her voice is caught in a vice, strained with a tension that could burst at any moment.

My brows pinch together as I stifle my sobs. “Yes, please,” I whisper, tears tumbling down my cheek.

It would be nice to have family around me. I have a small family. My dad is in Kansas with my stepmom, and my sister and I are estranged. Besides my aunts in Washington, the only other family I have is Claire, my best friend.

“We’ll leave right away,” Maggie says, her voice audibly contoured with sadness. This is their second sister and the third person in our family to have died by fire. “Just hang in there ’til we get there, okay?”

I nod like they can see me.

“Sweetie?” Maggie says, her sweet voice perforating the silence.

“Yeah?” I answer, my voice breaking.

“I know you’re barely hanging on right now.” She swallows as though she’s speaking of herself as well. “But do everything you can to not fall apart, okay? Do your magick, it will help.”

Making a noncommittal noise, I sniffle and wipe the tears away with my sheet.

“We’ll see you soon.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you,” they both say and end the call.

Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I let myself fall apart.

As I topple out of bed a few hours later and descend the stairs, I glance through the windows. The winter storm has unleashed chaos on the outside world. A thick blanket of twelve inches of snow veils the ground, transforming roads into slushy, icy paths. Given the early hours, the snowplows have yet to reach the neighborhoods. I find my driveway untouched, a stark reminder of mundane tasks deferred, relics of average days when the world wasn’t on the brink of upheaval.

After making some coffee and snuggling with my cat, I go to my spell cabinet. When my aunt mentioned magick on our call, it sounded like a good idea. Maybe it will help me feel better. Magick is like coffee for your soul.

I’ve always known my aunts are witches, but because I didn’t fully embrace the craft, memories seem hidden away, like I’ve been under a spell. Every time I practiced, more of that fog lifted and memories would resurface of my childhood and my mom.

One time, I was doing a healing spell and a memory of Hilda and Maggie cut through my vision and took over my mind. They talked to my mom in my old childhood house while I listened through a crack in my bedroom door…

“You’re either fully in or fully out; there is no in-between,” Maggie told Mama.

“But she’s just a child; she doesn’t know what she wants yet,” my mom answered.

“She’s too powerful, Fran. She can’t be halfway in. It will eventually consume her even if she is out right now. She is the balance. She has to fully want it, or it will never work. Time will bring her into it when she’s ready. We have to trust that.”

While I have no idea what that memory means, it still haunts me.

Grabbing the sage, a few herbs, some incense, and the oil I need for my altar spell, I begin to arrange them on a small wooden table by the floor-length window. The plants in my dining room give me the most comfort when I do spells.

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