Page 28 of Big Little Spells

But here in a Healer’s house, alone, I face a truth I would have buried down deep if there was anyone around to see me.

I’m not sure I want those answers. I’m not sure I want to know what happened.

I’m not sure that fighting my way to whatever is hovering just out of my reach is going to be good for me. If it was, wouldn’t I be able to see it?

Because I already know that there are things lurking in me that need to stay there. I already know the darkest parts of me a little too well.

I blow out a breath and text my beloved aunt Zelda instead. Guess what? I’m home. Yes, in St. Cyprian. And not in a Joywood jail. Can I come see you?

It takes a while. I see dots appear and disappear. I think about the fact that I could just talk to her the way witches do, now that I’m openly using magic...but I don’t.

Because she could too. And she doesn’t.

For the first time, it occurs to me that Aunt Zelda really might be sicker than she’s let on, with her airy talk of good days and bad days.

Her text comes in.

I love thinking of you back home! I want to hear how this happened—and if it had anything to do with all the magic blowing up the skies of Missouri last night! I’m betting it did, she texts back. But today isn’t a good day. Soon, sweet girl. Soon.

Zelda is the only one who calls me that. Possibly also the only one who thinks of me as anything even remotely sweet. Today that puts a lump in my throat.

Let me know when it’s a better day and I’m there, I text back.

And then I’m just standing there in Jacob North’s farmhouse, my eyes stinging. Missouri spring allergies, I assure myself. That’s all.

So, Ellowyn’s tea shop it is. I give myself a moment, bracing myself for something I haven’t done alone in ten years.

Fly.

9

I LAND AT TEA & No Sympathy without any issues, confirming I am indeed the witch I always knew I was—but it’s been a while.

“Check you out,” Ellowyn says with a grin when I land in a rush out behind her shop, where she is breaking down UPS boxes with her absurdly sharp athame. “Like you were never exiled a day.”

“Exile is in the mind,” I reply as smugly as possible as I follow her inside. Even though what I want to do is engage in a few of my sister’s signature celebratory fist pumps.

I manage to inform Ellowyn of tonight’s plans in between her many customers. She isn’t happy about it, but all it takes is telling her what happened at Nicholas’s and she feels worried enough about me to be guilted into coming tonight.

As I knew she would.

And even though it feels like the past ten years were a blink of an eye, now that I’m back here—we’re adults now. Everyone has jobs and responsibilities, and I do too. So, I say goodbye to Ellowyn and head back to Wilde House.

One of the things I learned out there in the real world was that I was not meant to work in an office with a boss breathing down my neck, witch or not. I learned to live on very little and do what I pleased. But in order to get there, I had to find a way to control my visions that didn’t involve the sort of magic I was forbidden to practice.

I’ve handled them by bringing to life the most confusing ones. In the beginning, it was painting, sculpture. Big, huge, twisting art pieces of terrible and beautiful visions.

Over time, my projects got smaller. More controlled. I began to balance both my artistic and creative needs with the reality of needing to buy food. Lately, I’ve focused more on the easy and the portable with my computer. Digital illustrations and templates, mostly. I’m sure Emerson would laugh her face off if she knew her always late and double-booked sister was inspired to create planner templates thanks to her, and that they’re now some of my best sellers.

I may never tell her.

Back at Wilde house, instead of holing up in my room—another dangerous memory lane route best avoided—Smudge and I go out to the balcony on the second floor, up over the street. I settle into one of the cozy patio chairs, drawing my knees up beneath me and propping my tablet before me. While I’ve definitely designed witchy-inspired things for humans impressed by that, it’s usually from a very human standpoint. Brooms and pointy hats and black cats with accusing yellow eyes, all inspired by Smudge, of course.

Today, I let St. Cyprian inspire my art. Or I think I do. When I’m done doodling on my tablet, I look at the results and frown.

Haunted houses.

Ravens.

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