Page 27 of Bewicched

“Yes. She’s a woman named Sam. She’s married to a rage-y vampire. I met him in England. The other vampire said the husband wasn’t always like that. Sam had been abducted and they were looking for her.” I turned to my mom. “It was connected to those asshole fae who’d taken me.”

“Which never would have happened if you’d stayed here. This, however”—my mother pointed at the black, sopping mess—“is why youhadto go to England to make that chess set.”

“What?” I popped up and leaned over the bowl.

“That rune is an unholy combination of Hagalaz—”

“Destruction, cataclysmic change,” I muttered.

“Nauthiz,” she continued.

“Need. Emotional stability.” I leaned in to study the weirdly blended rune.

“And Raidho,” she concluded.

“Ooooh, I see.”

“I don’t,” Declan interrupted.

Stepping away from the now powerless fetish, I explained, “Everyone thought I was nuts when I said Ihadto go to England to make this piece. So much pissiness and eye rolling. This,” I said, gesturing to the bowl, “was what was pushing me to leave. Horrible cataclysmic destruction if I didn’t begin a journey to somewhere far away.”

“I smelled sulfur,” my mother said, with all the gravity it deserved.

Moving farther away from it, I pulled my arms into the oversized sleeves of Declan’s jacket and hugged myself. “A demon? What the hell did I do to a demon?”

“A sorcerer,” my mom clarified.

“Hey, Sybil!”

We all turned to see Phil, my contractor, waving at my mom from beside his truck.

“Hello. It’s good to see you.” She turned her head and whispered, “This is no place for this conversation. Destroy that thing and go in. I’ll meet you in your studio.” She walked to Phil’s truck. “I was just telling Arwyn that I need to hire you to work on the tea shop’s back room. It’s awkward for our needs.”

While she went off to chat with Phil and give us cover, I picked up the bowl, walked to the far side of Mom’s car, and sat on the curb, the bowl between my feet in the gutter. I said a cleansing spell over it as I poured out the water onto the cement, just to be safe. I knew my Mom had already stripped the curse, but this was my home.

Declan reached down to retrieve his glove, but I grabbed his hand and shook my head. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

I conjured a blue flame in my palm and then dropped it into the bowl. The fetish and the glove were instantly engulfed and a moment later, black ash clung in clumps to the inside of my bowl.

“Can you grab the bottle from the hood of her car? I think she left me some to clean out the bowl.”

When the mostly empty bottle dangled in front of me, I grabbed it and poured it in the bowl, swishing the ash in circles, trying to dislodge any remnants. I poured the sludge into the street, the silver of the bowl blackened but now curse free.

“It’s safe to bring this in now.”

Declan gave me a hand up. “I need to get to work or I’m going to get fired. I want to know about that Quinn, though.”

I made my way to the front door of the gallery. Nodding to Phil, I tapped my mom on the back. “Come on in and have a cup of tea when you’re done.”

The men were building the counter and cupboards for the café area. I waved and kept going, pretending like I couldn’t hear the squelching squeak my wet sneakers made with every step.

Once in my studio, I closed the door, put down the bowl, and ran upstairs, directly into the bathroom. Leaning into the shower, I turned on the hot water and then stripped off my sodden clothes. I’d had Phil install a washer and dryer in my bathroom, since this is where dirty clothes left my body. I threw in the whole sopping pile and then stepped into glorious heat.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, I started the washer and then moved to my closet for a soft, warm purple thermal top and another pair of overalls. I still had work to do today. Slipping on socks, I listened to my mother puttering around in my kitchen, no doubt making us tea. I found another pair of paint-spattered shoes and went back to the bathroom, pulling the drying towel off my mass of hair. I squeezed ridiculously expensive conditioner for curly hair out of a tube and worked it through the strands.

“Tea’s ready.” My mother’s voice floated up the stairs.

“Be right down.” Whenever possible, I let my hair air dry. After stuffing a hair tie in my pocket for later, I headed downstairs to the sound of hammering coming from the home of my future deck.

---