Page 11 of Bewicched

“There you are.” Her smile dimmed as she reached for my hand. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing. I’m okay.” I tried to walk past her, but she barred the entrance.

“You’re not bringing that darkness into your grandmother’s home. Stand out there. Let me get the sage.”

She closed the door on me, so I went back to the center of the small circular drive. There was no point in arguing, and if Mom felt a darkness lingering on me, I wanted it gone too.

Mom and Gran emerged a moment later, both with sprigs of smoking sage. They walked in circles around me, wafting the sage head to toe, as they each recited purifying incantations.

Finally, Gran handed Mom her sage and pulled me into a hug. “My angel, come in and tell us what’s happened.”

“I didn’t realize I was carrying evil. I never would have come.”

“Hush now.” Gran batted away my apology. “That was a nasty one clinging to you. Come in and tell us what’s been going on today.”

6

In Which Arwyn Learns the Conditions Put on Love

My grandmother’s house was like a bag of holding. It appeared to be a tiny forgotten stone cottage, clinging to the edge of a cliff. When you walked in, though—over polished wood floors, laid in intricate patterns mirroring the sigils on the door—the ceiling rose higher than the roof. A one-room hovel became a three-bedroom, three-bath showplace.

Every room had huge windows overlooking the ocean. Gran didn’t have a furnace or heating system—certain technology she just didn’t trust—so each bedroom had its own fireplace, with a huge one—always lit—in the great room. She kept a cauldron hanging over the fire for nostalgia, as she actually did her potions work in the kitchen. She had two pantries: one for food, one for spell ingredients. The latter was, of course, the much larger one.

“Sit with your mother. I’ll bring the tea.” Gran headed to the kitchen.

“I can help,” I said and got a hand wave in response.

Mom, already wearing the gloves she always kept in her bag for when she’d be seeing me, took my elbow and led me to the couch by the fire. “That sweater looks lovely on you.”

“I told you!” Gran called from the kitchen.

Mom rolled her eyes. “I like you in purple and blue, but your grandmother was positive this was the one for you.”

“And I was right. As usual,” Gran said, wheeling in the tea cart. “Okay, honey.” She waved me over. “Your turn.” She sat in her favorite rocking chair by the fire and waited for me to pour her a cup.

Having performed this ritual countless times in my life, I got Gran, Mom, and then myself a cup of my mother’s loose leaf tea before I sat again.

Since both were waiting expectantly for the story, I took them through my day.

“Two visions?” My mother’s brows furrowed in concern.

Gran shook her head. “The first one was normal. A strange wolf was coming. Her magic told her what she needed to know. That one’s not the problem.” She sipped her tea, ruminating.

“Do you think this wolf brought the demon with him?” Mom looked like she was ready to go hunt down Declan. What Mom could do to Declan was a lot worse than a swim in the ocean.

All of a sudden, the fire tripled in size with brilliant blue flames engulfing the cauldron for a moment. Gran nodded, as though agreeing with the fire. “Walk us through the second vision again.”

So I went back over it, trying to explain each moment of it in detail. Reliving it for them had my stomach twisting anew.

“Drink your tea,” Gran said to me. “Sybil, do you think the drowning woman…”

Mom nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“What?” I looked between the two for some clue.

“Your aunt Hester called a few minutes before you arrived,” Mom began. “Her daughter didn’t come home last night. Hester woke with a start a little before two in the morning, worried about her.”

“Pearl’s an adult, isn’t she? She’s got to be in her early twenties by now.” Hester was the sister of Aunt Sylvia’s husband. While she was a wicche, she wasn’t terribly powerful. I felt sorry for Pearl. She was younger than me, so it wasn’t as though we hung out, but she had it rough. The cousins—some of them, anyway—could be real shitheads about magical gifts. If Pearl had inherited any magic from her mother, it hadn’t emerged yet.

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